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OOMMANDEE 
 
 MENDOZA 
 
 BY 
 
 TJAN YALE E A ; 
 
 ^tTHOR OF PEPITA. XIMENEZ, DOSa LUZ, ETO. 
 
 TRANSLATED BY 
 
 MART J. SERRANO 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 
 
 1893 
 
 T 
 

 Copyright, 1893, 
 By D. APPLETON AND COIIPANY. 
 
 Electrottped and Printed 
 at the appleton press, u. s. a. 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 I. 
 
 Doit Fadeique Lopez de Mendoza, commonly 
 ^alJed the Commander, was the brother of Don Jos6, 
 She eldest son and heir of the house of Mendoza. 
 W._ Don Fadrique was born in 1774. 
 
 From his childhood up he had manifested, it is 
 said, a perverse inclination to turn everything into 
 ridicule and to take nothing seriously. This is of all 
 qualities the one least easily pardoned when it is sus- 
 pected to proceed, not from frivolity of disposition, 
 but, on the contrary, from a seriousness of character 
 which leads a man to regard things earthly and hu- 
 man as scarcely worthy of his serious consideration ; 
 whence, from very seriousness, spring contempt and 
 ridicule. 
 
 Don Fadrique, according to general tradition, was 
 a man of this kind — jocose from very seriousness. 
 
 It is plain that there are two classes of men who 
 are jocose from very seriousness. To the one class, 
 which is very large, belong those who are habitually 
 so serious as to be the cause of merriment in others. 
 
2 COxMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 and who thus, without meaning to be so, are jocose. 
 To the other class, never very numerous, it was that 
 Don Fadrique belonged. Don Fadrique ridiculgd 
 vulgar and unmeaning seriousness in virtue of his 
 
 own exquisite and superlative seriousness; wherefore 
 
 X. ■ li ~ 
 
 he was jocose. 
 
 It is proper to observe, however, that Don Ffl- 
 drique's wit rarely verged on insolence or cruelty, or 
 indulged itself to the hurt of others. His', jestswere,; 
 good-natured and courteous, and were' of tei' tinged, 
 with a certain gentle melancholy. ¥3; ■'•*''; '. 
 
 It cannot be denied that the predominant trait in 
 Don Fadrique's character indicated a serious defect— ' 
 a lack of reverence. As he saw in everything only its 
 ridiculous and comical side, the inevitable result was 
 that he respected nothing or almost nothing. His 
 teachers and superiors deplored this greatly. 
 
 Don Fadrique was robust and active, and had 
 never feared anything or any one, with the exception 
 of his father, whom, besides, he tenderly loved. This 
 affection did not prevent him, however, from seeing 
 and even acknowledging in confidence, when speaking 
 of his father, after the death of the latter, that, though 
 it was indeed true that he had been a perfect gentle- 
 man, honourable to punctiliousness, a good husband, 
 and charitable to the poor, he had been also a 
 Vandal. 
 
 In support of this assertion Don Fadrique related 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 3 
 
 many anecdotes, none among ■which pleased him so 
 greatly as that of the iolero. 
 
 Don Fadrique when a child performed this dance 
 
 ^.r/with much grace, and Don Diego — for so his father 
 
 . was called — took delight in seeing him display his 
 
 .>;'J>ability whenever he took the boy with him to make 
 
 /. visits,vor when he received visitors at his own house. 
 ; ej-a;;, Oiie day Don Diego took his son Don Fadrique to 
 ;#*!i^ the town, two leagues distant from Villabermeja, Avhose 
 .h name I have never wished to mention, in which I have 
 ^- placed the scene of my Pepita Jimenez. For the bet- 
 ■ ter comprehension of the present story, and in order 
 to avoid circumlocution, I ask the reader to under- 
 stand, whenever I speak of the town, that this is the 
 town to which I refer. 
 
 Don Diego, as I have said, took Don Fadrique to 
 the town. Don Fadrique was thirteen, but he was 
 very tall for his age. As he was going on a visit of 
 ceremony, he wore a coat and waistcoat of red damask, 
 with buttons of polished steel, shoes with buckles, and 
 white silk stockings, so that he was like a very sun for 
 splendour. 
 
 The clothes Don Fadrique had worn on the jour- 
 ney, which were very old and had, besides, several 
 rents and stains, were left at the inn, at which the 
 horses were also left. Don Diego desired that his son 
 should accompany him arrayed in all his glory. The 
 boy was delighted to see himself so fine, and with so 
 
4: COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 elegant and handsome a dress. But this same idea of 
 the aristocratic elegance of his dress inspired him with 
 a somewhat exaggerated feeling of the decorum and se- 
 dateness which it became the wearer of it to maintaip,-;^ 
 
 Unfortunately, in the first visit Don Diego made, - 
 which was to a noble widow who had two unmarried 
 daughters, it chanced that they spoke of the,|)oy Fa-y 
 drique — of his tallness for his age and his"' skill in 
 dancing the oolero. 
 
 " The boy dances worse now," said Don Diego, 
 " than he did a year ago, because he is just in the 
 hobbledehoy age — an insufferable age, between the 
 schoolmaster and the barber. You have already no- 
 ticed, doubtless, that boys are at that age unendura- 
 ble ; they begin to assume all the airs of men and they 
 are not men. However, since you desire it, the boy 
 will give you an exhibition of his skill." 
 
 The ladies, who had already manifested a desire to 
 see Don Fadrique dance, hereupon renewed their en- 
 treaties, and one of the young girls took a guitar and 
 began to play for Don Fadrique to dance. 
 
 " Dance, Fadrique," said Don Diego, as soon as 
 the music began. 
 
 An invincible disinclination to dance on this occa- 
 sion took possession of Fadrique's soul. He saw a 
 monstrous contradiction, something of what at the 
 present day is called antinomy, between the lolero and 
 the coat. It is to be observed that on the day alluded 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 5 
 
 to Don Fadrique wore a coat for the first time — wore 
 this coat for the first time, if a garment can be said to 
 have been worn for the first time wliich had been 
 made over for the wearer after having been already 
 worn first by his father and afterwards by liis elder 
 brother, for whom it was too tight and too short. 
 
 " Dance, Fadrique," repeated Don Diego, not a 
 little provoked. 
 
 Don Diego, whose country and travelling dress, of 
 the fashion of the place, was in very good condition, 
 did not, like his son, wear a coat. Don Diego wore a 
 complete suit of dressed deerskin, with boots and 
 spurs, and he carried in his hand the whip which he 
 used to chastise his horse and the dogs of a numerous 
 pack which he kept for hunting. 
 
 " Dance, Fadrique," cried Don Diego, for the third 
 time, his voice now showing a certain agitation due to 
 anger and surprise. 
 
 Don Diego's conception of parental authority was 
 so exalted that this rebellion amazed him. 
 
 " Never mind, Sefior de Mendoza," said the noble 
 widow. " The child is tired with travelling, and does 
 not wish to dance." 
 
 " He must dance now." 
 
 " Never mind ; we shall see him some other time," 
 said the young girl who played the guitar. 
 
 " He must dance now," repeated Don Diego. — 
 " Dance, Fadrique." 
 
6 COMMANBBE MBNDOZA. 
 
 " I won't dance with a coat," at last responded the 
 latter. 
 
 This was like ajjplying a lighted match to gun- 
 powder. Don Diego forgot the presence of the ladies, 
 and everything else but his son's disobedience. 
 
 " Eebel ! bad son ! " he cried ; " I will send you to 
 the Toribios ; dance, or I will flay you alive ! " and he 
 began to flog Don Fadi-ique with the whip which he 
 held in his hand. 
 
 The young girl with the guitar stopped playing 
 for an instant ; but Don Diego gave her so terrible a 
 look that she was afraid he might compel her to play 
 as he wished to compel his son to dance, and she went 
 on playing the lolero. 
 
 Don Fadrique, after receiving eight or ten lashes, 
 danced as well as he knew how. 
 
 At first, tears flowed from his eyes ; but afterwards, 
 reflecting that it was his father who had beaten him, 
 and the whole scene presenting itself under a ludi- 
 crous aspect to his imagination — seeing himself as if 
 he were another person dancing to the accompaniment 
 of the lashes, and in a coat— -he began to laugh, not- 
 withstanding the physical pain he suffered, and danced 
 with inspiration and enthusiasm. 
 
 The ladies applauded to the echo. 
 
 " Good ! good ! " said Don Diego. " By all the 
 devils ! Did I hurt you, my son ? " 
 
 " No, father," said Don Fadrique. " It could not 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 7 
 
 be helped. I needed a double accompaniment to 
 dance to-day." 
 
 " Forget it, boy. But why were you so foolish ? 
 "What objection could you have, since the coat suits 
 you to perfection, and the legitimate and classic lolero 
 is a very genteel dance ? The ladies will forgive me — 
 will you not ? I am a little quick-tempered." 
 
 Thus ended the episode of the bolero. 
 
 On that same day Don Fadrique danced four times 
 more in as many different visits, without waiting for 
 more than a hint from his father. 
 
 Father Fernandez, who knew Don Fadrique very 
 well, and from whom my friend Don Juan Fresco 
 learned many of these particulars, used to say that 
 Don Fadrique delighted in relating the anecdote of 
 the lolero, and that he shed tears of filial tenderness, 
 and at the same time laughed, saying, " My father was 
 a Vandal," when he recalled the scene— his father 
 flogging him, the terrified ladies, one of them play- 
 ing the guitar without stojDpiug, and he himself dan- 
 cing the holero better than he had ever danced it 
 before. 
 
 In all this there may have been something of 
 family pride. Don Fadrique's " My father was a 
 Vandal " sounded from his lips almost like a eulogy. 
 Don Fadrique, educated in the town and in the same 
 way as his father, Don Fadrique, country-bred, would 
 have been much more of a Vandal. 
 
8 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 The fame of his childish pranks remained in the 
 country long after he himself had left it to serve 
 the king. 
 
 II. 
 
 Having lost his mother when hewas three years 
 old, Don Fadrique had been brought up and tenderly 
 cared for by a maiden aunt who lived in the house, 
 who was called Chacha Victoria.* 
 
 He had, besides, another aunt, who, although she 
 did not live with the family but in a house of her 
 own, had also remained single, and. who vied with 
 Chacha Victoria in jDctting and spoiling him. This 
 other aunt was called Chacha Ramoncica. Don Fa- 
 drique was the apple of the eye of each of these ladies, 
 who were both already past forty when our hero was 
 in his twelfth year. 
 
 The two aunts, or Chachas, resembled each other 
 in a few things, and differed from each other in 
 many. 
 
 They resembled each other in a certain amiable 
 and good-natured pride of birth, in their Catholic 
 piety, and in their profound ignorance. This latter 
 was not altogether the result of their country bring- 
 ing up, but was due also to the ideas of that time. 
 
 * Diminutive of muchacha, girl, a term of endearment. 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 9 
 
 I imagine that our grandfathers, tired of feminine 
 loquacity, of the Latin quotations and the pedantic 
 display of the ladies portrayed by Queyedo, Tirso, 
 and Calderon in their works, fell into the oppo- 
 site extreme of desiring that women should learn 
 nothing. Knowledge in a woman came to be re- 
 garded as a source of perversion. Thus it was that 
 in noble and wealthy country families, who were of 
 religious and quiet habits, girls were brought up to be 
 very industrious and orderly and very good house- 
 keepers. They learned to sew, to embroider, and to 
 knit ; many of them learned to cook ; not a few could 
 iron to perfection ; but they scarcely ever learned to 
 write, and of reading they learned barely enough to 
 read fluently The Christian Year or some other de- 
 vout book. 
 
 Chacha Victoria and Chacha Ramoncica had been 
 brought up in this way. The difference in their 
 characters and dispositions afterwards established 
 marked differences between them. 
 
 Chacha Victoria, who was tall, fair, thin, and 
 good-looking, was by nature, and remained all her 
 life, sentimental and fond of knowledge. By dint of 
 spelling she had learned to read almost fluently when 
 she was already well advanced in years ; and her read- 
 ing was not confined to the lives of the saints. She 
 also acquired some knowledge of profane history and 
 of the works of some of the poets. Her favourite 
 
10 COMMANDER MEJTDOZA. 
 
 authors were DoQa Maria de Zayas and Gerardo 
 Lobo. 
 
 She prided herself on her experience of life and 
 its disillusions. Her conversation was always inter- 
 larded, so to say, with these two exclamations : " What 
 a world is this ! " " What things one sees in life ! " 
 Chacha Victoria felt, in a manner, disgusted with and 
 weary of life from all she had seen, and this although 
 her travels had not extended farther than five or six 
 leagues beyond Villabermeja. 
 
 A passion that at the present day we should char- 
 acterise as romantic had filled the whole life of 
 Chacha Victoria. When she was scarcely eighteen 
 she met at a fair and fell in love with an infantry 
 cadet. The cadet, on his side, loved Chacha Victoria, 
 who was not Chacha then. But the lovers, who 
 were as poor as they were noble, could not marry for 
 want of money. They declared their unalterable 
 resolution, then, to continue to love each other, they 
 exchanged vows of eternal constancy, and they deter- 
 mined to postpone their marriage until the cadet 
 should be made a captain. Unfortunately, at that 
 time advancement in the military profession was ex- 
 tremely slow ; there were no civil wars or pronuncia- 
 mientos, and the cadet, steadfast as a rock and faithful 
 as a dog, grew old without having passed beyond the 
 grade of lieutenant. 
 
 Whenever tiie regulations of the service permitted, 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 1]_ 
 
 the cadet visited Villabermeja ; he conversed at the 
 window with Chacha Victoria, and they interchanged 
 a thousand tender speeches. During the long inter- 
 vals of sejparation they wrote love letters to each other 
 every eight or ten days — an assiduity and frequency in 
 corresiDondence at that time extraordinary. 
 
 This necessity for writing obliged Chacha Victoria 
 to become learned. Love was her schoolmaster and 
 taught her how to trace anarchical and mysterious 
 scrawls which, by a revelation of love, the cadet de- 
 ciphered, read, and understood. 
 
 In this way — between periods of conversing at the 
 window at Villabermeja, and other longer periods of 
 separation, during which they communicated with 
 each other by letter — twelve years went by. The ca- 
 det attained the grade of lieutenant. 
 
 Then came a terrible moment — a heart-rending 
 separation. The cadet, now a lieutenant, departed for 
 the war in Italy. Thence letters came at very rare 
 intervals. At last they ceased altogether. Chacha 
 Victoria was filled with melancholy presentiments. 
 
 In 1747, the peace of Aquisgran being signed, the 
 Spanish soldiers returned from Italy to Spain; but 
 our cadet, who had hoped to return a captain, neither 
 appeared nor wrote. Only his orderly, who was a 
 Bermejan, made his appearance with his discharge. 
 
 The worthy orderly, in the best terms he could 
 find and with all the preparations and the circumlo- 
 
12 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 cution which seemed to him calculated to soften the 
 blow, gave Chacha Victoria the sad news that the 
 cadet, just as his hopes were on the point of being 
 realised and he was about to be promoted to the rank 
 of captain, on the very eve of peace, had fallen in the 
 rout of Trebia, run through the body by the lance 
 of a Croatian. 
 
 The cadet did not die at once. He lived two or 
 three days after receiving the fatal wound, and had 
 time to deliver to the orderly, to take to his dear Vic- 
 toria, a lock of her fair hair which he had worn in a 
 locket next his heart, her letters, and a gold ring set 
 with a pretty diamond. 
 
 The good soldier faithfully fulfilled his trust. 
 
 Chacha Victoria received and wept over the pre- 
 cious relics. The rest of her life she spent in think- 
 ing of the cadet, to whose memory she remained 
 always faithful, and in occasionally weeping for him. 
 All the love there was in her soul gradually trans- 
 formed itself into religious fervour and into affection 
 for her nephew Fadrique, who was three years old 
 at the time when Chacha Victoria learned of the death 
 of her constant and only lover. 
 
 Poor Chacha Eamoncica had always been puny 
 and ill-shaped, very swarthy, and very ugly. A cer- 
 tain natural and instinctive dignity made her compre- 
 hend, from the time she was fifteen, that she was not 
 born for love. If something of the love with which 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 13 
 
 women love men existed in the germ in her soul she 
 succeeded in smothering it and it never budded. On 
 the other hand, she had affection for every one. Her 
 charity extended even to dumb animals. 
 
 From the age of twenty-four, when Chacha Ea- 
 moncica was left an orphan, and since which time she 
 lived alone in her own house, she was accompanied by 
 half a dozen cats, two or three dogs, and a jackdaw 
 which possessed various accomplishments. Eamon- 
 cica had also a dove-cote full of doves, and a poul- 
 try-yard peopled with turkeys, ducks, hens, and 
 rabbits. 
 
 A maid-servant named Eafaela, who had entered 
 into Eamoncica's service while the latter still lived in 
 her father's house, continued serving her all her life. 
 Mistress and maid were both of the same age and 
 both grew old together. 
 
 Eafaela was even uglier than Chacha Eamoncica, 
 and, as if in imitation of her, always remained single. 
 
 With all her ugliness, there was something noble 
 and distinguished in the appearance of Chacha Ea- 
 moncica, who was a lady of very limited intelligence. 
 Eafaela, on the contrary, in addition to being ugly, 
 had a most ignoble aspect, but was endowed by nature 
 with a large fund of common sense. 
 
 For the rest, mistress and maid, while each al- 
 ways kept her own place and rank in the social hie- 
 rarchy, identified themselves so completely with each 
 
J4 COMMANDER MBNDOZA. 
 
 other that it seemed as if they both had but one will, 
 the same thoughts, and the same purposes. 
 
 All was order, method, and regularity in this 
 house. Scarcely anything was spent on food, for 
 mistress and maid alike ate very little. A gown, a 
 skirt, a basque, or any other garment lasted for years 
 and years, used by Chacha Eamoncica or put away in 
 her wardrobe. Afterwards, still in good condition, it 
 passed into the possession of Kafaela, to be worn by 
 her in her turn. 
 
 The furniture was always the same, and was kept, 
 as if by enchantment, so neat and shining that it was 
 a pleasure to see. 
 
 Living in this way, Chacha Eamoncica spent 
 scarcely a third of her income, although this was 
 very small ; consequently she went on saving and 
 laying by, so that she soon acquired the reputation of 
 being wealthy. Yet she never ventured to indulge 
 in any extravagance, except at the instance of her 
 nephew Fadrique, whom, as we have said, she vied 
 with Chacha Victoria in spoiling. 
 
 Don Diego was always in the country, hunting or 
 attending to the farming. His two sons, Don Jos§ 
 and Don Fadrique, remained in charge of Chacha 
 Victoria and Father Jacinto, a DoDiinican friar, who 
 had the reputation in the town of being very learned, 
 and who served them as tutor, teaching them reading 
 and writing and something of Latin. 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 15 
 
 Don Jose was quiet and good, Don Padrique a 
 perfect demon for mischievousness ; but Don Jos6 
 did not succeed in making himself loved, wMle Don 
 Fadrique was idolized by both Chachas, by the fierce 
 Don Diego, and by the before-mentioned Father 
 Jacinto, who was about thirty-six years old when he 
 taught the language of Cicero to the two flourishing 
 scions of the ancient and glorious branch of the Ber- 
 mejan Lopez de Mendozas. 
 
 While the gentle Don Jose remained in the house 
 studying, or went to the convent to hear mass, or em- 
 ployed his time in other the like peaceful occupations, 
 Don Fadrique would slip away and incite innumer- 
 able disturbances in the town. 
 
 As the second son of the house, Don Fadrique was 
 condemned to dress himself with the garments which 
 were too tight or too short for his brother, who, in 
 his turn, wore the cast-off clothes of his father. 
 Chacha Victoria made these alterations and transfers. 
 We have already spoken of the coat and the red 
 waistcoat which became memorable through the inci- 
 dent of the lolero, but long before this Don Fadrique 
 had inherited a cloak which was still more famous, 
 that had served Don Diego and Don Jose successively. 
 The cloak was white, and, when it came into Don 
 Fadriqne's possession, received the name of the dove- 
 cloak. 
 
 The dove-cloak seemed to have given new daring 
 
16 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 to the boy, who grew more turbulent and impish than 
 he had ever been before, from the moment it came 
 into his hands. It might be fancied that Don Fa- 
 drique, the ringleader in every disturbance and the 
 head of a band of the wildest boys of the town, wore 
 the dove-cloak as a standard, as a sign that all fol- 
 lowed, like the white plume of Henry IV. 
 
 Don Fadrique's party was not very numerous, not 
 because he was not liked, but because he selected his 
 adherents and followers, subjecting them to tests such 
 as were emj^loyed by Gideon in selecting his soldiers. 
 In this way Don Fadriqne succeeded in gathering 
 around him some fifty or sixty followers so fearless 
 and so devoted to him that every one of them was 
 worth ten. 
 
 An opposite party was formed, headed by Don 
 Casimiro, the son of the wealthiest hidalgo of the 
 place. This party was the more numerous; but, as 
 well in respect of the personal qualities of the captain 
 as of the valour and resolution of the soldiers, it was 
 always far inferior to that of Don Fadrique. 
 
 On several occasions both parties came to a hand- 
 to-hand conflict, sometimes with no other weapons 
 than their fists, sometimes with stones, the field of 
 combat being a plain situated below a place called the 
 Eetamal. 
 
 On every occasion of the kind Don Fadrique was 
 the first on the field of danger ; but it is certain, too, 
 
COMMANDEE MENDOZA. 17 
 
 that as soon as the rumour sjDread that " the dove- 
 cloak was going down towards the Eetamal " the 
 streets and squares were deserted by the most belli- 
 cose of the boys, who all hastened to follow their 
 idolized captain. 
 
 In all these combats victory was always on the side 
 of Don Fadrique's band. Don Casimiro's followers 
 made but little resistance and were soon put to an 
 ignominious flight ; but, as Don Padrique always ex- 
 posed himself more than a prudent general ought to 
 do, it happened that twice he watered the laurels with 
 his blood, coming out of the fight on each occasion 
 with a broken head. 
 
 Not only in pitched battles, but in other exercises 
 also, and while playing pranks of various kinds, Don 
 Fadrique had, besides, broken his head a third time, 
 wounded himself in the breast with a pair of scissors, 
 burned one of his hands, and dislocated an arm ; but 
 from all these accidents he came out in the end safe 
 and sound, thanks to his robust constitution and to 
 the care of Chacha Victoria, who would look at him 
 in amazement on these occasions, and, crossing herself, 
 would exclaim: "Ah, my darling child. Heaven must 
 intend you for something great when by a miracle 
 you are still alive ! " 
 
18 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 III. 
 
 Casuiieo was three years older than Don Fadri- 
 qne, and was also stouter and taller. Angry at see- 
 ing himself always defeated as captain, he wished to 
 measure himself with Don Fadrique in single com- 
 bat. They fought then without using any other 
 weapon than their fists, but poor Casimiro came out 
 of the fight as before, well kicked and cuffed, not- 
 withstanding his apparent superiority. 
 
 The Dominican friars of the town had never 
 greatly liked the Mendozas. ISTotwithstanding the 
 extreme piety of Chacha Victoria and Chacha Ra- 
 moncica and the humble devoutness of Don Jose, 
 they could not endure Don Diego, and they were 
 scandalised by the pranks and the insolence of Don 
 Fadrique. 
 
 Father Jacinto only, who loved Don Fadrique 
 tenderly, defended him against the accusations and 
 the complaints of the other friars. 
 
 These latter, however, often threatened to seize 
 the boy and send him to the Toribios, or make 
 Brother Toribio come himself and carry him away 
 with him. 
 
 The friars knew very well that the holy Brother 
 Toribio had died more than twenty years before, but 
 the institution established by him still flourished, be- 
 stowing upon its glorious founder an immortal and 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 19 
 
 mythological existence. Until well on in the second 
 third of the present century, Brother Toribio and the 
 Toribios in general have been constantly made the 
 subject of the threats employed to inspire mischievous 
 boys with a salutary terror. 
 
 The thought never entered into Don Padrique's 
 mind of the fervent charity with which Brother 
 Toribio, in order to save and purify the souls of the 
 boys he captured, martyrised their bodies, inflicting 
 cruel stripes on their naked flesh. Thus it was that 
 the holy Brother Toribio presented himself to his 
 imagination as a perverse and raving madman, his 
 own enemy in wounding himself with chains girdled 
 around his loins, and the enemy of the whole human 
 species, killing and torturing them in childhood and 
 early youth, when the heart opens to affection and 
 when Nature and Heaven should smile and caress in- 
 stead of inflicting stripes. 
 
 As cases had already occurred of certain mischiev- 
 ous boys being carried against the will of their 
 parents to the Toribios, and as Brother Toribio had 
 during his holy life himself gone in pursuit of such 
 boys, not only through all Seville, but through other 
 towns of Andalusia, whence he brought them to his 
 dreaded establishment, the threat of the friars, taken 
 as a jest, seemed stupid to Don Diego, and taken in 
 earnest, more stupid still. He sent a message to the 
 friars then desiring them to abstain from annoying 
 
20 COMMANDEK MEiS'DOZA. 
 
 his son, and still more from threatening him, saying 
 that he would himself know how to chastise the boy 
 when he deserved it, but that no one else should dare 
 lay a hand upon him. Don Diego added that the 
 boy, although only a child, would know how to de- 
 fend himself and even to act upon the offensive if he 
 were attacked, and that, besides, he himself would 
 hasten to his assistance in case it should be necessary, 
 and would tear off the ears of all the Toribios that 
 ever had been or ever should be in the world. 
 
 On these hints— and it was well known that Don 
 Diego was fully capable of putting his words into 
 effect— the friars checked their malevolence ; but, as 
 it must be confessed, if we wish to be impartial, that 
 Don Fadrique continued to behave diabolically, the 
 friars, not daring now to fight with temporal and 
 eartldy weapons, resorted to the arsenal of spiritual 
 and eternal wea23ons, and never ceased trying to 
 frighten the boy with threats of hell and the devil. 
 
 Prom this method of intimidation arose a grave 
 evil. Don Fadrique, in spite of his Chachas, became 
 an infidel through an instinctive sentiment before he 
 was able to think and reason. Eeligion presented 
 itself to his mind not under an aspect of love and in- 
 finite tenderness, but under an aspect of fear, against 
 which his courageous and independent spirit rebelled. 
 Don Fadrique did not regard the supernatural powers 
 as the objects of the insatiable love of the soul and 
 
COMMANDED MENDOZA. gl 
 
 the end -wortliy of his highest aspirations ; he saw in 
 them only tyrants, executioners, and shadowy bug- 
 bears. 
 
 Every age has its spirit, which seems to diffuse 
 itself through the air we breathe, entering the souls of 
 men, it may be, without its being necessary for ideas 
 and theories to pass from mind to mind, through the 
 medium of the spoken or written word. The eight- 
 eenth century was not, perhaps, a critical, scoffing, 
 sensual, and unbelieving age because it had a Voltaire, 
 a Kant, and the encyclopedists ; but because it was 
 critical, scoffing, sensual, and unbelieving it had those 
 thinkers, who formulated in precise terms what floated 
 confusedly in the atmosphere — the direction of human 
 thought at that period of its progressive civilisation. 
 
 In this way only can it be explained that Don 
 Fadrique should become an infidel without hearing 
 or reading anything that might incline him to infi- 
 delity. 
 
 This new quality which appeared in him was a suf- 
 ficiently dangerous one in those times. Don Diego 
 himself was terrified by some of his son's ideas. For- 
 tunately, the development of so evil an inclination 
 was almost coincident with Don Fadrique's departure 
 for the College of Marine Guards, and thus all scan- 
 dal and annoyance were avoided in Villabermeja. 
 
 Chacha Victoria and Chacha Eamoncica shed 
 many tears at Don Fadrique's departure. Father Ja- 
 
22 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 cinto regretted it ; Don Diego, who accompanied liim 
 to the island, rejoiced at seeing his son enter on the 
 study of a profession almost more than he grieved at 
 parting from him ; and for the friars, and still more 
 for Casimiro, the day on which they lost sight of 
 Fadrique was a day of jubilee. 
 
 Don Fadrique returned afterwards to the town, 
 hut only for a brief visit — once when he left the col- 
 lege to go to sea, and a second time after he had be- 
 come a naval ensign. Then years passed without any 
 Bermejan seeing Don Fadrique. It was known that 
 he was now in Peru, now in Asia, in the remote East. 
 
 IV. 
 
 DuEiKG this long absence the most fantastic and 
 absurd reports were invented and believed in the town 
 concerning Don Fadrique's doings. 
 
 Both Don Diego and Chacha Victoria, who were 
 the best informed and the most intelligent members 
 of the family, died shortly after Don Fadrique's arrival 
 in Peru. And as for the simple-minded Eamoncica 
 and the unintellectual Don Jose, Don Fadrique wrote 
 to them only at rare intervals, every letter being as 
 short as a birth certificate. 
 
 To Father Jacinto, also, although he really es- 
 teemed and liked him, Don Fadrique wrote but sel- 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 23 
 
 dom, owing to the repugnance and distrust with which 
 friars in general inspired him. Thus it was that noth- 
 ing was ever known with certainty in the town re- 
 garding the travels and adventures of the illustrious 
 sailor. 
 
 The person who knew most about the matter in 
 his time was Father Fernandez, who, as we have else- 
 where said, was acquainted with Don Fadrique, and 
 had even some degree of intimacy with him. Father 
 Fernandez communicated what he knew to Don Juan 
 Fresco, who had been greatly influenced by the re- 
 lation of the peregrinations and adventures of Doff 
 Fadrique in becoming himself a sailor, in order to 
 follow in his footsteps. 
 
 Collecting and arranging these vague and scat- 
 tered reminiscences, I shall now note them down here 
 briefly. 
 
 Don Fadrique remained only a short time in the 
 college, where he showed a marked disposition for 
 study. 
 
 He soon left it to go to sea, and arrived at Havana 
 at a most melancholy time. Spain was then at war 
 with England, and the capital of Cuba had just been 
 attacked by Admiral Pocock. The ship on which 
 was our Bermejan having sunk, the crew, v/ho were 
 saved, were sent to the defence of Morro Castle under 
 the orders of the brave Don Luis Velasco. 
 
 There Don Fadrique made havoc among the Eng- 
 
24 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 lisli squadron with his well-aimed cannon-balls. After- 
 wards, during the assault, he fought like a hero in the 
 breach, and saw Don Luis, his chief, fall at his side. 
 Finally, he was one of the few who escaped unwounded 
 from the conflict when the English general, Lord 
 Albemarle, passing over a heap of slain and making 
 prisoners of the living, raised the British flag over the 
 principal fortress of Havana. 
 
 Don Fadrique had the grief of witnessing the 
 capitulation of that important place, and, as one of 
 the garrison, was taken to Spain, in accordance with 
 the conditions of snrrender. 
 
 Then, being now a naval ensign, he went to Villa- 
 bermeja, and saw his father for the last time. 
 
 The Queen of the Antilles, many millions of dol- 
 lars, and the greater part of our war-ships remained 
 in tlie hands of the English. 
 
 Don Fadrique was not disheartened by this tragic 
 beginning. He was a man who was not prone to 
 melancholy. He was an optimist, and not given to 
 grumbling. Besides, as the eldest son was to inherit 
 all the family possessions, he desired to acquire honour, 
 money, and position for himself. 
 
 He remained only a few days in Villabermeja. He 
 left it before his leave of absence had expired. 
 
 The King, Carlos III., after the melancholy peace 
 of Paris, to which the disastrous Family Compact led 
 him, endeavoured to improve everywhere the adminis- 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 25 
 
 tration of his vast possessions. In America it was 
 that abuses, scandals, corruptions, tyranny, and waste 
 most prevailed. In order to remedy all these evils, 
 the King sent Galvez as visitor to Mexico, and a little 
 later he sent Don Juan Antonio de Areche in the 
 same capacity to Peru. With this latter expedition 
 Don Fadrique went to Lima. 
 
 He was in that city when the rebellion of Tupac- 
 Amaru took place. To the impartial and philosophi- 
 cal mind of the Bermejan it seemed a frightful con- 
 tradiction that his Government should try to stifle 
 this rebellion in blood at the same time that it was 
 assisting the rebellion of Washington and his parti- 
 sans against the English ; but Don Fadrique, while 
 blaming and censuring, served his Government with 
 zeal, and contributed not a little to the pacification 
 of Peru. 
 
 Don Fadrique accompanied Areche in his march 
 to Cuzco, and from this point, commanding one of 
 the six columns into which General Valle divided his 
 forces, he made the campaign against the Indians, 
 taking a glorious part in many affrays, enduring with 
 fortitude privations and exposure to the rains and the 
 cold on the rugged heights of the Andes until Tupac- 
 Amaru was conquered and taken prisoner. 
 
 Don Fadrique, to his great horror and disgust, was 
 an eye-witness to the tremendous punishments in- 
 flicted by our Government on the rebels. It seemed 
 
26 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 to him that the cruelties and atrocities committed by 
 the Indians did not justify a cultured European gov- 
 ernment in committing similar cruelties and atroci- 
 ties. This was to descend to the level of that semi- 
 barbarous people. Thus it was that he almost re- 
 pented of having contributed to the victory when 
 he saw Tupac- Amaru expire in the square of Cuzco, 
 after a brutal martyrdom, which seemed devised by 
 wild beasts rather than by human beings. 
 
 ISTotwithstanding his optimism, his cheerful dis- 
 position, and his tendency to see something comic in 
 almost every occurrence, Don Fadrique, not being 
 able to see anything comic in this occurrence, fell ill 
 with a fever and was greatly discouraged in his liking 
 for the military profession. 
 
 From this time forward he became more con- 
 firmed than ever in his mania for philanthropy, a 
 species of secularization of benevolence which began to 
 be very fashionable in the last century. 
 
 The precocious unbelief of Don Fadrique came, in 
 process of time, and with the reading of the perni- 
 cious books which at that epoch were being published 
 in France, to be based on argument and reasoning. 
 The humorous and cheerful disposition of Don Fa- 
 drique accorded ill with the gloomy misanthropy of 
 Eousseau. Voltaire, on the contrary, enchanted him. 
 His most impious works seemed to him the echo of 
 his own soul. 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 27 
 
 Don Fadrique's philoso2oliy was the sensualism of 
 Condillac, which he regarded as the nc 2:>lus ultra of 
 human speculation. 
 
 As for politics, our Don Padrique was a liheral 
 anachronistic in Spain. In 1783, when he witnessed 
 the execution of Tupac- Amaru, he was almost like a 
 radical of the present day. 
 
 All this was linked to and based on a theodicy 
 somewhat confused and superficial, but which was 
 common at that time. Don Fadrique believed in God 
 and imagined he had a knowledge of God, picturing 
 him to himself as a free and supreme Intelligence, who 
 made the world because he had so desired, and then 
 ordered and arranged it according to the profoundest 
 principles of mechanics and physics. In spite of Can- 
 dide, a novel which made him laugh until the tears 
 came, Don Fadrique was almost as much of an opti- 
 mist as Dr. Pangloss, and was convinced that every- 
 thing was admirably arranged and that nothing could 
 be better than it was. Evil he regarded as an acci- 
 dent, although at times it amazed him that it should 
 be of so frequent occurrence and of such magnitude ; 
 and good he thought the substantial, positive, and 
 important part in everything. 
 
 With regard to spirit and matter, an ultra-mun- 
 dane existence and the justification of Providence, 
 based in compensations of eternal duration, Don Fa- 
 drique was very dubious ; but his optimism was such 
 
28 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 that in his eyes the goodness of Heaven was demon- 
 strated, and even made patent without going beyond 
 this subhmary world and our present existence. It is 
 true that in order to arrive at this conviction he had 
 adopted a theory extremely new at the time. And 
 we say that he had adopted it and not that he had in- 
 A^ented it, because we do not know for certain, al- 
 though such may very well have been the case, that 
 he invented it, since, when the moment arrives and 
 the hour strikes for the birth of an idea or the formu- 
 lation of a system, the idea is born and the system 
 formulated in a thousand minds at once, although the 
 glory of the invention is awarded to him who, in writ- 
 ing or verbally, expounds it with most clearness, pre- 
 cision, and elegance. 
 
 The idea, or rather the new theory, such as it exist- 
 ed in Don Fadrique's mind, was, in brief, as follows : 
 
 The philosopher of Villabermeja thought that 
 there was an eternal and providential law governing 
 human events, as immutable as the mathematical laws 
 in accordance with which the stars move in their or- 
 bits. By virtue of this law, humanity, he thought, 
 advanced continually in a never-ending perfectibility ; 
 its upward progress towards light, goodness, truth, and 
 beauty had neither pause nor end. In this the human 
 race, taken as a whole, followed a necessary impulse. 
 All the glory of the result belonged to the Supreme 
 Being who had given the impulse; but, within the 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 29 
 
 providential movement resulting from the impulse, 
 every individual, in all his actions, all his ideas, all his 
 purposes, was free and responsible. The marvellous 
 work of Providence, the most beautiful mystery of its 
 infinite wisdom, consisted in concerting with careful 
 harmony all those results of human liberty, to the end 
 that they might aid in the fulfilment of the eternal 
 law of progress, or in having foreseen these results with 
 such divine prevision and judgment that they should 
 not disturb what was prescribed and ordained, as — 
 although the comparison be an unworthy one — the in- 
 ventor and expert constructor of a machine allows 
 in his calculations for friction and the surrounding 
 medium. 
 
 This manner of regarding events accorded well 
 with Don Fadrique's character, confirming his con- 
 tempt for trifles and his mania for characterising as 
 trifles what most men regard as in the highest degree 
 important, and transforming his propensity to gayety 
 and laughter into an Olympic serenity, worthy of the 
 immortals. 
 
 In his ethics he was somewhat severe. He had 
 not blotted from his tables of the law a jot or a tittle 
 of the divine commandment. All he did was to give 
 more vigour, if possible, to the prohibition of acts 
 which produce pain, and to relax in no slight degree 
 the prohibition of all that he fancied brought only 
 pleasure or well being. 
 
30 COMMANDER MBNDOZA. 
 
 In those days, as we have already said, to enter- 
 tain views like these in Spain or her dominions was 
 somewhat dangerous, but Don Fadrique was gifted 
 with tact and moderation and, without hypocrisy, he 
 avoided shocking prevailing opinions and beliefs. 
 
 In this he was aided by the happy art he possessed 
 of making friends, not inspiring a moderate liking in 
 many, but inspiring a very ardent affection in the few 
 whom he himself liked and who were worth many in 
 defending him and eulogizing him. 
 
 In his youth -Don Fadrique, endowed with these 
 qualities, and being besides handsome and pleasing of 
 countenance, of a good iigure, and both daring and 
 discreet, had innumerable gallant adventures and en- 
 joyed a wide reputation for being fortunate in love. 
 
 After the suppression of the rebellion of Tupac- 
 Amaru he was promoted to the rank of captain of a 
 frigate, and his fame as a brave soldier and a learned 
 and able navigator reached its height. 
 
 Almost simultaneously with the execution of the 
 last of the Indian defenders of the independence of 
 their country in Ouzco, some of whom had their flesh 
 torn with hot pincers before being executed, the news 
 reached Lima that we had made peace with England, 
 obtaining the independence of her colony in favour of 
 which we had fought. 
 
 Don Fadrique was then able to obtain permission 
 to serve under the orders of the Company of the 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 31 
 
 Philippines, and L.e set sail for Calcutta in command 
 of a vessel laden with valuable merchandise. He 
 made three voyages from Lima to Calcutta and the 
 same number from Calcutta to Lima ; and as he car- 
 ried on each occasion a very good cargo, and as he 
 had a large salary and made very proiitable sales, he 
 found himself in a short time the possessor of several 
 millions of reals. 
 
 During Don Fadrique's long sojourns in India he 
 conceived a strong admiration for the gentleness of 
 the natives of that country, and came to view with 
 greater abhorrence than before the religious and war- 
 like fervour of other nations. Tippoo, Sultan of My- 
 sore, had formed the determination to convert all the 
 Hindostanees to Islamism and to extend his empire 
 as far as Cape Comorin, where the armies of other 
 Mussulman conquerors had never penetrated. The 
 horrible devastation of the flourishing kingdom of 
 Travancore under the very noses of the English was 
 the consequence of the ambition and Mussulmanic 
 zeal of the said sultan. The Governor- General of 
 India resolved at last to avenge and to remedy what 
 ought to have been prevented, and set out for Cal- 
 cutta and Madras with a large force consisting of 
 Europeans and Sepoys, and vast armaments of war. 
 On this occasion Don Padrique had the pleasure of 
 at once earning many rupees, serving a good cause, 
 and carrying to Madras in his vessel, with due 
 
32 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 authorization, troops, provisions, and munitions of 
 war. 
 
 It seems that shortly after this event, even before 
 the rajali of Travancore had been re-established on his 
 throne, and the Sultan Tippoo defeated and com- 
 pelled to make peace, Don Fadrique, weary of wan- 
 derings and hardships, his ambition quenched and his 
 desire for fortune more than satisfied, on his return 
 to Lima obtained his retirement and returned to 
 Europe, eager to witness the great revolution then 
 taking place in France, whose principles were so en- 
 tirely in consonance with his own, and whose fame 
 filled the world with wonder. 
 
 Don Fadrique, however, remained in Paris only 
 for some months — from the end of 17'91 to Septem- 
 ber, 1792. This jDeriod sufficed to tire and disgust 
 him with the great revolution, to disenchant him a 
 little with his liberalism, and to make him doubt his 
 theories of constant progress. 
 
 Finally, he resided for two years in Madrid, where 
 many more of his illusions were destroyed. 
 
 Being now in his fiftieth year, although healthy 
 and vigorous, and appearing, from the freshness of his 
 face, his erect and graceful carriage, and the serenity 
 and vivacity of his mind, much younger, he began to 
 feel the homesickness to which almost all Bermejans 
 are subject, and he took the fixed resolution of retiring 
 to Villabermeja to end his days there in peace. 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 33 
 
 The letters which he wrote to his brother Don Jose 
 and to Chacha Ramoncica, who were still living, an- 
 nouncing his return to Villabermeja to leave it no 
 more, were short, although very affectionate. In ex- 
 change he wrote to Father Jacinto a long letter which 
 is still in existence and which it will be proper to 
 transcribe here. This letter is as follows : 
 
 V. 
 
 " My dear Father Jacinto : You will have 
 learned from my brother and from Chacha Ramoncica 
 that I have resolved to return to Villabermeja to end 
 my life where I passed my happiest and most innocent 
 years (fine innocence mine !) playing at marbles, at 
 pitch and toss, at jumping the rope and sometimes at 
 cards, and fighting my contemporaries and compatri- 
 ots with my fists and with stones. 
 
 " At that time I was a savage, but you can imagine 
 that I have become somewhat polished during my wan- 
 derings about the world, and that my tastes are now 
 changed and my cares very different. Your brother 
 friars will have no need now to threaten me with the 
 Toribios. 
 
 " My residence in the town will give occasion to no 
 disturbances ; on the contrary, I flatter myself that it 
 will be productive of some advantages. I have made 
 
34 COMMANDER MBNDOZA. 
 
 money and I will employ a great part of it in Villa- 
 bermeja in encouraging agriculture. The wine which 
 is produced there is abominable and it might be excel- 
 lent. With the necessary labor it can be made palata- 
 ble and good. 
 
 " I am already dreaming of the pleasant evenings 
 we shall spend together in the winter, playing malilla 
 and tute, discussing our not very concordant systems 
 of theology, and I relating to you my adventures in 
 Peru, India, and other distant regions. 
 
 " I know that, notwithstanding your age, you are 
 as strong as an oak, and I therefore promise myself 
 that you will accompany me in long rides and walks 
 and in shooting partridges. I have two magnificent 
 English guns which I bought in Calcutta and with 
 which I have hunted tigers, some of them as large as 
 donkeys. You shall see how you will enjoy shooting, 
 with either of these guns, the peaceable and loving 
 partridges that will flock to the decoy in pairing 
 time. 
 
 " In spite of our age, we shall yet employ ourselves, 
 if you do not object, in some childish occupations. 
 We will go to the well of the Solana, as we did forty 
 years ago, to catch linnets and other birds, sometimes 
 with the net, sometimes with bird-lime and feather- 
 grass. Have ready for me a good pair of decoy pig- 
 eons. 
 
 " Everything there presents itself to my memory 
 
COMMANDER MBNDOZA. 35 
 
 invested with tlie charm of youth. I believe that I 
 sliall grow young again, seeing and enjoying every- 
 thing. I am longing to taste again pine-nut conserve, 
 rabbit sauce, pufi-paste, gajorros, fritters, stewed lamb, 
 kid fricassee, anchovy patties with chocolate, sponge 
 cake, bread-and-onion salad, sausages, and other deli- 
 cacies of the kitchen and the confectionery with 
 which the Sybaritic Bermejans regale themselves. I 
 do not mean, for this reason, however, to abandon the 
 habits I have acquired in other lands ; I intend, on 
 the contrary, to take there with me a Pyrenean whom 
 I brought from Paris, who prepares certain dishes that 
 I am sure you will like, although they have names 
 almost impossible for a Villabermejan mouth to pro- 
 nounce ; but you shall see that, without pronouncing 
 them, you will taste them, masticate them, swallow 
 them, and think them delicious. 
 
 " Strange though it may seem to you, I shall take 
 some wine also with me to that land of wine. I re- 
 member that you were an excellent taster ; that you 
 had a delicate palate and a keen scent. I hope, then, 
 that you will understand and appreciate the merit of 
 the foreign wines that I shall take with me, and that 
 they will not go into your stomach as if they went into 
 the sewer. 
 
 " I am rejoiced that Chacha Eamoncica is still liv- 
 ing. I am told that everything in her house remains 
 as it was formerly. The same furniture, the same serv- 
 
36 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 ant Rafaela, even the jackdaw, whether the same one 
 also, that by a miracle of our Holy Patron is still liv- 
 ing, or another that in due time replaced it, like the 
 phoenix rising from its ashes. 
 
 " I am longing to embrace Chacha Ramoncica, al- 
 though, be it said between ourselves, I was much fond- 
 er of poor Chacha Victoria. What a noble woman 
 was that ! I assure you that I have never met a Avoman 
 to equal her anywhere. If I had, I should not now 
 be an old bachelor. 
 
 " On that point I have not been very fortunate. I 
 have met with only light, conceited, frivolous, or soul- 
 less women. One woman only, in Lima, loved me 
 truly — with an ardent but criminal love. I too loved 
 her, to my misfortune, for she had a diabolical temper, 
 and as we loved each other ardently, the history of our 
 love was composed of a series of daily quarrels. That 
 love was a nightmare, not happiness. She was very 
 devout, had been a saint, and continued to have the 
 reputation of one, for we always behaved with pru- 
 dence and circumspection. In the depths of her trou- 
 bled conscience, however, in the secret recesses of her 
 soul, at once haughty and fanatical, she was ashamed 
 of having humbled her pride before me and of having 
 yielded to me, and she was filled with fear and horror 
 at having strayed for my sake from the paths of rec- 
 titude, offending God and proving false to her duties. 
 For all this, without being very conscious of what she 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 37 
 
 was doing, she wished to make me pay, considering 
 me culpable in the extreme. There are no words to 
 describe what I was obliged to endure. Believe me, 
 Father Jacinto, my fault brought with it its own pun- 
 ishment. So that I had enough of serious passion to 
 last me for years, and thenceforward I devoted myself 
 to frivolous ones. "Why voluntarily torture one's self in 
 a matter that should be all amenity, delight, and joy ? 
 
 " For this reason, perhaps, and not because it is 
 hardly to be found in rerun naturm, I never obtained 
 the love of a young Chacha Victoria. Had I done so, 
 I am not very tender-hearted, but be sure that I should 
 either have died blessing her, as the cadet died, or 
 through her and for her I should not only have won 
 the grade of captain, but I should have conquered the 
 world. 
 
 " But youth is past, and it is idle to indulge in ro- 
 mantic fancies. 
 
 " I am disenchanted and weary of everything, al- 
 though the disenchantment is gentle and the weari- 
 ness mild. 
 
 " Ambition is dead within me ; I have no desire for 
 fame ; I do not aspire to be pointed out to idle admi- 
 ration ; I have more of this world's goods than I need ; 
 I long for rest, for obscurity and quiet, and for all 
 these reasons I shall retire to Villabermeja, not to 
 spend my days in doing penance, but to enjoy a pleas- 
 ant, tranquil life — a life of order and comfort, taking 
 
38 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 care of my health to see how long a Commander Men- 
 doza, well preserved, will last. So far I have been 
 this. I look to be, not fifty, but less than forty. Not 
 a gray hair. Not a wrinkle. They still call me Sefio- 
 rito, instead of Seiior, and there are not wanting ele- 
 gant women who call me a splendid-looking fellow, 
 thereby offending my modesty. 
 
 " My chief disenchantment has been in the matter 
 of my ideas and beliefs, although, indeed, it has not 
 been great enough to make me change them. 
 
 " God forgive me if I deceive myself through be- 
 lieving in his goodness. Believing in him and pictur- 
 ing him to myself as a person, I must picture him to 
 myself as a being as good as it is possible for any per- 
 son to be. Consequently, the glory of a future life, 
 immense though it may be, not completing my con- 
 ception of his goodness, I suppose our present life, 
 notwithstanding that it may serve to gain the other, 
 to have an end and a purpose in itself, not its ultra- 
 mundane purpose only. This end, this purpose, is to 
 advance towards perfection, and, without ever reach- 
 ing it here, to draw ever nearer to it. I believe, then, 
 in progress — that is to say, in the gradual and con- 
 stant improvement of society and the individual, as 
 well physically as morally, as well in speculative knowl- 
 edge as in the knowledge which is based on observa- 
 tion and experience, and which creates industry and 
 the arts. 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 39 
 
 " The best means for the furtherance of progress 
 and at the same time its best result in these days is, in 
 my opinion, liberty. The essential condition of this 
 liberty is that we shall all be equally free. 
 
 " Imagine how enchanted I was with the French 
 Eevolution and its Constituent Assembly, which pro- 
 pended to realise these principles of mine, which pro- 
 claimed the rights of man ! 
 
 " I asked my retirement, gave up my profession, 
 and came, filled with impatience, from the other 
 hemisphere to bathe in the immortal light of the 
 great reyolution, and to kindle my enthusiasm at 
 the sacred fire which burned in Paris, where I ima- 
 gined the heart and the intellect of the world to be. 
 
 " My illusions soon vanished. The apostles of the 
 new order of things seemed to me, for the most part, 
 either infamous scoundrels or frenzied madmen, filled 
 with envy and thirsting for blood. I saw genius, vir- 
 tue, beauty, knowledge, elegance, all that in any way 
 excels on earth, become the victims of those fanatics 
 and those envious wretches. The exploits of the 
 soldiers of the revolution fighting against the allied 
 kings of Europe could not stir me to admiration. 
 They seemed to me not the serene defence of men 
 who confide in their valour and the righteousness of 
 their cause, but the feverish courage of madness pro- 
 duced by the intoxication of blood and by means of 
 horrible assassinations. Paris seemed to me a hell. 
 
40 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 and I cannot now understand why it was that I re- 
 mained in it so long. Everything was changed ; bru- 
 tality was called energy ; an indecent slovenliness, 
 simplicity ; rudeness, frankness ; and a heart closed to 
 pity, virtue. I recalled the periods of greatest tyr- 
 anny, and I could find no worse epoch, especially if 
 it be considered that we were in the centre of Europe 
 and had inherited the culture and civilization of so 
 many centuries. There was not one tyrant, but many, 
 and they were all vile and filthy in body and soul. 
 
 " I fled from Paris and came to Madrid. Another 
 disenchantment. If I had witnessed there an abomi- 
 nable and barbarous tragedy, here I found myself in 
 the midst of a grotesque, disgusting, and lascivious 
 farce. There blood ; here filth. 
 
 "But I did not therefore apostatize from my op- 
 timism or renounce my belief in endless progress. 
 What I did was to see that I had made an error 
 of time in my calculations, in making which I had 
 not counted with the sanguinary and hideous French 
 Revolution. 
 
 " In view of this revolution, the comparative well- 
 being, the state of liberty and progress which I had 
 imagined as near at hand, receded two or three centu- 
 ries at least into the bosom of the future. 
 
 " As I shall not by that time be alive, and as I am 
 tired of active life in the present state of the world, I 
 have resolved to take refuge in meditation ; and, in 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 41 
 
 order to enjoy the spectacle of human affairs while 
 participating in them as little as possible, I am going 
 to settle down, as an unconcerned spectator, in Vil- 
 labermeja. 
 
 '' My brother, who has now a marriageable daugh- 
 ter for whom he naturally desires that an eligible 
 suitor should turn up, is going to live in the neigh- 
 bouring city, where he has already taken a house, leav- 
 ing me to the undisturbed enjoyment of the ancestral 
 house of the Mendozas, where I will give him a lodg- 
 ing whenever he comes to the town on business. 
 
 "I hold to the proverb which says, 'Either the 
 capital or the country ' ; and, since I am fleeing from 
 Paris and Madrid, I do not wish to go to a provincial 
 city, but to a village. 
 
 " In the great house of the Bermejan Mendozas 
 I shall be like a pea in a dish of stew, but I take 
 books enough with me to fill several rooms. 
 
 " We are going to lead an enviable life ; and I say 
 we, for I suppose and hope that you will often bear 
 me company. 
 
 " My resolution is fixed. 1 shall return to my na- 
 tive town, never again to leave it, except when, by 
 way of a pleasure trip, I may go on horseback to pay 
 a visit to my brother and his family in the neighbour- 
 ing city, which, notwithstanding its pompous title of 
 city, has also a good deal of a small country town, be 
 it said without offence and in all good will. 
 
42 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 " Good-bye, most holy father. Commend me to 
 God, on whose favour I rely to enable me to escape 
 from the ridiculous confusion of the capital and give 
 you soon, in enchanting Villabermeja, a cordial em- 
 brace." 
 
 VI. 
 
 Twenty days after the receipt of this letter by 
 Father Jacinto the illustrious Commander Mendoza 
 made his solemn entry into Villabermeja. 
 
 From Madrid to the capital of the province, 
 which was then called a kingdom, our hero travelled 
 in a coach drawn by mules harnessed with collars, 
 spending nine days on the journey. In the capital 
 of the province he met his brother Don Jose, Father 
 Jacinto, and other friends of his childhood, who 
 had gone there to meet him. Chief among them 
 was Uncle Gorico, a master leather-dresser, a skilful 
 artificer in skins, and notable in the difficult art of 
 plugging broken skins. He had been the wildest boy 
 in the town, nest to Don Fadrique, and the lieutenant 
 of the latter in all the affrays, combats with stones, 
 and other warlike encounters with Don Casimiro's 
 band. 
 
 Uncle Gorico had but one fault — his too ardent 
 devotion to spirituous liquors. Anise-seed cordial was 
 his especial delight. And as, when dawn peeped 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 43 
 
 above the narrow horizon of Villabermeja, Uncle 
 Gorico, according to his own expression, was already 
 " killing the worm," it followed that for almost the 
 whole of the day he was in a half-tipsy condition, for 
 the fire kindled within him at the first ray of morn- 
 ing was kept alive during the remainder of the day 
 by frequent libations. 
 
 For the rest. Uncle Gorico never lost the use of 
 his wits ; what he did was to interpose between his 
 eyes and the light of heaven a thin veil through which 
 it showed as through a beautiful lantern, making him 
 see the things of the external world and the interior 
 of his soul and the treasures of his memory, as 
 through a magic glass. He never reached a state of 
 complete intoxication, and only once in his life, he 
 said, had he had the falling sickness in his legs. 
 Thus he was a man of spirit in divers senses, and 
 no one had wittier sallies, or told spicier anecdotes, or 
 was a more useful or agreeable companion on a hunt- 
 ing expedition. 
 
 In the town he enjoyed an enviable celebrity for 
 many reasons, among others because he played the 
 rSle of Abraham in the procession on the morning of 
 Holy Thursday so admirably that his equal was not to 
 be found for leagues around. With a woman's dress 
 for a tunic, a bed-quilt for a mantle, a linen turban 
 and beard, he had a truly venerable aspect. And 
 when he ascended Mount Moriah, which was a wooden 
 
44 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 platform covered with greenery, erected in the middle 
 of the plaza, he acquired the pathetic majesty of a 
 good actor. But where he most shone, drawing shouts 
 of enthusiasm from the spectators, was when he made 
 an offering of Isaac to the Almighty, before proceed- 
 ing to sacrifice him. Isaac was a boy of at least ten. 
 With his right hand Uncle Gorico raised him toward 
 heaven and thus, his arm extended as if it were made, 
 not of flesh and blood but of finely tempered steel, he 
 remained fourteen or fifteen minutes. Then came 
 the moment of greatest emotion — tragic terror in all 
 its force. Abraham tied the boy to the altar and 
 drew the fierce-looking Turkish scimitar which he 
 carried in his girdle. Three or four blows descended 
 with indescribable violence. The women covered their 
 eyes and uttered frightful screams, thinking the throat 
 of the boy who prefigured Christ already cut; but 
 Uncle Gorico arrested the blow before striking, as if 
 not daring to consummate the sacrifice. At last an 
 angel with wings of gilded paper appeared on the 
 balcony of the Town Hall and sang the romance be- 
 ginning : 
 
 " Hold, Abraham, hold ; 
 
 Kill not thy son Isaac, 
 For now my God is satisfied 
 
 With thy good intention." 
 
 The sacrifice of the lamb instead of the son, with 
 the rest of the representation, Uncle Gorico performed 
 with no less mastery. 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 45 
 
 On more than one occasion he had been offered a 
 large sum to take the part of Abraham in other 
 towns ; but he would never prove false to his native 
 place, depriving it of the glory he thus conferred 
 upon it. 
 
 Don Jose, Father Jacinto, Uncle Gorico, and the 
 Commander's other friends, very happy at having em- 
 braced Don Fadrique, -who was on his side very happy 
 to find himself among the companions of his child- 
 hood, set out on horseback for Villabermeja, where, 
 having risen early and making a free use of the spur, 
 they arrived, after a journey of ten hours, on the 
 evening of a beautiful day in the spring of the year 
 1794. 
 
 Doila Antonia, the wife of Don Jose, and her two 
 children, Don Francisco, aged fourteen, and Dofia 
 Lucia, who was now eighteen, accompanied by Chacha 
 Eamoncica, welcomed the Commander, now the master 
 of the ancestral house, with expressions of joy, with 
 embraces, and a thousand other manifestations of 
 affection. Don Jos6 and his family had established 
 themselves in the city, and had come to the town only 
 for a couple of days for the purpose of seeing their 
 dear relative. 
 
 The latter, as he was naturally very modest, was 
 surprised and delighted to see how much greater was 
 the popularity he enjoyed in Villabermeja than he 
 had supposed it to be. All the friars, from the 
 
46 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 highest down to the lay brothers, the physician, the 
 apothecary, the schoolmaster, the alcalde, the notary, 
 as well as many of the common people, came to wel- 
 come him. 
 
 On the day after his arrival Chacha Eamoncica 
 wished to make a display, and she did so, giving a 
 magnificent pipiripao. When Don Fadrique heard 
 this word he was obliged to ask what it meant, and 
 was told that it was a sort of banquet. On the other 
 hand, they still talk in Villabermeja of Chacha Ea- 
 moncica's embarrassment when, on returning home 
 that evening, she tried to remember what it was that 
 her nephew had asked her to have at the feast, in 
 order that she might procure it for him, as she wished 
 to please him in everything. The word with which 
 her nephew had signified the thing he desired had 
 escaped her mind. At last, consulting the matter 
 with Rafaela, and by a great effort of memory, she 
 was able to recall the word and to say that what her 
 nephew had asked her to have was economy. 
 
 " What is that, Rafaela ? " she asked her faithful 
 servant. And Eafaela answered : 
 
 " SeQora, what should it be ? Frugality ! " 
 
 There was none of it at the banquet, however. 
 Chacha Eamoncica on that clay threw economy to the 
 winds. 
 
 On the following day it was the Commander's 
 turn to make a display, and, in spite of all his phi- 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 47 
 
 losopliy, it rejoiced his heart to see his relations and 
 fellow-townsmen looking with wondering admiration 
 at his porcelain service, his plate, and the other rare 
 and beautiful objects which he had collected in his 
 voyages, and which he had sent on before him with 
 his confidential servant. Even the strange physiog- 
 nomy of the latter, who was an Indian, amazed the 
 Bermejans, to the great satisfaction and delight of 
 Don Fadrique. It gave him unspeakable pleasure, 
 also, to relate his adventures, to describe distant lands 
 and strange customs, and to tell of singular events 
 which he had either taken part in or witnessed. 
 
 ISTothing of all this should cause us to lessen our 
 good opinion of the Commander. This sort of vani- 
 ty, puerile as it may ajjpear, is more common than is 
 supposed. Who does not like, when he returns to his 
 native place, to give himself airs of importance, with- 
 out intending offence to any one, to show how consid- 
 erable is the part he has played in the world ? 
 
 And there are people who do not wait to return to 
 their native town for this. I had a friend who was 
 born in a small village in Andalusia who, becoming a 
 personage of great consideration, in the enjoyment of 
 many honours and titles, found his greatest happiness 
 in sending every year to his native town a copy of the 
 Foreigner's Guide, with all the pages marked on which 
 his name was printed, and the admiration of his 
 fellow-townsmen, communicated to my friend by letter. 
 
48 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 caused him happiness that almost bordered on beati- 
 tude. 
 
 There is no less pleasure in describing prodigies 
 than in ' relating adventures and events. Hence, 
 doubtless, the saj'ing : " Long roads, long lies." Let it 
 suffice, then, to say, in praise of Don Fadrique, that 
 this proverb was in no sense applicable to him, for he 
 was veracity itself. What we cannot assure ^our read- 
 ers, however, is that what he related was always be- 
 lieved. Country people are suspicious and distrustful ; 
 they are apt to have a standard of Judgment peculiar 
 to themselves, and often the truest things seem to them 
 false or improbable, and lies, on the contrary, appear to 
 them like the truth. I remember that the Andalusian 
 major-domo of a certain renewed and witty duke, who 
 was at one time ambassador at ITaples, went on leave 
 of absence to visit his native town. On his return we 
 rallied him, saying that we supposed he had told a 
 great many lies. He confessed to having done so, and 
 even added, boasting of it, that they had believed 
 everything he said with the exception of one thing 
 only. 
 
 " What was that ? " we asked him. 
 
 " That there is a mountain near ISTaples," he an- 
 swered, " which sends out flames from its summit." 
 
 In this way our Don Fadrique, while not depart- 
 ing a tittle from the truth, might very well fail to 
 be believed in some things without his townspeo- 
 
COMMANDER MENDQZA. 49 
 
 pie venturing to say to him, as they said to the Duke's 
 major-domo when he spoke of Vesuvius : " That's a 
 hoax ! " 
 
 On the third day after Don Fadrique's arrival his 
 brother Don Jose returned with his family to the city, 
 and the Commander was then free to give himself up 
 with more tranquillity to another and a no less de- 
 lightful pleasure — that of revisiting the scenes dear- 
 est to and most frequented by him in his youth, and 
 those in which something memorable had happened to 
 him. He went to the Eetamal and the plain near by 
 it, where he had twice had his head broken. He went 
 to the fountain of Genazahar and the Pilar de Abajo, 
 he ascended the Laderon and the Nava, and extended 
 his excursions to the hill of Jilena and Mount Hor- 
 quera, covered at that time with majestic secular oaks. 
 
 Don Fadrique finally took real possession of his 
 dwelling, settling himself comfortably in it, arrang- 
 ing the articles of furniture he had brought with him, 
 putting the books in their places, and hanging the 
 pictures. 
 
 During these operations, directed by him. Father 
 Jacinto was almost always present, and finally Don 
 Fadrique was installed, making for himself a retreat 
 at once rustic and elegant, and a pleasant solitude in 
 the place where he was born. 
 
50 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Don- Fadeique was enchanted with his mode of 
 life. In reading, in chatting or walking with Father 
 Jacinto, in making excursions into the country and 
 hunting expeditions, also with Father Jacinto and 
 with the learned and agreeable Uncle Gorico, the time 
 passed in the most delightful manner. Don Fadrique 
 felt no desire to go to any other place, abandoning 
 Villabermeja ; but Don Jose had caused a room to be 
 made ready for him in his house in the city, and 
 pressed him so urgently to make him a visit that Don 
 Fadrique had no resource but to comply. 
 
 The Commander went to the city to spend there 
 the month of May. He arrived on the afternoon of 
 the last day of April, and, as the journey is no more 
 than a pleasure excursion, he stayed up that night till 
 nearly eleven o'clock, which in 1794= was to sit up very 
 late indeed. Two or three gentlemen of the place, 
 the same number of ladies of mature j'^ears, two girl 
 friends of Lucia's, Don Fadrique's niece, a worthy 
 priest, and a young man of distinguished aj)pearance 
 from a neighbouring town, composed the party at Don 
 Jose's house, which assembled before nightfall. 
 
 None of them attracted the attention of Don Fa- 
 drique, who was very absent-minded. In order that 
 he should notice people, it was necessary that they 
 should either please or displease him, and people rare- 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 51 
 
 ly pleased him, and still more rarely displeased him ; 
 so that, while he behared politely to every one, he 
 scarcely noticed any one. 
 
 The refreshments were served at the sound of the 
 Ave Maria bell. 
 
 First, two maids passed around distributing plates, 
 napkins, and silver spoons ; then two other maids 
 came in carrying large trays filled with small glass 
 cups of various kinds of syrup. Each guest, remain- 
 ing in his seat, took a cup of the syrup which he 
 preferred. The maids who carried the trays passed 
 around a second time collecting the empty cups, and 
 pressing each of the guests to take another cup of a 
 different syrup, as many indeed did. 
 
 History, prolix on this point, relates that the syr- 
 ups were green walnut, angel's hair, tomato, and 
 orange flower. There was also peach syrup. 
 
 The nymphs of the kitchen, very neatly attired 
 and with many flowers in their hair, afterwards hand- 
 ed around small glasses of rossolis, of which the men 
 only partook ; and, lastly, they brought in chocolate, 
 with sponge-cake, polvorones, oil-bread, and pancakes. 
 The whole ended by the maids serving water in glasses 
 and in odoriferous earthen vessels. 
 
 This lasted until the ringing of the bells for the 
 
 ■ Evening prayer for the souls in purgatory. 
 
52 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 The refreshments were partaken of with all cere- 
 mony and almost in silence, the chairs placed close 
 against the walls and every one remaining seated, nei- 
 ther throwing one leg over the other, nor bending to 
 either side, nor leaning yery far back. 
 
 After the refreshments were partaken of there was 
 something more of freedom and expansion, and Liicia 
 ventured to ask the young stranger to recite some 
 verses. 
 
 " Yes, yes ! " cried almost all the guests in chorus ; 
 " recite something." 
 
 " I will recite something of Melendez," said the 
 young rnan. 
 
 "No, something of your own," replied Lucia. — 
 " You must know, uncle," she added, turning to the 
 Commander, " that this gentleman is a fine poet and 
 a great student. You shall see what beautiful verses 
 he composes." 
 
 "You are very amiable, Seflorita Dofla Lucia. 
 The friendship you have for me misleads you. Your 
 uncle will be disappointed when he hears me." 
 
 " I have so much confidence in the good taste of 
 my niece," said the Commander, " that I doubt if she 
 be mistaken, however fervent may be the friendship 
 with which you have inspired her. I am almost cer- 
 tain that the verses will be good." 
 
 " Come, recite them, Don Carlos." 
 
 " I am at a loss to know which to select that will 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 53 
 
 least tax your patience and reflect most credit upon 
 you as their sponsor and me as their author." 
 
 "Eecite," answered Lucia, "your last poem to 
 Chloris." 
 
 " It is very long." 
 
 " ]Sl matter." 
 
 Don Carlos did not wait to be urged further, but, 
 with measured intonation and a certain timidity that 
 would have gained for him the sympathies of his 
 auditors even if he were not in himself deserying of 
 them, recited the following poem : 
 
 The sleeping brook awakes, 
 
 Its ioy fetters breaks, 
 
 And down the vale diffusing bloom descends 
 
 In current crystal clear. 
 
 Flora her pomp the Cyprian goddess lends ; 
 
 Phoebus resplendent shines in the celestial sphere, 
 
 And in the silent night 
 
 Her sleeping swain the goddess chaste, 
 
 Enraptured, kisses by his tremulous light. 
 
 Now from the ancient roof to hang her nest 
 
 The roving swallow has returned again ; 
 
 Sweet warbles in the woodland Philomel ; 
 
 Peace the unruffled sea, the cloudless sky exhale. 
 
 Zephyr alone, on hill and plain 
 
 Bending the grass, the early flowers. 
 
 Wooing with amorous sighs in verdant bowers. 
 
 With music and with fragrance stirs the air. 
 
 In this sweet season. Love 
 
 Each heart to vague unrest doth move, 
 
 But in the swain Myrtilus' breast 
 
 He dwells a constant guest. 
 
 With cunning art the god has fashioned there 
 
54 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 A pattern of enchanting grace, 
 
 The faithful likeness, limned with care, 
 
 Of Chloris fair, the gentle shepherdess 
 
 For whom Myrtilus pines, love-lorn. 
 
 Chloris, compassionate and kind, the swain 
 
 "Would not kill with her disdain ; 
 
 Yet will she not his love return. ( 
 
 Bather to a shepherd old the maid 
 
 Means to give her hand, 'tis said. 
 
 With jealous thoughts the swain his pain augments, 
 
 And hidden in the wood he thus laments : 
 
 " Thou knowest not what love is, enchantress mine 1 
 
 Thy virgin innocence it is misleads thee ; 
 
 I may unworthy be those charms divine, 
 
 But say what strange illusion leads thee 
 
 So rich a treasure, stainless held — 
 
 Treasure unvalued, gift bestowed in vain— 
 
 To bestow on withered eld % 
 
 The poppy of the plain 
 
 Its petals blushing with love's rosy hue 
 
 Unfolds not to the view 
 
 Until the sun's enkindling ray 
 
 Into its veiled heart has stol'n its way; 
 
 Nor dares the early rose 
 
 Its calyx open amid frosts and snows. 
 
 Let Galatea the Cyclops adore — 'tis fit 
 
 That beauty should with strength and valour mate ; 
 
 Pit that around the oak's rude trunk the vine 
 
 With close and loving clasp should twine. 
 
 But never yet the hapless wight 
 
 Who scarce the load of years can bear 
 
 That weigh him down, did love invite 
 
 His chains, though sweet, that heavy be to wear. 
 
 Uncheerful Age the Muses puts to flight ; 
 
 If he upon the flute of Pan would play, 
 
 His voice, converted to no tuneful air. 
 
 In harsh, discordant, quavering accents there, 
 
 Provoking mocking laughter dies away. 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 55 
 
 His tottering step can 01 join in the dance 
 
 Of nymphs ; and in the Maenad's jocund round 
 
 And sonorous song, the doleful sound 
 
 Of his complaints and sighs makes dissonance. 
 
 For in the sacred orgies not to him 
 
 The hierophant the thyrsus twined with iry leaves, 
 
 And tipped with aromatic pine cones gives ; 
 
 Nor will he to Parnassus' summit climb. 
 
 Ah ! Chloris, say what madness 'tis deceives 
 
 Thy sense ? Since thus 1 waste on thee 
 
 My love and all my vigorous youth, a hoary head 
 
 Crown not now with mockeiy 
 
 Of myrtle green and dewy roses red. 
 
 The leafy poplar let the vine embrace; 
 
 The ruinous wall, defaced and bare, 
 
 Let the unsightly, stinging nettle grace. 
 
 What danger would my love not dare. 
 
 What toil not bear for thee ? For thee would I 
 
 The wild beast vanquish in the forest shade. 
 
 For thee the fury of great Mars defy. 
 
 And he, the monarch of the mead 
 
 Who bears his brazen front upon 
 
 A weapon terrible. 
 
 Like to the fulgent disk of the new moon, 
 
 The sharp prick of my javelin's steel 
 
 His haughty, untamed neck shall feel. 
 
 The shepherd by the weight of years oppressed, 
 
 Thy constant cares solicitous would claim, 
 
 O Chloris ! while to ocean's depths at thy behest 
 
 Would I descend that on thy throat might gleam 
 
 Its pearls, their lustre shamed by its white loveliness ; 
 
 The murderous wolf would I pursue to win, 
 
 With lead or steel, its shaggy skin, 
 
 A carpet for thy dainty foot to press. 
 
 Deluded, simple maid. 
 
 Ah ! cast the fatal madness from thy brain. 
 
 The aged shepherd that would make thee wed. 
 
 What ! Have I given thee of my love in vain 
 
56 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 So many proofs 1 Thou seest that for thy sake 
 
 The Temple of Minerva have I left, the gardens lair, 
 
 Watered by Betis' silver flood. 
 
 Father and mother I forsake, 
 
 And from my faithful friends I flee to bear 
 
 A cruel maid's ingratitude. 
 
 Not for that I am poor dost thou my suit disdain. 
 
 So base a feeling in thy heart no place 
 
 Could find, nor to the hoary shepherd does the swain 
 
 Yield, or in riches or in pride of race. 
 
 Only a fatal error, of delirium born, 
 
 Chloris ! rose of the celestial garden, could impel 
 
 Thee 'mid the sapless branches of the thorn 
 
 Thy freshness and thy fragrance to exhale ; 
 
 Thy delicate, lair petals to unfold. 
 
 Not in warm April airs but in December's cold. 
 
 If thou wouldst kill me, strike not thus the blow. 
 
 For killing me, thyself thou killest too." 
 
 When the verses were ended they were loudly ap- 
 plauded by the indulgent audience ; but, if the truth 
 must be told, neither Don Jose nor Dofla Antonia 
 gave any attention to the recital ; the older ladies were 
 lulled to sleep by the monotonous sound ; the priest 
 found the composition altogether too materialistic 
 and mythological and not a little tiresome, and Lucia's 
 girl friends were more enthusiastic about the good 
 looks of the poet than about the literary merit of his 
 work. 
 
 Don Carlos was in fact an attractive-looking young 
 man of twenty-two or twenty-three. His complexion 
 was dark ; his eyes, large and brilliant, glowed with 
 the fire of inspiration. His bluish-black hair, now 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 57 
 
 unpowdered, was as glossy as the raven's wing. The 
 movements of his lips when he spoke were graceful. 
 The teeth which he allowed to be seen were white 
 and even ; his nose was straight, and his brow open 
 and serene. 
 
 Don Carlos dressed with extreme elegance, accord- 
 ing to the latest Paris fashion. He was a complete 
 dandy. He seemed like the prince of the gilded 
 youth, transported by magic from the banks of the 
 Seine to the heart of Andalusia. His shirt-collar, and 
 his lawn cravat which was tied in a bow, were worn 
 low enough to show the throat and the well-moulded 
 neck on which the head was gracefully set. He was 
 of tall rather than medium stature and of slender 
 build. The close-fitting cashmere trousers, the white 
 silk stocking, and the shoe with its silver buckle al- 
 lowed the gallant to display a well-formed leg and a 
 small foot, long and raised at the instep. 
 
 Doubtless the girls found more to attract their at- 
 tention in all these things and took greater pleasure 
 in the sweetness of the young man's voice than in 
 what we venture to call an idyl, half of whose words 
 were Greek for them. 
 
 Don Fadrique had taken note of everything. Like 
 most absent-minded people, he was very observant, 
 and gave close attention to what he deigned to notice 
 at all. 
 
 The verses he thought tolerable — not inferior to 
 
58 COMMANDER MEKDOZA. 
 
 those of Melendez, although not so good, by a great 
 deal, as those of Andre Chenier, which he had heard 
 recited in Paris. As for the young man himself, he 
 thought him very good-looking. 
 
 He observed, too, with some pleasure mised with 
 anxiety, that Lucia, his niece, had listened to the 
 verses in the attitude and with the expression of one 
 who understood them, and with a certain interest 
 which he could not determine if it were merely liter- 
 ary or had its source in a more personal and deej)er 
 feeling. 
 
 For the present, in consequence of these observa- 
 tions, he mentally characterised his niece, whom hith- 
 erto he had scarcely noticed, as pretty and discreet. 
 It may be said that he now looked at her conscien- 
 tiously for the first time, and he saw that she was fair 
 and rosy, that she had blue eyes, a graceful figure, 
 and an air of great distinction. He could not but 
 rejoice at these discoveries, like the good uncle he 
 was ; but he made, or thought he made, other discov- 
 eries which mortified him somewhat. " Perhaps I am 
 over-suspicious," he said to himself. 
 
 At ten punctually the party broke up. 
 
 The family now being alone. Dona Antonia as- 
 sembled the servants and all recited the rosary 
 aloud. 
 
 Finally — the chocolate and the syrups, which might 
 pass for a collation, not being sufifiiciently substantial 
 
COMMANBEK MENDOZA. 59 
 
 for people who dined, as they did in those days, shortly 
 after midday — the indispensable supper was served. 
 
 During this time Don Fadrique sought and found 
 an opportunity of conversing apart with his niece, to 
 whom he spoke in the following terms : 
 
 " I see, child, that you like verses better than I 
 had supposed." 
 
 Lucia, at the first word uttered by her uncle grow- 
 ing very red and looking prettier than ever, answered 
 with some embarrassment : 
 
 " And why should I not like them ? Although I 
 have been brought up in a country town, I am not 
 quite uncultured." 
 
 " It is enough to look at you, my child, to know 
 that you are not that. But your liking poetry is not 
 incompatible with your liking poets." 
 
 " Of course I like poets. Fray Luis de Leon and 
 Garcilaso are my favourites among the Spanish lyric 
 poets," said Lucia, with the utmost naturalness. 
 
 Don Fadrique's suspicions were almost set at rest. 
 So much dissimulation seemed unlikely in a girl of 
 eighteen, who recited the rosary every night, went 
 regularly to mass, and confessed with frequency. 
 
 Don Fad ri que had no time for subterfuges or cir- 
 cumlocution, and went straight to the point which 
 troubled him. 
 
 " Frankly, niece, was it for you that Don Carlos 
 composed the verses we heard to-night ? " 
 
60 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 " What nonsense ! " answered Lucia, bursting into 
 a laugh. 
 
 " And why should it be nonsense ? " 
 
 " Because nothing of all that applies to me — be- 
 cause I am not Chloris." 
 
 " You might rery well be Chloris. The poet does 
 not describe her. He declares vaguely and indefi- 
 nitely that Chloris is beautiful, and you are beautiful." 
 
 " Thanks, uncle ; you flatter me." 
 
 " No ; I only do you justice." 
 
 " Be it as you will. But tell me, where shall we 
 look for my old shepherd ; for I can't imagine who 
 he can be ? " 
 
 " Well, I fancied I had found him." 
 
 " How could that be, uncle, when there was no one 
 in the party but the reverend father? " 
 
 " And I — am I no one ? " 
 
 " What do you mean by that ? " 
 
 " I mean that I am fifty years old, thirty-two years 
 older than you, and that I am not crazy enough to 
 aspire to be loved ; but poets feign what they wish, and 
 the smooth-faced Don Carlos may have invented that 
 tissue of absurd falsehoods in order to write his idyl. 
 If that be so, all that about the old shepherd being 
 stifE in his joints and being unable either to dance, or 
 run, or fight, or hunt wolves, like the swain, is not 
 very conformable with the truth. In spite of my fifty 
 years, I would not be afraid to compete in them all 
 
COMMANDER MBNDOZA. 61 
 
 with that same Don Carlos. I am even certain that if 
 I should undertake to dance the holero I could do it 
 better now than when my father made me dance it to 
 the tune of the whip ; and in respect of lungs and 
 breathing power, I think I have more than enough, 
 not to say to climb up Parnassus in chase of bac- 
 chantes, not to play all the flutes and clarionets 
 in the world only, but to move the arms of a wind- 
 mill." 
 
 " But, uncle, Don Carlos has never dreamed of 
 you nor thought of me." 
 
 " Come, girl, don't be a little hypocrite. I have 
 got the notion into my head that that boy is in love 
 with you; that he knew I was coming to spend a 
 month here ; that he heard I was old ; and, starting 
 with these facts, the insolent boy has imagined the 
 rest." 
 
 Don Fadrique said all this laughingly, in order to 
 tease his niece, and, although doubtful about the jus- 
 tice of his suspicions, somewhat piqued at the poet's 
 audacity, which, however, did not altogether displease 
 him. 
 
 " Uncle," said Lucia, at last, with all the gravity 
 she could assume, "you are not the old shepherd. 
 The old shepherd is a Villabermejan like you ; he has 
 been settled here for the past two years, and he de- 
 serves in reality the epithets which the poet lavishes 
 upon him, because he is very infirm and decrepit. 
 
62 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 The old shepherd is called Don Casimiro. You must 
 know him." 
 
 " Of course I know him ! You may well say that 
 I know him ! " said the Commander, calling to mind 
 his old adversary and victim in his boyish days. " But 
 who, then, is Chloris ? " he added immediately after- 
 wards. 
 
 " Chloris is a beautiful girl, a very intimate friend 
 of mine. Her mother lives in great seclusion, and 
 neither goes out herself nor allows her daughter to go 
 out in the evening. Por that reason Chloris was not 
 here to-night; but she is my neighbour, and her 
 mother allows her to go walking with me, accom- 
 panied by my mother. If you wish to accompany us 
 to-morrow, we will walk to the gardens, through 
 shady paths, after breakfast, at about ten o'clock. 
 Chloris will come, and you shall become acquainted 
 with Chloris." 
 
 " I will go with much pleasure." 
 
 " uncle ! for Heaven's sake don't hint to any one 
 that Don Carlos is in love with my friend, and that 
 she is Chloris. Remember that it is a secret. No 
 one in the place knows it but me. It is necessary to 
 be very cautious, for her parents will have no one but 
 Don Casimiro, and they have no suspicion of Don 
 Carlos's love. I have confided it to you, so that you 
 might not think I was Chloris, and that without any 
 sort of reason we had converted you into an old, de- 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA, 63 
 
 crepit shepherd, in order to find a subject for the 
 verses." 
 
 " I am satisfied, girl, and I will say nothing. I 
 assure you now that your friend Ohloris interests me, 
 and that I am curious to see her." 
 
 In this way Don Fadrique unexpectedly came to 
 have a secret with his niece immediately on his ar- 
 rival, and to figure in intrigues and love affairs. 
 
 Thinliing of this, he retired to his room, as all the 
 others did to theirs, and slept until eight o'clock nest 
 morning as soundly as a boy of twenty. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Doi^A An"10nia awoke with a terrible sick head- 
 ache, a malady to which she was very subject. She 
 was therefore obliged to keep her bed, and was unable 
 to accompany her daughter Lucia on her walk ; but as 
 her illness was not a serious one, and as Lucia had 
 already arranged the excursion with her friend, it 
 was decided that the Commander should accompany 
 them. 
 
 Lucia's friend lived in the adjoining house. The 
 yards of the two houses were separated by a wall. 
 At the appoinied hour, half past nine precisely, Lucia, 
 dressed for the street and with her uncle beside her, 
 called from the foot of the yard wall : 
 
64 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 " Clara " (so Chloris was called in real life), " are 
 you ready ? " 
 
 The answer was not long in coming. 
 
 First the voice of the maid-servant was heard, 
 saying : 
 
 " Sefiorita, seflorita, Dona Lucia is calling you." 
 
 A moment later was heard a silvery and sympa- 
 thetic voice from the adjoining yard, answering : 
 
 "I will he with you directly. Come out to the 
 street ; there is no need of my going into your 
 house." 
 
 Don Fadrique and Dofla Lucia went into the 
 street, and found Dofla Clara waiting for them at the 
 hall door. 
 
 The Commander, notwithstanding his habitual ab- 
 sent-mindedness, looked at Dofla Clara with extraor- 
 dinary interest. She was a girl of a little over six- 
 teen. Her complexion was a clear brunette, tinted on 
 cheeks and lips with the freshest carmine. Her skin 
 was so soft, delicate, and transparent that the blood 
 could almost be seen flowing beneath it through the 
 blue veins. Her eyes, large and black, and generally 
 half veiled by their lids fringed by long, curly lashes, 
 were dreamy in expression, although, when they 
 opened in a look of interest or curiosity, a mild fire 
 and brilliant light streamed from them. Everything 
 in Dofla Clara revealed health and exuberance of life, 
 and yet around her eyes, making them look larger 
 
COMMANDER MBNDOZA. 65 
 
 and brighter, was a dark circle of the colour of the 
 purple lily. 
 
 Dofla Clara was taller than her friend Lucia, who 
 yet was above the medium height ; but, although she 
 was slender, she was beautifully formed and already 
 fully developed. Dofia Clara's hair was intensely 
 black, her hands and feet were small, her head was 
 graceful and well set. 
 
 Both friends were dressed in black, in the mantilla 
 and basque, and wore roses in their hair. 
 
 Lucia informed her friend of her mother's indis- 
 position, saying that her uncle, the Commander, re- 
 cently arrived from Villabermeja, would accompany 
 them in their walk. With the exception of the usual 
 compliments and ceremonies, nothing worthy of re- 
 cording was said until the three companions had left 
 the city and were in the country. 
 
 The little city is surrounded on all sides by gar- 
 dens. Many paths run through these in various 
 directions. On either side of every walk there is a 
 hedge of pomegranates, blackberry bushes, osiers, and 
 other plants. Many of the paths are bordered on 
 each side by a crystal rivulet; others on one side 
 only. All are abundantly shaded in spring, summer, 
 and autumn, thanks to the poplars, the large, leafy 
 walnut trees, and other trees of various kinds that 
 grow in the gardens. 
 
 The soil is there so rich and fertile that it would 
 
QQ COMMANDER MBNDOZA. 
 
 be impossible to imagine the profusion of flowers and 
 the mass of verdure that grow along the banks of the 
 rivulets, diffusing around a grateful rural odor. Bell- 
 flowers, musk-roses, purple and white violets, lilies, 
 and daisies there open their cups and display their 
 beauty. 
 
 The radiant sun shining in the cloudless sky and 
 gilding the clear atmosphere adds to the splendour of 
 the scene. Innumerable birds enliven and gladden it 
 with their warblings and carols. In Andalusia the 
 birds, flying from the more arid regions in search of 
 water and shade, take refuge in these irrigated oases, 
 where are to be found coolness and thick foliage. 
 
 Such was the scene through which the Commander 
 walked with the two beautiful girls. As soon as they 
 left the city they took the walk called the middle walk. 
 The girls gathered flowers, listened with delight to 
 the linnets singing, or laughed without knowing why. 
 The Commander meditated, was filled with a sense of 
 well-being, and enjoyed everything, although more 
 quietly than the girls. 
 
 On reaching a broader walk, not a path but a 
 road, the three companions, who, owing to the path 
 being almost always very narrow, had walked one 
 behind the other, now walked abreast. Clara was 
 in the middle. Lucia then said, turning to her 
 uncle : 
 
 " Well, I suppose you have now satisfied your curl- 
 
' COMMANDER MENDOZA. Q'j 
 
 osity. This is OUoris. Is it not true that she is 
 worthy of inspiring the idyl ? " 
 
 DoQa Clara, who, although younger than Lucia, 
 was more thoughtful and serious, regretted that her 
 friend should have confided this secret to her uncle, 
 and could not refrain from showing her annoyance, 
 frowning and looking grave, while at the same time 
 her cheeks flushed with shame and displeasure. 
 
 Dofla Clara, however, said nothing; but Lucia 
 noticed her annoyance, and went on as follows ; 
 
 " Don't be angry, Clarita. Don't call me a chat- 
 terbox. My uncle put me last night between the 
 sword and the wall, and I was obliged to confess 
 everything to him. I had to exculpate myself and 
 to exculpate Don Carlos. My uncle had taken it 
 into his head that he was the old shepherd and that 
 I was Chloris. Besides, my uncle is very discreet, 
 and will say nothing to any one. — Is not that true, 
 uncle ? " 
 
 "Make your mind easy, sefiorita," answered the 
 Commander, turning to Dofla Clara, who grew redder 
 than before ; " no one shall learn through me who it 
 was that inspired the idyl, which is, indeed, charm- 
 ing." 
 
 The Commander noticed that Clara became more 
 tranquil, although in her confusion she could not utter 
 a word. 
 
 Dofia Lucia continued : 
 
68 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 "You may well say that the idyl is charming \ 
 Believe me, uncle, from the days of Vicente Espinel 
 down to our own times, Eonda has produced no finer 
 poet than our friend Don Carlos de Atienza, the heir 
 of an illustrious house of that city, who lives in Seville 
 with his parents, who is trying to obtain in the uni- 
 versity there the doctor's bonnet, in both branches of 
 the law, and who is at present neglecting his studies 
 to follow Chloris, who has come here from Seville 
 with her family — whom you probably know — who 
 intend to settle in the city." 
 
 " I cannot say, niece, whether or not I have the 
 honour of being acquainted with this young lady's 
 family, whose name you have not yet told me. How 
 is a stranger, lately arrived here, to guess to what 
 family a young lady belongs of whom he only knows 
 that she is called Chloris in poetry and Clara in 
 prose ? " 
 
 " Why, that is true ! How forgetful I am ! I did 
 not tell you my friend's name. Well, then, uncle, this 
 young lady is called Dofta Clara de Solis y Eoldan. 
 And now what have you to say ? Do you know her 
 family or not ? " 
 
 On hearing from Lucia's lips the family name of 
 her friend, and her last innocent question, the Com- 
 mander started and looked agitated ; it seemed as if 
 the red flush which had a moment before dyed Clara's 
 delicate cheeks had passed, with added force, to 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 09 
 
 Don Fadrique's manly countenance tanned by the sun 
 of India and by the winds of remote seas. 
 
 Lucia, without observing her uncle's agitation, 
 continued : 
 
 "Bat why do I say her family? It is possible 
 that you know Clara herself, only you do not remem- 
 ber her. "When she was a little thing, perhaps when 
 she was born, you were in Lima." 
 
 At last, conquering his emotion, the Commander 
 answered his niece : 
 
 " I could hardly either remember or forget this 
 young lady, whom I never saw before. The person I 
 do remember, however, and whom I knew very well, 
 is her father, and I also had the pleasure, notwith- 
 standing the secluded and austere life she has always 
 led, of knowing and enjoying the friendship of Sefiora 
 Dofia Blanca Roldan. — How is the seQora your mother, 
 seflorita?" 
 
 " She is well," answered Dofia Clara," but, absorbed 
 more completely than ever in her devotions, she sees 
 scarcely any one." 
 
 " And Seflor Don Valentin is well ? " 
 
 " He is so, God be thanked ! " said Clara. 
 
 " He has retired from the magistracy,"' added 
 Lucia ; " he inherited the large fortune of his elder 
 brother, who died without leaving any children, and 
 he lives here, where his finest estates are situated, of 
 which Clara is sole heiress." 
 
70 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 The blood rushed again to the Commander's face, 
 dyeing it crimson. Eecovering himself after a mo- 
 ment, he said in the most natural manner to his 
 loquacious niece : 
 
 " So that this young lady, in addition to being a 
 beauty, is also very rich 'i " 
 
 " For a place like this, yes. Is it not strange, 
 uncle, that they should wish to marry her to Don 
 Casimiro ? If you could see how old and ugly he is ! 
 Why, it is an ofEence against God ! If I were the 
 Pope, I would refuse the licence they will have to ask 
 from him." 
 
 "Why," said Don Fadrique to Clara, "are you 
 such near relations, then ? " 
 
 " Don Casimiro Soils is the nearest relation my 
 father has," answered Clara. 
 
 " He would be his next heir if Clara were not liv- 
 ing," added Lucia, who never failed to tell all she 
 knew when she was talking to persons whom she was 
 so familiar with, and for whom she had so much affec- 
 tion, as Clara and her uncle. 
 
 Don Fadrique did not pursue the conversation any 
 further. He remained silent and apjjarently thought- 
 ful and melancholy. 
 
 They continued to walk on in silence then until 
 they reached the source. In the middle of a wood of 
 oaks and olives where the gardens terminate, rises a 
 steep hill formed of rocks and hnge bowlders that 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. ^1 
 
 seem to hang in air and threaten at eyery moment to 
 topple over. 
 
 Wild fig trees, rock -roses of various species, rose- 
 mary, and thyme grow in the fissures of the rocks and 
 clothe the places where the stone is not entirely bare 
 and their roots can find sufficient earth to afford them 
 a foothold and nourishment. 
 
 In many places in the hill openings in the rocks 
 lead into grottoes and caves ; and at its base, which is 
 below the level of the road, the stones are as if hol- 
 lowed out, forming a grotto more spacious and with a 
 wider entrance than any of the others. At the far- 
 ther end of this grotto, whose interior is completely 
 visible from the outside, springs from a cleft in the 
 rock what, without exaggeration, may be called a 
 river. For this reason the place is called the source 
 of the river, or simply the source. 
 
 The water that flows from the rocks falls with a 
 pleasant murmur into a natural lake, the bottom of 
 which is strewn with round, white pebbles. In this 
 lake the water rises and falls with gentle swell, con- 
 tinually forming and dissolving short-lived circles; 
 but in spite of these circles, so transparent is the 
 water that the bottom of the lake, although this is 
 nearly five feet in depth, can be seen clearly through 
 it, and every stone can be counted. 
 
 On the margin of the little lake grow reeds, bul- 
 rushes, cresses, and other aquatic plants. 
 
72 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 The pond or lake fills the grotto and extends for a 
 good distance outside of it, reflecting the heavens on 
 its crystal surface. On either side is a trench, through 
 which the water flows, separating afterwards into in- 
 numerable rivulets, and going to irrigate the fifteen 
 hundred gardens which make the outskirts of the 
 town a green and flowery paradise. 
 
 As in that part of the country the ground is 
 rugged and uneven, the water descends to the valleys 
 with impetuous force, at times falling in cascades, at 
 times serving to turn water mills, fulling mills, and 
 copper mills. Near the source, however, the water 
 flows on level ground with a tranquil current and a 
 gentle murmur, the loudest sound in this pleasant 
 solitude being that produced by the source itself — the 
 noise of the water flowing from the rock and falling 
 into the grotto. 
 
 On the borders of the sylvan lake are several wil- 
 lows, and beside the trunk of the tallest and most 
 leafy of them is a stone seat or bench. Here the 
 Rondan poet, Don Carlos de Atienza, was seated when 
 the Commander, his niece, and Dofla Clara arrived there. 
 
 Don Padrique, as if wishing to banish from his 
 mind melancholy and disturbing thoughts, out of 
 harriiony with his character and his optimistic phi- 
 losophy, passed his hand across his forehead and, 
 making an effort to recover his naturally serene and 
 cheerful temper, said aloud : 
 
COMMANDEE MENDOZA. 73 
 
 " Hallo, illustrious poet, what new idyl are you 
 composing in these solitudes ? " 
 
 Don Carlos rose from his seat, and, advancing to- 
 wards the new-comers, said : 
 
 " Good day, Seflor Don Fadrique. — Your most 
 humble servant, young ladies." 
 
 The Commander smoothed the way for Don Carlos 
 to propose to accompany himself and the young girls 
 in their walk. He spoke to Don Carlos of his studies, 
 expatiated on the delight he himself took in poetry, 
 praised the idyl, and made him recite it for him 
 again. 
 
 He could not have given Don Carlos a greater 
 pleasure nor gratified his vanity more deeply, for, like 
 all who write, have ever written, or ever will write 
 poetry, Don Carlos was fond of reciting his verses to 
 an indulgent and discriminating audience, and he was 
 always inclined to think an audience discriminating 
 that was indulgent. 
 
 While Don Carlos was reciting his idyl, Don Fa- 
 drique observed Clara furtively but with much atten- 
 tion. If he had still entertained the slightest doubt 
 that Clara was Chloris, that doubt would now have 
 vanished. On Clara's face, to use a common but very 
 picturesque expression, the colours chased each other 
 while the recitation lasted. Now she turned pale, 
 now her cheeks were dyed with crimson. And when 
 Don Carlos exclaimed, in the course of the recitation : 
 
74 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 'Whatl Have I given thee of my love in vain so many 
 
 proofs ? "— 
 
 Don Padrique saw or fancied lie saw Dona Clara's 
 lids droop more than ordinarily, as if to keep in and 
 conceal the tell-tale tears, ready to gush from her 
 beautiful eyes. 
 
 After reciting the verses Don Carlos, less daring 
 in prose, hardly ventured to approach Clara, nor did 
 he say a word to her that everybody could not hear. 
 Only to Lucia he spoke in a low voice and, as it 
 seemed, confidentially. 
 
 All four walked farther into the country, return- 
 ing to the city by a different road through a shady 
 poplar grove. Here Clara, either by walking on in 
 advance or remaining behind, leading the Commander 
 to walk with his niece, might have conversed at her 
 ease with Don Carlos, but it almost seemed as if she 
 was afraid of him, as if she feared to listen to his 
 voice without witnesses, and desired to show the Com- 
 mander that she did not wish to belong to Don Carlos 
 but to Don Casimiro. However that may be, in the 
 wildest spots Clara did not stir from Don Fadrique's 
 side, as if she feared that a wild beast might rush out 
 and devour her, and sought from him protection and 
 defence. 
 
 "Who can say what passed during those moments 
 in the Commander's soul? Certain it is that he 
 scarcely ventured to speak to Clara. On one occasion. 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 75 
 
 however, when Don Carlos and Lucia, who had walked 
 on in advance, were lost to view among the trees, the 
 Commander stopped Clara, looked at her strangely 
 and sweetly, and, while his countenance assumed a 
 solemn and in a certain manner a venerable expres- 
 sion, he exclaimed : 
 
 " My child ! You are very good, very beautiful — 
 innocent of everything. God bless you and make you 
 as happy as you deserve to be ! " 
 
 And saying this he raised his hands, as if to be- 
 stow a benediction upon the girl, then took her head 
 between them and pressed a kiss upon her forehead. 
 
 Clara, no doubt, thought all this very odd and out 
 of the ordinary usage and custom ; but Don Fadrique's 
 countenance was so serious and his expression so 
 noble and sympathetic that, notwithstanding certain 
 ideas with -which devout persons had precociously 
 sullied the young girl's mind, talking to her of sins 
 and errors, Clara could read there no audacious 
 thought. 
 
 Still more was she confirmed in her belief of the 
 purity and sinlessness of this strange and sudden kiss 
 when the Commander said to her : 
 
 " Don Carlos seems to me an excellent youth. Do 
 you love him very much ? " 
 
 There was a gentle imperiousness in Don Fadri- 
 que's accents which Clara was unable to resist. 
 
 "I have loved him very much," she answered, 
 
76 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 " but I shall be able to give up loving him. I have 
 been very culpable. Without my mother's knowledge 
 I have loved him. Henceforth I will not love him. 
 I will be a good daughter. I will obey my mother. 
 She knows what is for my good better than I do." 
 
 Don Fadrique did not venture to make any reply, 
 or to pronounce a discourse subversive of maternal 
 authority. 
 
 Shortly afterwards the others joined them. 
 
 Before re-entering the city, Don Carlos took his 
 leave of the Commander and the two young ladies, and 
 went away in another direction. 
 
 When Lucia and her uncle had left Clara at her 
 own door, Don Fadrique asked his niece : 
 
 " What did Don Carlos say to you ? " 
 
 "What should he say? That he is in despair;, 
 that Clara scorns him, that she repulses him; and 
 that, to obey her mother, she will marry Don Casi- 
 miro." 
 
 " And Don Valentin, what does he do ? " 
 
 " Nothing. What would you have him do ? Why, 
 do you not know that Don Valentin is a henpecked 
 husband ? A glance from Dolia Blanca confounds and 
 terrifies him ; a Avord of displeasure from that terrible 
 woman makes Don Valentin tremble like a leaf." 
 
 " So that it is DoQa Blanca who has arranged 
 Clara's marriage with Don Oasimiro ? " 
 
 " Yes, uncle ; Dofla Blanca is the one who arranges 
 
COMMANDEK MENDOZA. 77 
 
 everything in that house. She commands and the 
 others obey. They scarcely dare to breathe without 
 her permission. It cannot be denied that Dona 
 Blanca is very clever and that she is a saint. She 
 knows more about heavenly things than all the 
 preachers put together. She prays a great deal ; she 
 reads and studies pious books, she leads an exemplary 
 and penitent life, and gives a great deal in charity and 
 to the churches ; but in spite of all her virtues and 
 excellent qualities she is not by any means amiable. 
 On the contrary, she is terrible. She makes me 
 afraid." 
 
 " I do not doubt it, niece ; she was just as you de- 
 scribe her even when I knew her." 
 
 " uncle ! And did you see her often ? " 
 " 'Not often, niece ; but I met her occasionally." 
 " Don't let it surprise you if they should not come 
 to the house for a week, even for politeness' sake. 
 DoQa Blanca's thoughts are always so far away from 
 everything earthly, and she is so unwilling to hear 
 anything of the outside world that might distract 
 her mind from the inward meditation in which she 
 lives, that no doubt neither she nor her poor husband 
 yet knows that you have arrived. I do not believe 
 Don Valentin to be very spiritually minded or much 
 given' to holy contemplation, but, as he stands in 
 such terror of his wife and always tries to please her 
 in everything, he, too, leads a life of devotion, se- 
 
78 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 eluded from the world, and I eTen believe him capa- 
 ble of scourging himself, not so much through love 
 of God as through fear of Dofla Blanca." 
 
 Don Fadrique listened in silence. He was evi- 
 dently in a taciturn mood. Lucia, who was fond of 
 talking, gave her tongue the rein and went on : 
 
 " Poor Clara ! Fancy what an -amusing life she 
 must lead. I have not the slightest doubt but that 
 she will go to heaven ; but cannot one go to heaven 
 in an easier way than that ? I could not tell you the 
 prodigies of craft, the miracles of cunning, although 
 it may not seem fitting that I should praise myself, 
 that I have had to perform to obtain, in some slight 
 degree, the good- will and the confidence of Dona 
 Blanca, and her consent to her daughter's maintain- 
 ing a friendly intercourse with me and going out 
 occasionally in my company. If it were not for me, 
 Clara would be buried alive within four walls. I 
 don't know how she has been able to come to an un- 
 derstanding with Don Carlos. Fortunately, he is 
 very clever and equal to anything. Clara has been, 
 I will not say in correspondence, but almost in cor- 
 respondence, with him. The fact is, that Clara fell 
 in love with him. Afterwards she felt remorse for 
 loving a man without her mother's knowledge, and 
 the more so as her mother intends her for another ; 
 so that now she repulses poor Don Carlos, and the 
 unhappy swain Myrtilus is dying of grief." 
 
COMMANDEE MBNDOZA. 79 
 
 The Commander listened to his niece with interest, 
 without once interrupting her by so much as an excla- 
 mation. It seemed as if he had either been struck 
 dumb or did not know what to say. 
 
 " Clara," continued- Lucia, " now that she thinks 
 it a sin to love Don Carlos, and not considering it 
 possible to oppose her mother's wishes, sometimes 
 thinks of becoming a nun ; but she does not venture 
 to confide even this desire to her mother. She thinks, 
 in the first place, that she has not a true vocation, that 
 she wishes to take the veil through pique and in des- 
 peration, so to say ; and, besides, she thinks that to say 
 to her mother that she wishes to be a nun is an act of 
 rebellion, is to oppose her desire of marrying her to 
 Don Casimiro. What do you think of my unhappy 
 friend's situation?" 
 
 The Commander, questioned thus directly, was at 
 last obliged to break his silence, but he answered la- 
 conically : 
 
 " The situation is in truth a bad one ; but who 
 knows ? Everything has a remedy but death. Mean- 
 time," added Don Fadrique after a short pause, speak- 
 ing slowly and in a low voice, letting the words fall 
 one by one as if it cost him a great effort to utter 
 them, and as if, instead of answering his niece, he was 
 talking to and answering himself — " meantime Dofla 
 Blanca is sensible; she is pious and she is a good 
 mother. She has very weighty reasons, no doubt, for 
 
80 COMMANDER MBNDOZA. 
 
 wishing to toarry her daughter to Don Casimiro. In 
 short, girl, continue to be a good friend to Clara, but 
 do not blame or judge DoQa Blanca's conduct. I am 
 going, besides, to make you another request." 
 
 " Command me, uncle." 
 
 " It is something very difficult that I am going to 
 ask of you." 
 
 "How so?" 
 
 " Because you are fond of talking, and what I ask 
 of you is to be silent." 
 
 " And what am I to be silent about ? You shall 
 see how silent I will be. I do not wish you to be dis- 
 pleased with me, or to form a bad opinion of me." 
 
 " Well, then, be silent about your having told me 
 of the love of Don Carlos and DoQa Clara for each 
 other, and be silent also in regard to all you know 
 about that love." 
 
 " Uncle, for Heaven's sake don't think me so fond 
 of telling everything ! That wretched idyl is alto- 
 gether to blame. But for the idyl I should not have 
 told even you anything." 
 
 On hearing this the Commander gave his niece a 
 smile, and as they were by this time in the house he 
 separated from the girl, going away with a somewhat 
 thoughtful and abstracted air, as if he was trying to 
 solve some very difficult problem. 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 81 
 
 IX. 
 
 "While the Commander and Lucia were holding 
 the conversation we have just recorded, Clara had 
 gone to her mother's room. 
 
 Dofla Blanca was sitting in an arm-chair. Before 
 her was a small table on which books and papers were 
 lying. Don Valentin was also in the room, sitting in 
 a chair not far from his wife. 
 
 Dofla Blanca was of a noble and distinguished ap- 
 pearance. Dressed as she was in a severely simple 
 style, there was yet noticeable in her attire a certain 
 elegance and stateliness. Dofia Blanca might be a 
 little past forty. Her originally black hair was now 
 of an ashy hue, owing to the many grey hairs 
 sprinkled through it. Her countenance, full of aus- 
 tere gravity, was very handsome. Her features were 
 all of the most perfect regularity. 
 
 Dona Blanca was tall and thin. Her white hands 
 looked transparent. Her eyes, black like her daugh- 
 ter's, had in them a strange, indescribable fire, as if 
 all the passions of heaven and earth' and every an- 
 gelic and demoniac feeling had met together to kin- 
 dle it. 
 
 Don Valentin, a timid and peaceable man, who 
 had loved his wife during the first years of their mar- 
 ried life, and afterwards cherished for her a respect 
 that bordered on reverence, scarcely dared to utter a 
 
82 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 word in her presence unless when she commanded him 
 to speak. 
 
 Don Valentin was a yirtuous gentleman, but he 
 was weak and pusillanimous. He had been, through 
 love and regard for his honour, an upright magis- 
 trate. Nothing could turn him aside from the fulfil- 
 ment of his duty, and he had even shown admirable 
 firmness beyond the precincts of his own house, where 
 it is sufficient that firmness, however great it must be, 
 need last only for a moment ; but in his house, sub- 
 jected to the domestic tyranny of a woman endowed 
 with an iron will, whose pressure was perpetual and 
 constant, Don Valentin had found it impossible to 
 maintain resistance, and had abdicated completely. 
 The estate, their afEairs, the education of their daugh- 
 ter, all depended upon and were directed and managed 
 by Dona Blanca. 
 
 Don Valentin's appearance was insignificant and 
 may be best described by negatives. 
 
 He was neither tall nor short, neither dark nor 
 fair, neither slender nor stout. With all this, how- 
 ever, he seemed a gentleman, so to say, who was very 
 correct in his manners, his bearing, and his speech. 
 His devoted submissiveness to his wife added to this 
 quality of correctness a tinge of meekness. 
 
 Don Valentin had been in his youth a very good 
 Catholic, but without penitential fervour, or any in- 
 clination to mysticism or holy meditation. Now, in 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 83 
 
 order not to displease his wife, he strove to be a St. 
 Hilarion or a St. Pachomius. 
 
 Don Valentin was verging on sixty, but he looked 
 much older, for there is nothing that ages more and 
 sooner breaks down the spirit and courage of a man 
 than that voluntary and terrible servitude to which, 
 by a strange mystery of the will, many men subject 
 themselves, yielding to the diabolical persistence of 
 their wives. 
 
 Clara had no sooner entered the room than Dofia 
 Blanca said to her : 
 
 " Where have you been, child ? " 
 
 " At the source, mamma." 
 
 " I don't know how Sefiora Dofia Antonia has feet 
 to go on such wild expeditions. The walk there and 
 back is almost a league." 
 
 " Dofia Antonia was not with us to-day," said 
 Clara, not daring to tell a falsehood, nor even to dis- 
 semble the truth. 
 
 Dofia Blanca's countenance assumed an expression 
 of surprise and great displeasure. 
 
 " Then who accompanied you in your walk ? " she 
 asked. 
 
 " Don't be angry, mamma ; we had very good com- 
 pany." 
 
 "Yes, but whom? Some kitchen-maid? Some 
 old woman or other ? " 
 
 " Listen, mamma ; Dofia Antonia had a headache, 
 
84 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 and was unable to accompany us. Lucia's uncle went 
 with us in her place." 
 
 " And who is Lucia's uncle ? " 
 
 " A naval officer, who has been in India and Peru ; 
 who says he knows you ; who went a short time ago 
 to live in Villabermeja, and who came to the city last 
 night on a visit." 
 
 " That must be Commander Mendoza," said Don 
 Valentin, with a certain pleasure in the knowledge 
 that an old friend had arrived in the town. 
 
 " Precisely, papa ; that is his name — Commander 
 Mendoza ; a very polished gentleman, although a lit- 
 tle odd." 
 
 " See, Blanca, we must make a visit to the Com- 
 mander, who is no doubt staying at his brother's," 
 exclaimed Don Valentin. 
 
 "We will comply with that duty, which is one 
 that society imposes upon us," said Dofla Blanca, 
 with serene dignity and composure. — " But you, Clara, 
 must nevei' again go out walking or hold any inter- 
 course with that impious and wicked man. If the 
 holy faith of our fathers were not so lost, if the per- 
 verse doctrines of French freethinkers had not con- 
 taminated us, that man, instead of wearing the hon- 
 ourable uniform of a naval officer, would wear the 
 sanbenito ; instead of going about the world free, to 
 be a stone of offence, a leaven of impiety and yeast of 
 hell, corrupting in the social body what has still re- 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 85 
 
 mained sound, lie would be in the dungeons of the 
 Inquisition, or he would have already expired at the 
 stake ! " 
 
 Clara was horrified to hear this diatribe from her 
 mother's lips. The Commander presented himself 
 now to her mind as a diabolical personage, and, re- 
 membering the kiss she had receired from him, she 
 was filled with terror and shame. 
 
 Don Valentin, at the recollection of the Command- 
 er, which brought back to his memory happier times, 
 when he was not so old and not so submissive, felt 
 himself, contrary to his habit, with the courage to 
 contradict instead of yielding a passive assent. Con- 
 sequently he said : 
 
 " Good heavens, wife ! "What a want of charity ! 
 You are unjust to our old friend. I won't deny that 
 he was something of an esprit fort in his youth, but no 
 doubt he has reformed. For the rest, the Commander 
 was always honourable, noble, and upright. What 
 have you to say against his morality ? " 
 
 " Hold your tongue, Valentin ! You are talking 
 only folly ; and I call it folly in order not to call it 
 blasphemy. What morality, what nobility, what vir- 
 tue can there be where there is neither religion nor 
 faith, which are their basis ? Without the holy fear 
 of God, all virtue is a lie, and every moral action is an 
 artifice of the devil to deceive fools who boast of their 
 wisdom, and who do not subject their judgment to 
 
86 COMMANDER MBNDOZA. 
 
 those who know more than they do. I have already 
 said, and I repeat it, the Commander Mendoza was an 
 unbeliever and a libertine, and will continue to be so. 
 We will visit him, to avoid giving offence, managing 
 so as not to find him in the house, and to see only 
 Dona Antonia and her saintly husband. As for Cla- 
 rita, you must find some pretext to prevent her from 
 going out again with Lucia, exposing herself to the 
 risk of being in the company of that renegade. Jaco- 
 bin, Voltairean, and atheist. I would rather confide 
 Clara to the care of the vilest and most sinful of 
 women. Such a woman, with the help of religion, 
 might reform and at last become a saint; but of the 
 man who denies God or who abhors him, of the man 
 who has been a hardened sinner all his life, what hope 
 can justly be conceived ? " 
 
 Clarita and Don Valentin were filled with remorse 
 and terror by Doua Blanca's sermon, and could find 
 nothing to answer her. 
 
 It was resolved, then, that Clarita, through the 
 Commander's fault, in order that she might not be 
 contaminated, should not again go walking with Lucia. 
 
 X. 
 
 The resolutions of Dofla Blanca Eoldan were ir- 
 revocable and effective. She knew how to carry them 
 out with calm determination. 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 87 
 
 Neither before nor after this visit did Dofia Blanca 
 allow herself nor did Don Valentin allow himself to he 
 seen by any neighbour or friend. Secluded in the in- 
 terior of the ancient mansion in which they lived, 
 under pretence of illness they refused to see any one, 
 difBcult and odious as it is to deny< one's self to vis- 
 itors, being at home, vhen one lives in a small town. 
 
 It was in vain that Lucia tried repeatedly to take 
 Clara out for a walk. Whenever she sent a message, 
 the answer was returned that Clara was indisposed or 
 that she was very busy, and that it was impossible for 
 her to go out. 
 
 Lucia went herself to visit Clara, but was able to 
 see her only twice, and then in her mother's presence. 
 
 These proofs of coolness and even of dislike were 
 softened by an extreme courtesy on the part of Dona 
 Blanca ; although it was plain to be seen that if that 
 lady made use of every means suggested by politeness 
 to avoid giving motive for offence, she preferred to 
 offend, if any one chose to take offence, rather than 
 yield a Jot in her purpose. 
 
 With the single exception of the day on which 
 she visited Dofla Antonia, Dona Blanca left her house 
 only to go to the church to hear mass and perform 
 other devotions. Don Valentin almost always accom- 
 panied her, like a lay brother or humble charity child, 
 and Clara accompanied her always, scarcely daring to 
 lift her eyes from the ground. 
 
88 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 Lucia, wondering as to the cause of this almost 
 complete rupture of relations, began to fear that 
 Dona Blanca had heard of the love existing between 
 Clara and Don Carlos de Atienza, the presence of the 
 latter in the city, and the intimacy and favour which 
 he enjoyed in her house. 
 
 Dofla Clara was not given to soliloquising, nor did 
 she correspond with her friend ; from the servants 
 nothing could be learned, for Dofla Blanca's were 
 almost all from other towns, and were either strangers 
 in the house, or led devout and retired lives, in this 
 way imitating and pleasing their master and mis- 
 tress. 
 
 All that could be affirmed with certainty was, that 
 the only person who visited Don Valentin's house was 
 his near relative, Don Casimiro. 
 
 In this way ten days passed, that to Don Carlos, 
 Lucia, and the Commander seemed ten centuries, 
 when one day, towards the close of a lovely afternoon, 
 the Commander was alone with his niece in the court- 
 yard of the house. The latter was maintaining an 
 animated conversation with her uncle, showing him 
 the plants and flowers that, in beds and in innumer- 
 able pots, adorned the yard, which, as we have already 
 said, adjoined that of Don Valentin's house. Passing 
 over the dividing wall the sound of the speaker's voice 
 could reach the next yard, and did in fact reach it ; 
 for in the midst of their conversation Lucia and the 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 89 
 
 Commander heard the noise of a small, heavy object 
 falling at their feet. Lncia stooped down quickly to 
 pick it up, and she no sooner had it in her hand than 
 she whispered joyfully to her uncle : 
 
 " It is a letter from Clarita. How good she is ! 
 She loves me indeed. It is necessary to know her as I 
 do to appreciate the value of this evidence of her 
 friendship. To elude, for my sake, her mother's vigi- 
 lance ! To write to me clandestinely ! Why, uncle, 
 it seems impossible. For my sake that poor girl, who 
 is a saint, has failed in the duty of filial obedience ! 
 And how, where, when can she have written to me ? 
 "Why, I tell you it is a miracle of affection. And, the 
 sly creature, how anxiously she must have been watch- 
 ing for an opportunity to throw me the letter with 
 the certainty that I should pick it up ! Blessed be 
 her hands ! " 
 
 While speaking she had untied the paper from 
 the stone to which it was fastened by a thread, and 
 was devouring it with kisses. 
 
 " Come to read that letter," said the Commander, 
 " where there is light, and where we shall be inter- 
 rupted by no one. In the study there is no one, and 
 the lamp has just been lighted. Come, it is already 
 dark, and you cannot see here." 
 
 Lucia accompanied her uncle to the study, and in 
 an agitated voice, and almost whispering the words 
 in the Commander's ear, read what follows : 
 
90 COMMANDER MBNDOZA. 
 
 " My dear Lucia : You well know how much I 
 love you. Think, then, what a grief it is to me to 
 see you so seldom, and never to be able to speak to 
 you. Do not suppose that my mother has any sus- 
 picion of my shameless conduct towards Don Carlos de 
 Atienza. I tremble when I think that she might have 
 suspected it. 'No one but yourself, the Commander, 
 and I knows that Don Carlos is my suitor ; but God 
 knows my sin, of which I repent. It was horrible 
 perversity in me to encourage that man with tender 
 glances and profane smiles — almost involuntary, I 
 swear it. But they do not on that account weigh the 
 less heavily on my conscience. Something I must 
 have done, impelled by my innate wickedness or 
 tempted by the enemy of mankind, to disturb that 
 young man's mind, make him abandon his university 
 and his studies, and induce him to come here in 
 pursuit of me. In the midst of everything I have 
 much motive for gratitude to Jesus and the Holy 
 Virgin that they have taken pity upon me, notwith- 
 standing my unworthiness, and ordained that my 
 fault should not be attended with scandal. It is by a 
 supernatural favour of Heaven, doubtless, that the mo- 
 tive which impelled Don Carlos to come here has re- 
 mained a secret ; every one thinks he has come here 
 and remains here on your account. How much do I 
 not owe you for bearing the blame of this ! If I had 
 not been bold, if I had not encouraged Don Carlos, if 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 91 
 
 I had had the necessary severity and circumspection, I 
 should not now find myself in so miserable a situation. 
 Ah, my dear Lucia ! the human heart is an abyss of 
 iniquity — and of contradictions. Will you believe 
 that if, on the one hand, I am in despair at having 
 given occasion for Don Carlos to come in pursuit of 
 me, on the other it flatters, it delights me, that he 
 should have come, and I am conscious that if he had 
 not come I should be even more unhappy than I am ! 
 In the midst of all — do not doubt it — I am very 
 wicked. I am ashamed of my hypocrisy. I am de- 
 ceiving my mother, who is so clear-sighted. My 
 mother thinks me better than I am, and watches 
 over me as the miser watches over his treasure when 
 the treasure has been already stolen. I do not know 
 how to tell you without offending you, and yet I wish 
 to tell you — I should not obey the dictates of my con- 
 science if I did not tell you — that the cause of my 
 mother's separating me from you is your uncle. He 
 seemed to me a very polished and excellent gentleman, 
 but m*y mother declares — how horrible ! — that he does 
 not believe in God. Can it be possible, child, that 
 the devil strikes the eyes of some souls with such 
 abominable blindness? Is it conceivable that the 
 copy, the image, the likeness, should deny the divine 
 original that lends them the only worth and noble 
 being they have ? If this be true, if the Commander 
 continues obdurate in his wickedness, arm yourself 
 
92 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 with prudence, and pray Heaven to save him. En- 
 deavour, too, to bring your uncle into the good path. 
 You are possessed of extraordinary intelligence, and 
 the gift of expressing yourself with justness and 
 enthusiasm. Doubtless the Most High makes the 
 weak at times the instruments of his greatest vic- 
 tories. Eemember David, a youth, who was a weak 
 shepherd, and who conquered and destroyed the giant 
 in the Terebinthine vale. How many sisters, daugh- 
 ters, mothers, and wives there are who have succeeded 
 in converting their erring husbands, brothers, sons, 
 or fathers ! You should aspire to a like glory, and 
 God will reward you and give you the strength to 
 attain it. As for me, young as I am, I am a miser- 
 able sinner, and I find it task enough to weep for my 
 follies and to calm the tempest of conflicting emo- 
 tions which ravage my soul. Give me a last and the 
 greatest proof of your friendship. Persuade Don 
 Carlos not to love me. Tell him to leave me and 
 return to Seville. Convince him that I am ugly, that 
 I like Don Casimiro, that my ingratitude trfwards 
 him deserves his contempt. I should have said all 
 this to him, but I am so weak and so foolish that I 
 should not have known how to tell it to him, and 
 perhaps I should have stupidly induced him to be- 
 lieve the contrary. Per the love of God, my dearest 
 Lucia, dismiss Don Carlos for me ! I cannot, I ought 
 not, to be his. Send him away ; let him not neglect 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 93 
 
 his studies ; let him not give cause for scandal, as he 
 would if it were known that he had come here for 
 my sake ; and that I am a wicked girl, a temptress, 
 perhaps. Good-bye. I am greatly afflicted. I have no 
 one to confide my affairs to, no one to whom I can un- 
 burden my griefs, or from whom I can ask counsel 
 and help. I await anxiously the arrival of Father 
 Jacinto, who is the oracle of this house. I know that 
 what I tell him will be as if it had been dropped into 
 a well, and that his counsels are wise. He is the only 
 man who has any influence over my mother. When 
 will he come from Villabermeja ? Good-bye, again, 
 and love and pity your Clara." 
 
 XI. 
 
 This innocent letter, these sentiments, so natural 
 in a modest girl of sixteen, brought up devoutly and 
 in retirement from the world, pleased the Commander 
 greatly, but also gave him food for reflection. We 
 shall not seek to look into the depths of his soul, or 
 analyse his secret thoughts, but confine ourselves to 
 saying that as a result of hearing this letter he formed 
 three resolutions : 
 
 The first was, to seek an opportunity of seeing and 
 speaking with the severe Dofia Blanca ; the second, to 
 sound the depths of Don Carlos's soul, to determine 
 
94 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 whether he truly loved the young girl, and was 
 worthy of her love; and the third, to consult with 
 Father Jacinto, and secure in him an ally in the war 
 which he might find himself obliged to declare against 
 Olarita's mother. 
 
 In order to obtain the first, instead of writing to 
 ask an interview, which, under some pretext or other, 
 she .would have politely refused him, Don Fadrique 
 decided to rise very early on the following morning, 
 wait in the street until Dofla Blanca should leave her 
 house to go to mass, and then walk straight up to her 
 and address her boldly. 
 
 This the Commander did. Before six o'clock 
 Dofla Blanca made her appearance in the street, ac- 
 companied by Ularita and Don Valentin. They were 
 going to the principal church of the place to hear 
 mass. As soon as Don Fadrique saw them he ap- 
 proached them resolutely and, taking off his hat and 
 courteously saluting them, he said : 
 
 "Your humble servant, Seflora Blanca. Happy 
 the eyes that behold you and your family ! — Good 
 morning, friend Don Valentin. — Good morning, Cla- 
 rita." 
 
 Don Valentin, hearing himself called friend so gen- 
 tly, and by a familiar and sympathetic voice, was un- 
 able to restrain himself ; without reflecting he yielded 
 to his first affectionate impulse and advanced towards 
 Don Fadriqne with open arms. Fortunately for him- 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 95 
 
 self, however, Don Valentin had the deep-rooted habit 
 of never doing the slightest thing -without first look- 
 ing at his wife to see how she viewed it, whether she 
 withheld him from consummating or encouraged him 
 to consummate his intended act. Notwithstanding 
 the enthusiasm, then, with which he was about to em- 
 brace Don Padrique, he instinctively looked at Dona 
 Blanca before giving the embrace. What he then saw 
 in his wife's flashing eyes is not to be described. 
 The effect produced upon him by that look is almost 
 indescribable. Don Valentin thought he could read 
 in it the most profound contempt, as if she were 
 accusing him of a stupid humiliation, an infamous 
 baseness, and he thought he saw at the same time 
 anger and an imperious prohibition to carry into effect 
 what he had started forward to do. Terror took such 
 complete possession of Don Valentin's soul that he 
 stopped short and stood suddenly motionless as if he 
 had been turned into stone, only that, in a dying and 
 almost inaudible voice, he exhaled at last, like a lan- 
 guid sigh a — 
 
 " Good morning, Seflor Don Fadrique." 
 " Good morning," said Clara, also, with as little 
 spirit as her father. 
 
 Dona Blanca measured the Commander from head 
 to foot with her glance, and in calm, suave tones, with- 
 out being discomposed or disconcerted in the slightest 
 degree, spoke to him in this wise : 
 
96 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 " Caballero— God, who is infinitely merciful, have 
 you in his holy keeping ! Not by loTe of him, which 
 you have not, but by the worldly honour of which you 
 boast, and by the respect and consideration which every 
 man of gentle birth owes to a lady, I entreat you not 
 to distract us from the course we are pursuing, nor to 
 disturb our devout and retired life." 
 
 And having said this, Dona Blanca made a cold 
 and ceremonious reverence to the Commander, and 
 resumed her walk with tranquil gravity, followed by 
 Don Valentin and preceded by Clara. 
 
 Don Fadrique returned her reverence with another, 
 stood for a moment as if bewildered, and then mut- 
 tered : 
 
 " It is decided ; it will be necessary to resort to 
 other measures." 
 
 When the Solis family had walked on some thirty 
 steps, the Commander saw that DoQa Blanca turned 
 round to speak to her husband. 
 
 It is plain that the Commander did not hear what 
 she said, but the novelist knows everything and hears 
 everything. Dofia Blanca, who always treated her 
 husband with the greatest politeness when she preached 
 him a sermon or gave him a reprimand, spoke to him 
 in the following terms while Clara went on in advance : 
 
 " I have told you a thousand times, Seiior Don 
 Valentin, that that man, whom you insisted on intro- 
 ducing into our house in Lima, is a rude and impious 
 
COMMANDER MBNDOZA. 97 
 
 libertine. His acquaintance, if it would not contami- 
 nate, -would stain the good reputation of any woman. 
 I was obliged almost to turn him out of the house. 
 His want of politeness and even of respect would have 
 been sufficient motive in a more barbarous age to have 
 given him, forgetting the divine law, a severe lesson, 
 such as gentlemen were accustomed to give in those 
 days. This could not be ; it was impossible. Noth- 
 ing could be more repugnant to my conscience, noth- 
 ing more opposed to my principles ; but there is a Just 
 medium. It is a crime to kill one who has offended 
 us — but it is baseness to embrace him. Seflor Don 
 Valentin, you have no blood in your veins." 
 
 All this DoQa Blanca, his terrible wife, uttered 
 word by word, slowly and in a low voice, almost in the 
 ear of Don Valentin. 
 
 The last phrases were so cruel and pitiless that 
 Don Valentin was on the point of raising the stand- 
 ard of rebellion, making a scene in the street, and 
 answering his wife as she deserved ; but the perfume 
 of a thousand flowers regaled the nostrils; people 
 were passing along with a cheerful aspect ; the day 
 was enchanting, peace reigned in the heavens, a fresh 
 spring breeze cooled and calmed the most feverish 
 brow ; the Solises were on their way to the bloodless 
 sacrifice of the mass ; Clara walked in front, looking 
 so beautiful and so serene^ — how disturb all this with 
 a horrible dispute? Don Valentin clenched his hands 
 
98 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 and confined himself to exclaiming, in a voice in 
 ■which there was a touch of fury : 
 
 " Seflora ! " 
 
 Then he added to himself, taking good care that 
 Dofla Blanca should not hear him : 
 
 " Accursed be my fate ! " 
 
 But the moment Don "Valentin had uttered this 
 exclamation he was terrified at the blasphemous rebel- 
 lion against Providence which his exclamation implied, 
 and for a moment he regarded himself as first cousin 
 to Satan himself. 
 
 As we see, the Commander's success in this first 
 attempt to renew friendly relations with the Solises 
 could not have been more unfortunate than it was. 
 
 XII. 
 
 OuE hero was not daunted by this. 
 
 He waited for a while in the middle of the street, so 
 that Dofla Blanca might neither say nor think that he 
 was following her, and then went to the principal 
 church of the city, to which he knew the Solises had 
 gone. 
 
 Don Fadrique did not go there, however, with the 
 intention of approaching Dofla Blanca again and suf- 
 fering no doubt a fresh repulse, but in order to find 
 Don Carlos, who he thought could not but be in the 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 99 
 
 church, now that he had no other means of seeing 
 Clara. 
 
 Don Fadrique, then, entered the church and pro- 
 ceeded to look for the poet in the shadow of the pil- 
 lars and the most retired corners of the building. He 
 soon found him behind a pillar not far from the prin- 
 cipal altar. Don Carlos seemed so absorbed in his 
 prayers or in his reflections that nothing belonging to 
 the external world except Clara could have drawn him 
 from them or attracted his attention. 
 
 Don Fadrique, consequently, walked close up to 
 him unperceived. He then observed that Clara was 
 at a little distance, kneeling at her mother's side ; 
 that Don Carlos was looking at her, and that she, 
 although she kept her eyes fixed almost constantly on 
 her prayer-book, raised them swiftly from time to 
 time to glance, with a mixture of fear and tenderness, 
 in the direction of her lover, showing when she saw 
 him that she was' rejoiced to see him, but that she had 
 a dread and a certain terror of profaning the temple 
 and sinning gravely, deceiving her mother and encour- 
 aging the man whose wife she told herself she could 
 not be. 
 
 It need cause no surprise that all this was to be 
 read in Clarita's glances. They were transparent 
 glances, in whose depths shone her soul like a pure 
 diamond shining marvellously by its own light in the 
 bosom of a tranquil lake. 
 
100 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 The Commander stood watcliing this scene for a 
 time, and convinced himself that neither DoQa Blanca 
 nor Don Valentin suspected anything of the young 
 girl's loye. He considered, howcTer, that his presence 
 there might attract the attention of Dofla Blanca, 
 arouse her anger anew, cause her to notice the hand- 
 some youth who was at his side, and make her suspect 
 what thus far she had not suspected. 
 
 Then, although sorry to interrupt this ecstatic and 
 rapturous contemplation, he touched Don Carlos on 
 the shoulder and said to him, almost in a whisper : 
 
 " Forgive me for distracting you from your devo- 
 tions and disturbing the beatific vision which you are 
 doubtless enjoying; but it is necessary that I should 
 speak with you without delay. Do me the favour to 
 come with me, as I have to talk with you on matters 
 which are of the utmost importance to you." 
 
 Without waiting for an answer, Don Fadrique 
 walked towards the door, and Don Carlos, although 
 much to his dislike, could do no less than follow him. 
 
 When they were outside the church Don Fadrique 
 walked towards the country ; Don Carlos followed 
 him, and when they found themselves in a retired 
 spot where no one could hear them or interrupt their 
 conversation, Don Fadrique declared himself in the 
 following terms : 
 
 " Once more I ask your pardon- for my daring in 
 obliging you to leave the church, and still more for 
 
COMMANDER MBNDOZA. 101 
 
 mixing myself up in your affairs without sufficient 
 title to do so. I scarcely know you. This is the 
 seventh or eighth time that I have spoken to you. 
 Clarita I have seen to-day for the second time in my 
 life. liTevertheless, I am deeply interested in Clarita's 
 welfare and in yours. Attribute this to an absurd 
 sentimentalism, to the affection I entertain for my 
 niece Lucia, which is reflected on you ; to what you 
 will. "What I entreat of you is that you will believe 
 me to be loyal and sincere, and that you will not doubt 
 my good will or my good intentions. I desire and I 
 am able to be of great service to you. In exchange I 
 wish you to listen to my counsels and to follow them." 
 
 Don Carlos listened attentively, and with an ap- 
 pearance of deference and respect to the Commander. 
 Presently he answered him : 
 
 " Sefior Don Fadrique, both for your own sake and 
 because you are the uncle of Seflorita Dofia Lucia, 
 who is so amiable and so good, I am disposed to hear 
 you, and even to obey you, as far as lies in my power, 
 without regard to the advantage which you promise 
 me for my obedience." 
 
 " I see that I have not expressed myself clearly," 
 replied Don Padrique. " I promise you no reward for 
 your obedience ; what I wish to signify is that by fol- 
 lowing certain counsels of mine you will obtain with- 
 out difficulty what otherwise you might fail to obtain, 
 to the great grief of everybody." 
 
102 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 " Explain yourself further," said Don Carlos. 
 
 " I mean," continued Don Fadrique, " that your 
 present method of courting Clarita has been mislead- 
 ing people for some time past. Thus far no one in 
 the town suspects your loye, thanks to my niece. As, 
 two months ago, she was in Seville, where you made 
 her acquaintance, and as you came here shortly after- 
 wards, and as you go every evening to her house and 
 spend a great deal of time conversing with her, and 
 not seldom in private ; and as my niece is young and 
 lovely and graceful, if my affection as an uncle does 
 not deceive me, every one thinks that you have come 
 here on her account; that you are paying your ad- 
 dresses to her, that you are her lover. "Who could 
 suppose that so young and pretty a girl would be con- 
 tented to play the poor and little dignified rdle of con- 
 fidante ? For this reason, then, curiosity is misled and 
 your love remains a secret ; but Lucia pays for it. 
 Confess that this is very generous on her part." 
 
 " I— Seflor Don Fadrique— " 
 
 " Make no excuses. I do not speak of this that 
 you may excuse yourself, but in order to place things 
 before you as they are. Every one in the town be- 
 lieves that you have come here, abandoning your 
 parents, your home, and your studies, to pay your ad- 
 dresses to Lucia. But this deception cannot continue. 
 Fancy the wonder, the gossip, the talk you will give 
 rise to, the day it becomes known, as it cannot but be 
 
COMMANDER MENUOZA. 103 
 
 known, that you are courting Clarita, wliom every one 
 believes to be the promised wife of Don Casimiro de 
 Solis." 
 
 " That shall never be while I live ! " exclaimed Don 
 Carlos vehemently. 
 
 " Let us endeavour to prevent it," resumed Don 
 Fadrique calmly. " I will help you as far as I can, 
 and I repeat that something I can do ; but all your 
 energy and all the caution I may use will be of no 
 avail if you neglect to listen to my warnings and to 
 follow my counsels." 
 
 " I have already told you that I desire to follow 
 them." 
 
 " Well, then, friend Don Carlos, it is necessary for 
 you to be convinced that Clarita, of whose love for 
 you I am persuaded, has been brought up in so holy a 
 fear of the Lord, and with so great and even, if you 
 will, exaggerated and irrational a respect for her 
 mother that, to obey her, not to displease her, not to 
 be rebellious, she would be capable of marrying Don 
 Casimiro, even though she were to die of love for you 
 the day after her marriage, even though her wedding 
 dress were to be her shroud." 
 
 " But if Clara tells her mother' that she does not 
 love Don Casimiro — " 
 
 " Clara will not dare to tell her mother that." 
 
 " If she declares to her mother that she loves 
 me—" 
 
104 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 " She would die rather than confess that lore to 
 her mother." 
 
 " But if she fears, her mother so greatly, can she 
 not fly with me ? " 
 
 " I do not believe she would ever take so wrong a 
 step. At all events, even if so wrong a step were 
 possible, it should not be had recourse to until every 
 prudent and judicious means had failed. I repeat my 
 assertion, then. I believe Clarita capable of dying of 
 grief, but I do not believe her capable of lending her- 
 self to the scandal of an elopement." 
 
 " Then what do you wish me to do ? " 
 
 " In the first place, to return to Seville to your 
 parents, and to leave DoQa Clara in peace with 
 hers." 
 
 " It is easy to see that you are not in love. At 
 your age — " 
 
 " There you are with your folly, SeQor poet — I am 
 neither an old man nor a shepherd — nor do I resem- 
 ble in any respect the shepherd of the idyl. Set out 
 for Seville this very day. Leave the town before 
 Dofia Blanca perceives that there are Moors on the 
 coast. I will watch here over your interests, and if 
 they should be in any danger, if it should be neces- 
 sary to have recourse to extreme measures, rely also 
 upon me — even for an elopement. I run little risk 
 in making you this promise, for I am convinced that 
 Clara will not allow herself to be carried away." 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 105 
 
 " And why and with what purpose should I go to 
 Seville?" 
 
 " Have I not told you that already ? Because here 
 you only injure yourself without profit or pleasure. I 
 am certain that all you will be able to obtain will be 
 to see Clara at church, more to the poor girl's anguish 
 than delight. And this so long as Dofla Blanca dis- 
 covers nothing. The day on which Dofla Blanca dis- 
 covers your game, will be a terrible day for Olarita, 
 and you will never see her afterwards. Go, then, to 
 Seville." 
 
 " And what shall I gain by going away ? " 
 
 " That I will be able to work for you with more 
 tranquillity. You interfere with my plans. If you 
 remain here you will precipitate the marriage with 
 Don Casimiro, and cause them to send post haste to 
 liome for a license. If you go away, I do not afBrm 
 that I shall be able to prevent Clara's marriage to the 
 old shepherd, and obtain that she shall belong to 
 Myrtilus ; but either I am of little account, or I shall 
 succeed in obtaining time, and — who knows ? — I prom- 
 ise nothing. I only entreat you to go away. Go this 
 very day." 
 
 The interest manifested by the Commander, his 
 persistency in urging him to go away, the determi- 
 nation with which he interfered in his affairs, all dis- 
 pleased Don Carlos and made him distrustful and 
 uneasy. 
 
106 COMMANDEE MENDOZA. 
 
 The Oommander exhausted every argument, 
 touched every chord, but especially that of entreaty. 
 The young man answered him several times with ill- 
 humour, and it required all the Commander's calm 
 superiority to soothe and restrain Don Carlos, and 
 prevent him from offending the man who was advis- 
 ing, almost commanding him. 
 
 In the end, Don Fadrique entreated, promised, 
 and agreed to such purpose that Don Carlos was 
 obliged to yield, and to depart that very day for 
 Seville, consenting to absent himself, however, only 
 for a little more than a month — until the beginning 
 of the summer vacation. In exchange, he exacted 
 and obtained from Don Fadrique a promise to write 
 to him, giving him news of Clara, and warning him 
 if there should be the slightest appearance of danger, 
 in order that he might fly to her immediately. 
 
 Although Don Carlos was neither timid nor stupid, 
 he had never been able to succeed in persuading Clara 
 to receive a letter from him, still less to write to him. 
 But what wonder, if Clara had never even given him 
 to understand, in as many words, that she loved him ! 
 And yet Clara loved him. The lover knew well that 
 his complaint that 
 
 Ohloris, compassionate and kind, the swain 
 Would not kill with her disdain ; 
 Yet will she not his love jeturn — 
 
 was false, through pure modesty. 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 107 
 
 Clara loved him, and in spite of herself, against 
 her will, she had declared her loye ; but only with her 
 eyes, through which her soul went out towards the 
 gallant and handsome student ; nor were all her re- 
 ligious and filial scruples powerful enough to hold it 
 back. 
 
 Don Fadrique convinced himself during the long 
 conversation which he had with Don Carlos, that the 
 passion of the latter for Clara was genuine and pro- 
 found. Of Clara's love for the Eondan poet he was 
 even more fully convinced. "With this twofold con- 
 viction, at which he was rejoiced, he hastened still 
 more the departure of Don Carlos, and before noon he 
 had the satisfaction of seeing him leave the town for 
 Seville. 
 
 Don Carlos left the city on horseback with his 
 servant, and Don Fadrique, on horseback also, joined 
 him at the Common and accompanied him on his 
 way for more than a league, encouraging his hopes, 
 and talking to him of his love. On arriving at a 
 cross-road, Don Fadrique bade an affectionate fare- 
 well to the young man, and took the road back to 
 Villabermeja, with the intention of conferring with 
 Father Jacinto. 
 
 The simplicity and modesty of this holy man had 
 prevented Don Fadrique from observing the im- 
 mense importance he had acquired during his long 
 absence. 
 
108 COMMANDER MBNDOZA. 
 
 As a preacher the priest enjoyed an extraordinary 
 reputation throughout the district. He was equally 
 celebrated for his three styles of preaching. In the 
 simple or homiletic style he delighted the country 
 people, and brought questions of religion and morality 
 within the reach of their understanding, enlivening 
 these serious lessons with jests and witty remarks, 
 which a severe critic might have condemned, but 
 which were well calculated to make the rude peasants 
 acquire a taste for his discourses and take pleasure in 
 listening to them. In sermons on grand occasions, 
 on days of ceremony. Father Jacinto was another man 
 — ^he used many Latin phrases, spoke in deep, impres- 
 sive tones, and embroidered his discourse with a whole 
 garden of flowers, a veritable thicket of exuberant 
 ornamentation, pleasing the discriminating and cul- 
 tured persons of these regions also. And he had, 
 finally, the pathetic style of Passion "Week and Holy 
 Week, during which sermons, rather than spoken, 
 were, in those days, as they still are, chanted in Villa- 
 bermeja, nor does any other style please them there. 
 A sermon in Holy Week, unless delivered in what is 
 there called the toniUo* pleases no one, nor is it con- 
 sidered a sermon. Whenever a priest from any other 
 place goes to Villabermeja, even now, he has to learn 
 the tonillo. In this toriillo Father Jacinto was a pat- 
 
 * A sing-song, monotonous tone in reading or speaking. 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 109 
 
 tern of perfection, whom up to the present time no 
 one has ever surpassed. Listening to him, it is said, 
 although the reminiscence be a profane one, that it 
 could be understood how Caius Gracchus caused him- 
 self to be accompanied by a flutist when he pro- 
 nounced in the Forum his most impassioned dis- 
 courses. Father Jacinto preached also in the Forum, 
 that is to say, in the middle of the public square, dur- 
 ing Holy Week. There all the events of the Passion 
 were acted in character, and the priest explained them 
 in his sermon according as they were represented. 
 Thus, there were sermons that lasted for three hours, 
 and without the priest ever abandoning the tonillo, 
 which did not hinder him from giving the proper ex- 
 pression to the most diverse passions — as pity, grief, 
 and anger. When the town-crier appeared on the 
 balcony of the town hall and read the sentence of 
 death pronounced upon Jesus, the Bermenjas can still 
 remember the fury with which the priest turned to- 
 wards him, exclaiming : 
 
 "Be silent, false, wicked, stupid, and vile crier, 
 and hearken to the voice of the angel speaking ! " 
 
 And then a splendid angel appeared on another 
 balcony of the square and sang the ineffable mystery 
 of the redemption, beginning — 
 
 " This is the sentence ordained by the Eternal 
 
 Father," and all the rest that we who are from there 
 
 have so often heard. 
 8 
 
110 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 But, returning to Father Jacinto, I will say that 
 his merit as a preacher was perhaps the least of his 
 merits. His chief value was as a spiritual director. 
 He spent whole hours in the confessional. He Vi^as 
 obliged to go frequently from the Bermejan convent 
 to the convent of the neighbouring town, where he had 
 not a few spiritual daughters among the gentry. He 
 was, besides, a man of counsel and wisdom in worldly 
 affairs, and every one went to consult him who found 
 himself in tribulation, embarrassment, or diflBiculty. 
 In short, Father Jacinto was a skilful physician for 
 the soul, although the remedies he applied were at 
 times harsh and severe. He liked to make use of 
 heroic remedies, as happens with other country doc- 
 tors, who will prescribe for a man a medicine that 
 would be suitable for a horse. Notwithstanding this, 
 the priest had so much authority and discretion, he 
 was so agreeable in his manners, and so resolute a 
 protector and defender of women, that he enjoyed 
 immense popularity among them, and was fervently 
 revered as well by humble workwomen as by the 
 haughty ladies of the nobility. 
 
 Although verging on seventy, he was still strong 
 and vigorous, though he had lost a certain youthful 
 impetuosity for which he had been famous, and which 
 had led him at times to imitate the Divine Re- 
 deemer, rather in the outburst of indignant anger in 
 which he scourged the merchants out of the temple 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. m 
 
 with a whip of cords, than in his meekness. Father 
 Jacinto had been a tall, strong, and robust man, and 
 he had thrashed soundly some heartless and contu- 
 macious sinners, especially husbands who got drunk, 
 spent their money in wine and play, and beat their 
 wives. 
 
 Towards this class of men Father Jacinto had been 
 severe indeed. He had not now the fire of his youth, 
 but his virtue and his moral strength, united with the 
 remembrance of his physical strength, inspired the 
 rustics with great respect. 
 
 Such were the principal qualities and such was the 
 brilliant position of the Commander's former master, 
 whom he was now on his way to consult and confer 
 with regarding difficult matters, and from whom he 
 hoped to obtain powerful assistance. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Whbk the Commander arrived at Villabermeja he 
 left his horse at his own house and walked to the 
 convent, which was only a few steps distant, and 
 where, as it was the hour of the siesta, he found 
 Father Jacinto in his cell, not sleeping, but seated 
 at the table reading. 
 
 My readers, from what has been thus far narrated, 
 will have formed an approximate idea of the nature 
 
112 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 and disposition of the friar. It remains to be said, 
 in order to make the portrait complete, that he was 
 tall and thin, that he could see and hear well, that he 
 addressed eyery human being in the second person 
 singular, and that he prided himself on not being 
 mealy-mouthed — that is, on saying all that came into 
 his head with a frankness that bordered upon and 
 even overstepped at times the prescribed limits, enter- 
 ing with banners flying the jurisdiction and region 
 of effrontery. To Don Fadrique alone did the priest 
 show respect and deference, probably having, in spite 
 of himself, an affection for his former pupil which 
 made him overweak. 
 
 " Boy," he said to Don Fadrique, the moment he 
 saw him enter, " what good wind blows you here so 
 unexpectedly ? " 
 
 "Master," answered the Commander, " I have 
 come expressly to consult you." 
 
 " To consult me ? And what about ? "What is 
 there that you do not yourself know better than I or 
 any one else ? " 
 
 " What I wish to consult you about is a matter of 
 the greatest imjjortance." 
 
 " Well — let us hear what it is." 
 
 " It is — it is — nothing less than a case of con- 
 science." 
 
 On hearing the words " case of conscience," the 
 priest stared at the Commander Avith an expres- 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 113 
 
 sion of incredulity and suspicion, and finally ex- 
 claimed : 
 
 "See, my son, if you are growing tired in this 
 place, and want to jest and amuse yourself, take a 
 board and a pair of horns, and don't jest or amuse 
 yourself with me. The corn is too old now to make a 
 pipe of." 
 
 " And what makes you suppose that I am jesting 
 or amusing myself ? I am speaking seriously. Why 
 should I not seriously lay before you a case of con- 
 science ? " 
 
 " Because every man of good education, brought 
 up in the midst of Christian society, although he 
 may have lost the belief in our Lord Jesus Christ, 
 has a conscience as clear as I have, and there is no 
 case which he cannot himself resolve without any 
 need of consulting me. If you were a believer, you 
 might come to me in search of the consolations of 
 religion. As you do not come to me for these, what 
 can I tell you that you do not already know ? Your 
 system of morality is identical with mine, although it 
 may have a different basis. And, in short — and you 
 know it well — there is no merely moral case of con- 
 science whose solution presents any difficulty to a cul- 
 tivated understanding. God, no doubt in order to 
 exercise our mental activity and to sharpen our intel- 
 ligence, or to give greater value to our faith, has 
 surrounded with darkness the great metaphysical 
 
114 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 problems ; he has wrapped them in mystery at times 
 impenetrable ; but in all that concerns practical mo- 
 rality, in all that concerns the fulfilment of our duties, 
 there is no mystery whatever ; everything is as clear 
 as water. Our sovereign Lord, in his infinite good- 
 ness and mercy, has not desired, in spite of our wick- 
 edness, that any one should need to be a Seneca to 
 know perfectly well what his duty is, and much less 
 that any one should need to be a wonderful hero to 
 fulfil it. What, then, do you seek from me ? " 
 
 " Many arguments might be urged in disproof of 
 what you say, but I do not wish to discuss but to con- 
 sult. I am willing to agree that there is nothing 
 recondite in morality, and that it is not so very difii- 
 cult to comply with its laws." 
 
 " That is to say," interrupted the priest, " in all 
 those countries where the light of the gospel has 
 penetrated. You think that natural reason has suf- 
 ficed to men to formulate the moral law ; I believe 
 they have needed revelation to do this ; but you and I 
 agree that, once this law is formulated, human reason 
 accepts it as self-evident. It is great wickedness to 
 suppose that this law is obscure and vague, and to 
 invent terrible cases, frightful conflicts between the 
 natural feelings and the simple fulfilment of a duty. 
 This would be equivalent to supposing that it would 
 be necessary to be a well of science and to be capable 
 of superhuman efforts to be a decent person. You 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 115 
 
 will see at once that this ■would be to excuse and al- 
 most to justify villainy. After all, all men are not 
 sages, nor have they iron muscles or hearts of ada- 
 mant. To exalt morality in this way is almost to 
 render it impossible except for a few privileged 
 individuals of the highest order, with more philos- 
 ophy than Chrysippus and more fortitude than 
 Eegulus." 
 
 " Much the case I wish to lay before you has to do 
 with all you are saying. It is not idle curiosity but a 
 very deep interest that makes me wish to resolve a 
 doubt." 
 
 " Impossible — you can have no doubt." 
 
 " Let me finish. I have no doubt in this matter. 
 I have formed my judgment, which seems to me as 
 incontestable as that two and three make five. My 
 doubt is whether you, for reasons based on the inex- 
 haustible goodness of God, are less strait-laced than 
 I am, or whether, for reasons based on the positive 
 law in which you believe, you are more so. Do you 
 understand me now ? " 
 
 " I understand you very well ; and I will tell you 
 at once that I am neither more nor less strait-laced 
 than you are. We should both judge alike of a sin, a 
 fault, a crime, and of the obligation which might 
 spring from it. Theological arguments have to do 
 with penitence, expiation, pardon, paradise or hell in 
 another world, and with all this you have no need to 
 
116 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 concern yourself now. Let us hear this case, then, 
 since you wish to consult me." 
 
 " You will agree at once, without discussion, that 
 what has been stolen should be restored to its owner?" 
 
 « Undoubtedly." 
 
 " And when, through a deception, something be- 
 longing to one person has come into the possession of 
 another, what should be done ? " 
 
 " The deception should be put an end to, so that 
 what is held unlawfully by another may return to the 
 possession of its legitimate owner." 
 
 " And how, if from putting an end to the decep- 
 tion other evils, clearly greater, should arise ? " 
 
 "Here we must distinguish. If you are called 
 upon to declare the truth, you should never tell a lie, 
 however great may be the evils which would result 
 from telling the truth. The profitable as well as the 
 hurtful lie is to be condemned. You should not tell 
 a lie not even to save a fellow-creature's life, nor to 
 save any one's honour, nor for the good of religion ; 
 but I venture to maintain that you should not speak 
 the truth, when you are not called upon to tell it, 
 when from the telling of it more evil than good would 
 result. To think otherwise is folly. I affirm this 
 without hesitation : I will explain my position in a few 
 words. Yoti commit a sin. You tell a lie, for exam- 
 ple. The evils which spring from your crime you 
 should remedy as far as it is possible and lawful to do 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 117 
 
 SO — that is, without committing a fresh crime to rem- 
 edy the former one. God, in order to make clear to 
 us the enormity of our sins, at times permits evils to 
 spring from them, the human remedies of which 
 would be worse than the sins themselves. To try 
 yourself to avoid them or to remedy them, is not hu- 
 mility, but pride, satanic pride ; it is to strive against 
 God ; it is to seek to play the rdle of Providence ; it is 
 to strike in the dark ; it is to try to right the wrong 
 you have yourself committed, making crooked and ob- 
 lique that which is straight, and tending to disturb the 
 natural order of things." 
 
 " Speaking frankly," said the Commander, "yonr 
 doctrine seems to me a very convenient one. I see 
 that you are less strait-laced than I had sup- 
 posed." 
 
 " Get away with you. Commander ! " responded the 
 priest, not a little displeased. " I was never yet thought 
 complacent. You make the worst accusation against me 
 that can be made against a confessor. A saint has 
 said, iVbw est pietas, sed impietas, tolerare peccata, and 
 I am very far from being impious. It all comes, doubt- 
 less, from your confounding things. We are not now 
 speaking of penitence, of expiation, of the chastise- 
 ment of sins. On this point I have no need to tell 
 you what I should require from a penitent in order to 
 give him absolution. We are speaking now only of 
 the obligation to make satisfaction for the injury 
 
118 COMMANDEE MENDOZA. 
 
 which results from a crime. And to this I have given 
 a plain answer. The sinner or the delinquent should 
 go as far as it is possible and lawful for him to go. If 
 he must commit fresh crimes, if he must commit new 
 wrongs and irregularities, it is better for him to let 
 the matter rest, and not to try to remedy the evil he 
 has done. Why ! would it be well, for instance, that 
 you should wound some one, and then, without know- 
 ing anything of surgery, should try to cure him, and 
 finish killing him ? You say this is a convenient doc- 
 trine. Where is its convenience ? Although I excuse 
 you from applying the remedy, I do not exempt you 
 from penance, remorse, and punishment. On the con- 
 trary, the opposite doctrine is the convenient one — to 
 remedy the evil in an evil manner, and then to think 
 yourself free, to regard yourself as absolved. In this 
 way an awkward servant might break the most pre- 
 cious vase you have brought with you from China, then 
 stick it together clumsily with glue, and remain as un- 
 concerned as if he had not done you the slightest in- 
 jury. What the servant should do is always to go about 
 cautiously, in order not to break the vase, and, if he 
 breaks it, to be very sorry for his fault ; and, since he 
 can neither mend the vase nor buy you another new 
 one like it, to suffer with humility the reprimand you 
 will bestow upon him." 
 
 " I am glad to see that we are of one mind in re- 
 gard to the doctrine in general. In its application to 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 119 
 
 particular cases it is tliat I perceive room for much 
 subtlety. Contrary to your opinion, the right path ap- 
 pears to me very dark and intricate. How determine 
 always how far that which I desire to do to repair the 
 evil is possible and lawful ? " 
 
 " It is very simple. If, in order to repair it, you 
 cause a greater evil, let the first remain, since it is the 
 least, and this, even although in the second injury you 
 cause there should be no sin on your part. If there 
 must be a new sin, a new infraction of the moral law 
 in the remedy, although this second sin be less than 
 the first which you committed, you must not commit 
 it. God, if he so desires, will remedy the evil that has 
 been already caused." 
 
 " So that there is nothing to be done but to fold 
 one's arms — to let the ball roll ? " 
 
 " There is nothing to be done but to let it roll, 
 since by stopping it you may make everything roll. 
 The Holy Scriptures here come to my support with 
 not a few texts. David says, Aiyssus abyssum invo- 
 cat ; Solomon, Est processio in malis ; and the 
 prophet Amos, Si erii malum quod Dominus nonfe- 
 cerit ? by which he gives it to be understood that God 
 permits or ordains evil as the punishment of sin and 
 as a warning to man ; and the same Solomon, before 
 quoted, says in the most explicit manner that we can 
 neither add to nor take away from what God has made 
 in order that he might be feared : Non possxiimis 
 
120 COMMANDBR MBNDOZA. 
 
 quidquam adders nee auferre quce fecit Deus ut 
 timeafur." 
 
 "In spite of your texts, in spite of your Latin 
 quotations, this cowardly resignation is repugnant 
 to me." 
 
 " How cowardly ? "Where have you learned that 
 there can be cowardice towards God ? And, besides, 
 resignation to his will does not imply that you are to 
 set your mind at rest and be filled with self-satisfac- 
 tion. Continue to mourn your fault. Scourge your 
 soul with the whip of conscience and your body with 
 cruel thongs ; make of your life in this world a pur- 
 gatory ; but be resigned, and do not seek to remedy 
 what only God can remedy. Even common sense will 
 tell you this, looking at human actions from the point 
 of view of utility and expedience, which, rightly under- 
 stood, are in accord with morality and justice. How 
 wise is the proverb which says, ' "What I am sorry for 
 is not that my son should have lost, but that he should 
 try to win back what he has lost ' ! If it is wrong to 
 gamble, it is still worse to go on gambling ; to relapse 
 into sin, to remedy the evil caused by sin. But, mean- 
 time, you have talked only of generalities, and the 
 case of conscience- you spoke of does not present 
 itself." 
 
 " I am going to state it now," said the Commander. 
 
 " I am all ears," responded the friar. 
 
 " "What must he do who, not being the child of the 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 121 
 
 man who passes for his father before the law, usurps 
 a name, position, and fortune that are not rightfully 
 his ? " 
 
 " Magnificent ! After so long a preamble ypu 
 come out with an insignificant question like that ? 
 I will not speak now of the difl5culty or impossibility 
 which that supposititious son would find to prove his 
 mother's crime. I know nothing about the laws, but 
 my reason tells me that against proofs afforded by the 
 certificate of baptism and by the series of acts and 
 official documents which have made you pass up to 
 the present day for the son of a certain well-known 
 Lopez de Mendoza, only testimony of an exceptional 
 kind, of a kind almost impossible to obtain, would 
 avail. I will concede, however, for argument's sake, 
 that you possess such testimony. I would still decide, 
 I think, that you ought not to make use of it. You 
 know the commandments of the law of God? You 
 know that the order in which they follow one another 
 is not arbitrary ? Well, what does the seventh say ? " 
 
 " ' Thou Shalt not steal.' " 
 
 "And the fourth?" 
 
 " ' Honour thy father and thy mother.' " 
 
 " It is evident, then, that in order to rid yourself 
 of the sin against the seventh commandment you were 
 going to sin against the fourth, dishonouring your 
 father and your mother, for your father would always 
 be the man who regarded you as his son, who brought 
 
122 COMMANDBE MBNDOZA. 
 
 you up, who fed you and educated you, even if he did 
 not beget you." 
 
 "You are right, Father Jacinto. And yet, the 
 possessions which are not mine — how shall I go on 
 enjoying them?" 
 
 " And who tells you to enjoy them ? What ! Is 
 it so difficult a matter to give, without telling why 
 you give ? Give them, then, to those to whom you 
 ought to give them. They will accept them.' In_ ac- 
 cepting them there will be no deceit. And if, by a 
 strange chance, you should find some one incredibly 
 scrupulous in accepting, contrive some way of making 
 him accept. Par from opposing, I demand, I applaud 
 the reparation, always provided that to carry it out it 
 be not necessary to commit a greater crime than the 
 one you seek to remedy." 
 
 " Very good ; and if it be not the child but the 
 mother who is guilty — what ought the guilty mother 
 to do?" 
 
 " The same as the child — not to dishonour her 
 husband publicly, not to embitter his life, not to make 
 him suffer so frightful an undeception, not to add to 
 her sin of frailty the sin of cruel and heartless shame- 
 lessness." 
 
 " But the mother has not the means of restoring 
 the wealth that through her fault will pass or has 
 passed into the possession of one to whom they do not 
 belong." 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 123 
 
 " Well, if she has not, how can she help it ? I 
 have already told you — she must be resigned. She 
 must submit to the will of God. All this she ought 
 to have foreseen before sinning, and not have sinned. 
 After the sin reparation is not incumbent upon her, if 
 this involves a new sin, but penance is. Have you 
 now stated the whole case ? " 
 
 " Wo, father ; it has other complications and other 
 aspects." 
 
 " Tell me what they are." 
 
 " What, in your opinion, ought the man to do who 
 has sinned — the accomplice of the woman in the crime 
 — whose consequence is the robbery, the usurpation of 
 which we have just spoken ? " 
 
 " The same as I have said the son and the mother 
 ought to do." 
 
 " And how, if he possesses wealth suflScient to re- 
 pair the injury done to the heirs ? " 
 
 " He should repair that injury, but with such cir- 
 cumspection, discretion, and secrecy, that nothing of 
 the matter shall be known. In the book of Proverbs 
 it is written : ' Melius est nomen bonum quam divitim 
 muUcB.'' So that for a question of money no one 
 should injure another's good name." 
 
 The historian of these events writes to narrate and 
 not to prove. He does not, therefore, take it upon 
 himself to decide whether Father Jacinto was right 
 in what he said or not; whether he spoke, guided by 
 
124 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 common sense or by the teachings of Christian mo- 
 rality, or by both criteria in perfect accord ; nor does 
 he incline to believe, on the other hand, that the said 
 priest had a loose and common system of ethics, and 
 the daring and self-confidence of an ignorant rustic. 
 Let the judicious reader decide for himself as to this. 
 SuflBce it to note here that the Commander manifested 
 extreme satisfaction at seeing that his master, as he 
 called him, thought exactly as he wished him to 
 think. 
 
 Father Jacinto, mistrustful, like a true villager, 
 did not observe the keen interest with which his for- 
 mer pupil had interrogated him, and still thinking 
 the Commander's questions to be a joke, a species of 
 examination made by him to pass away the time, he 
 resumed with some pique : 
 
 " It appears to me that I am more than simple. 
 What is your purpose in putting all these idle ques- 
 tions to me ? Do you wish to examine me ? Do you 
 mean to have my license as a confessor revoked, if you 
 do not think me well instructed ? " 
 
 " N'othing of the sort, master. I do not know 
 whether you are in accord or not with your big M'orks 
 on moral theology, but you are in accord with me, 
 which flatters me ; and you are also in accord with my 
 plans, which fills me with hope. I sought in you an 
 ally. I always counted upon your friendship, but I 
 did not know whether I could also count upon your 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 125 
 
 conscience. Now, I know that your conscience is not 
 opposed to me. Your friendship, consequently, free 
 from every impediment, will come to my assistance." 
 
 Father Jacinto knew at last that a practical, real 
 case, and not an imaginary one, was in question, and 
 he promised to aid the Commander in all that was 
 just. 
 
 Anticipating, then, an important reyelation, he 
 wished to prepare for it by a short intermission ; and 
 to solemnize the revelation he went to a closet near by, 
 and taking from it a bottle of wine and two glasses, 
 he placed them on the table and filled the glasses to 
 the brim. He said to the Commander : 
 
 " This wine has neither alcohol, nor drugs, nor 
 adulteration of any kind. It is pure, unmixed, and 
 stainless. It is as God made it. Drink and refresh 
 yourself with it, and then tell me what you have to 
 tell." 
 
 " I drink to the success of my plans," answered the 
 Commander, draining his glass. 
 
 " Amen, if it be the will of God," replied the friar, 
 drinking also, and preparing to give all his attention 
 to Don Fadrique. 
 
126 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 There was but little in the cell to attract atten- 
 tion. On the table, or desk, which was of walnut, were 
 a writing-desk, and a breviary and some other books. 
 Two arm-chairs which stood facing each other with 
 the table between them, and in which our two inter- 
 locutors were seated, were also of walnut. Besides the 
 two arm-chairs there were four chairs ranged against 
 the wall. All the chairs had rush bottoms. An Ecce- 
 homo in oils, to which might be applied the saying, 
 " For a poorly painted Christ plenty of blood," was 
 the only picture which adorned the walls of the cell. 
 There were not wanting, in compensation, other more 
 natural adornments. In the window, sunning them- 
 selves, were two blooming rose bushes ; in the room 
 were four pots of knee-holly, and hanging on the walls 
 were five cages — two with singing partridges, and 
 three with linnets, all excellent decoy birds. Another 
 pretty linnet, a skilful decoy, held prisoner by a 
 string which was fastened to a projecting rod at- 
 tached to a pine table, flew every few moments as far 
 as the length of the string would allow, to return 
 again and alight gracefully upon the perch. 
 
 The linnets would occasionally enliven the room 
 by their warbling. In a corner, resting against the 
 the walls, were two fowling pieces. 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 127 
 
 And, lastly, in a little alcove, wliicli was half con- 
 cealed by the green baize curtain that hung in front 
 of the little door that opened into it, was the bed of 
 the good friar. The closet from which the latter had 
 taken the wine, and which was of considerable size, 
 served at once as storehouse, wardrobe, pantry, cash- 
 box, and library. 
 
 Everything, although poor, looked very clean. 
 
 Father Jacinto, with his elbow resting on the table, 
 his cheek in his hand, and his eyes fixed on Don Fa- 
 drique, waited for the latter to begin. 
 
 Don Fadrique, in a low voice, spoke as follows : 
 
 " Although I do not come as a penitent to make 
 confession, I exact the same secrecy as if I were in 
 the confessional." 
 
 The priest, without making any verbal answer, 
 nodded afiSrmatively. 
 
 Don Fadrique then continued : 
 
 " The man of whom I spoke to you, the sinner 
 who caused the deception and the theft, is myself. 
 The levity of my character had made me forget my 
 crime, and neglect to think of the fatal consequences 
 which must result from it. Chance — why do I say 
 chance? — an all-wise God, in whom I believe, has 
 brought me once more face to face with my accom- 
 plice, and has made me see all the evils that have 
 arisen from my fault and that still threaten to arise 
 from it. I am ready to repair the evils that have al- 
 
128 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 ready arisen, and to prevent, in accordance with your 
 doctrine, those that might still arise from it, as far as 
 it may be possible and allowable for me to do so. It 
 is a consolation to me to see that you are in accord 
 with me. I am not going to seek a remedy worse 
 than the disease ; but there is a person who is seeking 
 such a remedy, and that person must be prevented, at 
 all costs, from finding it. That would be abomination 
 on abomination." 
 
 " And who is that person ? " asked the priest. 
 
 " My accomplice," answered the Commander. 
 
 " And who is your accomplice ? " 
 
 "You know her. You are her spiritual adviser. 
 You have probably a great deal of influence over her. 
 My accomplice is — Eemember, master, that I have 
 never before made this revelation to any one. At 
 least no one could ever accuse me of giving public 
 scandal. Seldom has an intrigue been kept more se- 
 cret. The good name of this woman shines still, after 
 seventeen years, brighter than gold." 
 
 " Finish : who is your accomplice ? Consider that 
 you are throwing your secret into a well. I know how 
 to be silent." 
 
 " My accomplice is Dofla Blanca Eoldan de Solis." 
 
 Father Jacinto was overwhelmed with amazement. 
 He stared at the Commander with eyes and mouth 
 wide open, and hastily crossed himself half a dozen 
 times in siTccession, uttering these pious ejaculations : 
 
COMMANDER MBNDOZA. 129 
 
 " Hail Mary, most pure ! Praised be the Blessed 
 Sacrament ! Jesas, Mary, and Joseph ! " 
 
 " What is it that amazes you so extraordinarily ? " 
 asked the Commander, thinking that the priest was 
 surprised that so virtuous and austere a matron should 
 ever have succumbed to an evil temptation. 
 
 " What is it that amazes me, boy — what is it that 
 amazes me ? Does it seem a little thing to you, then ? 
 They may well say. Live and learn. The devil is the 
 very devil ! See — and I don't say it to offend any one 
 — see with what a bunch of carnations the enemy of 
 man allured and seduced you ! With a handful of 
 furze ! A sweet flower you transplanted to the garden 
 of your love ! A pine thistle ! Dofla Blanca must 
 have been handsome — she is so still ; but good Heav- 
 ens ! Why, she is a hedgehog ! I — without offence to 
 the absent — did not think her impeccable, but I did 
 not believe her capable of sinning through love." 
 
 Don Fadrique answered only with a sigh, an inar- 
 ticulate exclamation, which the priest fancied implied 
 that seventeen years ago Dofia Blanca was a very dif- 
 ferent woman, and that the very harshness of her char- 
 acter and the resolute inflexibility of her disposition 
 caused her to feel every passion, including that of love, 
 once it found entrance to her breast, with more vehe- 
 mence than other women. 
 
 Having recovered to sonie extent from his amaze- 
 ment, Father Jacinto said : 
 
130 COMMANDER MBNDOZA. 
 
 " And tell me, my son, what effort is Dofla Blanca 
 making to repair the evil ? What are the projects she 
 entertains which alarm you so greatly ? " 
 
 " Who would be her husband's next heir if she had 
 not a daughter ? " asked the Commander. 
 
 " Don Casimiro Soils," was the answer. 
 
 "And why does she wish to marry her daughter to 
 Don Casimiro ? " 
 
 " Sinner that I am — stupid fool ! " exclaimed the 
 priest with violence, striking the table repeatedly with 
 his clenched hand, "will you believe that I am so 
 egotistical that my egotism blinded me ? I saw no 
 evil design in Dofia Blanca's plan. It appeared to 
 me natural that she should wish to marry Clarita to 
 her uncle. All I considered was my vile interest — 
 that no one should take Clarita away from this place. 
 For you must know that Clarita has me bewitched. 
 Eor her sake, and for her sake only, do I put up with 
 her mother. What I wanted, like an arrant villain, 
 was that she should remain here — so that I might go 
 to her house and that she might pet me, as she pets 
 me now when I go to her mother's, bringing me with 
 her own lovely white hands mugs of chocolate and 
 cups of syrup. I had fancied that Clarita was a doll 
 for my amusement. I did not consider, I did not re- 
 flect ; I only thought that if she was married she would 
 make an excellent mistress of a house, and that I 
 should sit at her hearth, and that I would take her 
 
COMMANDER MENUOZA. 131 
 
 gifts of flowers and fruits and birds. If you were to 
 see the doe I have brought for her from the Sierra 
 Morena ! It is a beauty. I have it down in the court- 
 yard — and I was going to take it to her to-morrow. 
 What an idea! Was ever anything so barbarous? 
 "Without ever thinking of the marriage. Now I com- 
 prehend it all. How monstrous! To marry that 
 jewel to such a conceited ass ! Of course, she does 
 not object — she doesn't understand — who the devU 
 would? — ^but I understand now — and it makes me 
 shudder — it horrifies me ! " 
 
 " And you have reason to be horrified. She does 
 object; she does understand — but she believes that 
 she ought not to resist the maternal authority." 
 
 " That is to carry obedience too far. That would 
 be a fine thing ! She must obey her mother, but she 
 must first obey God. "Diligendus est genitor, sedprce- 
 ponendus est Creator.'' That is a saying of St. Augus- 
 tine's." 
 
 " Besides," said the Commander, " Clarita loves 
 another." 
 
 " How is that ? What do you tell me ? What lie, 
 what falsehood have they made you believe ? If Clarita 
 loved a gallant, she would have confessed it to me." 
 
 " She herself does not know that she loves him ; 
 but I know that she does." 
 
 " Ah, yes, now I understand : certain glances and 
 smiles exchanged with a little student. She has con- 
 
132 COMMANDEK MENDOZA. 
 
 fessed them to me. But she has repented — "With a 
 little student ! A fine thing it would be for Clarita 
 to lead a vagabond's life." 
 
 " Father Jacinto, you are doting." 
 
 " "What impudence ! How dare you tell me that I 
 am doting ? " 
 
 "The little student is not one of those who go 
 about in a torn cloak, with a spoon stuck in their 
 cocked hat, asking alms, hut a gentleman of rank, a 
 rich landowner." 
 
 " Indeed ! That is flour from another bag, then. 
 The innocent lamb told me nothing of this. Tell me 
 — and is he handsome ? " 
 
 " As a golden pine." 
 
 " A good Christian ? " 
 
 " I think so." 
 
 "Honourable?" 
 
 " In the highest degree. " 
 
 " And does he love her very much ? " 
 
 " With his whole heart." 
 
 " And he is sensible and brave ? " 
 
 " As a Gonzalo de C6rdoba. In addition, he is an 
 elegant poet, a good horseman ; he possesses a thou- 
 sand other accomplishments, is very well informed, 
 and understands bull-fighting." 
 
 " I am glad, I am heartily glad — I am more than 
 glad. "We will marry him to Clarita, let Dofia Blanca 
 rave and storm as she will." 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. I33 
 
 " Yes, my dear master, we will marry him ; but it 
 is necessary that we should be very prudent." 
 
 " Prudentes sicut serpentes. Don't be uneasy. I 
 know too well what Dona Blanca is. The sway she 
 exercises over her daughter is absolute. The respect 
 and the fear with which she inspires her are beyond 
 expression. And then, what energy, what a will that 
 lady has ! In obstinacy no one can beat her." 
 
 " I am not less obstinate — and I will not consent 
 that Clara shall be made the price of any one's redemp- 
 tion ; that our sins shall be visited upon her, who is 
 sinless; that Dofla Blanca shall sell her to purchase 
 her own liberty. However, it is necessary that we 
 should be very cautious. Dofla Blanca, driven to ex- 
 tremity, might commit some insane act." 
 
 This long conversation over, and the Commander 
 and Father Jacinto having come to a perfect under- 
 standing, the former returned that same day to the 
 city, in order that his absence might not occasion re- 
 mark. 
 
 Father Jacinto promised to go to the city on the 
 following morning. 
 
 The details and conduct of the plan which they 
 were to follow were left to be decided upon on the 
 ground. 
 
 It was agreed, however, that they must proceed 
 with the utmost secrecy and circumspection in all 
 things, and that they must conceal, as far as was pos- 
 
134 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 sible, the close friendship which existed between the 
 friar and the Commander, so that the former might 
 not be regarded with suspicious or hostile eyes by 
 DoQa Blanca. 
 
 It was decided, finally, notwithstanding the gravity 
 of the situation, that there was no impropriety, nor 
 was there any comical or censurable inopportuneness 
 in Father Jacinto's taking the doe to Clarita as a 
 present. 
 
 XV. 
 
 0:s his return to the town that night the Com- 
 mander was put through a regular course of cross- 
 questioning by his niece, who was the most curious 
 and inquisitiye girl in the whole district. She had, 
 besides, a manner of questioning, affirming what she 
 desired to ascertain, which rendered inefficacious 
 Father Jacinto's doctrine of concealing the truth 
 without telling a falsehood. He must either tell a lie 
 or declare the truth — there was no middle course. 
 
 " Uncle," said Lucia, the moment they were alone, 
 " you have been in Villabermeja." 
 
 " Yes, I have been there." 
 
 "And what took you there? I wonder if Nieo- 
 lasa's divine eyes have bewitched you ? " 
 
 " I don't know the Nicolasa you speak of." 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. I35 
 
 "You don't know her? Bah! Who does not 
 know Nicolasa ? She is a marvel of beauty. A great 
 many noblemen and very wealthy men have already 
 solicited her hand." 
 
 " "Well, I am not one of the number. I repeat 
 that I do not know her." 
 
 " Nonsense ! uncle. How do you suppose you can 
 make me believe that you don't know the daughter 
 of your friend Uncle Gorico ? " 
 
 " Well, for the third time I say that I do not 
 know her." 
 
 " Then what is there to see in Villabermeja ? Did 
 you go to visit Ohacha Eamoncica ? " 
 
 " I did not visit her." 
 
 " Ah, I understand now. How good you are ! " 
 
 " Why am I good ? Because I did not visit Cha- 
 cha Eamoncica, who is so fond of me ? " 
 
 " No, uncle. You are good — in the first place, be- 
 cause you are not bad." 
 
 " A fine and logical mode of reasoning." 
 
 " I mean that you are good because you are not like 
 some other gentlemen who, although they may have 
 one foot already in the grave — which is far from being 
 the case with you, thank God — are always fiattering 
 the daughters of artisans and workmen, and unset- 
 tling their minds. Not now — on account of the en- 
 gagement ; but formerly — Don Casimiro used to visit 
 Nicolasa." 
 
136 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 " Well, I haven't yisited her." 
 
 " Well, that is the first reason why I say that you 
 are good. Mcolasa is an honest girl, and it is not 
 right that gentlemen should try to put foolish notions 
 in her head — " 
 
 " I am pleased with your severity. And the sec- 
 ond reason you have for calling me good — will you 
 tell me what it is ? " 
 
 " The second reason is, that since you went there 
 to see neither Nicolasa nor Chacha Eamoncica, there 
 could have been no other motive for your rushing off 
 in such a hurry than to see Father Jacinto, and to try 
 to win him over to the side of Myrtilus and Chloris. 
 I wager you went for that purpose." 
 
 " I can not deny it." 
 
 " Thanks, uncle. It would be impossible for you 
 to imagine how proud I am." 
 
 "And why?" 
 
 " Why, because, however kind you may be to every 
 one, after all you would never take so great an in- 
 terest in two persons who are almost total strangers 
 to you, if it were not for the afEection you entertain 
 for your little niece, who desires to help those two 
 persons." 
 
 "That is true," said the Commander, telling a 
 white lie, notwithstanding Father Jacinto's theory. 
 
 Lucia blushed with pride and pleasure, and went 
 on : 
 
COMMANDEE MENDOZA. 137 
 
 " I wager you have gained the good-will of his 
 reverence. Is he on our side now ? " 
 
 " Yes, niece ; he is on our side, but for Heaven's 
 sake say nothing about it, for secrecy is all-important ! 
 Since you have guessed everything, try to be silent 
 about it." 
 
 " You shall have no cause to find fault with me. 
 I will be silent, and you in return will keep me ad- 
 vised of everything. You will tell me everything, 
 won't you ? " 
 
 "Yes," said the Commander, obliged to tell an 
 untruth for the second time. After a moment he re- 
 sumed : 
 
 " Lucia, you have just told me something that 
 interests me. What sort of relations would you have 
 me to understand existed or exist between Don Casi- 
 miro and the beautiful Nicolasa you speak of ? " 
 
 " None, uncle. Have I not already told you so ? 
 It was before the engagement with Clarita. Don 
 Casimiro's intentions were not honourable, and Nico- 
 lasa always repulsed him; but Father Jacinto will 
 inform you better on that subject than I can. I will 
 only say one thing in addition — that this same Don 
 Casimiro seems to me a hypocrite and an artful vil- 
 lain." 
 
 " It is well to know it," thought the Commander. 
 
 " Ah ! tell me, uncle. I know already that Don 
 Carlos has gone to Seville. He sent a message taking 
 
138 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 leave of us and excusing himself for not doing so per- 
 sonally for want of time. It is evident that you have 
 spoken plainly to him and persuaded him to go, con- 
 vincing him that it was necessary to the success of our 
 project that he should do so. Is it not so, uncle ? " 
 
 " It is so, niece," responded the Commander. " I 
 see that it is impossible to hide anything from you." 
 
 XVI. 
 
 When the events which we are relating took place 
 there were not so many high-roads in Spain as there 
 are now. At the present day the journey from Villa- 
 bermeja to the city can be made in a carriage. In 
 those days it could be made only on foot or on horse- 
 back. The road was not a road but a path, trampled 
 by the footsteps of the passengers, rational and irra- 
 tional. When there were great rains the path became 
 impassable ; it was what is called in Andalusia a high- 
 way for partridges. 
 
 Pather Jacinto possessed a donkey unrivalled for 
 size, docility, and sure-footedness. On this donkey he 
 journeyed to and fro like a patriarch between Villa- 
 bermeja and the city. A robust lay brother accom- 
 panied him on foot. On the journey which he made 
 to the city on the day following his long colloquy 
 with the Commander, in addition to the lay brother a 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 139 
 
 secular or profane rustic accompanied him, to take 
 care of the doe. 
 
 Followed, then, by the lay brother, by the doe, and 
 by the rustic, and riding his gigantic donkey. Father 
 Jacinto entered the city, safe and sound, at ten o'clock 
 in the morning. As the convent of Santo Domingo 
 is hard by the entrance, the priest was not obliged to 
 cross any street with this retinue. At the convent he 
 dismounted, and, as soon as he had taken a little rest, 
 directed his steps to the house of Don Valentin Solis, 
 or rather to the house of Dofla Blanca. The wretched 
 Don Valentin had sunk into such complete insignifi- 
 cance that no one in the place called his house the 
 house of Don Valentin. His vineyards, his olive plan- 
 tations, his orchards, and his farms were known as the 
 vineyards, the olive plantations, the orchards, and the 
 farms of Dofla Blanca, and not as his. This marital 
 nullification had not, however, reached the extreme 
 of that of some Madrid husbands, who are scarcely 
 known except through their wives, whose notoriety 
 and glory are reflected on them and make them con- 
 spicuous. 
 
 But let us drop comparisons and instances that 
 might seem to savour of censoriousness, and follow 
 Father Jacinto and enter with him Dofia Blanca's 
 house, which it was so diflBcult for common mortals to 
 enter. 
 
 Thanks to the reverend father's authority, and 
 
140 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 following him, ourselTes invisible, every door is opened 
 to us. 
 
 "We are now in Dofia Blanca's drawing-room. 
 Clara is embroidering at her mother's side. Don 
 Valentin, at a respectful distance, is sitting at a table 
 playing patience with a pack of cards. Don Casi- 
 niiro is conversing with the mistress of the house and 
 her daughter. 
 
 Our readers already know Don Casimiro, as we 
 might say, by fame, by name, and even by nickname, 
 for they are not ignorant that for Don Carlos, Lucia, 
 Clara, and the Commander, he was the old shepherd. 
 Let us now endeavour to draw his corporeal likeness. 
 
 He was tall, had thin arms and legs, and a protu- 
 berant abdomen ; he had a dark complexion, a scanty 
 beard, which he shaved once a week, and light-green 
 eyes, that squinted slightly. His face was already full 
 of wrinkles, and the vivid carmine of his nose har- 
 monised ill with the paleness of his cheeks. His per- 
 son itself gave little evidence of care or cleanliness, 
 but in his dress were observable the attention and 
 pulchritude which were wanting in his person, de- 
 noting plainly that Don Casimiro took care of his 
 clothes rather because he was orderly and economical 
 and liked his garments to last him a long time, than 
 through love of cleanliness. He was dressed punc- 
 tiliously as a man of rank, although in the fashion of 
 fifteen or twenty years before. His coat, his waist- 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 141 
 
 coat, liis trousers, and his silk stockings were all spot- 
 less, and if there was any rent in any of them it had 
 been skilfully and beautifully darned. He wore a 
 powdered wig with a queue, and displayed many trin- 
 kets on the chains of the two large watches which he 
 carried in his two waistcoat pockets. His snuffbox, 
 which he showed continually, for he took snufE in- 
 cessantly, was a marvel of art, from the enamel and 
 precious stones with which it was adorned. Don Casi- 
 miro spoke with a certain solemnity and in sing-song 
 tones, but his voice was harsh and disagreeable ; it 
 being af&rmed that this was partly owing to the fact 
 that he had no aversion to brandy, and still more be- 
 cause, in his own house, and divested of his gala 
 attire as a lover or amorous suitor, he smoked a great 
 deal of black tobacco. 
 
 His expression, his manners, and his gestures were 
 not antipathetic ; they were insignificant ; only, that 
 one could not but recognise by them that Don 
 Casimiro was a person of rank, although brought up 
 in a small town. 
 
 It was plain, lastly, from his whole aspect, that 
 Don Casimiro suffered from many ailments. His ill 
 health gave him a prematurely aged look. 
 
 This superficial and unfortunately unfavourable 
 description of Don Casimiro being given, we may now 
 flatter ourselves that we know all the persons who 
 were in the room when Father Jacinto entered it. 
 10 
 
142 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 Dofla Blanca, Clarita, Don Valentin, and Don 
 Casimiro rose to receive him, and all kissed his hand 
 with humility. The priest, on his side, was smiling 
 and amiable, and he gave Clarita, as if she were not a 
 woman, but a child of eight, with the privilege which 
 his seventy years conferred upon him, two soft taps 
 on her fresh cheek, saying : 
 
 " Blessed be God, girl, who made you so good and 
 so handsome •! " 
 
 " Your reverence flatters and honours me," an- 
 swered Clarita. 
 
 Dofla Blanca lamented the length of time which 
 the priest had remained without coming from Villa- 
 bermeja, and all the others echoed her words. They 
 urged the priest to take something while waiting for 
 dinner, but the priest refused to take anything more 
 than a comfortable seat. Here he chatted with gai- 
 ety and animation, resolved to wait for Don Casimiro 
 to go, and Don Valentin and Dofla Clara to leave the 
 room, to speak in private with Dofla Blanca. 
 
 Dofla Blanca guessed the friar's intention ; her 
 curiosity was aroused, and she soon found a means of 
 getting rid of Don Casimiro and sending Don Valen- 
 tin and Clarita out of the room. 
 
 When the clearance was effected, Dofla Blanca 
 said : 
 
 " I hope and suppose that after so long an absence 
 you will honour our table by dining with us to-day." 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA- 14,3 
 
 Father Jacinto accepted the invitation, and Dofia 
 Blanca continued : 
 
 " I thought I could perceive that you were impa- 
 tient to speak to me in private. This has awakened 
 my curiosity. I shall always hear with interest what- 
 ever you may have to say to me. Speak, father." 
 
 " You are not dull of comprehension, my daugh- 
 ter," anwered the priest. "Nothing escapes you. I 
 did indeed desire to speak to you in private. And I 
 desired it so much, that I shall wait until after your 
 dinner — in which I will join you with pleasure — to 
 present to our Clarita something which I have 
 brought her as a gift and with which she will be de- 
 lighted. Just think ! — it is a beautiful doe ; so tame 
 and domestic that it will eat out of the hand and fol- 
 low you about like a dog. But let us come to the 
 point ; let us come at once to the subject on which I 
 wish to speak to you. But, for Heaven's sake, don't 
 get angry ! You have a very hasty temper ; you are 
 as hot as pepper." 
 
 " It is true ; I am very unfortunate, and it is not 
 easy for the unfortunate to be good-humoured. You, 
 however, have no reason to complain of my temper. 
 When was I ever disagreeable or cross to you since we 
 have known each other ? " 
 
 " That is very true. But you must confess that I 
 have never given you any reason for being so. I am 
 not like many other friars, who undertake to give ad- 
 
14:4 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 vice which is not asked from them, and who wish to 
 govern both the temporal and the eternal and to 
 direct everything in every house they enter. Is not 
 that so ? " 
 
 " That is so. I have to complain, rather, that you 
 advise me too little." 
 
 "Well, you will have no complaint to make on 
 that score to-day. Perhaps, indeed, you will com- 
 plain of my giving you too much advice, and say that 
 I am interfering in what does not concern me." 
 
 " I shall never do that." 
 
 "We shall see. In any case I have an excuse. 
 You know that Clarita is my delight. She has me 
 bewitched. Every one knows my predilection for 
 women. It required all my severity, in my younger 
 days, to keep evil tongues from slandering me. 17ow, 
 daughter (some compensation old age must bring 
 with it), with the weight of seventy years on my 
 shoulders I can, without fear of censure, love you all 
 in my own way and treat you with the friendly famil- 
 iarity which delights me. I confess to you that, in 
 order to love men, I am often obliged to remember 
 that they are my fellow-beings and to love them for 
 the love of God. Women, on the contrary, I love not 
 only without an effort, but from natural inclination. 
 You are sweet, benignant, compassionate, and much 
 more devout than men. If it had not been for you, I 
 am quite certain that we should have lost even the 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. I45 
 
 Testiges of the primitive culture and revelation of 
 paradise, and men would never have emerged from a 
 state of barbarism. If I were a learned man, I should 
 compose a book showing that all there is in the Eu- 
 rope of to-day, all the social progress of which the 
 world boasts, are due, humanly speaking, chiefly to 
 women. Calculate, then, how exalted and how flat- 
 tering is the opinion I entertain of you. Well, in my 
 latter years your daughter Clara has raised still higher 
 this opinion. I had in my mind an ideal type of per- 
 fection to which none of the women I had ever known 
 approached, not by ten leagues : Clarita has gone be- 
 yond it. What rare innocence is hers, Joined as it 
 is with discretion and intelligence! What sound 
 and correct religious belief ! What love toward her 
 mother and what obedience to her commands ! Clara 
 is a little saint on earth, and seeing her one must 
 praise God who created her in order to allow us to 
 conjecture and divine through her what the angels 
 and the blessed virgins in heaven may be." 
 
 "These encomiums of Clarita," interposed Dofia 
 Blanca, " are very flattering to my maternal pride, but 
 my love for truth compels me to think them exagger- 
 ated. I account for them in a way which I shall be 
 frank enough to tell you. In the pure love which 
 you entertain for women in general there is some- 
 thing of the feeling of the ancient knights-errant— 
 something of the charm which the strong feel in pro- 
 
146 COMMANDER MBNDOZA. 
 
 tecting tlie weak and helpless. In the conception, 
 superior to the reality, which you have formed of 
 women, there are great benevolence and instinctive 
 poetry. All those noble sentiments of yours have 
 been expended, during a long and holy life, on 
 countrywomen, workwomen some of them, gentle- 
 women or rich women others, but most of them rude 
 in comparison with Clara, who has been brought up 
 in great cities, with another kind of polish, with high- 
 er culture, with greater delicacy and refinement. 
 These advantages, external merely and due to chance, 
 have surprised and deluded you, and have made you 
 think that what is only superficial is essential ; that 
 more distinguished manners, greater circumspection 
 and moderation in speech, and a certain courtesy and 
 politeness which result from a more careful education 
 and which are mechanically acquired through habit, 
 are virtues and excellences which spring from the very 
 essence of a soul superior to others. 
 
 " No, my daughter, nothing of all that sufuces to 
 explain my predilection for Olarita." 
 
 " How should it not suffice? Be frank. Do you 
 not love and esteem Lucia almost as much as Clara ? " 
 
 " Comparisons are odious, and more especially 
 where the affections are concerned. Let us suppose, 
 however, that I esteem and love Lucia almost as much 
 as Clara. That would only prove that Lucia is almost 
 as good as Clara." 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 147 
 
 " And that both have been more carefully educated 
 than the other women you have known." 
 
 "Very well. And what then? Granted that it 
 be so. Who has denied the power of education? 
 What I deny is that education could have this power 
 over a barren or ungrateful spirit ; and what I deny 
 also is that its influence goes below the surface and 
 penetrates the heart and improves the nature. It is 
 plain, then, that Clara owes much to God, and after 
 God to you who have brought her up well ; but what 
 she owes to you is not superficial and external ; man- 
 ners, speech, courtesy, and politeness are not vain 
 signs. When they are not the result of affectation it 
 is because they spring from the soul itself, better edu- 
 cated by God or by men than its sister souls. It is 
 true that I have never in my life seen or known any 
 other people than those of this city and of Villaber- 
 meja, but I can guess and even be very certain that 
 there must be duchesses and even princesses whose 
 polish would not deceive or delude me. I should 
 know on the instant that it was false and artificial, 
 and that at heart those ladies were more vulgar than 
 your cook. It is evident, then, that it is not because I 
 am fascinated that I praise Clara." 
 
 " And may there not be a fascination," said Dofia 
 Blanca, " in the candid and spontaneous propensity of 
 Clarita to make herself agreeable ? " 
 
 " Undoubtedly there may ; but that same propen- 
 
148 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 sity, being spontaneous and candid, proves the good- 
 ness of soul of its possessor." 
 
 " And do you not know, father, that that pro- 
 pensity is called by a word, recently introduced into 
 the language, which has an unpleasing sound and is 
 almost a term of reproach ? " 
 
 "What word is that?" 
 
 " Coquetry." 
 
 "Well, if the coquetry is without malice, if the 
 desire to please and the effort which is made to do so 
 do not transgress certain limits, and if the end which 
 a woman proposes to herself in pleasing does not go 
 beyond the pure delight of inspiring cordial affection 
 and gratitude, then I approve of coquetry." 
 
 Dofla Blanca and Father Jacinto were afraid of 
 each other. She feared the friar's boldness, and the 
 friar feared her violent temper. As a result of this 
 mutual fear they usually treated each other with ex- 
 traordinary politeness and the most delicate circum- 
 spection, lest they might end any conversation with a 
 quarrel or a dispute. 
 
 Influenced by such considerations Dofla Blanca 
 made no attempt to confute this defence of co- 
 quetry. Satisfied with the protest made by her ma- 
 ternal modesty, she accepted in the end as just and 
 deserved the friar's encomiums on her daughter 
 Clara. 
 
 Presently she added : 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 149 
 
 " In short, my daughter is a prodigy. Your 
 praises do her nothing but justice. I am delighted. 
 What greater gratification could there be for a 
 mother? I imagine, however, that so flattering a 
 panegyric might very well have been pronounced in 
 the presence of others. What you had to tell me in 
 private still remains to be said." 
 
 Father Jacinto stopped to reflect, seeing himself 
 so directly interrogated, and almost repented having 
 undertaken to discuss the question of Clarita's mar- 
 riage, allowing himself to be carried away by his im- 
 patient zeal, without first coming to an understand- 
 ing with the Commander, as had been agreed upon 
 between them ; but Father Jacinto was not a man to 
 retreat after he had once taken the first step, and 
 after a moment's hesitation, which he succeeded in 
 hiding from the lynx-like eyes of his interlocutor, he 
 spoke as follows : 
 
 " I am coming to it, daughter — have patience ; ev- 
 erything in due time. My praise of Clarita was very 
 much in place, for it is of Clarita I am going to speak 
 to you. As her spiritual director, I know that she 
 will obey you in everything ; but tell me, don't you 
 think that in some things, things which are of the 
 greatest importance, it would be proper to consult her 
 wishes?" 
 
 " And who has told you that I do not consult her 
 wishes when it is proper to do so ? " 
 
150 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 "You have asked Clara, then, if she wishes to 
 marry at so early an age ? " 
 
 " I have, father, and she has said yes." 
 
 " You have asked her if she will accept Don Casi- 
 miro for a husband ? " 
 
 " Yes, father, and to this also she has answered 
 yes." 
 
 " And may not the fear and the respect with 
 which you inspire your daughter have had some share 
 in these answers ? " 
 
 " I think that I deserve to inspire my daughter 
 not with respect and fear only, but also with affection 
 and confidence. Availing herself, then, of the affec- 
 tion and the confidence with which I ought to in- 
 spire her, my daughter might have answered that she 
 did not wish to marry Don Casimiro. No one has 
 forced her to say that she wishes to do so. She must 
 wish to do so, since she says she does." 
 
 " You are right ; she must wish to do so, since she 
 says she does. Nevertheless, in order that a decision 
 of the will should be valid, it is necessary that the 
 will should be previously illumined by the under- 
 standing in regard to that on which it decides. Do 
 you believe that Clarita knows what she wishes and 
 why she wishes it ? " 
 
 " You have just made the highest eulogiums on 
 my daughter, and now you want to persuade me to 
 believe that you take her for a fool, for a born idiot. 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 151 
 
 How do you suppose that a girl of sixteen should be 
 ignorant of the duties which holy matrimony brings 
 with it?" 
 
 " She is not ignorant of them, but don't come now 
 with your sophistries — a girl of sixteen does not know 
 all the importance of the yes she is going to pronounce 
 at the foot of the altar." 
 
 " Therefore she has her mother to enlighten, ad- 
 vise, and direct her." 
 
 " And you have enlightened, advised, and directed 
 her, according to your conscience ? " 
 
 " The slightest doubt on this point, merely to ask 
 such a question is a terrible and gratuitous offence. 
 How can you suppose, how can you suspect, even for 
 an instant, that I should advise my daughter contrary 
 to the dictates of my conscience ? Do you think me 
 so wicked ? " 
 
 " Forgive me ; I have not expressed myself clearly. 
 I do not think, I cannot think, that you have advised 
 your daughter contrary to the dictates of your con- 
 science ; but I can think that your understanding is 
 capable of error, and that, having fallen into error, you 
 are persuading your daughter to take a deplorable 
 step." 
 
 " I am greatly surjTrised at your manner of reason- 
 ing to-day. How differently you talked formerly ! 
 What change has taken place in you? I may indeed 
 be the victim of an error, and by reason of that error 
 
152 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 I may give bad advice and take fatal resolutions ; but 
 you knew tbis long ago, and you made no opposition 
 before an engagement had been entered into. How 
 has the error suddenly become patent to your eyes 
 which before they did not perceive ? What heavenly 
 light has illumined your soul? "What saint or holy 
 angel has come down to earth to point out to you the 
 good and enable you to distinguish it from the bad ? " 
 
 Dofla Blanca, as is evident, was beginning to lose 
 her self-command and her forced sweetness. Father 
 Jacinto, too, was beginning to lose his temper, but he 
 made a heroic effort, and, instead of persisting and 
 rousing the storm, he endeavoured to calm it by every 
 means he could think of. 
 
 " You are more than right," he said, with much 
 humility. "I ought to have dissuaded you in time 
 from arranging this marriage. The error I note in 
 you I confess that I have shared. At least, it was 
 atrocious carelessness, unpardonable thoughtlessness 
 on my part not to have spoken to you before as I am 
 speaking to you now. But if I erred, by acknowledg- 
 ing the error and putting it from me, I instigate yoii 
 to follow my example, although by so doing I give 
 you weapons to use against me. "What you afBrm 
 proves my inconsistency, but it proves nothing against 
 my advice." 
 
 " What do you mean by saying it proves nothing 
 against your advice ? It takes away from your advice 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. J 53 
 
 all the authority it might otherwise have had. Coun- 
 sel given so suddenly might even be suspected — not 
 to be based on the counsellor's own judgment." 
 
 Dofla Blanca, as she uttered these last words, 
 darted a sharp and scrutinising glance at the priest. 
 The priest, although he was by no means a timid man, 
 was for a moment confounded, and cast down his 
 eyes. But, recovering himself almost immediately, he 
 responded : 
 
 " The only authority in question here is the au- 
 thority of reason. To give you the advice, let the 
 friendship and the affection which I entertain for 
 yourself and your family be my warrant; in your 
 acceptance or rejection of it, I do not pretend to at- 
 tempt to influence you by any other means than the 
 power which I ask God to grant me to carry convic- 
 tion to your soul." 
 
 " Very well. Will you tell me what are the reasons 
 why Clara should not marry Don Casimiro? You are 
 Clara's confessor. Does Clara love another ? " 
 
 " For the very reason that I am her confessor, if 
 Clara loved another and had confided the fact to me 
 I would not reveal it to you except by her permission, 
 which I shoiiH ask and even exact, in case of neces- 
 sity. Fortunately, the question whether Clara loves 
 another or not has nothing to do with the subject we 
 are discussing." 
 
 " Don't begin now with your circumlocutions and 
 
154 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 subtleties. I have brought up my daughter with so 
 much strictness and in such seclusion that I am abso- 
 lutely certain that she has never had any attachment. 
 Clara has never exchanged a glance of love with any 
 man." 
 
 " That may be ; but may she not do so to-morrow ? 
 May she not love in the future even if she has not 
 loved in the past ? " 
 
 " She will love her husband. Why should she not 
 love him ? " 
 
 " Well, seQora," said Father Jacinto, whose pa- 
 tience was now becoming exhausted, " she will not 
 love her husband, because he is ugly, old, sickly, and 
 disagreeable." 
 
 " I will suppose," answered Dofia Blanca, with the 
 calm hauteur which she assumed when she was most 
 terrible — " I will suppose that your charitable epithets 
 are perfectly applicable to the individual, to the mem- 
 ber of my family whom you honour with them. Your 
 exquisite taste in the arts of portraiture has made you 
 find Don Casimiro ugly ; your medical knowledge has 
 made you comprehend that the poor man is in bad 
 health ; and the amenity and lively wit in which you 
 excel naturally disgust you with all other human 
 beings who are not so agreeable and witty as yourself 
 — a thing which, unfortunately, is very rare ; but you 
 will not deny that my daughter, less well instructed 
 in the proportions and the beauties of the masculine 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 155 
 
 form, may not think Don Casimiro ugly, as she does 
 not think him so ; less learned in the science of medi- 
 cine, she may believe him to be healthier than he is ; 
 and less witty than you, she may very well discover 
 some wit in Don Casimiro and not find his conversa- 
 tion tiresome. And, besides, even if my daughter saw 
 in Don Casimiro the defects which you point out, why 
 should she not love him? "What! Is a woman of 
 honour, a good Christian, to love only physical beauty 
 and a fluent speech ? Must we seek as a husband for 
 her, not a gentleman of her own rank, honourable, 
 Grod-fearing, virtuous, and full of consideration for 
 her, and desirous of making her happy, but some 
 robust mountebank, some amusing buffoon to excite 
 in her with his Iqw jests indecorous laughter and un- 
 seemly mirth ? " 
 
 " See, Dofia Blanca," said the friar, who, however 
 angry he might be, never abandoned the familiar style, 
 " don't imagine that it is necessary to be an Apelles or 
 a Phidias to know that Don Casimiro is ugly. His 
 ugliness is so patent and on the surface that it is not 
 necessary to go very deep to discover it. And as for 
 his infirm health and his scant amenity, I assure you 
 that the same thing is true. Without having studied 
 medicine, without being a Hippocrates, any one can 
 see that Don Casimiro is completely broken down. 
 And without having studied Huarte's Disquisition 
 on the Intellectual Faculties, it may at once be seen 
 
156 COMMANDER MBNDOZA. 
 
 that Doa Casimiro's are obtuse and barren. I do not 
 pretend that you should seek for Clarita a Pythagoras 
 and a Milo of Crotona in one; but what diabolical 
 fancy induces you to wish to give her a Thersites for a 
 husband ? " 
 
 Father Jacinto abstained from using Latin quota- 
 tions when he was talking to women, but he could not 
 refrain from citing, when he was speaking to ladies 
 of distinction, such facts, personages, and sayings of 
 classic antiquity and of the sacred Scriptures as 
 served to illustrate his discourse. For the rest, the 
 meaning of his words was so evident that Dofla 
 Blanca, even if she had not known, with more or 
 less vagueness, the condition of the persons alluded 
 to, would not have had the slightest doubt as 
 to the friar's meaning. Thus it was that she an- 
 swered : 
 
 " Eeverend father, those are insults and not coun- 
 sels ; but you can never make me angry. All I will 
 say is that all the defects which you now discover in 
 my future son-in-law must be less obvious than you 
 suppose them to be, since you did not discover them 
 before. For, if you discovered them before, why did 
 you not tell me of them ? I repeat that some one has 
 been enlightening your clear understanding. Some 
 one has induced you to take this step. There is no 
 use in dissembling. Be honest and frank with me. 
 You have spoken to some one about the proposed 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 157 
 
 marriage of Olarita. Your counsels are not counsels, 
 but a message in disguise." 
 
 Father Jacinto was a self-possessed man, but with 
 Dofia Blanca no amount of self-possession was of any 
 avail. The poor friar was confounded, and he blushed 
 to the very tips of his ears. The saying, " His ears 
 were as red as a friar's on a visit," indicating that 
 the person so alluded to has received a severe mor- 
 tification, might have been expressly invented for 
 him. 
 
 Even his tongue, which was in general so fluent, 
 stammered, and was unable to answer. 
 
 Dofia Blanca, noticing his silence, urged him to 
 explain himself, adding : 
 
 " There is no doubt of it. You stand convicted, 
 and you have almosb confessed. You disapprove to- 
 day of what you approved yesterday, because an en- 
 emy of mine has filled your head with absurd ideas. 
 Deny this to be so if you can." 
 
 Questioned thus, accused with such unmeasured 
 audacity and such insolent calmness. Father Jacinto 
 made a desperate effort to regain his lost ground ; he 
 set aside the cause of his unaccustomed timidity, 
 which was only the fear of injuring Clara's interests 
 and those of his friend and former pupil ; and, now 
 free from impediments, he answered with so much 
 energy and wisdom that his answer, the reply to which 
 it gave rise, and all the remainder of the conversation 
 11 
 
158 COMMANDER MBNDOZA. 
 
 assumed a distinct and solemn character, for which 
 reason they deserve a separate chapter, which will be 
 one of the most important of this history. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Fathee Jacinto, without being disconcerted, 
 imitating the haughty composure of his illustrious 
 friend, answered as follows : 
 
 " I have frankly confessed that I ought to have 
 given you my advice before. I did not do so, not be- 
 cause I approved of your plan, but because, influenced 
 by shameful levity and gross and wicked indiSerence, 
 I did not observe all the horror of the marriage you 
 have arranged. Do I owe the having observed it now 
 to my own intelligence or to that of another, who 
 has enlightened me ? This is a point which interests 
 you God only knows why, and which might possibly 
 affect my reputation as a wise man, but which can in 
 no wise alter the value of my counsels. I cannot nor 
 do I wish to justify my inconsistency. I can and 
 ought, however, to try to mitigate in some degree the 
 harshness of your accusation, and I shall do so, stating 
 the reasons in which I found my present counsels. I 
 should be sorry to express myself with impropriety, 
 although I expect that you will be fair-minded enough 
 not to dispute with me about words, if you uiiderstand 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 169 
 
 my ideas and the sound intention with which I ex- 
 press them. Perhaps Clara has been educated with a 
 strictness that borders on a dangerous extreme. Fear- 
 ing that she might one day fall, you have overesti- 
 mated the obstacles in her path. Fearing that the 
 vessel might capsize and sink, you have exaggerated 
 the number of the rocks and shoals which are in the sea 
 of the world, the impetus and the violence of the winds 
 which buffet the vessel, and even the vessel's frailty 
 and misgovernment. This, too, has its dangers. This 
 inspires a mistrust in one's own strength, which bor- 
 ders on cowardice. This makes us form a conception 
 of life and of the world much worse than the reality. 
 How is a believer to deny- that as a result of our sins 
 the world is a vale of tears; that the devil is con- 
 tinually spreading his nets to ensnare us ; that our 
 weak nature is prone to evil, and that the favour of 
 Heaven is necessary to keep us from falling into temp- 
 tation ? All this is undeniable, but it is well not to 
 exaggerate it. If 'we once greatly exaggerate it, we 
 must either flee to the desert or lead the ascetic life of 
 hermits, and then all goes well, for the beauty and the 
 goodness which we do not see on the earth, we hope 
 for, we foresee, we almost behold already in heaven, 
 in raptures and ecstasies ; or we must fall, lacking di- 
 vine love, lacking fervent charity, into a despairing 
 self-contempt and such scorn and hatred of every- 
 thing created as well as of our fellow-beings, as would 
 
160 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 mate the person who should lead such a life odious 
 and offensive to himself and to every one else. I don't 
 know, daughter, whether I explain myself clearly or 
 not, but you are perspicacious, and you will understand 
 me as I go on. Another grave danger also springs 
 from your method of education. The conscience finds 
 itself, indeed, forewarned and forearmed by it for the 
 fight : but in defiling everything it defiles itself ; in 
 vitiating everything it vitiates itself ; in foreseeing in 
 everything a sin, an impurity, it provokes and even 
 evokes impurities and sins. Clarita has a sound un- 
 derstanding, an excellent disposition, but do not doubt 
 that, by force of torturing her soul to make it confess 
 faults of which it has not been guilty, she might one 
 day distort and pervert the purest sentiments and con- 
 vert them into sinful sentiments ; she might conceive, 
 through the scruples of her concience, inquisitive of 
 sin, sin itself before it existed. I need not assure you 
 that, for a thousand reasons, I have not sought to re- 
 lax the strictness of the principles which you have 
 inculcated in Clarita, although my own nature leads 
 me, on the contrary, to be indulgent ; to see in every- 
 thing its good side, to be slow to see its bad side, and 
 not to discover it until after long meditation. Thus 
 it was that in the beginning, confining ourselves to 
 the subject of the marriage, I saw only its good side. 
 I saw that Don Oasimiro was a gentleman of your own 
 rank, honourable, religious, attached to Clarita, and 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 161 
 
 desirous of making her happy. I saw that, marrying 
 him, she -would remain here, she would not be taken 
 away from her mother and from us, who lore her so 
 dearly. I saw that with her large property and that 
 of her husband she would do immense good in this 
 place, occupying herself in works of charity. And I 
 saw, in the very austerity with which she has been edu- 
 cated, the guarantee that for Olarita marriage would 
 not be the means of satisfying and even of sanctifying 
 by a sacred and indissoluble bond a violent, profane, 
 and somewhat impious passion, since it consecrates 
 to man a certain adoration and worship due only to 
 God, and a perishable, ephemeral illusion which van- 
 ishes the more quickly, the more vivid and glowing the 
 colours in which fancy paints it. All this I saw, and 
 since I saw it I try to justify to myself, if not to ex- 
 cuse, my not having opposed the marriage before. I 
 supposed, besides, that it was not distasteful to Olarita. 
 Clarita has told me nothing since, but my eyes have 
 been opened, and now I comprehend that in her se- 
 cret soul she views it with unconquerable repugnance. 
 I now comprehend that Clarita does not see in mar- 
 riage only a vow of devotion and sacrifice. Clarita 
 desires to love, and she desires that marriage should 
 sanction and purify her love. Marriage, therefore, can- 
 not be for her the mere fulfilment of a social duty, an 
 act of abnegation, a suffering to which she must be 
 resigned, a penitence, a test, a punishment. The pro- 
 
162 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 found respect whicli she lias for you, the blind obe- 
 dience with which she submits herself to your will, 
 the belief that almost everything is a sin, would not 
 allow her ever to confess to herself what I have said to 
 you ; but I do not now doubt that she feels it. Now, 
 then, has Clarita deserved this penitence ? Does she 
 merit this punishment ? What right have you to im- 
 pose it on her ? And if it is a test, who has given you 
 the right to put her goodness to the test ? If the se- 
 riousness and harshness of a duty, as marriage is, can 
 be mixed and combined with lawful enjoyments which 
 lighten the cross, and with satisfactions and pleasures 
 which smooth the ruggedness of the path, why do 
 you wish for your daughter only the ruggedness of 
 the path and the weight of the cross, and not also the 
 permitted sweetness ? " 
 
 Dofla Blanca listened, impassive and apparently 
 very tranquil, to the good friar's sermon. When she 
 saw that he did not continue, she said, after a mo- 
 ment's silence : 
 
 " Even granting that marriage with an honourable 
 man, full of affection and good sense, were a penance, 
 a cross, Clarita ought to carry this cross with resigna- 
 tion. Woman has not come into the world for her 
 pleasure, and for the satisfaction of her will and her 
 appetites, but to serve God in this temporal life and to 
 enjoy him in the eternal. And you will agree with 
 me, unless you have been associating of late with peo- 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 1G3 
 
 pie wlao have confused your reason and led you from 
 the right path, that the best way in which a daughter 
 can serve God is to obey her parents. You yourself 
 acknowledge that the holy sacrament of matrimony 
 was not instituted to sanctify passion. True, it is 
 better to marry than burn, but it is better still to 
 marry without burning, in order to be the faithful 
 companion of a just man and to found or perpetuate 
 with him a Christian, exemplary, and pious family. 
 This pure, Christian, and eminently honourable con- 
 ception of marriage is not easy to realise ; and it is 
 for that reason that I have brought Clarita up with so 
 much strictness ; that, through the grace of God, she 
 might have the glory of realising it instead of seeking 
 in marriage a means of making lawful and tolerable 
 the gratification of ill-regulated desires and impure 
 passions. I might say more in my own favour on this 
 subject, but this' is not an academic discussion. I 
 have neither the necessary learning nor the fluency of 
 speech required to discuss with you the general ques- 
 tion whether marriage ought to be as hard and au- 
 stere a state as any other on which one enters to serve 
 God, and not a worldly expedient to conceal sensual- 
 ity. Here we must confine ourselves to the single 
 case of Clarita, and for this I repeat what I have said : 
 I require, I demand that you shall be honest and 
 candid with me. Who has sent you to speak to 
 me? Who has advised you to advise me? Who 
 
164 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 has opened your eyes tliat were before so tightly 
 shut, and has made you see that Clarita, if she does 
 not love now, will love at some future time ? Come, 
 answer me. Why disguise it or conceal it? There is 
 a man who has spoken to you about all this." 
 
 " I will not deny it, since you are determined that 
 I should declare it." 
 
 " That man is Commander Mendoza." 
 
 "He is Commander Mendoza," responded the 
 friar. 
 
 After this declaration, fully foreseen though it had 
 been, both interlocutors remained silent, and seem- 
 ingly buried in profound meditation for a full minute, 
 which seemed to them a century. 
 
 Presently DoQa Blanca, showing now, although 
 there was no precipitancy in her tones, in the tremu- 
 lousness of her voice and the glitter of her eyes, keen 
 and painful emotion, suppressed with difficulty, spoke 
 thus: 
 
 " You know all, and I am glad of it. Perhaps I 
 was wrong in not telling it to you myself the first 
 time I knelt before you in the tribunal of penance. 
 Let it be my excuse that my chief sin had been con- 
 fessed several times before, and the consideration that 
 each time I confess it anew I bring to the knowledge 
 of one person more the dishonour of him whose name 
 I bear. You know it all without my having told it to 
 you. Blessed be God who humiliates me as I deserve 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 165 
 
 •without obliging me, who am already so guilty, to 
 commit the fresh sin of dishonoring my poor husband ! 
 Well, then, knowing as you do, everything, how can 
 you dare to give me the advice you do ? How can 
 you desire to dissuade me from the course I have 
 taken, the only possible one by which reparation, al- 
 though incomplete, can be made? If, contrary to 
 your opinion, if, contrary to the law of decorum, we 
 should stain Clara's conscience by revealing to her her 
 origin, what do you suppose she would do ? Would 
 you not despise her if she did not seek to make repa- 
 ration? And to do so, without making public her 
 mother's infamy, and the infamy of him whom she 
 ought to venerate as a father, what choice remains to 
 Clara but to enter a convent or to give her hand to 
 Don Casimiro ? Why, you will say, should Clara suf- 
 fer for the fault which she has not committed? 
 Dearly enough I pay for it, father. Eemorse and 
 shame are killing me. If this seems to you iniqui- 
 tous, become an infidel, and blaspheme against Provi- 
 dence, and not against me. Providence, in its in- 
 scrutable designs, through my fault, has placed my 
 daughter in the alternative either of sacrificing her- 
 self or of being an impostor and the unworthy pos- 
 sessor of riches which do not belong to her." 
 
 " I will not be the one, assuredly," interrupted the 
 friar, " to disguise or to underestimate the difficulty 
 of the situation or the truth of what you say. I agree 
 
166 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 with you. I know Clara's nobility of soul. If she 
 were to know who she is — But no, it is better that 
 she should not know." 
 
 " What do you suppose she would do if she were 
 to know it?" 
 
 " Without hesitation, Clara would retire to a con- 
 vent. Your plan of marrying her to Don Casimiro 
 would seem to her absurd, wicked, not because Don 
 Casimiro is ugly and old, but even if he were hand- 
 some and she were in love with him. By this mar- 
 riage the evil born of fraud and imposture is not rem- 
 edied, nor does your daughter despoil herself of the 
 wealth which is not hers." 
 
 " It is, however, although incomplete, the only rep- 
 aration possible, while Clara remains in ignorance of 
 the motive for reparation. I concede that Clara's en- 
 tering a cloister would be a better, a less incomplete 
 way of remedying the evil. But how could the 
 daughter of an atheist have a vocation to become the 
 spouse of Christ ? " 
 
 As she uttered these last words the countenance of 
 Doha Blanca assumed a sublime expression of grief ; 
 her cheeks were dyed with carmine, ominous as the 
 flush of fever ; two large tears sprang suddenly from 
 her eyes. 
 
 To Father Jacinto Dofla Blanca seemed transfia-- 
 ured; he saw, under her asperity and ill temper, a 
 womanly heart which he had not before even sus- 
 
COMMANDER MBNDOZA. 107 
 
 pected, and he felt sorry for her and looked at her 
 compassionately. She continued : 
 
 " I have meditated during long, sleepless nights on 
 the solution of this problem, and I can see nothing 
 better than Clara's marriage to Don Casimiro. Do 
 not suppose that I have not the courage for any other 
 course. It is not that I lack courage, it is that I have 
 too much pity. A thousand times, desiring that he 
 might kill me, have I been on the point of reveal- 
 ing my sin to the man whom I offended committing 
 it. I -would willingly have myself put the dagger 
 into his hand ; but I know him : the unhappy man 
 would have wept like a child ; I should have caused 
 him to die of grief instead of receiving from him the 
 chastisement I deserved; with evangelical meekness 
 he would have pardoned me, and in my hardness of 
 heart and my diabolical pride, far from being grate- 
 ful to him for the pardon, I would have despised him 
 still more for having granted it to me. Meek, peace- 
 able, kind, Valentin would have drained to the dregs 
 the cup of bitterness and gall on hearing my revela- 
 tion ; instead of being an inexorable judge, he would 
 have finished being my victim, and I, reprobate, full 
 of Satanic pride, would have choked up the sirring of 
 compassion and tenderness with scorn, with loathing, 
 of a holy resignation, which the devil himself would 
 have represented to me as an unmanly weakness. My 
 duty, then, was to be silent, to make as little bitter as 
 
108 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 possible the life of the weak and gentle companion 
 whom Heaven has given me ; to dissemble, to conceal, 
 as far as it was possible to conceal, my want of love, 
 my unjust, my impious, irrational, involuntary want 
 of esteem. This is the explanation of the deception 
 and the persistence in the deception, but I am not 
 capable of the baseness of theft. My soul would not 
 suffer it. That wicked atheist perhaps desires that I 
 should degrade myself by theft. What reason, what 
 right, what paternal sentiment can he invoke who so 
 utterly forgot for long years the fruit of his love — and 
 of the divine wrath ? You say well, the best course 
 would be for Clara to immure herself in a convent, to 
 consecrate herself to God. I have done all that it 
 was possible to do to disgust her with the world, paint- 
 ing it to her in horrible colours ; but youthful confi- 
 dence, the accursed ardour of the blood, the delight 
 and the exuberance of life, have had more power over 
 her than my words. What choice is left me but to 
 marry her to Don Casimiro ? Why do you pity her ? 
 Is she not the gainer ? The child of sin ought to 
 have neither wealth nor honour, nor even a name, and 
 all these she will preserve, all these she may enjoy 
 without remorse, without shame." 
 
 During the latter part of her discourse Dofla 
 Blanca was beautiful, with the sublime beaiity of an 
 angry panthress that has received a mortal wound. 
 She had risen to her feet. It seemed to the friar as if 
 
COMMANDEU MENDOZA. jgg 
 
 she had increased in stature until her head touched 
 the ceiling. She had spoken in a low Toice, but each 
 of her words had the sharpness of a steel -tipped 
 arrow. 
 
 Father Jacinto saw that he had relied too much on 
 his assurance and his readiness of speech. He was 
 utterly confounded, and had not a word to say. So 
 great was his embarrassment, that Clarita's return to 
 the parlour relieved his mind of a weight, affording 
 him a respite and enabling him to reply at a more 
 propitious moment and after due meditation. 
 
 Dofia Blanca, the moment her daughter entered 
 the room, recovered her self-control and with it her 
 habitual calmness. 
 
 A little later the gentle Don Valentin returned, 
 and they all went to dinner as if nothing unusual 
 had occurred. 
 
 Father Jacinto pronounced the benediction at the 
 beginning of the meal, and recited a prayer on taking 
 his seat at the table and on rising. 
 
 After dinner the pleasant surprise of the presen- 
 tation of the doe took place. Clarita thought her 
 charming. The doe allowed Clarita to kiss her on a 
 white star which she had on her forehead, and ate four 
 biscuits from her hand. 
 
 Don Valentin wondered at, sympathised with, and 
 was even touched by the gentleness of the beautiful 
 animal. 
 
170 COMMANDER MBNDOZA. 
 
 When Father Jacinto, everything being ended, left 
 DoQa Blanca's house, he hurried to that of the Com- 
 mander, who was impatiently waiting for him, not 
 having seen him on his arrival from Villabermeja, as 
 the friar had come to the city an hour earlier than 
 had been agreed upon between them. Having ex- 
 cused himself for this, and for his precipitation in 
 taking the step he had done without consulting the 
 Commander, Father Jacinto related to the latter all 
 that had taken place. 
 
 Don Fadrique Lopez de Mendoza was not one of 
 those who condemn all that is done without consult- 
 ing them. He approved of the step his master had 
 taken, and applauded it. Even the final confusion 
 and silence of the friar he thought advantageous, be- 
 cause they had left him uncompromised, because he 
 had given no pledge. We have already said that the 
 Commander was optimistic by philosophy and by na- 
 ture cheerful. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Whest he had been informed of the substance of 
 the conversation between the friar and Doha Blanca, 
 it was by an effort that the Commander abstained 
 from taking a hasty resolution. He contented him- 
 self with begging his master not to return to A'illaber- 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 171 
 
 meja, to contimie his visits to Dofia Blanca's house, 
 and to endeavour to dissipate that lady's suspicions by 
 giving her his promise neither to speak to Clarita of 
 the projected marriage, nor to say anything to her in 
 disapprobation of her mother's wishes. 
 
 The Commander desired to reflect, and he re- 
 flected long, on the subject. His reflections (we have 
 already said that the Commander was an unbeliever) 
 could not have been very pious. The Commander 
 was, besides, cheerful, cool, and self-possessed, and his 
 reflections could not therefore have been angry, but 
 his analytical intellect placed clearly before him all 
 the difficulties of the case. 
 
 It did not admit of a doubt that the beautiful and 
 sympathetic creature who owed her being to him was 
 condemned either to live as a base usurper of what 
 did not belong to her, to marry Don Casimiro, or to 
 be a mm. One of these three extremes was inevita- 
 ble, if a frightful scandal was to be avoided, unless a 
 ransom, difficult of realisation, could be effected. 
 
 Dofla Blanca was in the right, then ; but that was 
 no reason why she should be so rude and disagreeable 
 to every human being, beginning with her unfortunate 
 husband. 
 
 Don Fadriqne had an economic theory more deep- 
 ly rooted than his political theories. This theory was 
 that all wealth, all property, shall one day, when socie- 
 ty has reached ideal perfection, be the infallible sign 
 
172 COMMANDER MBNDOZA. 
 
 of industry, of talent, of integrity in their possessors ; 
 that to be rich will be, as it were, an incontestable 
 title of nobility, won, whether by one's self, or by the 
 progenitor who has left one the riches he enjoys. 
 
 Don Fadrique knew yery well that this time was 
 still far distant ; but he knew too that the quickest 
 way to reach it was to transact all business as if it had 
 already arrived — that is to say, as if there were no ill- 
 gotten wealth in the world. The contrary would be 
 to give sanction to the vile proverb, " He who robs a 
 robber gains a hundred years' indulgence," and to 
 contribute to make life, history, civilisation, and so- 
 cial progress a never-ending web of knaveries. In 
 accordance with these principles, Don Fadrique cast 
 aside the idea that in every city, town, and village 
 in the world there must of necessity be a swarm of 
 mothers in the same case as DoQa Blanca, and a mul- 
 titude of daughters or sons in the same case as 
 Clarita, for whom the difficult moral problem which 
 tormented Dofla Blanca was as if it did not exist, al- 
 lowing them to enjoy the possessions which Fate and 
 the law conceded to them in the utmost tranquillity 
 and without the slightest scruple. He cast aside also 
 the idea, somewhat ludicrous, but more than possible, 
 that Don Casimiro himself, owing to similar circum- 
 stances, might have even less right than Clarita to the 
 inheritance, although it was all entailed; that Don 
 Valentin, his father, and his grandfather might have 
 
COMMANDER MEKDOZA. 173 
 
 had no right to it either ; and that God alone knew, 
 although perhaps the devil might not be ignorant of 
 them, through what subterranean channels and by 
 what intricate paths every one has come by the in- 
 heritance which he enjoys. In these cases faith must 
 save ; but in the case of Dofia Blanca no faith could 
 avail against the evidence which she possessed. To 
 close one's eyes and put a bandage over them, and pre- 
 tend faith, would be baseness. Don Padrique, while 
 his heart and his serene intellect condemned Dofla 
 Blanca's outbursts of fury, yet applauded and extolled 
 her for thinking with rectitude and nobleness. To 
 whom it may go, whether he deserve it or not, wheth- 
 er he has a right to it or not, is a matter of slight con- 
 sequence compared with the higher consideration that 
 I know that this property is not mine, and that I en- 
 joy it only through deception, crime, or falsehood. 
 
 As Don Fadrique was a person of a great deal of 
 intelligence and common sense, although he lived in 
 an epoch of reforms, systems, and dreams of all sorts, 
 he did not think of condemning the right of inherit- 
 ance. Without the great satisfaction of leaving our 
 riches to our children, the chief stimulus to labour, to 
 order, to application, to the development and exercise 
 of the faculties, would be lost. Don Fadrique per- 
 ceived, however, that if the day was still distant in 
 which it would be almost impossible to acquire un- 
 justly what one acquires one's self, the day was still 
 13 
 
174 COMMANDER MBNDOZA. 
 
 much more distant in which it would be almost im- 
 possible to inherit unjustly what one inherits. The 
 way to avoid deferring to a still more distant future 
 the dawn of that day was to give a good example in 
 the other direction. Dofia Blanca's reasoning always 
 emerged triumphant from every labyrinth of reflec- 
 tions in which Don Fadrique entangled himself. 
 
 There existed a moral evil which called for rem- 
 edy. Thus far Don Fadrique was in accord with 
 Dofla Blanca's idea. Was the remedy worse than the 
 evil ? The remedy was severe, but Don Fadrique com- 
 prehended that it was not worse than the evil, and 
 that it was necessary to apply it, since there was no 
 other. 
 
 The remedy might be applied in two ways : either 
 marrying Clarita to Don Casimiro, and this was easy ; 
 or making her take the veil. This latter, in spite of 
 the worldliness, impiety, and anti-religiousness of Don 
 Fadrique, seemed to him a thousand times the better. 
 He comprehended, however, that in order that Clarita 
 should enter a convent, without knowing why she did 
 so, it would be necessary for some one to inspire her 
 with a vocation. This task her mother could not un- 
 dertake. Only Father Jacinto could persuade Clarita 
 to retire to a convent. 
 
 To a man imbued with the spirit of the eighteenth 
 century, nourished on the writings of the encyclope- 
 dists, a believer in God, but always talking of Nature, 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 175 
 
 it is unnecessary to say here how horrible seemed this 
 sacrifice of beauty, life, youthful exuberance of spirits, 
 already fervently anticipating love, no doubt, and de- 
 manding it, on the altar of a mysterious sentiment, 
 to accomplish a purpose in his opinion impalpable 
 and even incomprehensible. The Commander thought 
 this a nefarious and monstrous act, but he preferred 
 it to seeing, to imagining Clara in the withered arms 
 of Don Casimiro ; and in his pride as a hidalgo, in his 
 desire not to be himself a liar and a cheat, not to 
 show himself less noble-minded than a fanatic and 
 violent woman, he preferred anything rather than to 
 see Clarita enriched by Don Valentin's possessions on 
 the death of the latter. 
 
 The end of Don Fadrique's reflections was always 
 the same, no matter by what diverse paths or circui- 
 tous ways it was reached. He did not wish Clara to 
 be the possessor of what he knew was not hers ; he 
 did not wish her to be Don Casimiro's wife ; he did 
 not wish her to be a nun ; nor yet did he wish to give 
 scandal and embitter Don Valentin's life by a hu- 
 miliating disclosure. It was indispensable, then, that 
 he should be the deliverer, the redeemer of Clarita. 
 
 Although the Commander was greatly preoccupied 
 by these thoughts, he exercised so much control over 
 himself that he allowed no one to perceive it. 
 
 He walked with Lucia in the gardens or chatted 
 with her, and tried to avoid her inquisitorial questions. 
 
176 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 In this way eight days passed. During this time 
 the Commander informed himself, with the utmost 
 caution and diligence, of the exact value of all Don 
 Valentin's possessions. This exceeded four millions 
 of reals. 
 
 He regretted not a little — we ought not to disguise 
 the fact — to find that Don Valentin had become so 
 rich. The Commander's own fortune, summing up 
 the values of several small estates which he had pur- 
 chased near Villabermeja, and the funds he had de- 
 posited in various banking houses in Great Britain 
 and in Madrid, exceeded this amount but slightly. 
 His resolution, however, in spite of his regret, re- 
 mained unaltered. 
 
 The Commander knew and appreciated the value 
 of money. His pride in having acquired it honourably 
 and by his own ability gave it a greater charm in his 
 eyes. But in what better way could he employ his 
 fortune, the earnings and the savings of the whole of 
 an active life, the fruit of energy, labour, and intelli- 
 gence, than in ransoming a being so dear to him and 
 so worthy of being so ? _, 
 
 Despoiling himself of four millions, the Commander 
 would see himself reduced to the melancholy condition 
 of a country nobleman, obliged to go seek his fortune 
 again, or else resign himself to living poorly and hum- 
 bly in Villabermeja. This did not terrify hiiii. 
 
 Various solutions, then, being eliminated, the prob- 
 
COMMANDED MENDOZA. 177 
 
 lem remained clear and simple. The only difficulty 
 to be surmounted was that of placing in Don Casi- 
 miro's possession, in so natural a manner as to arouse 
 no suspicion, the sum of four millions, and to make 
 this sacrifice known to and appreciated by Dofla 
 Blanca, as was just, in order that that terrible lady 
 might acknowledge her daughter to be free of all 
 obligation and qualified to receive, on his death, all 
 the possessions of Don Valentin, as a restitution and 
 not as an inheritance. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 The Solis family continued to lead a life of com- 
 plete isolation. 
 
 The only persons who ever entered the house were 
 Don Casimiro and the friar. The latter, in spite of 
 his unwelcome advice, had been again received into 
 the favour and confidence of its severe mistress. It is 
 not so easy a matter to cast ofE a spiritual director 
 whom one holds to be a saint, or little less, even though 
 this director should oppose our views, and, still worse, 
 should act in opposition to them. The chief fault 
 of Father Jacinto — what Dofia Blanca could with 
 difficulty understand — was that that virtuous man, 
 that son of St. Domingo de Guzman, should be so 
 
178 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 intimate a friend of a man whom he ought rather 
 to send to the stake, if the times were not so per- 
 verted and Christianity so relaxed. 
 
 Dofla Blanca was not silent on this point, and on 
 several occasions manifested her surprise to the friar, 
 but the friar always answered her : 
 
 " Daughter, think whatever you . choose in the 
 matter; I don't wish to bother my head explaining 
 it to you. Let it sufiBce you to know that I regard 
 Don Fadrique as my very good friend, although he 
 is an unbeliever, as he regards me as his very good 
 friend, although I am a friar. Cavilling about the 
 question frightens me, and I prefer not to be fright- 
 ened. I do not wish to have to convince myself that 
 there is in the souls of men something which, in 
 spite of a radical difference of beliefs, may form a 
 bond of friendly and unalterable union between them 
 and the foundation of high mutual esteem." 
 
 " You are very right, then, not to cavil," answered 
 Dofia Blanca. " Do not cavil, lest you should fall 
 into heresy in your old age, imagining that there is 
 something more essential, more sublime, than religious 
 belief." 
 
 " I shall not fall into heresy," replied the friar, 
 who, as we have already said, was audaciously out- 
 spoken — " I shall not fall into heresy when you have 
 not fallen into it. My friendship can never be more 
 inexplicable than was your love." 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 179 
 
 At this Dofla Blanca exhaled a sigh in which there 
 was a touch of rage, and became subdued and was 
 silent. 
 
 For the rest, Father Jacinto was loyal and did not 
 abuse his privilege of talking in private with Olarita 
 by exciting her to rebel against the marriage with 
 Don Casimiro. 
 
 One piece of information only did he venture to 
 give Clarita — at the instigation of Don Fadrique — 
 that Don Carlos, admonished by the Commander, had 
 returned to his parents' house in Seville. 
 
 In this way Clarita's mind was tranquillised and 
 she was neither surprised nor alarmed at not seeing 
 Don Carlos at church in the mornings. The person 
 whom she did see several times, almost in the very 
 spot where Don Carlos had been in the habit of sta- 
 tioning himself, was the Commander, of whose wick- 
 edness her mother had told her so much, but whom 
 she herself was irresistibly impelled to believe good. 
 
 The Commander, as if in atonement for having 
 neglected for so many years this pledge of his love, 
 did not content himself with resolving to make a great 
 sacrifice for her, but he longed to see and admire her, 
 although at a distance. 
 
 Thus events were moving slowly on when one 
 morning Dofla Antonia, having one of her headaches 
 and being disinclined to leave the house, Lucia went 
 for a walk with the Commander. They proceeded to 
 
180 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 the spring or source of the river, with which we are 
 ah-eady acquainted. Seated in the shade of the wil- 
 low, listening to the murmur of the water, they talked 
 of the stars, of the flowers, of a thousand different 
 matters, towards which the uncle tried to draw the 
 attention of the niece, in order to divert her curiosity 
 from Clarita's afEairs. 
 
 Lucia, her curiosity not being sufficiently diverted, 
 at last said : 
 
 " Uncle, you are going to make a savante of me. 
 Now you speak to me of the sun, and you tell me how 
 large it is and how it attracts the planets and comets; 
 and again you describe to me the depths of the skies, 
 and you point out to me the most beautiful of the 
 stars, and you tell me what their names are and how 
 immense are their distances from us, and the length 
 of time which the winged rays of their light take to 
 strike our eyes. All this delights and amazes me, 
 making me form a more adequate conception of the 
 infinite power of God. You have also explained to 
 me strange mysteries of the flowers, and this has in- 
 terested me even more, inspiring my soul with a loftier 
 idea of the goodness and wisdom of the Most High. 
 But, laying aside dissimulation, I suspect that you are 
 giving me all this instruction only in order to avoid 
 answering my questions concerning your plans with 
 regard to Olarita. This suspicion, I confess, takes 
 away my desire to hear your lessons, which, other- 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 181 
 
 wise, would deliglit me ; this suspicion diminishes the 
 value of those lessons, which I fancy to be interested 
 and malicious ; rather than as a means of instruct- 
 ing me, they seem to me a means of hoodwinking 
 me." 
 
 " The malice is on your side, niece," responded the 
 Commander. " My conduct is perfectly simple. All 
 there is to know about Clarita you know better than I 
 do. What can I add to what you already know ? " 
 
 " Listen to me, uncle ; although I am only a girl, 
 it is not so easy to deceive me as you may imagine. 
 There are here several points which are obscure, inex- 
 plicable, and I shall not rest until I have cleared them 
 all up." 
 
 " If you don't rest until then you have a weary 
 time before you, niece. I am afraid you are doomed 
 to perpetual unrest." 
 
 " Let us not confound terms. I am quite easy, with- 
 out any explanation, regarding many points on which 
 you, unfortunately, are not easy. I do not speak of 
 those, I speak of simpler matters, matters more within 
 the scope of my intelligence. On these I require an 
 explanation, and without an explanation I can have 
 no rest. What the mischief was that hard word you 
 used the other day to signify a supposition which one 
 makes to explain things, and which is held to be true 
 if it explains them ? " 
 
 " That word is hypothesis.'''' 
 
182 COMMANDEE MBNDOZA. 
 
 "Well, then, all I do is to form a hypothesis, 
 to see if I can find the explanation of certain 
 things. Do you wish to hear such a hypothesis of 
 mine ? " 
 
 " State it." 
 
 The Commander's voice, as he gave this permis- 
 sion, expressed serene indifference; but he grew red 
 with the fear that Lucia, by some magical art, or little 
 less, might have guessed the tie that united Clara to 
 him. 
 
 Lucia, availing terself of the permission she had 
 received, and encouraged by the slight confusion which 
 she observed in her uncle, thus stated one of her hy- 
 potheses : 
 
 ""Well, then, at first I was blinded by excess of 
 vanity; I thought that the affection which, as an 
 uncle, you entertain for me, had led you, in order to 
 please me, to interest yourself in Chloris and Myrtilus, 
 and to try to bring about a happy ending to their love. 
 I have now changed my opinion. The hypothesis I 
 have now formed is a different one. Your interest is 
 too great to be a reflected one. I notice, too, that it 
 is very unequal — less than moderate for Myrtilus ; im- 
 mense for Chloris. Ah, uncle! Can it be that you 
 are trying to play an unhandsome trick on the poor 
 swain? Everything becomes known. Why, do you 
 suppose it has not come to my knowledge that you 
 have grown devout (would to Heaven the devotion 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 183 
 
 were genuine !), and that you go to the principal 
 church of the city to hear mass every morning at 
 daybreak ? " 
 
 " Niece, don't talk nonsense," interrupted the 
 Commander. 
 
 " I am not talking nonsense. I think your devo- 
 tion too strange to be explained by a merely ordinary 
 sympathy, and I suspect that the saint who has in- 
 spired you with it has bound you captive with sweeter 
 chains than those of piety." 
 
 " I tell you again not to talk nonsense," the Com- 
 mander repeated, growing very serious. " I confess 
 that it may seem difficult to explain the extraordinary 
 affection with which Clarita inspires me. I assure 
 you, however, upon my word of honour, that there is 
 nothing in it of what you imagine. If you care for 
 me at all, if you respect me, I entreat you — and if 
 you think I may command you, I command you — to 
 put that thought away from you. I love Clarita, 
 although between her and me there are no ties of 
 blood, in the same way that I love you who are my 
 niece, with an almost paternal love — with an old 
 man's love." 
 
 " But you are not an old man, uncle." 
 
 " Even so. I love Clarita only in that way. And 
 though you should still think this strange, do not 
 cavil or look for any other hypothesis to explain it 
 satisfactorily to yourself." 
 
184 COMMANDER MBNDOZA. 
 
 "Very well, uncle. I will leave off forming hy- 
 potheses for the present." 
 
 " That is the wisest course you can pursue." 
 
 " Since hypotheses are of no use, is it of any use 
 to ask questions ? " 
 
 " Ask them." 
 
 " Do you still persist in fayouring Myrtilus's 
 love?" 
 
 " I still persist in doing so, and I will persist so 
 long as I believe that Clara loves him." 
 
 " Do you hope to conquer Dona Blanca's obsti- 
 nacy and prevent the marriage with Don Casimiro ? " 
 
 " I hope to do so, although it will be diflScult." 
 
 " May I venture to ask what means you intend to 
 employ to conquer that difficulty ? " 
 
 " You may venture, but I will also venture to tell 
 you that there is no reason why you should know 
 those means. Trust in me." 
 
 " Although you are so reticent with me, uncle, 
 that you will tell me nothing, I am going to act gen- 
 erously ; I am going to tell you my secrets. I know 
 that Don Carlos de Atienza writes to you. He has 
 written to me also. But you have not done what I 
 have done. You have not put the poor exile in com- 
 munication with Clara. I have done this. I have 
 written to Clara no fewer than three letters, which, 
 by dint of entreaties, I have persuaded Father Jacinto 
 to deliver to her. In those letters I have copied some 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 185 
 
 paragraphs from the letters which Don Carlos lias 
 written to me." 
 
 " That secret I knew in part. Father Jacinto told 
 me that he had delivered your letters." 
 
 " Well, I wager there is something else you do not 
 know." 
 
 "What is that?" 
 
 " That Clara has answered me. The answer came 
 yesterday, through the air, like the former letter, 
 which we read together." 
 
 " Have you this last letter here ? " 
 
 " Yes, uncle." 
 
 " Will you read it to me ? " 
 
 " You don't deserve that I should do so ; but I am 
 so good that I will read it to you." 
 
 Lucia drew a paper from her bosom. 
 
 Before beginning to read it she said : 
 
 " In truth, uncle, this letter makes me very anx- 
 ious and uneasy. Clara has changed greatly in these 
 few days during which she has been alone. Her let- 
 ter is fuU of so singular an exaltation, such profound 
 sadness, such bitter thoughts ! " 
 
 " Eead, read ! " said the Commander, with keen 
 emotion. Lucia read as follows : 
 
 " Beloved Lucia : A thousand thanks for all you 
 are doing for me. I should be dishonest if I were to 
 conceal anything of what I feel from you. l^ot even 
 
186 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 in Father Jacinto have I confided up to this ; but to 
 you I confide everything. Something strange is tak- 
 ing place within me, something which I cannot under- 
 stand. I still love Don Carlos. And, notwithstand- 
 ing, I know that I ought to give him no hope, that I 
 ought never to marry him, that it is my duty to obey 
 my mother, who desires my marriage with Don Casi- 
 miro. But the strange thing is, that in these days so 
 profound a sentiment of humility has taken posses- 
 sion of my soul that I find myself unworthy even of 
 Don Casimiro. When alone with myself I have de- 
 scended into the depths of my conscience, and there 
 I have lost myself in dark abysses. When my mother, 
 who is good and who loves me, finds in me I know 
 not what leaven, I know not what germ of perverse- 
 ness, I know not what stain of original sin blacker 
 than that which stains other creatures, my mother 
 must be right. Yes, Lucia, perhaps in my breast, 
 tranquil in appearance, under the innocence and ap- 
 parent simplicity of youth, vehement and evil passions 
 are gradually acquiring life and vigour, like a nest of 
 vipers under clustering roses. I know it — my mother 
 trembles for me ; she fears for my future, and she is 
 right. I examine myself, I study myself, and I am 
 terrified. I discover in myself the propensity, diffi- 
 cult to resist, to everything evil. I see my native 
 wickedness and my instinctive inclination to sin. 
 How otherwise comprehend that I, brought up in 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 187 
 
 such strict seclusion and in such holy ignorance of the 
 things of the world, should have had the diabolical 
 wickedness to enter into relations with Don Carlos, 
 to make him believe that I loved him, looking at him 
 only (imagine with what perversity I looked at him !), 
 and to draw him here, obliging him to follow me, and 
 all with such diabolical dissimulation that my mother 
 knows nothing of it? There is something in me 
 still worse, if possible ; I note it, I perceive it, and I 
 cannot, I do not desire, I do not dare to examine it. 
 What I do declare to you is that for me the world 
 must of necessity be more dangerous than for other 
 women, who are better by nature. What there is not 
 in me by nature I ought to ask through grace from 
 Heaven. On Heaven I fix my hopes. It follows, then, 
 that I should withdraw from the world and seek the 
 favour of Heaven. You know with what repugnance 
 I have hitherto regarded the thought of embracing a 
 religious life. I did not judge myself worthy to be 
 the spouse of Christ. In this I have not changed, 
 except to judge myself still less worthy. In what I 
 have changed is in recognising that, however wicked 
 one may be, one should never despair of the goodness 
 of God. His Divine Majesty, if I lead a holy life, if 
 I repent, if I mortify myself during the novitiate, 
 will give me the strength and the merits afterwards 
 to take the veil, without being guilty of insolent au- 
 dacity in taking it. I have said nothing to any one 
 
188 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 yet of this recent resolution; but my mind is made 
 up. I will speak of this to Father Jacinto, that he 
 may speak to my mother, convince her that it is hest 
 for me and that I desire to he a nun, and, in view of 
 my resolution, undeceive Don Casimiro. Do you, on 
 your side, undeceive poor Don Carlos. I will not 
 deny to you that I loved him, that I love him still ; 
 but do not tell him so. Tell him I love another ; 
 that in my heart there is an immense void where aw- 
 ful darkness reigns. Don Carlos does not suffice to 
 fill and illumine this void ; and if God does not fill 
 and illumine it I shall die of terror, and the least 
 dreadful thing that can happen will be that my per- 
 turbed imagination will fill it with horrible spectres 
 rising from my affiicted conscience. Adieu." 
 
 XX. 
 
 The reading of this melancholy letter disturbed 
 the pleasure of the walk of the Commander and his 
 niece. They scarcely spoke again until they reached 
 the house. 
 
 This sudden crisis of Clara's soul made Don Fa- 
 drique taciturn. 
 
 The ideas which came to his mind were not of a 
 nature to be revealed to his niece. 
 
COMMANDER MBNDOZA. 189 
 
 The Commander perceived that the perpetual fric- 
 tion of Dona Blanca's spirit with that of her daugh- 
 ter, the pressure which the severe and atrabiliary 
 character of her mother exerted on this girl of sixteen, 
 and the terror with which she had weighed down her 
 conscience, kept poor Clara in a state of mind not far 
 from madness. The letter to Lucia was the danger 
 signal which Clara gave of that state. 
 
 The Commander, however, although filled with 
 anxiety, decided to refrain from all interference for the 
 present. The resolution of the crisis might be favour- 
 able if he did not interfere. His intervention might 
 increase its danger. 
 
 Clara's sincerity was evident. Suddenly, without 
 Father Jacinto or any one else influencing her in the 
 matter, she had changed her intention and had re- 
 solved to be a nun. It will be readily understood that 
 to the Commander, entertaining the religious views 
 he did, this resolution appeared a fatal one ; but in 
 virtue of this resolution it was almost certain that 
 Don Oasimiro would be dismissed. One obstacle would 
 be removed, one adversary disposed of. 
 
 Don Fadrique then determined to wait with calm- 
 ness, without neglecting to be on his guard. 
 
 He did not give Father Jacinto any hint as to the 
 conduct the latter was to observe. He trusted entirely 
 to the friar's sound common sense, and left him to fol- 
 low freely his own inspirations. 
 
190 COMMANDER MBNDOZA. 
 
 The Commander's prudence ,was crowned with 
 success at the end of a few days. 
 
 Dofla Blanca, persuaded that her daughter's sud- 
 den Tocation was true and profound, had a very affec- 
 tionate and serious conversation with Don Casimiro in 
 which she gave him his passport. 
 
 Father Jacinto extolled Clara's fervour and en- 
 couraged DoQa Blanca to allow her to enter a 
 convent of barefooted Carmelites which there was 
 in the city, as a novice, with as little delay as pos- 
 sible. 
 
 Don Valentin agreed to everything without a 
 murmur. 
 
 Clarita, then, would have at once entered a con- 
 vent, as she desired and asked to he allowed to do ; 
 but her spiritual crisis had exercised a powerful influ- 
 ence over her beautiful body. The circles under her 
 eyes were darker and larger than ordinarily, she had 
 grown very thin ; the pallor of her countenance would 
 have inspired terror if her countenance had not been 
 so beautiful ; her dreamy abstraction made her seem at 
 times rather like a being of the other world than a 
 creature of this ; and in her faltering step and in the 
 fleeting brilliancy of her eyes, a brilliancy which was 
 always followed by the prolonged dullness of those 
 divine orbs, there was something ominous, a prophetic 
 announcement, as it were, which could not but dis- 
 turb the stern conscience of Dofla Blanca, bend her 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 191 
 
 inflexibility in a great measure, and at last terrify 
 her. 
 
 The causes of the change in Clara were vague and 
 confused, but Dofla Blanca saw clearly that from her 
 method of educating Clara, from her involuntary and 
 obstinate desire to mortify her and inspire her with 
 the fear of the dangers of the world, and of her own 
 sinful condition, and from the severe subjection in 
 which from infancy she had held the conscience of 
 her unhappy daughter, arose in great part the situ- 
 ation in which she now was. The immediate cause, 
 or, to speak more correctly, the occasion of the ex- 
 acerbation of the malady, and of its sudden manifes- 
 tation, accompanied by symptoms so alarming, was a 
 mystery for every one. This did not prevent Dofla 
 Blanca from beginning to fear that she might fall into 
 the crime of filicide through trying to avoid the crime 
 of theft. 
 
 Dofla Blanca, therefore, proceeded with unaccus- 
 tomed gentleness and exquisite discretion ; but with- 
 out belying her character and without yielding in her 
 chief purpose. 
 
 Not content with being morally persuaded of Clara's 
 firm resolution of taking the veil, she made her prom- 
 ise that she would profess. And this in such a way 
 that the promise did not seem draAvn from her at the 
 instigation of Dofla Blanca, but in opposition to her 
 wishes. In this way Dofla Blanca assured herself that 
 
192 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 her daughter, renouncing the world, would renounce 
 the possessions of Don Valentin, and would be unable 
 to transmit them to any one. 
 
 But Dofia Blanca did not wish to kill her daugh- 
 ter. She tormented herself in anticipation with the 
 remorse of seeing her enter the conTent despairing 
 and wounded to death. She desired to see her pro- 
 fess, but cheerful, blooming, full of life ; not looking 
 like a victim, but with the delight, the joy, and the 
 satisfaction of a spouse who flies to the arms of her 
 gallant and happy bridegroom. 
 
 In order to obtain this, Dolla Blanca laid aside her 
 habitual severity ; she began to treat Clara even with 
 indulgence, and, anxious that she should regain her 
 gaiety and health, she removed the interdict, opened 
 her doors to Lucia, and consented that Clara should 
 go out walking with her again, the Commander not- 
 withstanding. 
 
 DoQa Blanca, however, before giving this per- 
 mission, put her daughter on her guard against Don 
 Fadrique, painting him as a monster of impiety and 
 wickedness, and charging her strictly to speak to him 
 as little as possible. 
 
 Dofia Blanca, meantime, resolved to remain gar- 
 risoned in her great house, seeing no one but Father 
 Jacinto, and perhaps, Lucia. 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. I93 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Of all the persons who figure in this history Don 
 Casimiro had the strangest and most capricious fate. 
 He had arranged his life with enviable method, and 
 he spent very little. Thus it was that, although Don 
 Casimiro was far from possessing extraordinary ability 
 in anything, he had succeeded, by the practice of 
 economy and judgment, in accumulating so large a 
 fortune that, for Villabermeja and those times, he was 
 a wealthy man. This he owed to himself, and he 
 might with reason be, as he was, proud of it. "What 
 he owed to chance, to a combination of circumstances 
 for him inexplicable, was his momentary exaltation to 
 the position of fiance of his rich and lovely niece, Se- 
 fiorita Dofia Clara. 
 
 With his fifty-six years, not a few ailments, and 
 the appearance we have already described, Don Casi- 
 miro himself, in spite of his amour propre, which was 
 not small, had found it in the secret depths of his 
 consciousness somewhat incredible that they should 
 wish to marry him to that rosebud. Amour propre, 
 however, is very ingenious, this ingeniousness being 
 almost always in inverse ratio to the intelligence of 
 the person concerned ; wherefore Don Casimiro soon 
 came to imagine that in his soul there must be hidden 
 treasures of goodness and beauty, and that in his man- 
 
194 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 ners and bearing such, noble distinction and inborn 
 elegance were revealed as, being discovered by Dofia 
 Blanca's penetrating glance, were enongb. and more 
 than enough to make her desire to have Don Casimiro 
 for a son-in-law. Don Casimiro, then, from the first 
 days of his engagement to Clara, became more pom- 
 pous and self-satisfied than ever. 
 
 His disappointment when Dofla Blanca dismissed 
 him was terrible. His inward anger was no less ter- 
 rible, but he was shy and awkward in expressing 
 himself. Dona Blanca spoke well and with an air of 
 authority and command, and Seflor Don Casimiro 
 swallowed his anger and received his passport as 
 meekly as a lamb. 
 
 As happens with all who are at once weak and 
 proud, Don Casimiro's anger gathered strength in his 
 heart later on when he had time to reflect upon the 
 disappointment he had sufEered, and the signal slight 
 he had received. 
 
 True, the rival for whom Clara had deserted him 
 was God himself, but this thought did not appease 
 Don Casimiro. 
 
 " Perhaps she wishes to be a nun," he said to him- 
 self, " in order to avoid marrying me. If so, it would 
 have been better to have thought of it earlier, and not 
 to have placed me in this ridiculous position now. 
 Doubtless it is less cruel for me that she should desert 
 me for so holy a motive, than that she should desert 
 
COMMANDEE MEKDOZA. I95 
 
 me to marry another man. I would not have consent- 
 ed to that. The deaf should have heard us. I would 
 have fought with my rival. But against God what 
 can I do ? " 
 
 Don Casimiro consoled himself somewhat with the 
 thought of the impossibility of fighting with God, and 
 also with the reflection that it was a pious duty to be 
 resigned. 
 
 His bitterness against DoQa Blanca and Clarita 
 did not diminish, however. There was not a cat or 
 dog for ten leagues around to which Don Casimiro 
 had not communicated his happiness. !N"ow, his 
 fall and his misfortune must be and were no less 
 talked about, and, unfortunately, very much more 
 applauded. 
 
 The vanity of the Bermejan hidalgo received some 
 crushing blows. But how avenge himself ? 
 
 " Vengeance is the pleasure of the gods," exclaimed 
 our hidalgo to himself, " but assuredly I am not a god. 
 What, then, is the wisest course for me to pursue ? It 
 is a saying of the friars, and a very wise one, that ' the 
 injury that cannot be well avenged should be well dis- 
 sembled.' Let us dissemble, then. There is also an- 
 other proverb which says, ' Bide your time and nurse 
 your spite.' Let us follow these precepts. The chief 
 thing now is to show that Clarita's scorn does not 
 afflict me. If she does not love me, there is another 
 woman who is as good as she and better, who, I know. 
 
196 COiMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 will. I will renew my addresses to Nicolasa- She is 
 not rich, but she is handsomer than Clarita." 
 
 Without abandoning, consequently, his intention 
 of avenging himself, if a convenient opportunity to 
 do so should offer, Don Oasimiro resolved to pay his 
 court openly to Mcolasa, hoping in this way to pique 
 the future Carmelite, or to prove to her, at least, that 
 he had a woman of a great deal of merit for a sweet- 
 heart. 
 
 ISTicolasa was such in fact. The daughter of Un- 
 cle Gorico by his first wife, she had become famous 
 throughout the province for her singular beauty, dis- 
 cretion, and magnificence. Gentlemen, rich land- 
 owners, and even nobles and men of title, less com- 
 mon then than now, had sighed in vain for Mcolasa, 
 who, with modest dignity, had always answered in 
 prose what a certain lady in one of the old comedies 
 answers in verse to no less a person than the king : 
 
 " For your mistress too high, 
 For your wife too low." 
 
 Nicolasa had inherited from her mother certain 
 gifts which are of more value than riches, for they 
 preserve these where they exist, and they are generally 
 able to procure them where they do not esist. She 
 had the art of commanding and of winning the good- 
 will of all those with whom she came in contact, ex- 
 traordinary firmness of character, and perseverance in 
 her plans. She had resolved either to be a lady of sta- 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 197 
 
 tion or to remain a vestal, and, taking this resolution 
 as her rule of conduct, she adjusted to it all her acts. 
 
 Although Uncle Gorico had married a second time, 
 and Nicolasa had had a stepmother instead of a moth- 
 er almost from her infancy, this, far from causing her 
 to be brought up with less indulgence, had the con- 
 trary result. Nicolasa's mother had been a woman 
 of a Tiolent and domineering temper — a rustic DoQa 
 Blanca ; while Juana, the second wife of Uncle Gorico, 
 was gentleness itself, always submissive to her hus- 
 band, who in his turn obeyed every caprice of Nico- 
 lasa. Nicolasa was all-powerful in her father's house, 
 except in preventing Uncle Gorico from drinking. 
 
 The amorous preliminaries of Nicolasa, who was 
 between twenty and thirty, had been innumerable. 
 All her love affairs had died at their birth. The 
 suitors of rank Nicolasa had sent away by speaking 
 of the priest. The suitors of her own class she had 
 scorned as soon as they became serious and themselves 
 spoke of the priest. 
 
 Nicolasa, however, like all cold, calculating, and 
 coquettish women, had known how to hold in her 
 snares, in that twilight of love which is called Pla- 
 tonic aflection, various perpetual sighers of the kind 
 called in Italy patitos. One, especially, among her 
 numerous adorers might serve as a notable example 
 of these, from his patience and devotion. This was 
 Tomasuelo, the son of the master blacksmith. 
 
198 COMMANDER MENDOZA, 
 
 From seventeen to twenty-five, which was his age 
 at the time we speak of, he had lived in a state of 
 bitter-sweet captivity. Nicolasa had never told him 
 that she loved him as a lover, but she had never de- 
 prived him of the hope that she might one day so love 
 him. On the other hand, she continually declared to 
 him that she liked him in a friendly way more than 
 any other human being, and, when she told him this, 
 the boy smiled so broadly that he showed every tooth 
 in his head ; he experienced a sensation of supreme 
 beatitude, and he considered his unceasing and in 
 other respects unavailing sighs well expended. 
 
 And let it not be supposed that Tomasuelo was 
 sickly, mean - spirited, or foolish. Tomasuelo was 
 manly, intelligent, and strong — the handsomest youth 
 in the place ; but Nicolasa had bewitched him. With 
 a flash of her eyes she could give him a dose of fan- 
 cied bliss that would last him for a week. "With a 
 single word she could make him cry like a four-year- 
 old child. 
 
 The chains in which Tomasuelo at once groaned 
 and rejoiced to find himself bound Nicolasa softened 
 for the young man, and in a certain manner justified to 
 the public, with notable ability and profound insight. 
 Tomasuelo had been able to enter Uncle Gorico's house 
 when he chose, see Nicolasa, court her, cast loving 
 glances at her, accompany her in her walks — in short, 
 wait on her and protect her without any one ever 
 
COMMANDER JMEKDOZA. 199 
 
 having dared to criticise his doing so. Although be- 
 tween Nicolasa and the blacksmith's son there was 
 not the remotest degree of kinship, Nicolasa had pro- 
 claimed Tomasuelo her brother. God had not given 
 her a brother on whom to fix her sisterly affection, but 
 she, who felt this affection keenly and deeply, chose 
 for herself Tomasuelo to devote it to him. In simple 
 phrase and with imperturbable calmness Nicolasa ex- 
 plained in this way her peculiar relations with Toma- 
 suelo ; and as Tomasuelo made a boast of his spiritual 
 adoration and lamented with resignation not being 
 loved in another way, every one in the place, far from 
 criticising, admired the pure and angelic bond which 
 united those two souls. 
 
 Every one who presented himself as a suitor to 
 Nicolasa was respected by Tomasuelo, who never 
 placed the slightest obstacle in his way during the 
 preliminaries — the flirtation; but if, later on, the 
 suitor should transgress the limits and show that he 
 came with evil designs, then he might well fear the 
 anger and the heavy hand of this adopted brother, 
 jealous of his family honour. So, too, Tomasuelo 
 became uncivil and disagreeable in his intercourse 
 with every rival who, having for one reason or an- 
 other been definitively dismissed, still continued im- 
 portunate. 
 
 Don Casimiro, previous to his engagement with 
 Clara, had had a long flirtation with Nicolasa, who, 
 
200 COMMANDER MBNBOZA. 
 
 with exquisite prudence, had skilfully moderated the 
 machine of the emotions so as not to hurry the hidalgo 
 into such declarations and demonstrations as would- 
 leaye him no other alternative than to propose mar- 
 riage or abandon the enterprise. Thanks to this con- 
 duct, which was more than skilful and bordered on 
 high art, Don Casimiro had not been dismissed ; his 
 love for Mcolasa had been like the aurora, the poetic 
 dawn of a day which never broke, owing to the inter- 
 position of the engagement with Clarita. This en- 
 gagement being now at an end, Don Casimiro might 
 return, previously obtaining pardon for his fickleness 
 (a pardon asked humbly and accorded magnanimous- 
 ly), to the same point at which he had left ofE : to 
 the dawn — to the aurora. 
 
 Things were so arranged that. Instead of a suitor 
 being frightened away by Tomasuelo, the first step he 
 had to take was to entreat the good will of this spirit- 
 ual brother, so jealous, so vigilant, and so deeply inter- 
 ested in his dear sister's welfare. Don Casimiro ob- 
 tained the confidence and permission of Tomasuelo, 
 and this he considered a good sign. 
 
 Don Casimiro, leaving the city and returning to 
 his estate, proceeded to court Mcolasa with the im- 
 prudence and the ardour of pique. She was too sen- 
 sible not to know that it was now or never ; that For- 
 tune offered her the opportunity, and that she must 
 seize it. Don Casimiro sought in Nicolasa a refuge 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 201 
 
 from and a compensation for Clarita's disdain. Don 
 Casimiro was in her power. 
 
 Nicolasa provoked a serious and definitive declara- 
 tion. THs done, slie stated the two alternatives of the 
 fatal dilemma — a formal promise of marriage, or a 
 separation and another much-talked-of rejection. Don 
 Casimiro could not resist, and proposed marriage. 
 
 A terrible day of trial for the Platonic Tomasuelo 
 was that on which he learned of this triumph. Hith- 
 erto he had had no rival who had been more favoured 
 than himself. Now he had one. The poison of jeal- 
 ousy embittered his heart ; tears welled from his eyes. 
 
 "When he was alone with Mcolasa he said to her in 
 a tremulous voice, his eyes red with weeping : 
 
 " So you have bestowed your affections on Don 
 Casimiro ? So you are going to be married ? So you 
 are determined to kill me ? " 
 
 " Hold your tongue, foolish boy ! " she answered. 
 " "What are these complaints about ? Have I ever de- 
 ceived you ? " 
 
 " Ho ; you have not deceived me." 
 
 " "Would you want me to let so good an opportu- 
 nity to be a lady of station and a millionaire escape 
 me ? Do you wish me so ill as that, selfish boy ? " 
 
 " It is not because I wish you ill, but because I 
 love you without measure, that I grieve for it, and that 
 I cry." 
 
 And Tomasuelo cried in fact. 
 
202 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 " There, don't cry, foolish fellow. If you could 
 see how ugly you look ! Who eTcr saw a man as big 
 as a castle crying ? " 
 
 " But if I cannot help it ? " 
 
 " Yes, you can ; make an effort, be courageous and 
 control yourself. Consider that in future you will 
 have in me not only a sister but a sponsor and a pow- 
 erful protectress." 
 
 " And what does all that matter to me ? Nothing. 
 "What I coveted was your affection." 
 
 " And have you not got it the same as before, in- 
 grate ? Why ! do good brothers and sisters cease to 
 love each other when one of them marries ? " 
 
 " Don't be sophistical ; don't try to confound me. 
 You know very well that the attachment I have for 
 you will not bear — " 
 
 " Come, come, leave off childish talk. Who do 
 you suppose occupies and fills the chief, the choicest, 
 the innermost place in my heart ? Yoii. My soul is 
 yours. I gave it all to you with all the love that is in 
 it, with the affection of a sister. How can it be to your 
 prejudice that I should be the lawful wife of Don 
 Casimiro ? Must we for that reason cease to care for 
 each other as we have hitherto done — more than we 
 have hitherto done ? We will love each other as much 
 as you choose and as much as it is possible for us to 
 love each other without offending God. I suppose you 
 do not wish to offend God? Answer me." 
 
COMMANDBE MENDOZA. 203 
 
 " No, girl, how should I wish to offend God ? Am 
 I not a good Christian ? " 
 
 " You are. That is one of the things I esteem most 
 in you. Therefore I trust that you will remember 
 that I am going to be the wife of another, and that 
 you will not covet what belongs to another. Such 
 covetousness is a deadly sin. Eemember the com- 
 mandments." 
 
 " Hear that ! And is it in my power not to do 
 
 BO?" 
 
 " It is. Be silent ; say nothing to any one, not even 
 to yourself, when you feel the temptation to covet, and 
 silence will kill the feeling." 
 
 " It will kill me first." 
 
 Tomasuelo cried more bitterly than ever. His 
 tears fell like rain, and were accompanied by a tem- 
 pest of sighs. 
 
 " In the name of all that is most cowardly ! " ex- 
 claimed Nicolasa, "what madness is this? Calm 
 yourself, for Heaven's sake, and be courageous and re- 
 signed." 
 
 Nicolasa with the utmost gentleness dried the 
 young man's eyes with her own handkerchief ; then 
 she gave him three or four taps on the back of his 
 thick and robust neck ; then she made a few faces at 
 him, mimicking his disconsolate looks ; and finally she 
 gave his nose an ajSectionate and arch-familiar pull. 
 
 Tomasuelo was unable to resist so much kindness 
 
204: COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 and favour. Like the sun shining through the clouds, 
 his eyes shone with joy and satisfaction through his 
 tears. His lips parted, showing his white and perfect 
 teeth, but he did not smile, for he remained with his 
 mouth open, as if transfixed. 
 
 Nicolasa then repeated the taps on the neck ; in 
 addition to pulling his nose she pulled his ears also, 
 and Tomasuelo felt as if he was being transported to 
 paradise, and thought himself for the moment the 
 happiest of mortals. 
 
 In this condition of soul he agreed that Xicolasa 
 ought to marry Don Oasimiro ; that he himself ought 
 to continue being her brother, without thinking, or at 
 least without saying that he thought, of being any- 
 thing more to her; and he comprehended clearly, 
 persuaded rather by the gentle taps on the neck and 
 the pulling of his ears than by reasoning and argu- 
 ment, all the gentleness, charm, consistency, and de- 
 light of the spiritual love which bound him to !N"ico- 
 lasa. 
 
 In this way Nicolasa overcame all obstacles and 
 insured her projected marriage with Don Casimiro. 
 
 Eumour at once spread the news through Villaber- 
 meja ; then, crossing its borders, she carried it to the 
 city, to the ears of the Commander, of his family, and 
 of the Solises. 
 
 The Commander had been visited by Don Casi- 
 miro and had returned the visit. Neither had found 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 205 
 
 the other at home, so that they had not seen each 
 other. The coldness of the relations existing between 
 them did not render more frequent intercourse neces- 
 sary. 
 
 As soon as the Commander learned of the intended 
 marriage between Don Casimiro and Nicolasa he went 
 to Villabermeja, saw Chacha Eamoncica, and had a 
 long conference with her, the purport of which the 
 curious reader will learn later on. After this, Don 
 Fadrique returned to the city. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Claea resumed her walks with Lucia, accompa- 
 nied by the Commander and Dofla Antonia ; but 
 Clara was changed. 
 
 Her pallor and debility were such as to inspire seri- 
 ous fears. Her constant abstraction also alarmed the 
 Commander. When the latter addressed her, Clara 
 trembled as if she had been wakened from a dream, 
 as if the soaring flight of her spirit had been suddenly 
 cut short, and she had fallen from heaven down to 
 earth, like a bird that has been wounded by the lead 
 in the upper regions of the sky. 
 
 In spite of the amiability and gentle disposition of 
 Clara, Don Fadrique noticed, with pain, that that 
 lovely creature avoided conversing with him; she 
 14 
 
206 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 hardly ever answered when he spoke to her except 
 with monosyllables, and she even tried to prevent him 
 from speaking to her. 
 
 With Lucia Clara was more communicative, and 
 Lucia still continued to be communicative with the 
 Commander. Through the medium of Lucia, then, 
 the Commander still penetrated into the mind of that 
 beloved being and to some extent communicated with 
 her. 
 
 The news Lucia gave him was, in substance, al- 
 ways the same, although each time more disquieting. 
 
 " I don't understand it, uncle," Lucia would say, 
 " but at times I begin to wonder whether they have 
 not given Clara a philter. She has such causeless 
 terrors ! She feels such irrational remorse ! I don't 
 know what it can be. Dofla Blanca has filled her 
 soul with such terrible scruples, she has inspired her 
 with such distrust of her own impassioned nature, that 
 the poor girl thinks herself a monster when she is in 
 reality an angel. Perhaps she imagines that she is 
 pursued by the furies of hell, by the enemies of the 
 soul, by a whole legion of devils, and that she can 
 only be safe by taking refuge at the foot of the altar. 
 We must warn Don Carlos to come soon and see if he 
 can deliver Clara from this species of madness." 
 
 The Commander and Lucia both wrote on the 
 same day to Don Carlos de Atienza, informing him of 
 Don Oasimiro's dismissal, of Clara's resolution to re- 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 207 
 
 tire to a convent, and of the unsatisfactory state of 
 her health. Don Carlos left Seville on the instant 
 and was soon in the city. 
 
 With the same secrecy and caution as before, Don 
 Carlos joined Clara again in her walks with Lucia ; 
 but Clara's delicate health filled him with concern. 
 And still more, if possible, did it torment and afflict 
 him to see her shy and timid, as she had never been 
 before, to see that she kept apart from him, and that 
 she would scarcely speak to him, although she would 
 cast at him at times involuntarily, evidently in spite 
 of herself, tender glances by which she asked, rather 
 than love, pity, commiseration, and even pardon, for 
 her fiickleness in abandoning him, for having encour- 
 aged his hopes, and now destroying them by entering 
 a cloister. 
 
 Don Carlos de Atienza's despair was now at its 
 height. With not a little bitterness he accused the 
 Commander of being to blame for everything. 
 
 " For this it was," he said, " that you obliged me 
 to go away. This is what your promise to arrange 
 everything in less than a month has resulted in — that 
 Clara is dying, and that, in addition, she has ceased to 
 love me and wishes to be a nun ; that she will end by 
 taking the veil, and then the shroud. But I will die 
 too. I will not survive her. I shall kill myself if I 
 do not die of grief." 
 
 The Commander did not know what answer to 
 
208 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 make to these complaints. He tried to console Don 
 Carlos, who thought him indifferent and strange ; who 
 did not know that he had greater need of consolation 
 than himself. 
 
 Don Fadrique went to Father Jacinto to seek this 
 consolation from him. He went also to seek from 
 him some light on this mystery ; hut, strange to say. 
 Father Jacinto, all frankness and joviality before, had 
 become very grave, very mysterious, and very silent. 
 
 Don Fadrique perceived, however, that Father Ja- 
 cinto approved of Clara's resolution to become a nun. 
 This put him beside himself, and at times he was on 
 the point of breaking with Father Jacinto and setting 
 him down in his own mind as a disloyal friend or a 
 pitiless fanatic. 
 
 In spite of these tribulations, however, the Com- 
 mander controlled himself and did not lose his calm- 
 ness. He had taken his measures. He had traced 
 his plan of conduct, a plan which he firmly resolved 
 to adhere to, and he awaited the result with tranquil- 
 lity. 
 
 This was not long in coming. 
 
 Early one morning a servant arrived from Yilla- 
 bermeja, bringing a letter to Don Fadrique. Don Fa- 
 drique, who was still in bed, read the letter rapidly. 
 He then rose hurriedly, dressed himself, and went 
 to the convent of Santo Domingo in search of his 
 master. 
 
COMMANDER MENfCOZA. 209 
 
 The priest had just risen, and he received Don Fa- 
 driqne in his cell. Both being seated, as in the other 
 cell in Villabermeja, they spoke as follows : 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 "Father Jacinto," said the Commander, with 
 an air of joyful triumph, "Clara is now free! It is 
 not necessary that she should either marry Don Oasi- 
 miro or be a nun." 
 
 " How is that, my son? " 
 
 " I have given for her a sum equal to the value of 
 all Don Valentin's possessions." 
 
 "To whom?" 
 
 " To Don Casimiro." 
 
 "And for what reason? "With what pretext can 
 he have accepted it?" 
 
 " He has accepted it for a reason regarding which 
 he has promised to be silent — for a secret reason." 
 
 " Good Heavens, my son ! What madness ! What 
 a useless sacrifice ! And tell me — this secret reason — 
 to confide to Don Casimiro in this way the honour of 
 an illustrious family ! " 
 
 " I have confided nothing to him." 
 
 " What means did you employ, then ? " 
 
 " A falsehood — but an indispensable falsehood, 
 and one by which no one suffers." 
 
210 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 "May I knoTV wliat this falsehood is?" 
 
 " You shall hear everything." 
 
 The priest lent the utmost attention. 
 
 Don Fadrique continued : 
 
 " You know only too -well that Paca, Uncle Gorico's 
 first wife, was a black sheep." 
 
 " Of course. May God have forgiven her her 
 sins ! " 
 
 " Paca's good reputation has nothing to lose." 
 
 " Absolutely nothing." 
 
 " Well, then, by a happy coincidence Mcolasa was 
 born a few months after my departure from Villaber- 
 meja, on my return from Havana." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " I have made Chacha Ramoncica believe, in the 
 first place, enjoining on her the greatest secrecy, 
 that ISTicolasa is my daughter. I have told her that 
 an imperious duty, imposed upon me by my con- 
 science, obliges me to give her a dower, now that she 
 is going to be married. Chacha Eamoncica knows 
 very little about arithmetic. She was amazed, how- 
 ever, when I named the enormous sum which I in- 
 tended to give as a dower. But I gave myself grand 
 airs, pretending to be a great deal richer than I am. 
 To the remonstrances which she made me I answered 
 that my resolution was unalterable. I have persuaded 
 Chacha Eamoncica, finally, that it is not fitting that 
 Nicolasa should know of the tie which unites me to 
 
COMMAKDER MENDOZA. 211 
 
 her, and that it is more delicate and proper that it 
 should be known only to the man who is to be her 
 husband. I induced Ohacha Eamoncica, then, to un- 
 dertake to persuade Don Oasimiro to accept what I 
 wish to give freely, although secretly, to his future 
 wife. I do not suppose that Chacha Ramoncica had 
 to expend much eloquence in convincing Don Oasi- 
 miro that he ought to accept. Don Casimiro has 
 written me this letter, in which he says that he ac- 
 cepts, lavishes praises upon me for my generosity, and 
 promises to be silent regarding the gift, and, as far as 
 may be possible, regarding the motive of the gift 
 which I am making him." 
 
 Father Jacinto read the letter which Don Fa- 
 drique handed him. The latter then took from his 
 pocket a package of papers, which he placed on the 
 table, saying : 
 
 "Here are all the documents necessary to the 
 legal conveyance of the gift, which I desire may be 
 happily effected through your means. This is a power 
 of attorney, executed in the presence of a notary of this 
 city ; with this you may sell, give, or do whatever else 
 you may think fit with all that belongs to me. Here 
 are letters to the bankers with whom my funds are 
 deposited, placing these at your orders. This, finally, 
 is the list, inventory, statement, or whatever else it 
 may be called, of all that those bankers now have 
 of inine in their possession ; and this other paper is an 
 
212 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 estimate of the value of Don Valentin's possessions, ap- 
 praised by experts. The amount of mine will barely 
 cover the value of this gentleman's possessions; but you 
 know that I have some landed property, and, if there 
 should be any deficiency, I will supply it. Dear mas- 
 ter, you will be the prompt and faithful executor of 
 my determined will, of which I desire that you should 
 give notice and testimony to Dofia Blanca, requiring 
 from her, on my part, in exchange, my daughter's 
 liberty ; for if she does not give her her liberty, if she 
 does not endeavour to put out of her head the insane 
 notions with which she has filled it, if she does not 
 resolve to cure her of the mortal malady of soul and 
 body which her pride, her fanaticism, and her re- 
 morse, a thousand times more odious than her sin, 
 have caused, I shall avenge myself by making the 
 most shocking scandal the world has ever seen! I 
 hope that you will willingly accept my charge." 
 
 " I accept it," responded the priest, " but not 
 without certain conditions. I am not going to be 
 the instrument of your ruin, if your ruin is to be 
 useless." 
 
 " And why should it be useless ? " 
 
 " Because Clara, in my opinion, will not now de- 
 sist from her purpose of taking the veil." 
 
 " What do you mean by saying she will not desist? 
 The iron yoke of her mother's will weighs upon 
 Clara. Let us remove this yoke, and she will love her 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 213 
 
 gallant student again, and she will marry him and be 
 happy." 
 
 " I doubt it." 
 
 "I do not doubt it. "What I cannot understand 
 is why you have become so gloomy." 
 
 " I fear it is now too late," said Father Jacinto, 
 sighing. 
 
 "By all the devils in hell," replied Don Fadri- 
 que; "it is not yet too late if Fortune favours us! 
 Go you this very day to see Dofia Blanca. Inform 
 her of everything. Convince her that Clara is free ; 
 that the possessions which she is to inherit from Don 
 Valentin are already paid for. Let Dofia Blanca 
 know that I have secretly ransomed her daughter. 
 Let her know also that if she does not admit the ran- 
 som I will throw ofE every restraint ; I will proclaim 
 everything ; I will be capable of a villainy ; I will 
 dishonour her publicly ; I will read to Don Valentin 
 letters of hers which I still have in my possession ; I 
 will commit a thousand barbarities ! " 
 
 " Come, man, calm yourself. I will go at once to 
 speak to Dofia Blanca. She is an early riser. She 
 will be already astir, and she will receive me. Wait 
 for me in your house, and I will go there to give you 
 an account of my interview." 
 
 " I will wait for you there. Make haste, father, 
 for I am consumed by impatience." 
 
 With this the friar and Don Fadriqne rose and 
 
214 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 went together from the friar's cell into the street, 
 along which they walked until the one entered his 
 brother's house and the other that of Dona Blanca 
 Eoldan. 
 
 Pacing his room in the utmost agitation, after 
 rudely sending away the inqiiisitive Lucia who had put 
 her fair head in at the door to ask, as usual, what news 
 there was, Don Fadrique waited for more than an 
 hour and a half. 
 
 The friar at last arrived ; but, before he had opened 
 hie lips, Don Fadrique divined from his melancholy 
 expression that he was the bearer of bad news. 
 
 As soon as the friar was in the room, the Com- 
 mander locked the door, so that they might be free 
 from interruption, and then said in a low voice, while 
 he and his old master seated themselves : 
 
 "Tell me all that passed. Do not conceal any- 
 thing from me." 
 
 " I will give you the substance of it, in brief, for 
 the discussion was long. Dofia Blanca praised your 
 generosity. She says she cannot understand how an 
 infidel can be capable of so noble an action. She sup- 
 poses it is the work of pride, but at any rate she praises 
 it. But she does not on that account encourage you 
 to consummate the sacrifice. She declares that it 
 would be useless, and she begs you not to make it. 
 Dofla Blanca considers that her daughter has now a 
 true vocation; that God calls her to be his spouse; 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 215 
 
 that God wishes to remove her from the dangers of 
 the world ; that God wishes to save her, and that she 
 cannot, without the gravest guilt, now dissuade her 
 daughter from her holy purpose." 
 
 " Hypocrisy ! Eefinement of wickedness ! " inter- 
 rupted Don Fadrique. "And you did not threaten 
 her with my vengeance ? You did not tell her that I 
 am determined to go to all lengths ; that I will tear 
 the mask from her ; that I will give her cause to re- 
 member me ; that her mockery of me will not remain 
 without an ignominious punishment ? " 
 
 "I told her all that; but Dofla Blanca answered 
 that, although she believes you to be a man without re- 
 ligion, she still holds you to be a gentleman, and that 
 she does not fear from you those acts of villainy and 
 baseness with which in your rage you threaten her. 
 She adds, however, that even if she be deceiving her- 
 self, even if you were to forget your honour and to 
 avenge yourself in the way you say, she would endure 
 it all rather than seek to dissuade her daughter from 
 what her conscience dictates." 
 
 " That woman is mad, Father Jacinto, that woman 
 is mad, and I believe that her madness is contagious ; 
 that she has already made you and Clara mad, and 
 that I will soon become so. But I swear by my honour, 
 by God, by all that is most sacred, that my madness 
 will be of a very different nature ! What ! Does she 
 suppose that I am a second Don Valentin? Does she 
 
216 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 suppose that I will submit to her monstrous caprices? 
 Does she think that I am a fool, and that I am going 
 to believe whatever she wants me to believe ? Clara's 
 head has been turned, and therefore she desires all at 
 once to become a nun. What vocation can she have 
 when I know that she was, that she still is, in love 
 with that boy from Eonda, with whom she could be 
 supremely happy? There is some abominable mys- 
 tery here. Something has been done to infect Clara 
 with madness, and to confuse her naturally clear under- 
 standing. I neither can, nor will, nor ought to con- 
 sent to such criminal extravagances. Does not that 
 Satanic woman understand that the education which 
 she has given her daughter, that those terrors with 
 which she has inspired her, are like a poison? Does 
 she wish to satiate her hatred towards me by assas- 
 sinating her daughter because she is my daughter 
 also?" 
 
 " Commander, be calm ; you deceive yourself. 
 Clara does not feel the religious vocation now because 
 of her mother." 
 
 " It matters little to me whether it be to-day or 
 yesterday that her mother gave her the poison. My 
 heart tells me that Clara's eccentricities, her extrava- 
 gances, proceed from the spiritual torture which her 
 mother has been inflicting on her ever since the girl 
 has had the use of reason. It is necessary that an end 
 should be put to this. If Clara, when her mind is 
 
COMMANDER MBNDOZA. 217 
 
 completely calm and serene, when she is sane in body 
 and in spirit, still persists in her desire to be a nnn, 
 let her be one ; I will not oppose it. My sacrifice will 
 have been in vain. I will not utter a complaint. But 
 while Clara is ill, almost out of her mind, with con- 
 stant fever, I will not allow this feverish state to be 
 mistaken for religious ecstasy, and these nervous at- 
 tacks for a divine vocation. She is my daughter, by 
 Heaven ! and I will not sufEer them to kill her. I 
 am going this very moment to see DoQa Blanca. I 
 will force my way into her presence. I will break the 
 head of any one who tries to oppose my entrance. If 
 I do not see her and speak to her, I shall explode like 
 a bomb-shell. Don't try to stop me, Father Jacinto. 
 Let me out ! " 
 
 The Commander had opened the door, had put 
 on his hat, and was endeavouring to force his way 
 past Father Jacinto, who was trying to hold him 
 back. 
 
 " It is you who are crazy," the priest said to him. 
 "Where are you going?- Do you not consider the 
 scandal of what you piirpose doing ? " 
 
 " Let me go, father ! — I consider nothing." 
 
 " This is ruin. God has forsaken yon. Listen to 
 me quietly for a moment, and then do what you wish. 
 I am not strong enough to hold you." 
 
 Father Jacinto ceased his resistance, and the Com- 
 mander stopped, to listen to him. 
 
218 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 " You wish to see Dofla Blanca, and you shall see 
 her, but with less risk of disturbance and scandal. 
 The day after to-morrow Don Valentin is going to the 
 farmhouse with the overseer to sell some jars of wine. 
 You can then see and speak to Dofla Blanca. To 
 avoid greater evils I will go with you myself. I will 
 keep Clara's attention occupied so that you may speak 
 alone with Dofla Blanca, and say to her all that you 
 have to say. You see to what I descend. You see 
 what I undertake to do. Your visit will give a disa- 
 greeable surprise to Dofla Blanca. Your conversation 
 will be something like a duel to the death ; but I pre- 
 fer to intervene in it, to be an accomplice in the crime 
 of your terrible dialogue, rather than that worse things 
 should happen. In the name of the souls in purga- 
 tory. Commander, wait until the day after to-morrow ! 
 You shall go with me. You will see Dofla Blanca. 
 By the friendship you bear me, by the passion and the 
 death of Christ, I entreat you to be calm until then, 
 and try to make the interview I am going to procure 
 for you as little cruel as possible." 
 
 The Commander agreed to everything, and thanked 
 Father Jacinto for the counsels which he gave him and 
 the support he promised him. 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 219 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Don Fadrique awaited with feverish impatience 
 the expiration of the term of delay which the priest 
 had asked of him. 
 
 There is no appointed term, however long de- 
 ferred, that is not fulfilled at last; and this term, -too, 
 was finally fulfilled. The prognostications of the 
 priest were also fulfilled. Don Valentin set out with 
 the overseer very early on the morning of the ap- 
 pointed day for the farmhouse, whence he was not to 
 return until after dark. 
 
 The Commander, who had been on the watch, then 
 made ready for the promised interview. Father Ja- 
 cinto did not delay long in coming for him. 
 
 Eecognizing that the least dangerous course, and 
 the one which seemed least likely to be productive of 
 evil cousequences, was that both accomplices should 
 meet and endeavour to come to a mutual understand- 
 ing and agreement about the beautiful Clarita, the 
 priest did not propose to Doiia Blanca a conference 
 with the Commander, for he was certain beforehand 
 that she would refuse to consent to it, and that, being 
 on her guard, she would render it difficult, if not im- 
 possible, for him to bring the Commander into her 
 presence. He determined, then, upon a surprise. He 
 knew the habits and the hours of the house, and he 
 arranged everything easily and skilfully. 
 
220 COMMANDER MBNDOZA. 
 
 Before ten in the morning, about an hour after 
 breakfast, Clara retired to her own room, and Dona 
 Blanca remained alone in the parlour in which she 
 usually sat. 
 
 The priest set out punctually at ten, taking the 
 Commander with him. They entered the outer hall, 
 and the priest gave a double knock at the door. 
 
 The Toice of a servant was heard calling from 
 above : 
 
 " Who is there ? " 
 
 " Hail Mary most pure ! Friends," answered the 
 priest. 
 
 The girl, who recognized the voice, pulled the 
 cord from a window on the first floor, which overlooked 
 the courtyard. By means of this cord the door could 
 be opened without going down stairs. 
 
 The door opened and the Commander and the 
 friar entered, unseen by any one, even by the servant 
 who had opened it for them ; for, between the court- 
 yard upon which the window looked out at which the 
 servant stood, and the street door, there was another 
 hall from which ascended the principal or family 
 stairs. 
 
 As soon as Father Jacinto and his companion 
 entered, the former closed the door again and said 
 aloud : 
 
 " God keep you, girl ! " 
 
 " God keep your reverence ! " she answered. 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 221 
 
 Then the Commauder and his guide mounted the 
 stairs quickly. When they were in the antechamber, 
 which was also deserted, the friar said to Don Fa- 
 drique, pointing to a door : 
 
 " Dofia Blanca is in there. Go in — speak to her ; 
 but be prudent." 
 
 Don Fadrique, with a resolute mind and undaunted 
 courage, walked towards the door to which the priest 
 had pointed, entered the room, and closed the door be- 
 hind him. Don Fadrique had scarcely disappeared 
 when the servant arrived. 
 
 " Hallo ! " said Father Jacinto. " Is Dofia Blanca 
 alone ? " 
 
 " Yes, father. Won't your reverence go in and 
 see her ? " 
 
 " Not now ; by and by. Leave her in peace. Don't 
 go in now ; she is probably busy. Let us not disturb 
 her. Is Olarita in her room ? " 
 
 " Yes, father." 
 
 " Well, then, go and attend to your duties. I will 
 go and see Clarita." 
 
 And Father Jacinto and the servant went off, ac- 
 cordingly, each in a different direction. 
 
 Meantime, Don Fadriqne found himself in the pres- 
 ence of Dofia Blanca, who was surprised, astounded, 
 enraged at such unexpected audacity. Seated in an 
 arm-chair, she had raised her head at the noise made 
 by the turning of the knob and the opening of the 
 15 
 
222 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 door, had seen some one enter and close the door 
 behind him, and had at once recognized the Com- 
 mander, and she still sat almost motionless, looking at 
 him fixedly, 'wondering if she was not dreaming, and 
 scarcely daring to trust the evidence of her eyes. 
 
 The Commander slowly advanced two or three 
 steps. He uttered no greeting ; he pronounced not a 
 single word ; doubtless he could find no form of salu- 
 tation which should not seem discordant with the oc- 
 casion ; but his air, his manner, his expression, all 
 proclaimed him to be a gentleman respectfully and 
 humbly entreating pardon for the audacious artifice 
 which he had been obliged to employ to enable him 
 to reach her presence. In his countenance could 
 be read the excuses which he did not ofEer in words. 
 If he trampled upon ceremony he had all-sufficient 
 reasons for doing so. Along with these things there 
 was also to be read on the manly countenance of the 
 Commander the firm resolution not to leave that room 
 until he had been heard. 
 
 Dofla Blanca comprehended all this on the in- 
 stant. She knew this man so thoroughly that at 
 times she had no need to hear him speak to know 
 what his thoughts and his feelings were. Dofla 
 Blanca comprehended that the least evil course 
 would be for her to listen to him ; that she could 
 not turn him out of her house without exposing her- 
 self to the risk of giving the greatest possible scandal. 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 223 
 
 She did not wish, however, to appear at once resigned 
 to this course. She rose from her seat, and, without 
 waiting for the Commander to speak, said to him : 
 
 " Go away, Don Fadrique, go away. What words, 
 what explanations could there be between us that 
 would not rouse a storm, especially if we talked 
 without witnesses ? Why do you seek me ? Why do 
 you provoke me ? We cannot speak to, we can scarcely 
 look at each other, without wounding each other mor- 
 tally. Are you so cruel that you desire to kill me ? " 
 
 " Seflora," answered the Commander, " if I had 
 not been convinced that in coming here I comply with 
 an imjperative duty, I should not have come. If I 
 have made my way stealthily to this room, it is be- 
 cause I have all-sufficient reasons for doing so." 
 
 " What reasons can you adduce for coming to 
 trouble my peace ? " 
 
 " The interest with which a being to whom I am 
 bound by a very close tie inspires me." 
 
 " You have kept that interest very well hidden, 
 very well concealed, for sixteen years. You did not 
 remember that being until you stumbled across her by 
 chance. It was necessary that you should go out walk- 
 ing with a niece of yours, and that that niece should 
 have a friend, and that that friend should accompany 
 her in her walk, in order that your paternal affec- 
 tion, which remained latent and unsuspected, even, in 
 the depths of your magnanimous heart, should reveal 
 
224 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 itself suddenly and give a striking and generous proof 
 of itself. If chance had not brought us to live in the 
 same city, or if Clara had not been Lucia's friend, even 
 tliough we lived in the same city, confess that your 
 interest, your paternal affection, your imperative du- 
 ties, would have slept tranquilly in the depths of your 
 enviable and very accommodating conscience." 
 
 " It is just that you should censure me. I ought 
 not to seek to defend myself. I confess my fault. 
 I am going, however, to endeavour to explain and to 
 extenuate it. I could not suspect that at your side, 
 under the protection of an affectionate mother, my 
 daughter would have been exposed to any danger, 
 would have had any cause to be unhappy." 
 
 "Her unhappiness does not proceed from me 
 alone. Her unhappiness proceeds from the sin in 
 which she was conceived, and from which neither 
 you nor I, who are the sinners, can save or redeem 
 her." 
 
 " She is not responsible ; no one is responsible for 
 faults which he does not commit. Such a transmis- 
 sion would be an absurdity. It would be a blasphemy 
 against the sovereign justice and the goodness of the 
 Eternal." 
 
 " We will not discuss those questions, Seflor Don 
 Fadrique. If what I believe appears to you blas- 
 phemy, all that you say and think seems to me im- 
 piety and blasphemy. To what purpose, then, speak 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 225 
 
 to me of God ? Let God alone, if happily you believe 
 in him, in a fashion of your own. My daughter's 
 unhappiness, call it fatal, call it as you please, springs 
 from her birth. "What ! have not you yourself ac- 
 knowledged this unhappiness, in wishing to deliver 
 my daughter from it by making a great sacrifice, for 
 which I thank you, but which I deem to be useless ? " 
 
 " There is some truth in what you say. I ac- 
 knowledge that Clara, without fault of her own, was 
 condemned by Pate, either to sacrifice herself or to be 
 a base usurper." 
 
 " We are both of one mind, except that what you 
 call fate I call sin, and not her sin, but the sin of 
 others. This seems iniquitous to you, who do not 
 respect the inscrutable designs of Providence. It is 
 only mysterious to me. Therefore it is better that 
 we should not touch upon these questions. Let us 
 speak of what we can agree about. We are agreed 
 that Clara, without any fault of her own, was con- 
 demned to a punishment." 
 
 "We are agreed; but we agree also that I have 
 freed her." 
 
 " If you have freed her it has been by a series of 
 fortuitous events — because you saw Clara and recog- 
 nised her; because Clara is pretty, since if she had 
 been ugly you would not have been so zealous, nor 
 would a father's vanity have stimulated a father's love ; 
 and because, in short, you have money enough to give, 
 
£26 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 and you find a nobleman with little enougli shame to 
 take it without a just motive." 
 
 "In my turn, I entreat you, let us not enter on 
 the discussion of useless questions. I have not come 
 here either to dispute or to philosophise." 
 
 " I am neither disputing nor philosophising. I 
 am saying what is true. The sin was not accidental ; 
 it was not something independent of our free will. 
 That you should have met Clara ; that she should be 
 pretty, which makes you "think that she ought neither 
 to marry Don Casimiro nor be a nun, and that you 
 should possess more than four millions, are not things 
 that have depended on your will. To you they seem 
 fortuitous, although to God they were foreknown and 
 foreordained by him, like everything else that occurs 
 in the universe." 
 
 " Come, Seflora, do not try my patience too far. 
 All this is as fortuitous as that I should have met you 
 in Lima, that you should be lovely and not a monster 
 of ugliness. What was not fortuitous but voluntary 
 was the fall ; but neither is the ransom fortuitous, but 
 voluntary. It may be fortuitous and independent of 
 my will that I should have four millions ; but it is 
 voluntary, it is my will to give them. Clara, not by 
 chance, but by a free act, is now redeemed from the 
 captivity into which, as you think, and not without 
 reason, she was thrown by another act, which I do not 
 suppose you regard in the clear light of your con- 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 227 
 
 science as more voluntary, more carefully considered, 
 or more deliberately planned." 
 
 Up to this point in the conversation they had re- 
 mained standing. Dofia Blanca had neither sat down 
 herself nor offered a seat to the Commander. The 
 latter, after a moment's pause, seeing that Dofla Blan- 
 ca did not immediately respond to his last argument, 
 said quietly : 
 
 " See, Seflora, I have no wish to enter into lengthy 
 or irrelevant discussions, but I have much to say ; and 
 in order that our conference should be brief, it is all- 
 important that we should proceed without confusion. 
 To do this, ease and quiet are indispensable. Do you 
 not think, then, that it would be well for us to sit 
 down ? " 
 
 Dona Blanca, without answering, darted at the 
 Commander a half-angry, half-contemptuous glance, 
 and dropped into her arm-chair. The Commander 
 then also seated himself, and went on : 
 
 " My resolution," he said, " is irrevocable. Let 
 the cause be what it may — a caprice because Clara is 
 pretty, because I have stumbled upon her by chance, 
 for whatever reason you choose, I have ransomed her. 
 All that she would inherit through the death of your 
 husband, the man who would inherit it if Clara were 
 not alive will now enjoy with years of anticipation. 
 Let Clara live, then. I come to ask you for her 
 life." 
 
228 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 " "What you haTe come for is to insult me. Am I 
 perchance killing Clara ? " 
 
 " Ear from me be the intention of insulting you. 
 Without intending it you might perchance kill Clara, 
 and this is what I hare come to prevent. To do 
 so I am ready to employ any and erery means." 
 
 " Do you threaten me ? " 
 
 " I do not threaten. I declare my intention with- 
 out disguise." 
 
 " And what must I do, in your judgment, to pre- 
 Tent Clara from dying ? " 
 
 " Dissuade her from being a nun." 
 
 " That is impossible. I do not believe that to be- 
 come a nun is to die, but to lead the better life." 
 
 " I have already said that I will neither dispute 
 nor discuss theology with you. I concede, then, that 
 the life of the cloister is the better life ; but it is when 
 there is a vocation to lead it ; when one does not enter 
 the cloister despairing, mad almost, full of unreason- 
 ing terror." 
 
 " I ask you again to leave me, Seuor Don Padrique. 
 Why talk further ? We would only torture ourselves 
 without coming to any understanding. You call un- 
 reasoning terror the holy fear of the Lord ; despair, 
 the contempt of the world; and madness. Christian 
 humility and the fear of falling into temptation and 
 failing in one's duties. You regard as death the life 
 which in this world most resembles the life of the 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 229 
 
 angels. How then can we come to an understanding ? 
 You do me more honour than I deserve, while think- 
 ing that you condemn me, in supposing that I have 
 inspired my daughter with such ideas and such senti- 
 ments." 
 
 " For the love of Heaven, Seflora Dofla Blanca — 
 I do not know by what to conjure you, in whose name 
 to entreat you — not to confound things, to hear me 
 without prejudice, to think of your daughter's wel- 
 fare, and to believe that I have come here to trouble 
 you with my presence and mortify you with my words 
 without prejudice also, and impelled solely by my de- 
 sire for that welfare. Why should I condemn the 
 holy fear of the Lord, the contempt of the world, if 
 it is reasonable, and Christian humility, which leads 
 us to distrust pur weak and" sinful nature ? What I 
 condemn is madness. I would even now consent to 
 Clara's taking the veil, if she took it only after 
 thoughtful consideration; if she took it impelled by 
 a fervent devotion, even ; but what I cannot consent 
 to, what I cannot permit, is that she should take it in 
 a fit of despair. It would be an abominable and sacri- 
 legious suicide." 
 
 " And what leads you to suppose that Clara is in 
 despair ? Who has told you so ? What motives has 
 she for despair ? " 
 
 " No one has told me so. It is enough to look at 
 Clara to know it. You yourself know it. If you did 
 
230 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 not fear even for her material life, would you not have 
 already allowed her to enter the convent ? In giving 
 her now the liberty you give her, do you not do so in- 
 fluenced by the desire that her health should improve ? 
 As for the motives of her despair, in the concrete I 
 am ignorant of them ; but I have a vague idea of 
 them. You have made her distrust herself more than 
 you should have done, without foreseeing this fatal 
 result ; you have inspired her with the thought that 
 she is predestined to sin if she does not seek a refuge 
 at the foot of the altar. In short, you have poisoned 
 her with such self-distrust that, feeling the quick 
 pulsations of her youthful heart, the exuberance of 
 life in its budding springtime, seeing the pure and 
 shining fire of her eyes, hearing the voice of Nature, 
 which incites her to love, dreaming, it may be, of law- 
 ful happiness to be attained in this world at the side 
 of a being of the same human condition, she has 
 imagined that she was the prey of impure passions, 
 she has thought herself pursued by monsters from 
 hell, and in order that she should not be a monster 
 she has wished to take refuge in the sanctuary." 
 
 " Let us grant that all this be true," replied Dofla 
 Blanca imperturbably. " Let us grant that the facts 
 are the same for us both. The difference in our 
 manner of regarding them will always exist. If Clara 
 enters the cloister, not through the pure love of God, 
 but through the fear of offending him, through con- 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 231 
 
 sidering herself too weak to resist the storms of the 
 world, and through fear of herself and hell, Clara, in 
 my opinion, does not act madly ; Clara acts with 
 sound judgment and consummate prudence. The mo- 
 tives of her vocation for the religious life, if not the 
 most elevated, are good. Par be it from me to en- 
 deavour to dissuade her, even if it were possible for me 
 to do so. In order that Clara may enjoy an ephem- 
 eral and uncertain happiness on the earth I will not 
 oppose her desire to take the road which may lead her 
 most directly to heaven. Not in order to please you will 
 I counsel Clara, when her life's bark is about to enter 
 a safe and secure harbour, to turn the prow and plunge 
 into a stormy sea where it may capsize and sink for- 
 ever." 
 
 "Yes," interrupted the Commander, whose pa- 
 tience was now at an end, " the best thing is that she 
 should die, in order that she may be saved ! " 
 
 " And how deny it ? " responded Dofla Blanca, be- 
 side herself. " It is better to die than to sin. If she 
 is to live to be a sinner, to her eternal condemnation, 
 to her shame and her opprobrium, let her die ! Take 
 her to thyself, my God ! Would that I had died thus ! 
 How much better it would have been for me never to 
 have been born ! " 
 
 " The same insane ideas as ever ! It seems as if 
 you were tormented by an evil spirit. I knew how it 
 would be. I am to blame for it all. I ought to have 
 
232 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 stolen my daughter from your house and brought her 
 up with me, and made her happy, and given her my 
 name." 
 
 " Blessed be God that you did not do so ! My 
 daughter brought up by an infidel! What would 
 have become of her? A woman without religion 
 must be horrible ! " 
 
 "I don't know what a woman without religion 
 may be, nor would it have been my purpose that my 
 daughter should not have had religion. What I do 
 know is that a woman who allows herself to be carried 
 away by religious fanaticism may make herself insuf- 
 ferable." 
 
 " How happy for me had I appeared such in your 
 eyes from the beginning! How many evils would 
 have been thus avoided ! But you thought difEer- 
 ently then, and you followed me persistently, you 
 would not be denied ; and there were no means of se- 
 duction, no lie, no deception, no endearing epithet, no 
 flattery of lovesick swain, no promise to give me your 
 whole soul, that you did not employ to conquer my 
 virtuous coldness. You succeeded in deluding me to 
 the exti-eme that I desired to go to perdition in order 
 to save you. What a frenzy was that ! For did I 
 not even fancy that by falling m3'self I could redeem 
 your soul and raise it from the impiety in which it 
 was plunged? For did I not flatter myself to the 
 point of believing that by falling with you in sin, I 
 
COMMANDEK MENDOZA. 233 
 
 should raise you and afterward bring you with me into 
 the path of purification and penitence ? What arti- 
 fices does not the devil employ to entangle us in his 
 nets ! I was blind. I believed you to be an erring 
 man who had fallen in love with me, who was at- 
 tached to me, whose soul I was going to win through 
 his love for me, making it capable of a higher love. 
 I did not observe that you were not capable even of 
 the low and criminal love of earth. You sought only 
 the gratification of a caprice, an easy pleasure, a tri- 
 umph of vanity. You thought that, my indifference 
 once conquered, after an instant of passion and self- 
 abandonment, all would be peace, that I would forget 
 everything for you, and that you would find me always 
 submissive, gay, and smiling. You imagined that I 
 was going to kill in my soul all remorse, all shame, all 
 idea of the duty to which I had been false, all fear of 
 God, all respect for my honour, all bitter feeling at its 
 loss, all fear of the pains of hell, all the pangs of con- 
 science. You found yourself mistaken, and therefore 
 I seemed to you insufferable. You were the lord of 
 my soul, but, as in a conquered land whose brave and 
 magnanimous sons can never forget what they owe 
 their country, the fierce conqueror possesses only the 
 earth he treads, you possessed me only when I forgot 
 even myself. At other times I rebelled against you. 
 I tried to wash away my sin with penitence, and I 
 struggled unceasingly to free myself. How proud 
 
234 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 would eyery one of your victories have made you, how- 
 ever, pious as you were, if you had been capable of 
 comprehending the sublime and stormy grandeur of 
 the great passions ! Those constant struggles were 
 horrible, but when you triumphed you triumphed not 
 only over me but over the angels who aided me ; over 
 my profound faith, over the Heaven which I invoked ; 
 over the principle of honour rooted in my soul, and 
 over my conscience, accusing and severe against my- 
 self. You, who sought only joy and delight, grew 
 weary of the struggle. Thus I freed myself from 
 the base captivity. Praised be God who ordained it 
 so ! Praised be God who has since punished my sin so 
 justly ; but, I confess to you that the punishment which 
 has always pained me most, which pains me most now, 
 is to have to despise the man whom I have loved. 
 N'ow you know the truth. You think me insuffer- 
 able ; I think you despicable. Go from here. Leave 
 this room, or I will have you driven from it ! Do you 
 wish to betray me? Do you wish to proclaim my 
 guilt? Do so. I fear now neither unhappiness nor 
 humiliation, however great they may be. Know, once 
 for all, I am rejoiced that Clara should enter a con- 
 vent. I will not be so vile as, through fear of you, to 
 be false to my duty, persuading her to the contrary. 
 Now go away, leave my house, leave me in peace." 
 
 Dona Blanca, who had once more risen to her feet, 
 pointed to the door with an imperious gesture as she 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 235 
 
 ordered, the Commander to leave the room. What 
 could he do? what could he say? DofLa Blanca, in 
 the eyes of the Commander, who was filled with pity, 
 almost with terror, seemed mad. He feared to be 
 cruel and unchivalrous if he answered. He kept 
 silence. He saw his cause was lost, at least in this 
 quarter, and he did not wish to prolong further the 
 double martyrdom. 
 
 Don Fadrique bent his head and left the room 
 greatly afflicted. Gaining the antechamber, he de- 
 scended the stairs, opened the hall door, and rushed 
 into the street, breathing the outer air with a feeling 
 of relief such as a drowning man may experience 
 who succeeds in lifting his head above the submerging 
 waters. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 In spite of his optimistic and cheerful philosophy, 
 in spite of his natural propensity to laugh and to 
 look at things on their comical side, Don Fadrique 
 during the rest of the day was thoughtful and silent, 
 and oppressed with a melancholy strange enough in 
 him. 
 
 At dinner he scarcely tasted a morsel, he scarcely 
 spoke to his brother, his sister-in-law, or his niece, 
 each of whom in a different way overwhelmed him 
 with attentions. 
 
236 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 Don Jos6 was an excellent man, whose only occu- 
 pation was to take care of his property, play cards at the 
 reunions in the pharmacy, and please DoQa Antonia. 
 
 This lady had one of the best dispositions in the 
 world ; she attended carefully to her house, she sewed 
 and embroidered. She was a good Christian, went to 
 mass every day, and said the rosary with the servants 
 every night ; but in all this there was something me- 
 chanical, something of formula, custom, or routine, 
 without Dofla Antonia's entering deeply into religious 
 questions. She emerged from her habitual calmness 
 and manifested a certain passionate enthusiasm only 
 in behalf of the Virgin of Araceli, of Lucena (Dofla 
 Antonia was a native of Lucena), preferring her to 
 all the other Virgins, and considering her miracles 
 more efiQcacious. 
 
 For her spiritual director Dofla Antonia had a fer- 
 vent and eloquent capuchin, whose fame at that time 
 eclipsed that of Father Jacinto, who, as more luke- 
 warm in preaching and in reproving, made fewer con- 
 versions and drew fewer strayed sheep to the fold than 
 his bearded confrere. 
 
 Lucia had Father Jacinto for a confessor, and she 
 was on such excellent terms with her mother that the 
 only discussions that ever arose between them were 
 in regard to the merits of their respective confessors. 
 For the rest, as Dofla Antonia had neither a will nor 
 an opinion of her own, and as she did not trouble 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 237 
 
 her head greatly about anything, it was in truth no 
 great proof of submissiTeness and deference in Lucia 
 never to dispute with her mother, except about the 
 capuchin, and sometimes, but very rarely, regarding 
 the Virgin of Araceli. Lucia was not very devout, 
 and, as there was no other Virgin whom she pre- 
 ferred, she readily conceded to her mother the superior 
 excellence of hers. 
 
 Their only cause of disagreement, then, was Fa- 
 ther Jacinto, whom Lucia thought superior in under- 
 standing and learning ; but, in the end, like the good 
 daughter she was and in order to please her mother, 
 she admitted that the capuchin had brought together 
 innumerable undutiful couples who had separated and 
 had been living apart and constantly at war with 
 each other, and had succeeded in inducing many sin- 
 ful men and women to give up bad company and 
 worse conduct and to lead a penitent and exemplary 
 life ; in all which matters Father Jacinto had much 
 less to boast of, whence Lucia inferred that Father 
 Jacinto was the best director for those who were in 
 the right path or inside the fold. The one served to 
 conquer and reduce rebels to obedience, the other to 
 govern the submissive wisely and gently. 
 
 With this Doha Antonia was pacified, and she lived 
 in sweet and holy peace with her daughter, whom she 
 had instructed in all her own domestic accomplish- 
 ments, the mistress acknowledging joyfully and with- 
 16 
 
238 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 out envy that the pupil already excelled her in almost 
 all of them. Lucia embroidered exquisitely on linen, 
 in silk and in gold. In open work, backstitch, and 
 hemstitch few could equal her, and in sauces and 
 sweetmeats no one ever ventured to compete with her 
 who was not put to shame. Only in the labours of 
 the hog-killing did Dofia Antonia still shine superior. 
 She was a prodigy of judgment in spicing and season- 
 ing black puddings and sausages of various kinds, in 
 pickling the loin to preserve it cooked the whole 
 year, and in giving their respective savours, by means 
 of the proper spices, to the haslets which, when pre- 
 pared, are called spleens, doubtless because they re- 
 joice the spleens of those who eat them, and the kid- 
 neys, liver, and other viscera which are prepared in 
 various ways with cloves, pepper, and other finer 
 spices, excluding cumin seed, ground pepper, and 
 marjoram. 
 
 The reader must not be surprised at our entering 
 into these details now. It was proper that they 
 should be given, but, occupied with the main thread 
 of our story, we had not yet done so. 
 
 The young heir, the son of Don Jose and Dofia 
 Antonia, had gone, a short time before, to the College 
 of Marine Guards of the Island, carrying letters of 
 recommendation from his uncle. 
 
 Dofia Antonia was always going from one place 
 to another with her keys, now to the preserve closet, 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 239 
 
 now to the pantry, now to the oil, wine, or vinegar 
 vault. 
 
 The house had all these, as being a husbandman's 
 as well as a gentleman's house ; for Don Jos6, in re- 
 moving to the city, had brought to it many of his 
 fruits, which he could dispose of there more readily 
 and at a higher price. 
 
 Don Jose, when he was not looking over accounts 
 with the farmer, either gave audience to the stewards, 
 who came from the farms to make their reports to 
 him ; or he went to the pharmacy, where there was a 
 perpetual assembly and card-playing morning, noon, 
 and night. 
 
 The consequence was that the Commander, except 
 at meal-times and for a short time in the evening 
 when there were visitors, of whom Don Carlos de 
 Atienza was always one, found himself in a pleasant 
 and peaceful solitude, broken in upon only by his 
 fair-haired niece, who was constantly seeking him to 
 ask him what news there was regarding Clara. 
 
 Don Jos6 and Dona Antonia, who were always in 
 the clouds, knew nothing about the Commander's 
 anxieties and cares. Lucia was partially acquainted 
 with them, but she was far from imagining, in spite 
 of her hypothesis, that Clara was bound to her uncle 
 by so close a tie. 
 
 The servants of the house and the public still con- 
 tinued in error with regard to Don Carlos de Atienza. 
 
24:0 COMMANDER MBNDOZA. 
 
 Seeing that he -was young, elegant, and handsome, 
 that he came with frequency to the house, and that he 
 was always whispering with Lucia, they sui^posed, 
 with some appearance of reason, that he was her 
 lover, and in the house they always called him the 
 young lady's lover. 
 
 Such was the situation of each of the secondary 
 personages of this history at the time when the Com- 
 mander, after his interview with Doha Blanca, was 
 so greatly troubled. 
 
 During dinner they heaped attentions upon him, 
 thinking that he was indisposed. Dona Antonia, fan- 
 cying he had a headache, urged him to go and take 
 some rest. Don Jose, after giving the same advice, 
 went off to the pharmacy. Lucia, with deeper inter- 
 est, made a thousand attempts to discover the cause of 
 her uncle's distress, but was successful in none of them. 
 
 The Commander, when he found himself alone, 
 could think of nothing but his interview with Dona 
 Blanca, conceiving the most contradictory fancies, 
 none of which, however, were very pleasing. 
 
 INow he thought that lady had satanic pride and 
 an infernal temper, and then he blamed himself for 
 not having stolen his daughter from her ; for having 
 left her in her possession to turn her brain and make 
 her unhappy. Again, he thought, on the contrary, 
 that from her own point of view Dofla Blanca was 
 right in everything. 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 2il 
 
 The Commander then called his persecution of 
 Dofi.a Blanca and his final victory (which in times 
 past he would have regarded as pardonable levity, 
 youthful gallantry) as iniquitous and wicked conduct, 
 looked at from whatever point of view, and, judged 
 even by his own moral standard, most las in certain 
 particulars. 
 
 " Truly I do not deserve pardon," Don Fadrique 
 said to himself. " My accursed vanity made me a vil- 
 lain. There were so many handsome women when I 
 was a young man, to whom a slip more or less would 
 have mattered little ! Why, then, since I was not car- 
 ried away by a violent passion — for I have not even 
 that excuse— go to disturb the peace of mind of that aus- 
 tere lady ? She is more than right. I deserve that she 
 should abhor or despise me. The only thing that les- 
 sens in some slight degree the enormity of my crime is 
 the bad opinion I then had of almost all women. It did 
 not enter into my head that any of them could (after- 
 wards especially) take sin or remorse so seriously. In 
 short, I did not foresee what happened afterwards. If 
 I had foreseen it, I should have taken good care not to 
 court Doiia Blanca. Even if there had not been an- 
 other woman on the face of the earth, her heart should 
 have been left entire to Don Valentin, without my seek- 
 ing to rob him of it. But no — this vile habit of 
 mine of mocking at everything — of seeing only the 
 bad side of everything — She pleased me, she inspired 
 
242 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 me witli love — no doubt of that ; I was in love — and 
 as I fancied tliat her pious prudery was a sjpice that 
 would make more piquant and palatable the gratifica- 
 tion of my desire and would by and by disappear, I 
 insisted, persisted, employed diabolical arts — yes, I 
 employed diabolical arts. I made her conscience a 
 hell ; for a trifling and fleeting pleasure I left in her 
 mind a gnawing grief, a horrible instrument of torture 
 which for seventeen years has unceasingly tormented 
 her soul. All because of this mocking spirit of mine ! 
 But the jest turned to earnest. The jest was a cruel 
 one. But, my God ! how could I have imagined it ? 
 Though all the world had foretold it to me, I would 
 never liave believed it ! I repeat it, it did not enter 
 into my mind. I could not understand repentance so 
 cruel and so persistent, simultaneous almost with the 
 sin. I had not measured all the violence of a passion 
 which, in despite of the fierce and rebellious cry of 
 conscience, in spite of the merciless lash with which 
 the spirit chastises it, throws off all restraint and re- 
 veals itself triumphant. "When, about to yield to an 
 irresistible impulse, against which she struggled not- 
 withstanding, she cried : ' My God ! kill me before I 
 fall from thy grace ! I prefer to die rather than to 
 sin ! ' — when she said this, which she repeats to-day 
 in regard to her daughter, it did not inspire me with 
 compassion, it did not turn me from my evil design ; 
 it was rather a spur which stimulated my unbridled 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 243 
 
 passion. How beautiful she seemed to me when, her 
 voice broken by sighs, she uttered those words, to 
 which I lent only a vague, poetic meaning, and in 
 whose profound truth I did not believe ! Even the 
 sweetness of her piety itself was perverted and vitiated 
 in my mind, interpreted by my evil thoughts, neutral- 
 izing in my eyes her desolation, the anguish with 
 which she regarded and resisted the fall, without 
 having strength to avoid it. I dared to decide that 
 that could not be so great an evil which was so easy to 
 remedy. I transformed myself into the redeemer of 
 the soul which I captivated, into the saviour of the 
 soul which I ruined, parodying the Divine words, say- 
 ing within myself, ■ Rise ; you are forgiven because you 
 have loved much. Ah, Heavens ! Why seek to con- 
 ceal it from myself ? I acted like a villain. I was so 
 base and so vile that I never comprehended the 
 strength, the energy of the passion which, without 
 deserving it, I had inspired. I was like the savage 
 who, without knowing how to use a gun, discharges it 
 and inflicts a mortal wound. The greatness and the 
 omnipotence of love were as unknown to me as the 
 persistence and the indomitable power of an upright 
 conscience which accepts duty and fulfils it, or, if it 
 does not fulfil it, never pardons itself for not doing 
 so. Am I, then, a wretch ? Are the friars and the 
 priests right in maintaining that there can be no true 
 virtue without true religion ? " 
 
244 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 In this way Don Padrique tormented himself in a 
 painful soliloquy in which he repeated the same things 
 to himself a hundred times over. 
 
 That Father Jacinto had not come to tell him the 
 result of his interview with Dona Blanca inspired the 
 Commander with the greatest disquietude. Several 
 times he looked out of the window of his room, which 
 commanded a view of the street, to see if he were 
 leaving Dofla Blanca's house. Several times he went 
 out and walked to the convent of Santo Domingo, 
 although it was some distance away, to ask if Father 
 Jacinto had returned. Father Jacinto was nowhere 
 to be seen. 
 
 Towards evening, when Don Fadrique was in his 
 room, he heard the noise of horses stopping near by. 
 He went out into the balcony and saw Don Valentin, 
 who had returned from the farm, dismounting. 
 
 Night fell, and Fatlier Jacinto had not yet ap- 
 peared. 
 
 Don Fadrique indulged in the most sinister im- 
 aginings. He formed the strangest and most painful 
 conjectures. " What can have happened ? " he asked 
 himself. 
 
 At last, at eight o'clock, the Commander saw 
 Father Jacinto standing in the doorway of his room. 
 
 When he saw him his heart gave a bound. The 
 priest wore the gravest and most melancholy expres- 
 sion that he had ever worn in his life. 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 245 
 
 " Wliat is this ? What has happened ? " said the 
 Commander. " Where have you been all this time ? " 
 
 "Where should I have been? In Dofla Blanca's 
 house, where I was wrong and doubly wrong to intro- 
 duce you treacherously. A fine thing you have done ! 
 What evil spirit counselled you when you were speak- 
 ing ? What did you say to the poor woman ? She has 
 had a dreadful fit ! She is seriously ill. God grant 
 that she may not become worse ! " 
 
 The Commander, who was filled with consterna- 
 tion, answered nothing. The friar continued : 
 
 " Clarita is a saint. I left her there taking care of 
 her mother. I don't know what is the use of all these 
 annoyances. The child is resolved, firmly resolved. 
 It is all in vain. You might just as well have avoided 
 your diabolical conversation with the mother. There 
 is still time to avoid ruining yourself without rhyme 
 or reason." 
 
 The Commander, recovering his speech, answered : 
 
 " What is done is done. I am not given to repent- 
 ing. I do not break my promises. I never draw back. 
 The promise I have made to Don Casimiro, and which 
 he has accepted, must be fulfilled. But what is this 
 illness of Doiia Blanca's that you tell me of ? Is Clara 
 still possessed by her melancholy madness ? I swear 
 by all the devils and lost souls in hell that I would 
 never have dreamed that she could be the victim of 
 such distorted sentimentalism ! " 
 
246 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 The Commander strode excitedly up and down the 
 room. The priest watched him with an expression of 
 sorrow and bewilderment. 
 
 At this point Lucia, who had seen the priest enter, 
 put her lovely blonde head in at the door, which had 
 remained ajar, and said with gentle anxiety : 
 
 " What is the news, uncle ? " 
 
 " Nothing, child. For Heaven's sake leave us in 
 peace now! We are going to discuss very serious 
 matters." 
 
 Lucia withdrew, hurt at inspiring so little confi- 
 dence. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 When Father Jacinto and the Commander were 
 once more alone, the latter closed the door and asked 
 the priest in a low voice what Dofla Blanca had told 
 him, and what he had said to Clarita ; but he did not 
 succeed in obtaining any definite information. 
 
 Father Jacinto seemed like another man. He ap- 
 peared preoccupied ; he answered the questions put to 
 him evasively ; his mystery and his reticence filled his 
 interlocutor with a vague alarm. 
 
 At last Don Fadrique was obliged to let the friar 
 depart without having learned anything more than he 
 already knew. 
 
 That night he did not leave his room ; he refused 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 247 
 
 to see anybody ; he feigned indisposition in order that 
 he might remain alone and undisturbed. 
 
 Hour after hour passed, but, although he threw 
 himself on the bed, he could not sleep. A thousand 
 melancholy ideas tormented him and kept him awake. 
 
 Overcome by fatigue, he at last dropped asleep for 
 a moment, but he had frightful dreams. 
 
 He dreamed that he had murdered Dofia Blanca, 
 and that he had murdered his daughter. Both par- 
 doned him sweetly after they were dead; but this 
 sweet pardon hurt him more deeply than the sharp 
 words he had heard that day from the mouth of the 
 woman he had once loved. She and Clara presented 
 themselves to his imagination pale as death, with eyes 
 fixed and glassy, but appearing triumphant and serene, 
 slowly ascending through the air towards the heavenly 
 realms, and singing an ancient religious hymn which 
 had always afEected the nerves and conflicted with the 
 somewhat heathenish sentiments of the Commander, 
 from its funereal tenderness, its identification of love 
 with death, and its misanthropic exaltation of the life 
 of the spirit above all the delight, satisfaction, hope, 
 consolation, or good possible on the earth. 
 
 The two women sang as they ascended to heaven ; 
 and Don Fadrique could hear, through the tranquil 
 air, the last lines of the hymn which said : 
 
 " Mors piavit, mors sanavit 
 Insanatuin aniinum." 
 
248 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 With these two lines running through his head, 
 Don Fadriqiie awoke. 
 
 He had scarcely dressed himself when he heard 
 some one knocking softly at the door. 
 
 " Who is there? " he asked. 
 
 " I, uncle," said Lucia's gentle voice. " I have 
 something to say to you. May I come in?" 
 
 " Come in," answered the Commander, with some 
 anxiety, lest Lucia should be the bearer of bad news. 
 
 Lucia's face was altered; her eyes were slightly 
 reddened, as if she had been shedding tears. 
 
 " AVhat is the matter ? " said Don Fadrique. 
 
 " Dofla Blanca is very ill. Clara has written to 
 me, telling me so, and she begs me to have the charity 
 to go and keep her company." 
 
 " And do they know what is the matter with Dofia 
 Blanca?" 
 
 " I do not know, T;ncle. The attack came sud- 
 denly. The servant who Ijrought me the letter from 
 Clarita says that her mistress's illness came as suddenly 
 as a thunderclap ; that the lady was delicate indeed, 
 but that she was in fair health, almost as well as any 
 one else, when all at once, as if she had seen and 
 wrestled with an evil spirit, she fell into such a state 
 of prostration that they had to put her to bed, where 
 she still lies ill with a fever." 
 
 Don Fadrique felt a sudden chill run through his 
 frame, striking to the very marrow of his bones. He 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 249 
 
 fancied that his hair must stand on end. He remained 
 silent, but in his own mind he said : 
 
 " Can I have been so brutal that I hare killed 
 her?" 
 
 Then, noticing that Lucia had finished speaking 
 and was expecting him to say something, the Com- 
 mander made an effort to appear calm and said to his 
 niece : 
 
 " Go, child, go to Clarita and fulfil the duty which 
 charity and friendship enjoin. Try to console her. 
 Heaven grant that Dofia Blanca's illness may not have 
 worse results ! " 
 
 " I will go on the instant," replied Lucia. 
 
 And without further delay, for she had already re- 
 ceived her mother's permission, she went down stairs 
 and into the next house. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 The Commander's niece was of as cheerful a tem- 
 per as her uncle. She was by nature as optimistic as 
 he. She saw almost everything in a rose-coloured 
 light, but, being compassionate and good, she dis- 
 tressed herself for the ills and the troubles of others, 
 although she endeavoured rather to console or to 
 remedy than to share them. 
 
 In this disposition of mind Lucia entered Clara's 
 
250 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 room. As soon as the two girls saw each other they 
 threw themselves into each other's arms. 
 
 Clara, in contrast to Lucia, was of a melancholy, 
 vehement, and ardent nature, like her mother. In 
 addition to this natural predisposition to melancholy, 
 Dona Blanca's strict bringing up, her continual talk 
 about our natural perversity, her conception of the 
 world and of life as a vale of tears and a time of 
 trial, and her fear of eternal damnation and of being 
 tempted to fall into sin, had diffused through Clara's 
 soul a shade of bitter sadness and timid self-distrust. 
 Happily, Clara was wanting in the pride, the impe- 
 riousness of her mother, and the dark and gloomy 
 side of her spirit was softly illumined by a celestial 
 ray of humility, resignation, and meekness. 
 
 Clara had a far more loving disposition than her 
 mother, and she abandoned herself freely to the 
 sweetness of loving, although always with the fear 
 that she sinned in doing so. 
 
 The two friends were in a room adjoining Doha 
 Blanca's bedroom. 
 
 The unhappy Don Valentin did not know what to 
 do; he walked about restlessly from place to place, 
 not venturing to enter his wife's bedroom lest she 
 should cry out to him to go away and leave her in 
 peace ; and afraid, on the other hand, not to remain 
 near her lest she should accuse him of being indiffer- 
 ent, selfish, and heartless, of not troubling himself 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 251 
 
 about her sufferings, even to the extent of asking her 
 how she was. In this state of perplexity Don Valen- 
 tin went in and out of the room, putting his head in 
 at the bedroom door from time to time, to see if Dofla 
 Blanca would notice him and tell him to come in; 
 and, unable to summon courage to enter without per- 
 mission, he would ask Clara how her mother felt, in a 
 voice not so loud as to arouse Dofla Blanca's anger, 
 nor so low that Dofla Blanca could not hear him, and 
 so see that her husband did care for her and was not 
 a heartless man. 
 
 This eminently prudent conduct availed him noth- 
 ing, however. Once, after he had peeped in at the 
 bedroom door two or three times in succession, Dofla 
 Blanca had said : 
 
 "What are you doing there? Have you come to 
 annoy me ? You look like an owl, staring at me with 
 those frightened eyes. For Heaven's sake, leave me 
 in peace ! " 
 
 A little later Don Valentin, forgetting himself for 
 a moment, raised his voice slightly in asking Clara how 
 her mother was, and the latter exclaimed from her room: 
 
 " What a nightmare of a man ! He is determined 
 not to let me rest. One would think he was hollow. 
 Speak low, Valentin, and don't kill me." 
 
 Don Valentin, thus driven away, quit the room in 
 which Clara and Lucia were, leaving them alone. 
 
 Although Dofla Blanca was a good Christian, 
 
252 COMMANDER MBNDOZA. 
 
 these outbursts of ill-temper against her husband may 
 be understood and explained as being in a certain 
 sense independent of her will. Dona Blanca had not 
 found in him an atom of the romance nor a spark of 
 the sublime fire which, in her inexperience, she had 
 dreamed, in her youthful days, of finding in the man 
 to whom she should give her hand. Afterwards, for 
 seventeen years, she saw in Don Valentin only a man 
 whose calmness was a constant sarcasm on the tem- 
 pests of her heart ; whose union with her had made 
 of what might have been a lawful good, a sanctified 
 felicity, an abominable crime, and whose physical 
 health seemed a mockery of the ailments and suffer- 
 ings which tormented her. Even the patience with 
 which Don Valentin bore with her was odious to 
 Dofla Blanca, as if it implied baseness, a willingness 
 to avoid getting angry to save himself aunoyance, 
 scorn, or contempt. 
 
 It was in vain that Dona Blanca endeavoured to 
 form a better opinion of her husband, in order that 
 she might be able to res^Dect him, as she knew, when 
 she reflected, was her duty. Don Valentin's best 
 qualities of soul were transformed in Dofla Blanca's 
 mind, perhaps through the intervention of some 
 crafty demon, into ridiculoiis defects. In vain Dofla 
 Blanca asked God to grant that, if she could not 
 love, she might at least esteem her husband. God 
 did not hear her prayer. 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 253 
 
 Don Valentin, then, being driven out, Dofla Blanca 
 remained alone in the bedroom, immersed, no doubt, 
 in deep and bitter reflections, and Clara and Lucia, 
 almost in whispers, spoke thus : 
 
 " What does the doctor say, Clara ? What is the 
 matter with your mother ? " asked Lucia. 
 
 " So far," responded Clara, " the doctor has said 
 only what is plain to us all — that my mother has a 
 fever ; but the fever is only a symptom of a malady 
 the nature of which the doctor has not yet been able 
 to determine. Last night the fever was very high, 
 and we were greatly alarmed. Towards morning it 
 abated." 
 
 " Come, Clarita, I see that you exaggerated in your 
 letter, and that you alarmed me without sufiBcient mo- 
 tive. Your mother will soon be well again. I wager 
 that the whole cause of her indisposition has been 
 some fit of anger against Don Valentin. 
 
 " You are mistaken, then. My mother was not in 
 the least angry with any one yesterday. Papa was in 
 the country all day." 
 
 " Then I can very well understand that she was 
 not angry with him. But was she not angry with 
 you?" 
 
 " For days past my mother has been very gentle 
 to me. Yesterday, as I said, mamma was angry with 
 no one; she did not scold any of the servants; she 
 was quiet and silent." 
 17 
 
254 COMMANDER MBNDOZA. 
 
 Clara, although a girl of remarkable intelligence, 
 had formed the strangely mistaken idea that a good 
 mistress of a house must of necessity scold ; so that 
 what she said was spoken in all simplicity and with- 
 out any thought of censuring her mother. 
 
 Lucia did not persist in seeking to discover the 
 origin of Dona Blanca's illness ; she inclined to be- 
 lieve that the illness was a trifling one in order to 
 avoid distressing herself ; and, turning the conversa- 
 tion to other matters, she asked her friend : 
 
 " Clara, do you still remain firm in your resolution 
 to take the veil ? " 
 
 "I am more resolved than ever. A secret voice 
 cries to me from the depths of my soul that I ought 
 to fly from the world ; that the world is sown with 
 dangers for me." 
 
 " I confess that I do not understand you. "What 
 dangers can the world have for you that it has not 
 for every one else ? " 
 
 "Ah, dear Lucia! the disorder of my spirit, the 
 strange impulses of my heart, the violence of my aSec- 
 tions ! " 
 
 "But, child, what violence and disorder do you 
 mean? I see neither disorder nor violence in your 
 loving Don Carlos, who is young and handsome, and 
 in your not liking Don Casimiro, who is old and 
 ugly. That seems to me perfectly natural." 
 
 " It may be natural because nature is sin." 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 255 
 
 "Where is the sin?" 
 
 " In disobeying my mother, in deceiving her, in 
 having attracted Don Carlos with "loving and profane 
 glances, in taking pleasure in his liking me and in 
 his following me, in desiring that he should continue 
 to follow me even to this moment when I am resolved 
 not to be his. In short, Lucia, my soul is a web of 
 artifice and deceit woven and devised by the devil 
 himself. Besides, I have promised my mother to be a 
 nun, and, in order to be one, I have dismissed Don 
 Casimiro. How break my word now, mocking my 
 mother and even Christ, whose spouse I have prom- 
 ised to be? "Would you have me guilty of such in- 
 famy?" 
 
 " The case is in truth a difficult one ; but, child, 
 what made you say you wished to be a nun and prom- 
 ise to be one? "Why did you not courageously tell 
 your mother that you did not want to marry Don 
 Casimiro, but that you did not want to be a nun 
 either ? " 
 
 " God knows," responded Clara, " that I would 
 willingly relieve my overburdened heart by reposing 
 in your friendly bosom the secret of my unhappiness, 
 by confiding everything to you ; but I mj'self compre- 
 hend myself only in part, and what I do comprehend 
 is so confused that I can not find words in which to 
 describe it. I feel the reason and cause of all my ac- 
 tions, but I do not perceive them clearly enough to be 
 
256 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 able to explain them. I wish, however, to justify 
 myself and to try to prove to you that my conduct is 
 not absurd. I will make the attempt to do so. I 
 have loved, I still love, Don Carlos de Atienza. I de- 
 test Don Oasimiro. This is true; but my love for 
 Don Carlos and my dislike of Don Casimiro have 
 never been strong enough to make me brave my moth- 
 er's anger, telling her that I loved the one and dis- 
 liked the other. So that I assure you that for months 
 I was resigned to stifle in my soul the love that had 
 sprung up there for Don Carlos and to marry Don 
 Casimiro, in order to be an obedient daughter. I 
 would have preferred to everything else to be the 
 spouse of Christ, but I considered myself unworthy. 
 I felt myself with the strength to become the wife of 
 Don Casimiro. I hoped to conquer my fatal inclina- 
 tion for Don Carlos, and, having succeeded in this, 
 to be a good wife, to take care of the sickly Don 
 Casimiro, and even to love him, imposing afiection 
 upon myself as a duty. "While in this frame of mind 
 new and strange sentiments struggled for mastery in 
 my breast and made my soul distrust itself still more. 
 I was filled with terror. In my humility I did not 
 think myself worthy even of being Don Casimiro's 
 wife. I was terrified at my weakness, at the perver- 
 sity of my inclinations, and then I thought of taking 
 refuge in a convent. Judging myself less worthy 
 than before of being the spouse of Christ, I thought of 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 257 
 
 the infinite goodness of the Sovereign Lord, Father of 
 Mercies, and I comprehended that, utterly unworthy 
 though I be, I might yet go to him and take refuge 
 in his bosom, certain that he would not reject me, 
 that he would receive me lovingly, purifying and 
 sanctifying me by his grace." 
 
 " You speak of new and strange feelings, but with- 
 out telling me what they are," said Lucia. " There 
 is some mystery here which you will not allow me to 
 penetrate." 
 
 " Alas ! " exclaimed Clara, " how explain it to you 
 when I am scarcely able to penetrate it myself ? See, 
 Lucia, I know that I still love Don Carlos. If I could 
 be completely free to choose my life, I think I would 
 choose to be the wife of Don Carlos. His genius, his 
 goodness, his delicate tenderness, all make me feel 
 that I should be happy with him. I will confess to 
 you that, in spite of the abhorrence with which my 
 mother has inspired me of the gratification of the 
 senses, the material image of Don Carlos, his car- 
 riage, the beauty and grace of his form, the elegance 
 and pulchritude of his dress, the fire of his eyes, the 
 lively animation of his countenance, the freshness of 
 his lips, all trouble and torment me and distract me 
 from my pious meditations." 
 
 " I repeat to you, Clara, that in nothing of all that 
 do I see the work of the devil ; in nothing of it do I 
 discover supernatural influences ; it is all supremely 
 
258 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 natural, and if, as you afBrm, nature is sin, then God 
 must give us supernatural means of conquering it, 
 or generously pardon us when it conquers us. Where 
 are those strange feelings which disturb you ? " 
 
 "Lucia, you speak with too mtich levity. Your 
 reasons have I know not what basis of impiety. You 
 make me afraid. My mother was not mistaken. In- 
 tercourse and conversation with your uncle must be 
 very dangerous." 
 
 " Don't talk nonsense, Clara. My uncle has never 
 thought of giving me lessons in impiety. If what I 
 sustain be not very pious, the fault is altogether mine. 
 It is I who am diabolical. But let us drop these ques- 
 tions, and go to the important point. Tell me what 
 are the strange feelings that assail your soul, inspir- 
 ing you with the humility, the profound self-distrust, 
 which induce you to take the veil." 
 " I cannot tell you ; I am afraid." 
 " Come, courage ; tell me what they are." 
 " My mother has done nothing but talk to me of 
 your uncle ever since the time when he first made 
 his appearance in this city, ever since the afternoon 
 on which I first saw him and walked with him. 
 She described him to me as if he were Satan himself, 
 still surrounded by the glorious splendours of his 
 primitive angelic nature, brave, audacious, intelligent 
 beyond other men ! She has made me believe that he 
 exercises such dominion over the souls of others that 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 259 
 
 he attracts them, and captivates them, and ruins them, 
 if he chooses ; that in his glance there is a sinister 
 light which blinds or misleads ; in his speech a seduc- 
 tive music which charms the understanding and deaf- 
 ens conscience to the voice of duty. According to my 
 mother, your uncle is evil incarnate, a pattern of im- 
 piety, a rebel against God, who must be avoided to 
 escape contamination. In short, all that my mother 
 has said of your iincle ought to inspire me with the 
 greatest hatred and aversion. I know from my mother 
 that the Commander is a reprobate. There is no hope 
 of his salvation. He is damned. He is like Satan. 
 And yet, far from my mother's words producing in 
 me the hatred she desires against the Commander, 
 such is my perversity, by so sinful a spirit of contra- 
 diction am I possessed that they have quickened my 
 sympathies towards your uncle. I ought not to tell it 
 to you ; I do not know how I have the shamelessness 
 to tell it to you. To no one but my confessor have I 
 shown something of what I feel in the black depths of 
 my heart. But if I do not tell you, to whom shall I 
 unburden myself? Lucia, you are my best friend — I 
 have an inexplicable affection for the Commander. I 
 feel myself drawn towards him. I believe him to be 
 as wicked as my mother declares him to be, but I be- 
 lieve that God, through special favour towards the 
 Commander, will pardon him as I pardon him. Is 
 not this monstrous ? Is not this affection for a person 
 
260 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 ■who is almost a stranger to me an aberration of the 
 mind ? I condemned myself formerly for my inclina- 
 tion for Don Carlos, in spite of, unknown to, my 
 mother. Now almost the same thing happens to me 
 as to you — my inclination for Don Carlos appears 
 to me almost natural. What is diabolical, what is 
 abominable, is my inclination for your uncle. It is 
 so different a feeling that it neither destroys nor di- 
 minishes my affection for Don Carlos. This proves 
 my degenerate nature, my sinful and perverse dispo- 
 sition. I know not under what pretext, with what 
 claim, by what endearing name I could present my- 
 self to him, and this I desire to do. The detestable 
 qualities my mother attributes to him I fancy do not 
 exist in him, because he is a being of a higher order and 
 exempt from the laws that govern common mortals." 
 With a fixed gaze, with an expression not smiling, 
 as was her wont, but serious and melancholy, and with- 
 out interrupting her by a word, Lucia had listened to 
 Clara's unexpected confession. 
 
 After a few moments' silence Clara continued : 
 " You answer nothing ; you say nothing ; you are 
 silent ; you see that I am a monster. It may be with 
 another kind of love, an undefined sentiment, which 
 has no name in the classification and history of the 
 passions, but I love your uncle, and I love him from 
 that very description through which my mother sought 
 to make me abhor him." 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 261 
 
 At this point in her confession Clara was inter- 
 rupted by Doiia Blanca's voice crying : 
 
 " Daughter, daughter ! " 
 
 Lucia and Clara both started. Although it was 
 impossible that Dofla Blanca should hare heard them, 
 they imagined for an instant that she had done so by 
 a miracle, and that she was going to take a terrible 
 part in the conTcrsation. 
 
 " What do you wish, mamma ? " said Clara, trem- 
 bling. 
 
 " Water. Give me some water. I am choking ! " 
 
 The two friends hastened to the bedroom to give 
 the sick woman the water she had asked. They then 
 perceived to their grief and dismay that the fever had 
 increased. The palpitations of Dofla Blanca's heart 
 were so violent that they could almost be heard. 
 
 " What do you feel, seflora ? " asked Lucia. 
 
 "A sense of distress — of oppression," responded 
 Dofla Blanca ; " my heart beats with such violence." 
 
 Lucia placed her hand gently on Dofla Blanca's 
 breast. She then observed with uneasiness that the 
 heart-beats had lost the natural rhythm ; they were 
 irregular and abnormal ; but she said nothing, so as 
 not to alarm the sick woman or her daughter. 
 
 The attention which Dofla Blanca required did 
 not permit Clara and Lucia to resume their inter- 
 rupted conversation. 
 
262 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 YeAES of suffering and remorse had gradually un- 
 dermined Dofla Blanca's health. Her ceaseless sad- 
 ness, her hidden shame, which she had continually 
 present to her mind, without being able to seek relief 
 by confiding it to some friend ; the struggle between 
 compassion and contempt for her husband, and love 
 and hatred for the Commander ; her horror of the sin 
 which she felt hanging over her, and which weighed 
 upon her like a loathsome and incurable leprosy ; her 
 wounded pride ; her fear of hell, to which at times she 
 thought herself foredoomed, and the incessant preoc- 
 cupation of her thoughts by the fate of Clara, whom 
 she loved fervently, yet whom she at times hated as a 
 living witness to her gravest fault, her most unpardon- 
 able humiliation — had exercised a deplorable influence 
 over all her vital organs. 
 
 Dofla Blanca had for a long time past suffered 
 from hysterical attacks. There were moments when 
 it seemed to her that she was choking; a lump seemed 
 to rise in her throat, almost preventing her from 
 breathing. Then she would be attacked by convul- 
 sions, ending in sobs and tears. Afterwards she would 
 become calm, and remain tranquil for some days, al- 
 though pale and weak. 
 
 The violent temper of this woman, exacerbated by 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 2G3 
 
 continually brooding over a misfortune which her 
 gloomy fancy exaggerated, impelled her to treat her 
 husband, her daughter, and many of those around her 
 with a coldness, a cruel harshness, of which in the 
 depths of her heart, which was good, she repented 
 afterwards, this repentance being fruitful only in new 
 motives of ill-humour and bitterness. 
 
 The violence of the passions had thus little by 
 little materially affected Dofla Blanca's heart, by ex- 
 citing it to beat v/ith a force superior to its strength. 
 She did not suffer only from the nervous palpitations 
 which manifested themselves on this occasion. There 
 was reason to fear that Dona Blanca (so at least the 
 physicians declared) had chronic disease of this im- 
 portant organ. 
 
 Notwithstanding its fatigue, perhaps excessive ex- 
 ercise had enlarged and strengthened to a dangerous 
 degree this too active heart. 
 
 However this may be, Dofla Blanca had long been 
 tired of life. 
 
 Her one idea, her one object, her only aim in still 
 desiring to live, was the fulfilment of a terrible duty — 
 to prevent her daughter from being Don Valentin's 
 heir. 
 
 When her daughter gave her her solemn promise 
 to enter the cloister, and when she learned later from 
 Father Jacinto, and afterwards from the lips of Don 
 Fadriqne himself, of the ransom of Clara, although 
 
2Qi COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 she refused it and thought it useless now, she was 
 relieved, thinking her object accomplished in either 
 event, and regarding herself as detached from the 
 world ; with nothing to do in it now but torture her- 
 self, and without any reason to desire, to esteem, or to 
 preserve life. 
 
 "When DoQa Blanca's mind was tranquillised in re- 
 gard to this diflScult problem, of which she believed 
 she had found the solution, a reaction set in, and she 
 fell into a state of extreme prostration, of dangerous 
 debility. On the other hand, however, her imagina- 
 tion, active in tormenting her, showed her a thousand 
 reasons for grief and rage. The Commander's gener- 
 osity humiliated her pride, and, try as she would to 
 belittle it or to censure or vilify its motives, charac- 
 terising them as vulgar, absurd, or capricious, this gen- 
 erosity still shone resplendent and offended her. 
 
 Delia Blanca had an iron will ; in pertinacity and 
 determination she had few equals ; but her mind was 
 vacillating and never allowed her to be at rest. Once 
 she had entered on any course of action, the slightest 
 objection that occurred to her was sufficient to make 
 her dissatisfied with what she had done, but was not 
 sufficient to make her adopt a difierent course. It 
 only produced a new and fruitless mortification. 
 
 Thus it was that Doiia Blanca was keenly aware of 
 the pressure which she had exerted over her daugh- 
 ter's mind ; aware that, without wishing to do so, she 
 
COMMANDER MBNDOZA. '' 265 
 
 had perhaps made her unhappy, and that her daughter 
 was about to retire to a convent, not through devotion 
 but through despair. The Commander's cruel accusa- 
 tions during their fatal interview — accusations against 
 which she had defended herself with courage and in- 
 genuity — when that war of words was over, recurred to 
 her mind with added force, without the Commander 
 uttering them ; and when, no longer sustained by the 
 heat of discussion, she could not repel them, cutting 
 deeply into her soul. 
 
 The ardent love with which the Commander had 
 inspired her, become the cause of her humiliation had 
 changed to an intense hatred ; and, without losing this 
 character, without returning to its first state — because 
 this was not now possible, for her soul contained too 
 much bitterness to be able to love — had, notwithstand- 
 ing, acquired new force in her bosom during the inter- 
 view with the man who inspired it. 
 
 It is not to be wondered at that all these sorrows, 
 tribulations, and spiritual combats should have pro- 
 duced in Dofla Blanca an acute malady, exacerbating 
 her chronic ailments. 
 
 Shortly after the conversation between Clara and 
 Lucia which we have just recorded, the two best phy- 
 sicians in the city were called in to see the sick woman. 
 Both agreed that her illness was serious. Both dis- 
 covered an alarming irregularity in the circulation 
 which was not to be explained solely by the fever. 
 
266 COMMANDEE MENDOZA. 
 
 The heart was morbidly active and greatly enlarged. 
 The pulse was hard and irregular. The left side of 
 the patient's chest heaved with the palpitations. A 
 vivid carmine dyed Dona Blanca's cheeks, ordinarily 
 pale. 
 
 The physicians augured ill from these and other 
 symptoms; the chief disease was complicated with 
 many others. Unable, then, to apply for the time an 
 efficacious remedy, they prescribed some palliatives, 
 among them digitalis in small doses. 
 
 Although they concealed from them in a great 
 measure the unfavourable nature of their diagnosis, 
 they left the two girls deeply distressed. 
 
 All that day Lucia remained at Clara's side, shar- 
 ing her labours and cares ; but the occasion was not 
 now a fitting one to return to their confidences. 
 
 But if Clara did not again speak of the state of her 
 soul, it was evident, from her preoccupied air, that she 
 thought of it. What, before confiding in Lucia, she 
 had perceived in vague and confused images, acquired 
 in her mind form and substance once she had given it 
 expression in words ; so that, even in the midst of her 
 anxiety and grief on her mother's account, Clara tor- 
 mented herself with the thought of her inclination 
 for a person in regard to whom, by some magic spell, 
 all the reasons she had been given to hate him were 
 converted into causes and motives for sympathy and 
 affection. 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 267 
 
 Lucia, too, was thoughtful and melancholy in the 
 extreme. Her taciturn sadness, considering her cheer- 
 ful disposition, seemed greater than the grief which it 
 would be natural for her to feel on account of Doila 
 Blanca's illness, or even than the anxiety which the 
 distorted ideas and the fantastic sorrows of her friend 
 ought to cause her. 
 
 Don Valentin, his mind agitated by the opposing 
 sentiments of pity and fear with which his wife in- 
 spired him, continued to go with frequency to inquire 
 about the patient's condition ; but, instead of entering 
 the room and looking into the bedroom, he now re- 
 mained in the hall and looked only into the room to 
 say to his daughter : 
 
 " How is your mamma ? " 
 
 " The same," Clara would answer, and Don Valen- 
 tin would go away. 
 
 "With the exception of the confidential servant, who 
 came occasionally to bring a message or to render some 
 indispensable assistance, no one but Father Jacinto 
 entered the room in which Clara and Lucia were. 
 
 At nightfall Doiia Blanca's feverish agitation 
 reached its height. Father Jacinto was accompany- 
 ing the two friends and helping them to take care of 
 the sick woman. 
 
 The latter, who during the afternoon had been 
 drowsy and very weak, began to show symptoms of 
 intense excitement. She complained that her head 
 
268 COMMANDER MEKDOZA. 
 
 ached ; her features worked convulsively ; she uttered 
 phrases without order or connection. The words she 
 most frequently repeated were : 
 
 " Go away, Valentin. Leave me. Don't torment 
 me." Doubtless the sick woman was under the hal- 
 lucination that she saw Don Valentin, who was not in 
 the bedroom. 
 
 In this condition Doiia Blanca remained until near 
 ten o'clock. Then the malady took a turn for the 
 worse, and she became violently delirious. 
 
 The disease of the heart from which the unhappy 
 woman suffered reacted strongly upon the brain. All 
 the thoughts which for years had tortured her, and 
 which during the past thirty hours had gathered new 
 strength, mingled in tumultuous confusion ; they re- 
 belled against the will, made themselves independent 
 of it ; threw off every restraint, and, mechanically and 
 instinctively seeking and finding fitting words in which 
 to express themselves, burst forth in disordered ex- 
 clamations. 
 
 Doua Blanca sat up in bed, and, looking wildly at 
 Lucia, Clara, and the friar, spoke as follows : 
 
 " Go away, Valentin ! Why do you wish to kill 
 me with your presence ? Kill me with a dagger — with 
 a pistol ! Put a rope around my neck and strangle 
 me ! Do not be a coward. Take fitting vengeance." 
 
 " Be calm, DoGa Blanca," responded the friar, 
 whom she had addressed as if he were Don Valentin — 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 269 
 
 " be calm ; your hiisbaud is outside. — Go away, girls," 
 he added, turning to the two friends. "Leave me 
 alone with the patient, to see if I cannot quiet her." 
 
 Both Clara and Lucia remained motionless, as if 
 riveted to their seats. Dona Blanca continued : 
 
 "Have courage and kill me. Your honour de- 
 mands it. You must kill the Commander, too. He 
 is damned; he will go to hell, and take me with 
 him ! " 
 
 " Mother, mother, you rave ! " exclaimed Clara. 
 
 " ISTo, I do not rave," responded Dona Blanca. — 
 " And you, fool," she added, addressing the friar, " are 
 you blind ? Do you not see her ? " and she pointed 
 to her daughter. " How she resembles him ! My 
 God ! how she resembles him ! She is his image. — 
 Go away from my sight, living witness to my shame ! " 
 
 Clara listened with a mixture of horror and of 
 eager curiosity to her mother's wild utterances, striv- 
 ing to comprehend the full meaning of the tremen- 
 dous secret. At the last words, addressed to herself, 
 Clara covered her face with both her hands. 
 
 "You may well be satisfied," continued Doiia 
 Blanca. " He had forgotten your existence, but at 
 last he remembered you and he made an immense 
 sacrifice for you. He has paid in advance what you 
 will inherit from my husband. He has ransomed you 
 from God to deliver you up to the world. Eemain in 
 the world. You cannot be a nun. The bad blood 
 18 
 
270 COMMANDER MBNDOZA. 
 
 of the Oommancler boils in your veins. How doubt 
 that you are the accursed daughter of that infidel ? " 
 
 Clara, on hearing these last words, gave an inar- 
 ticulate cry and fell fainting into Lucia's arms. 
 
 Lucia, supporting Clara under the arms, half-led, 
 half-carried her out of the bedroom. 
 
 Dofia Blanca meanwhile, unable to support longer 
 her violent emotion, sank back on the bed, faint and 
 exhausted, a convulsive trembling seized her, the mus- 
 cles became rigid, then gradually and slowly relaxing, 
 profound prostration followed. 
 
 Father Jacinto then hastened to Clara, whom 
 Lucia meanwhile had laid on a sofa. 
 
 Clara, coming to herself, gave a sigh and then 
 burst into a flood of tears. 
 
 " Clara, dear friend," said Lucia. 
 
 " Calm yourself, child, calm yourself," cried Fa- 
 ther Jacinto. 
 
 " Holy and merciful God ! " said Clara, " thy om- 
 nipotent hand wounds and heals me at the same time. 
 Poor, poor mother ! How unhappy you have been ! 
 And he — ah ! he — cannot be impious and perverse as 
 you supposed. Now I understand why and how I 
 loved him ! " 
 
COMMANDER MBKDOZA. 271 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 The disease had continued to gather strength. 
 Three days after the scene we have described Dofla 
 Blanca was so much worse that there no longer re- 
 mained any hope of saving her. 
 
 Her daughter and Lucia had nursed her and 
 watched over her with the utmost care and devotion. 
 
 The fits of delirium had returned, with long in- 
 tervals of prostration. 
 
 Dofia Blanca's mind towards the end became per- 
 fectly clear ; but her condition was pitiable, her voice 
 was hoarse and hollow, her respiration short and diffi- 
 cult ; unable to breathe in a recumbent posture, she 
 was obliged to remain sitting up in bed. 
 
 The physicians announced to Father Jacinto that 
 a serious obstruction to the circulation had super- 
 vened in the heart itself, and that if this obstruction 
 increased death would follow. 
 
 The priest informed Clara of this terrible prog- 
 nostic as gently as possible, and he confessed the pa- 
 tient and administered the last sacrament to her. 
 
 In this supreme moment, on the threshold of eter- 
 nity. Dona Blanca laid aside her ill-temper, her pride, 
 and her bitterness, and retained in her soul only her 
 lively faith, which caused ultramundane hopes to 
 spring up again within it and unsealed the fountain 
 of the purest consolations. 
 
272 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 Dona Blanca sent for Don Valentin, embraced 
 him, and entreated his forgiveness. Don Valentin, 
 deeply distressed and very tearful and no less humble, 
 answered that he had nothing to forgive ; that it was 
 he who needed forgiveness, since he had not known 
 how to make so good and holy a woman happy. 
 
 Dona Blanca's emaciated countenance flushed 
 faintly and her lips exhaled a melancholy sigh. 
 
 DoQa Blanca called Clara to her, kissed her on the 
 forehead, and whispered in her ear in a scarcely audible 
 voice : 
 
 " Tell your father that I forgive him. Do you, my 
 daughter, follow the impulses of your heart. You 
 are free. Be virtuous. Do not marry him unless you 
 love him dearly. See that you do not deceive your- 
 self. I know all — Father Jacinto has told it to me. 
 If you love him and he is worthy of your love, marry 
 him." 
 
 A few moments later Dofla Blanca breathed her 
 last, uttering in a faint and submissive voice : 
 
 " Jesus, help me ! " 
 
 Clara's grief was profound. She wept silently for 
 her mother's death. 
 
 Lucia wept with her and endeavoured to soothe 
 by her affection her friend's grief. 
 
 Father Jacinto, accustomed to the sight of death 
 and familiarized with it, piously closed the dead 
 woman's eyes and mouth, which had remained open, 
 
COMMANDEK MENDOZA. 273 
 
 crossed her hands, and gently laid her down on the 
 bed. 
 
 The weak Don Valentin, when he saw that his 
 wife was dead, felt on the one hand a keen sorrow, for 
 he still loved her ; -but on the other — if evil tongues, 
 of whom there are always more than enough, are to 
 be believed — he felt a certain relief, a certain sense of 
 ease, a certain vile delight in his soul, as if an enor- 
 mous weight had been removed from him, as if he 
 had been freed from bondage. These contradictory 
 feelings, battling together in his nervous and weak 
 organization, caused him to break into a hysterical 
 laugh. Then he was frightened at himself; he re- 
 garded himself as worse than he was ; he was afraid 
 of the devil ; he was ashamed that God, who sees 
 everything, should see the sinful depravity of his con- 
 science, and he was filled with remorse and terror. 
 Then there came back to him the recollection of his 
 past love, of the sweet days of illusion, the days when 
 his wife loved him — all which affected so profoundly 
 his far from manly breast that the wretched man 
 burst into tears, and uttered sighs and sobs and even 
 cries, so that all who saw and heard him were moved 
 to pity. 
 
 Father Jacinto carried the news of the catastrophe 
 to Don Fadrique. 
 
 Don Padrique, shut up in his room, had been wait- 
 ing anxiously for news of the sick woman. When he 
 
274 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 looked at Father Jacinto the Commander read in his 
 countenance what had happened. 
 
 " She is dead? " said the Commander. 
 
 " She is dead," responded the friar. 
 
 The Commander answered not a word. He stood 
 silent and motionless, his heart full of mingled grief 
 and remorse. Two large, bitter tears rolled down his 
 cheeks. 
 
 " She has forgiven you," said Father Jacinto. 
 
 " Ah, father, I can not forgive myself. The recol- 
 lection of an unavenged insult, of a base action which 
 I committed, of a stain on my honour, would be less 
 intolerable to me. In any other circumstances it 
 would be easier for me to be reconciled to myself. 
 Although God may forgive me, I can not forgive 
 myself." 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Six months had passed since Dona Blanca's death ; 
 it was midwinter, and every evening there gathered 
 around the hearth, in an upper room in the dwelling 
 of Don Jose, the head of the house of Lopez de Men- 
 doza, besides himself and hia wife and daughter Lucia, 
 the Commander Don Fadrique, the widower Don 
 Valentin, Clara, and occasionally Father Jacinto. 
 
 Don Carlos de Atienza had gone to Seville twice 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 275 
 
 or tbrice to see his parents, but on eacli occasion had 
 returned almost immediately. He had left the uni- 
 versity; he thought no longer of his studies or his 
 profession. He had devoted himself entirely to the 
 task of idolising, consoling, and adoring Clarita, whom 
 he now saw daily without any difficulty. 
 
 Don Padrique and Father Jacinto made frequent 
 visits to Villabermeja ; but most of their time they 
 spent in the city. 
 
 The conveyance of Don Fadrique's possessions had 
 been made in due legal form and with the utmost 
 secrecy. 
 
 Don Fadrique lived modestly on his pay as a re- 
 tired officer. He resided, however, in the ancestral 
 house in Villabermeja, adorned with all the rare furni- 
 ture which he had brought with him from abroad. 
 
 Don Fadrique's disposition had not changed, but 
 it had become modified. His natural optimism suf- 
 fered frequent interruptions. A dark cloud of melan- 
 choly often overshadowed the brightness of his frank 
 and open countenance. 
 
 Although time had gradually mitigated the grief 
 of all for DoQa Blanca's death, Clara remembered her 
 with tender melancholy, and the Commander with 
 mingled affection and remorse. 
 
 Don Valentin, only, who ate like a vulture, who 
 had grown fat, and who had now no one to scold him 
 or domineer over him, considered himself still obliged 
 
276 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 to weep when, perhaps, he least desired to do so ; then 
 the thought of the obligation tinder which he con- 
 ceived himself to lie, and the consciousness that tears 
 and grief did not come, filled him anew with com- 
 punction, which had the effect of producing in him 
 the desire and the flow. Don Valentin was dissolTed 
 in tears two or three times every week. 
 
 Clara, now seeing Don Carlos and Don Fadrique 
 constantly, had learned to distinguish the difEerence 
 between the two kinds of affection which bound her 
 to them, and found these feelings every day more 
 compatible with each other. The Commander in- 
 spired her with ever-increasing veneration, tenderness, 
 and gratitude for his generous sacrifice. Don Carlos 
 appeared to her every day more graceful, more hand- 
 some, more loving, more clever, and more a poet. 
 
 Thus passed several months more. Spring came. 
 Summer arrived. The first anniversary of Dofla 
 Blanca's death was solemnised with tears and with 
 masses and other devotions. 
 
 Clarita's scruples about failing to keep her promise 
 to be a nun gradually disappeared. Her mother, at 
 her death, had absolved her from her promise. The 
 love she felt and inspired urged her not to fulfil it. 
 The good Father Jacinto, Clara's confessor, assured 
 her that the j)romise was void. 
 
 Clarita at last annulled it, making another promise, 
 a promise supremely sweet, to Don Carlos. She prom- 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 277 
 
 ised to give him her hand, confessing at last that she 
 loved him. 
 
 An overstrained scruple had made Clara delay in 
 giving her consent to Don Carlos. She thought it 
 probable that Don Casimiro would die without issue, 
 and that a part of the ransom would come to her ; but 
 this last scruple, which, although tenuous and subtle, 
 troubled her, was finally entirely dissipated. 
 
 ISTicolasa, or rather SeQora Dofla Nicolasa Lobo de 
 Solis, lawful wife of Don Casimiro, gave birth to a 
 healthy child. 
 
 "When the Commander brought this news with 
 him one day from Villabermeja, Lucia was the first to 
 whom he communicated it. 
 
 " Don't tell me, uncle ! " exclaimed the girl ; " a 
 child of Don Casimiro's must be a ridiculous object; 
 it must look like a skinned rabbit." 
 
 "No, niece," answered the Commander, "the 
 newborn Solis is as strong as a calf." 
 
 This was the truth, as we learned later. The first- 
 born of the Solises was not only like a calf, but like a 
 bull. 
 
 Don Casimiro was the happiest man on earth. He 
 was filled with pride and delight to be so beloved by 
 his wife, and to have for a son a Theban Hercules, 
 wihhout thinking of Saturn or considering himself an 
 Amphitryon, for he was ignorant of mythology. 
 
 Uncle Gorico, on Nicolasa's marriage, had begun 
 
278 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 to insist on being called Don Gregorio ; tie had given 
 up liis role of Abraham and retired from his trade of 
 leather-dresser, and he spent his time in drinking 
 brandy and rossolis, and in expatiating on the happi- 
 ness and grandeur of his daughter, her virtues, and 
 the blissful life her distinguished husband led with 
 her. 
 
 After the baptism of the child Uncle Gorico vrent 
 from house to house, telling of the delight of his son- 
 in-law, who kept walking backward and forward be- 
 tween the bed in which Nicolasa lay and the cradle 
 in which the baby lay, stopping from time to time 
 midway between the bed and the cradle, to exclaim, 
 raising hia hands to heaven : 
 
 " My God !— my God ! What have I done that I 
 should be so blest ! " 
 
 In efiect, his happiness was too much for Don 
 Casimiro, and it soon carried him to his grave. 
 
 Although it be anticipating events, we will say 
 now that the widow led a life of seclusion for a year, 
 seeing no one but the Platonic Tomasuelo, and that 
 she had posthumous twins, who, if the first-born de- 
 served to be called a Hercules, deserved no less to be 
 called a Castor and a Pollux. 
 
 The rectitude of Dofla Blanca's conscience and 
 its severe decisions, which found a loyal and devoted 
 executor in Don Fadrique, thus produced their natu- 
 ral results, bestowing a rich inheritance on these 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 279 
 
 mythological angels, lusty scions of the house of 
 Soils. 
 
 Be this as it may, a person of refined and nohle 
 nature will give no heed to the base and knavish 
 actions of more vulgar mortals or the advantages that 
 may result from them ; he will accept only in a hu- 
 morous and burlesque sense the ignoble advice of the 
 proverb : 
 
 " Take it, I tell you ; for if you don't choose 
 To eat it, why, another won't refuse." 
 
 So that Don Fadrique smiled at the consequences 
 of his disinterestedness, but applauded himself none 
 the less for having shown it. What concerned him 
 was that his pure and beautiful daughter should not 
 enjoy anything that was not hers, or for which he had 
 not given more than its equivalent. 
 
 The marriage of Clara and Don Carlos de Atienza 
 was celebrated on a beautiful day in the month of 
 October, 1795, a year and a half after Dofla Blanca's 
 death. 
 
 The parents of Don Carlos came from Seville to be 
 present at the wedding. 
 
 The newly married pair settled in the city in 
 which the scene of our story is laid. 
 
 During the year and a half whose events we have 
 summed up so briefly, the Commander had lived 
 partly in Villabermeja, partly in the city, in his 
 brother's house. 
 
280 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 His affection for Clara attracted him to the city ; 
 but, as Clara was wrapped up in her lover, and as she 
 was very happy, she did less to console the Command- 
 er's sorrows than his fair-haired niece. 
 
 The latter it was who sent for the Commander 
 when he delayed too long in coming from Villaber- 
 meja ; who wrote to him most frequently, urging him 
 to return, and who sent messages to him by the mule- 
 teer and the overseer to abandon his Bermejan soli- 
 tude. 
 
 As Lucia was now acquainted with all her friend 
 Clara's secrets, and as, besides, no events of impor- 
 tance were taking place, there was neither motive nor 
 pretext for Lucia's going every moment to her uncle 
 to ask him, as formerly, what news there was. In ex- 
 change, however, Lucia, relieved now from the anxiety 
 in which her friend's fate had hitherto kept her, felt 
 awaken in her mind the most lively curiosity regard- 
 ing the sciences. Astronomy and botany that had 
 displeased her so long as there were secrets of Clara's 
 which she wished to discover, now enraptured her, and 
 she was never weary of the lessons given her by her 
 uncle at her own instance. The longest lesson seemed 
 to her short. There was not a mystery of the flowers 
 which she did not desire to penetrate. There was not 
 a star which she did not desire to know. The pupil 
 often put the teacher in a dilemma, for if the subject 
 was the movement of the stars, their magnitude, their 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 281 
 
 distances from the earth, and other facts of the kind, 
 she wished to receive demonstration of the truth of 
 these facts, and Don Fadrique thought it nonsensical 
 and even ridiculous to teach mathematics to a niece 
 who was so handsome, so sprightly, and so graceful ; 
 and if, on the other hand, the subject was the flowers, 
 Lucia desired her uncle to explain to her what life 
 was and what organism was, and here the Commander 
 found that there was no science corresponding to 
 mathematics, which would exjslain anything. Un- 
 consciously he was led into profound disquisitions on 
 primitive and fundamental philosophy, and Lucia lis- 
 tened to him absorbed and, according to the vulgar 
 saying, she put in her oar also ; for every person of 
 imagination and quickness of intellect can talk philos- 
 ophy, and talk it well, if he wishes to do so. 
 
 In short, Lucia was becoming a savante. The 
 more she learned, the more her taste and her desire 
 for learning increased. The lessons and lectures lasted 
 for whole hours. 
 
 The Commander became so accustomed to this 
 sweet mastership that the day on which he gave no 
 lesson it seemed to him as if he had not lived. 
 
 The days he spent in Villabermeja became gradu- 
 ally fewer, and those he spent with his pupil gradually 
 increased in number. 
 
 When he returned from Villabermeja the Com- 
 mander would bring his pupil books from his library, 
 
282 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 flowers and plants from his garden, and birds which 
 he caught alive. Lucia was very fond of birds, and, 
 thanks to the Commander, there was now no species 
 of bird in all the province, whether birds of passage 
 or permanent, of which Lucia had not a couple of 
 specimens in her aviary. 
 
 All this being observed by Clara and Don Carlos, 
 occasioned on their part many innocent jests, which 
 embarrassed the Commander and made Lucia blush 
 scarlet. 
 
 The lovers would rally Lucia on her extraordinary 
 love for the sciences. 
 
 In short, even if the Commander and Lucia had 
 themselves neither known nor desired to know what 
 was passing within them, Clara and Don Carlos would 
 have made them reflect, look into their hearts, and 
 discover the truth. 
 
 The Commander and Lucia, in spite of the differ- 
 ence in their ages, were desperately in love with each 
 other. 
 
 Lucia admired her uncle's good sense, the nobility 
 of his character, his learning, and the natural ele- 
 gance of his bearing and manners. She thought him 
 handsome, with a manly beauty, and it seemed to her 
 impossible that there could be another such man in 
 the whole world. 
 
 Don Fadrique thought Lucia as beautiful, as good, 
 and as intelligent as Clara, which was the highest 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 283 
 
 praise that, in his estimation, he could bestow upon 
 any one. Lucia's gaiety, besides, accorded much bet- 
 ter with the Commander's character than the some- 
 what melanclioly seriousness which Clara had inher- 
 ited from her mother. 
 
 The Commander, who, after all, was no inexpe- 
 rienced boy, soon knew that he loved Lucia and that 
 he was loved by her ; but, having in mind his age and 
 the idyl of Don Carlos, he did not venture to declare 
 his love, although he manifested it by his constant 
 solicitude in serving Lucia. 
 
 She, meanwhile, could not comprehend the timid- 
 ity of the Commander, whom she believed to be in 
 love with her. 
 
 Hence they bestowed upon each other all sorts of 
 affectionate and endearing epithets^ which, taken lit- 
 erally, might be regarded as the expression of a tender 
 friendship, but in which the ardor of true love was 
 concealed. 
 
 Besides his age, Don Fadrique believed that there 
 existed another obstacle which should in honour pre- 
 vent him from aspiring to Lucia's love. This other 
 obstacle was his poverty ; but in Lucia's eyes his pov- 
 erty and the motive which had caused it were reasons 
 the more for loving and admiring the Commander. 
 The careless disdain, the cheerful tranquillity, and the 
 easy and uncomplaining liberality with which Don 
 Fadrique had despoiled himself of more than four 
 
284 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 millions, outweighed a thousand millions in Lucia's 
 romantic and generous mind. 
 
 The latter at times went so far as to ask her uncle 
 (we know that she had the defect of being very in- 
 quisitive) why he did not marry. 
 
 When her uncle answered that he did not marry 
 because he was old, Lucia said that he was still a 
 young man, and handsomer than the handsomest 
 young man. When he answered that it was because 
 he was poor, Lucia declared that the pay of a re- 
 tired officer was more than sufficient to marry upon ; 
 that, besides, Chacha Eamoncica had saved up a for- 
 tune, and that she would make him her heir; and, 
 finally, that he might marry a rich woman. 
 
 All this Lucia said, with a thousand circumlocu- 
 tions and disguises; but the Commander, although, 
 indeed, he understood her, still thought that she 
 might have deceived herself, and mistaken for love 
 sentiments of respect and an affection that was almost 
 filial. Wherefore he thought it neither just nor hon- 
 ourable to take advantage of what was perhaps a 
 delusion on the beautiful girl's part to obtain his own 
 happiness. 
 
 Thus matters stood between the Commander and 
 Lucia on the evening on which the wedding of Clara 
 and Don Carlos was celebrated in Don Valentin's 
 house. 
 
 The Commander was cheerful, although deeply 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 285 
 
 moved on this solemn occasion, when a being so dear 
 so him was united in indissokible boads to the man 
 who was to make her hal^pJ^ 
 
 Don Jose and DoQa Antonia returned home early. 
 
 Lucia remained a little longer with Clara, as did 
 also the Commander. 
 
 They returned home together. The night was 
 beautiful, the street silent and solitary, the air warm 
 and fragrant, the sky full of stars, but moonless. 
 
 Lucia was silent and happy, thinking of her 
 friend's happiness. 
 
 Don Fadrique was no less dreamy and pensive. 
 
 The walk from the one house to the other was 
 short, but they prolonged it, stopping by a common 
 impulse in the middle of the street to gaze at the 
 spacious vault of the firmament, as if they wished to 
 question the eternal stars that glittered there, regard- 
 ing the fate of the newly married couple, and perhaps 
 their own fate also. 
 
 Lucia, breathing a sigh, said at last : 
 
 " Do not doubt it — they will be very happy ! " 
 
 " Be glad only, and not envious," responded the 
 Commander ; " you, too, will find a man worthy of you, 
 who will love you and whom you will love with all the 
 strength of your heart." 
 
 " N"o, uncle, he will not love me," replied Lucia. 
 " I am very unfortunate." 
 
 And Lucia sighed again. The Commander then 
 19 
 
286 COMMANDER MENDOZA. ' 
 
 saw by tlie mild and faint light of tlie stars that two 
 tears were rolling down Lucia's cheeks. The light of 
 the stars was flashed back by those liquid diamonds in 
 rainbow hues. 
 
 The Commander was no longer master of himself. 
 He bent towards Lucia and kissed away one of those 
 tears. Then he cried : 
 
 " I love you ! " 
 
 Lucia answered not a word. She walked on towards 
 the house ; she knocked ; the door was opened and she 
 entered, followed by the Commander. 
 
 When she reached the foot of the stairs she turned 
 round and said to him : 
 
 " Good night, uncle. Good-bye until io-morrow. 
 Mamma will be waiting for me." 
 
 The Commander put on the most distressed face 
 in the world, seeing that the girl responded so coldly, 
 or rather, that she did not respond at all to his sudden 
 and vehement declaration. 
 
 Then, taking pity on him, no doubt, she added 
 smiling : 
 
 " Speak to mamma to-morrow — " 
 
 "And then?" interrupted Don Fadrique. 
 
 " Ask the license from Rome." 
 
 Having said this, Lucia ran up stairs, very much 
 ashamed but very happy, leaving the Commander no 
 less happy than she was herself. 
 
 When Clara learned that Lucia and the Com- 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 287 
 
 mander liad resolved to be married, slie was greatly 
 rejoiced. 
 
 Don Carlos de Atieuza shared his wife's joy ; and 
 bethinking himself that he owed, in some sort, a sat- 
 isfaction to the Commander, who had thought himself 
 alluded to in the idyl against the old shepherd which 
 he had heard him recite, he composed another idyl in 
 defense of a shepherd not so old, and in praise of the 
 love of old shepherds. 
 
 This second idyl, which is a sort of palinode of the 
 first, is still preserved in the archives of Villabermeja, 
 whence my friend Don Jnan Fresco has transmitted 
 to me an esa.ct and faithful copy of it, which I tran- 
 scribe here in conclusion. The idyl is as follows : 
 
 Now on the vine, amid o'ershadov.'ing leaves, 
 
 With topaz tints tlie swelling elusters glow : 
 
 The early rain refreshment gives 
 
 The sun-parched earth, that bounteously 
 
 Her fulness offers : now new juices flow, 
 
 The abundant fruit on olive and on almond tree. 
 
 Dweller among the rocks, to nourish and expand. 
 
 The sparkling stream, shrunk to a rivulet 
 
 Erewhile by summer's arid heat. 
 
 Flows with recovered wealth throughout the smiling land. 
 
 The acorn harsh and crude 
 
 Kipens and sweetens on the majestic oak, 
 
 Among v/hose foliage, in the sacred wood. 
 
 The winds to men in primal ages spoke. 
 
 Declaring in prophetic tones the will of Jupiter. 
 
 Not now as in the vernal year 
 
 In variegated bloom are groves and meadows dressed ; 
 
 Then the tired husbandman in flowers placed 
 
288 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 His hopes, and now the harvest ripe repays 
 
 His anxious cares and toil-filled days. 
 
 The quince with its aroma scents the air, 
 
 And in the luscious pear, 
 
 And in the lemon and ripe apple glows 
 
 The carmine, gleams the gold that earlier 
 
 Shone in gillyflower and rose : 
 
 While the pomegranate, jealous of its blossom, 
 
 Bursts its hard rind, whose parting sides disclose 
 
 The ruby treasure they imbosom. 
 
 In autumn's cool the grass again 
 
 Springs up and clothes the pallid, stubble-covered plain 
 
 With verdure. In the sky serene and clear 
 
 Towards the glowing west the sun descends, 
 
 On an October evening calm and fair. 
 
 As Phyllis, pensive shepherdess, 
 
 Rivalling the dawn in loveliness. 
 
 Her tranquil dwelling leaves and wends 
 
 Towards the sacred grotto of the Nymphs her way. 
 
 Instead of flowers a basket she doth bear 
 
 Of fragrant fruits, an offering to lay 
 
 Before the Nymphs who here below confer 
 
 Being on little wanton Cupids, enemies 
 
 Of the celestial god, that they may cease 
 
 To oppose her love. No sooner does she tread 
 
 The grotto's sacred ground, 
 
 Where silence and obscurity profound 
 
 Prevail, than pious awe seizes the timid maid. 
 
 Her offering she lays 
 
 Upon the wood nymph's altar, and her prayer, 
 
 In careful, concise phrase, 
 
 Inspired by the god, her rosy lips prefer : 
 
 " Nymphs, be not angry at my indifference, 
 
 Nor the rude swains my favour who essay 
 
 To conquer, lend your countenance. 
 
 Like rose bushes are they 
 
 That in the time of flowers adorn the field, 
 
 But harsh and bitter fruit that yield. 
 
COMMANDER MBNDOZA. 289 
 
 The ardour of their arrogant youth is evidence 
 
 Not of love but of desire, 
 
 And all too plainly do their words proclaim 
 
 That no romantic fire 
 
 Ennobles or refines its earth-born flame ; 
 
 And that the instinct in each human breast 
 
 By Nature planted burns in theirs, 
 
 Unpurified, unblest 
 
 By light descended from celestial spheres. 
 
 The Cupids, well I know, 
 
 Your darling sons, bestow 
 
 Fecundity upon the earth ; but Love, 
 
 Who dwells in heaven above. 
 
 And everywhere diffuses vital power, 
 
 Of evil and of death the conqueror. 
 
 This very virtue has bestowed on them. 
 
 And can the maid the mysteries supreme 
 
 And occult of celestial Love 
 
 Who seeks to know, obtain 
 
 The knowledge fi'om a rude, unlettered swain ? 
 
 Shall we not rather joys divine who would prove 
 
 Seek the sage on whom the god bestows 
 
 The living splendour of his light divine? 
 
 Therefore, Nymphs, my Irenams I adore. 
 
 As in a sacred shrine. 
 
 He guards, his spotless soul within. 
 
 Of Love tlie treasure, and its flame still glows 
 
 Beneath the early snows 
 
 With which, like hoary Mongibelo's, now 
 
 Unwearying intellectual toil has crowned his brow. 
 
 Thus Irenaius for what th' inclemency 
 
 Of time hath robbed him knowledge doth indemnify. 
 
 With tireless hand how many a swain 
 
 Touches the rebec in vain. 
 
 For lack of genius and of mastery. 
 
 While Irena!us with his matchless skill 
 
 And with his divine quill 
 
 Makes entrancing melody. 
 
290 COMMANDER MENDOZA. 
 
 And when he strikes the chord whate'er he will 
 
 Causes the soul to feel 1 
 
 If the awkward swain pursues 
 
 The new-fledged partridge in its flight, or he 
 
 Catches it half-dead or else he doth it lose ; 
 
 While IrenaBus, cautiously 
 
 Stealing his hand into the hidden nest 
 
 In which the bird doth careless rest, 
 
 Nor tires its wings, nor its young feathers breaks, 
 
 And for his friend the fledgling captive takes. 
 
 Nor less resplendent shines the genius 
 
 Of the learned Irena!us 
 
 In composing melodies 
 
 And in relating curious histories. 
 
 When the green walnut or the tender almond he 
 
 Pulls for me from the verdant bough, the best 
 
 He chooses and uninjured leaves the rest. 
 
 When some young lambkin strays from me. 
 
 He looks for it and home he brings the wanderer. 
 
 To please me is his constant care. 
 
 He proves his love sincere. 
 
 From cherry-stones now carving skilfully 
 
 A pretty basket or a little boat. 
 
 Now teaching ray pet linnet from my lips to take 
 
 The seed with its sharp beak. 
 
 Only, at times, sleep from my eyelids banishing, 
 
 Irenfeus' soul to lofty realms takes wing, 
 
 Where of his eartlily love I doubt. 
 
 But if he truly loved me, then, 
 
 A greater triumph it would be 
 
 The victory to win, 
 
 Not over some fair shepherdess. 
 
 But over poetry. 
 
 Over learning, art, and fame." Irenreus. unseen, 
 
 Phyllis had heard, and now before the maid 
 
 Appearing, clasped lier in a fond embrace. 
 
 And thus with modest gentleness he said : 
 
 "In vain the tender bond that makes my happiness. 
 
COMMANDER MENDOZA. 291 
 
 Phyllis, wouldsfc thou explain with subtle arguments ; 
 
 Ah, innocent Phyllis ! dost thou then not know 
 
 That, spite of the accomplishments 
 
 And graces manifold 
 
 With which thy partial fancy doth endow 
 
 Thy shepherd, if he had lost all the fire 
 
 Of youth he could not love in thee inspire? 
 
 If thou my love dost to the swain's prefer, 
 
 Not for that I am old, 
 
 But that I am the master dost thou hold me dear. 
 
 THE END. 
 
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 art is forthcoming." — London Saturday Revieiv. 
 
 A 
 
 ILLUSTRATED EDITION OF 
 N ATTIC PHILOSOPHER IN PARIS; or, 
 
 A Peep at the World from a Garret. Being tlie Journal of a 
 
 Happy Man. By ]iMiLE Souvestre. With 39 Illustrations 
 
 by Jean Claude. 8vo. Cloth, $1.50. 
 
 The great popularity of "An Attic Philosopher in Paris," by Emile 
 Souvestre, has led the publishers to prepare this fine illustrated edition, 
 uniform with the illustrated edition of " Colette." For this volume a large 
 number of full-page and vignette illustrations have been made bv the French 
 artist Jean Cl.iude, the illustrator of " Colette." A rich binding has been 
 specially designed, and this volume, considering the fine literary quality of the 
 text and the daintiness of the book's appearance, will be found to possess 
 a permanent value. 
 
 " A delightful bit of French sentiment. The poor and unfortnnate aie represented 
 as making the best of their miserable surroundings, helping each otlicr with unselfish 
 zeal, .ind a rose-colored light is thrown over many a disagreeable situation. The tone 
 is wholesome and helpful, and many passages are full uf pathos. There is, too, an 
 
 enthusiasm for country, for the growth and glory of France, which is charming." 
 
 Portland Transcript. 
 
 "From his loophole of retreat in a garret, the philosopher peeps at the world 
 and moralizes wisely, in a spirit of gentle humanity, and without a touch of cynicism. 
 
 A very bright and wholesome piece of writing, and well worth the translating." 
 
 Christian Rc^stcr. 
 
 " Made up of simple incidents and observations growing therefrom, the attic phi- 
 losopher finds plenty of material on which to train his pretty sentiments like vines 
 upon a trellis. . . . Humanity will suffer nothing by the perusal of this little book."— 
 Chicago Evening Journal. 
 
 New York: D. APPLETON & CO., i, 3, & 5 Bond Street. 
 
D. APPLETON & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 GEORGE H. ELLWANGER'S BOOKS. 
 
 'Y'HE GARDEN'S STORY j or. Pleasures and Trials 
 -* of an Amateur Ga^'dcner. With Head and Tail Pieces by 
 Rliead. i6ino. Cloth, extra, $1.50, 
 
 "This dainty nugget of horticultural lore treats of the pleasures and trials of an 
 amateur gardener. From the time when daffodils begin to peer and the 'secret of the 
 year' comes in to mid-October, Mr. ElKvanger provides an outline of hardy flower- 
 gardening that can be carried on and worked upon by amateurs. ... A little chapter 
 on ' Warm Weathsr Wisdom ' is a presentment of the cream of English literature. 
 Nor is tlie information of this floral calendar confined to the literary or ttienreiiciil 
 sides. * Plant thickly; it is easier and more profitable to raise flowers than weeds,' is a 
 practical direction from the garden syllabus." — Philadelphia Public Ledger, 
 
 "One of the most charming books of the season. . . . This little volume, printed 
 in excellent taste, is redolent of garden fragrance and garden wisdom. . . . It is in no 
 sense a te.xt-book, but it combmes a vast deal of informaticn with a great deal of out- 
 of-door observation, and exceedingly pleasant and sympathetic writing about flowers 
 and plants." — Christian Union. 
 
 "A dainty, learned, charming, and delightful book." — New York Sim. 
 
 "T^HE STORY OF MY HOUSE. With an Etched 
 
 ■*■ Frontispiece by Sidney L. Smith, and mmierous Head and Tail 
 
 Pieces by W. C. Greenough. l6mo. Cloth, extra, ^1.50. 
 
 "An essay on tlie building of a house, with all it<; kaleidoscopic possibilities in the 
 way of reform, and its tantalizing successes before the fact, is always interesting : and 
 the author is not niggardly in the good points he means to secure. It is but natural to 
 follow these with a treatise on rugs full of Orientalism and enthusiasm ; on the literary 
 den and the caller, welcome or otherwise; on the cabinets of porcelain, the raie edi- 
 tions on the shelves, the briefly indicated details of the spoils of the chase in their 
 proper place; on the greenhouse, with its curious climate and wonderful botany and 
 odors, about which the author writes with unusual charm and precision ; on the dining- 
 room and the dinner. . . . The book aims only to be agreeable; its literary flavor 19 
 pervasive, its sentiment kept well in hand."— iVt-w York Evening Post. 
 
 " When the really perfect book of its class comes to a critic's hands, all the words 
 he has used to describe fairly satisfactory ones are inadequate for his new purpose, and 
 he feels inclined, as in this case, to stand aside and let the book speak for itself. In its 
 own way, it would be hardly possible for this daintily printed volume to do better. — 
 Art Amateur. 
 
 /N GOLD AND SILVER. With Illustrations by 
 W. Hamilton Gibson, A. B. Wenzell, and W. C. Greenough. 
 i6mo. Cloth, $2.00. Also, limited iJition de hixe, on Japanese 
 vellum, $5.00. 
 Contents : The Golden Rug of Kermanshah ; Warders of the Woods ; 
 A Shadow upon the Pool ; The Silver Fox of Hunt's Hollow. 
 
 "After spending a half hour with "In Gold and Silver,' one recalls the old saying, 
 ' Precious things come in small parcels.' "—Christian Intelligencer. 
 
 "One of the handsomest gift-books of the yz^r."— Philadelphia Inquirer. 
 
 •• The whole book is eminently interesting, and emphatically deserving of the very 
 handsome and artistic setting it has received."— A^«m York Tribune. 
 
 New York : D. APPLETON & CO., :, 3, & 5 Bond Street. 
 
D. APPLETON & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 BRER RABBIT PREACHES. 
 
 ON THE PLANTATION. 
 By Joel Chandler Harris, au- 
 thor of "Uncle Remus." With 
 23 Illustrations by E. W. Kem- 
 BLE, and Portrait of the Author. 
 i2mo. Cloth, $1.50. 
 The most personal and in some re- 
 spects the most important work which 
 Mr. Harris has published since "Uncle 
 Remus." Many will read between the 
 hnes and see the autobiography of the 
 author. In addition to the strrring inci- 
 dents which appear m the story, the au- 
 thor presents a graphic picture of certain 
 phases of Southern hfe which have not 
 appeared in his books before. There are also new examples of the folk-lcie 
 of the negroes, which became classic when presented to the pubhc m the 
 pages of " Uncle Remus.'' 
 
 "The book is in the characteristic vein which has made the author so famous and 
 
 popular a-s an interpreter of plantation As^x^aix." -Rochester bnwn a„d Advertiser. 
 
 "Those who never tire of Uncle Remus and his stories— with whom we would be 
 
 accounted— wUl dehghtin Joe Ma.'twell and his cyif\oils."— London Sat7,rday Re'.'tet». 
 
 " Altogether a most charming book.' —Chicago Times. 
 
 " Really a valuable, if modest, contribution to the history of the civil war within the 
 Confederate lines, particularly on the eve of the catastrophe. While Mr. Harris, in his 
 preface, professes to have lost the power to distinguish between what is true and what 
 is imaginative in his episodical narrative, the reader readily finds the clew. Two or 
 three new animal fables are introduced with effect ; but the history' of the plantation, the 
 printing-office, the black runaways, and white deserters, of whom the impending break- 
 up made the community tolerant, the coon and fox hunting, forms the serious pui-pose 
 of the book, and holds the reader's interest from beginning to end. Like 'Daddy Jake,' 
 this is a good anti-slavery tract in di.sguise, and does credit to Mr. Harris's humanity. 
 'There arc amusing illustrations by E. W. Kemble." — New York Evening Post. 
 
 *' A charming little book, tastefully gotten up. . , . Its simplicity, humor, and indi- 
 viduality would be veiy welcome 10 any one who was weary of the pretentiousness and 
 the dull obviousness of the average three-vchime novel." — London Chronicle. 
 
 " The mirage of war vanishes and reappears like an ominous shadow on the horizon, 
 but the stay-at-home whites of the Southern .Confederacy were likewise threatened by 
 fears of a servile insurrection. This dark dread exerts its influence on a narration which 
 is otherwise cheery with boyhood's fortunate freedom from anxiety, and sublime disre- 
 gard for what the morrow may bring forth. The simple chronicle of old times * on the 
 plantation ' concludes all too soon : the fire burns low and the tale is ended just as the 
 reader becomes acclimated to the mid-Georgian village, and feels thorouf hly at home 
 with Joe and Mink. The ' Owl and the Birds,' ' Old Zip Coon,' ihe 'Eig Injun and 
 the Buzzard,' are joyous echoes of the plantation-lore that first delighted us in ' Uncle 
 Remus.' Kembte's illustrations, evidently studied from life, are interspersed in these 
 pages of a book of consummate charm." — Philadelphia Ledger. 
 
 New York : D. APPLETON & CO., i, 3, & 5 Bond Street. 
 
D. APPLETON & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 D 
 
 HAND-BOOKS OF SOCIAL USAGES. 
 ^OCIAL ETIQUETTE OF NEW YORK. Re- 
 
 ' — ' written and enlarged. i8mo. Cloth, gilt, $i.oo. 
 
 Special pains have been taken to make this work represent accurately 
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 ON'T ; or, Directions for avoiding Improprieties in 
 Conduct and Common Errors of Speech. By Censor. Parch- 
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 tion, cloth, flexible, gilt edges, red lines, 30 cents. Boudoir 
 Edition (with a new chapter designed for young people), cloth, 
 gilt, 30 cents. 130th thousand. 
 
 *' Don't" deals with manners at the table, in the drawing-room, and in 
 public, with taste in dress, with personal habits, with common mistakes in 
 various situations in life, and with ordinary errors of speech, 
 
 'HAT TO DO. A Companion to "Don't." By 
 
 Mrs. Oliver Bell Bunce. Small i8mo, cloth, gilt, uniform 
 
 with Boudoir Edition of " Don't," 30 cents. 
 
 A dainty little book, containing helpful and practical explanations of 
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 entertained, and sets forth the etiquette of engagements and marriages, in- 
 troductions and calls. 
 
 GOOD FORM" IN ENGLAND. By An 
 American, resident in the United Kingdom. i2mo. Cloth, 
 $1.50. 
 
 ''The raison d^efre of this book is to provide Americans — and especially those 
 visiting England — with a concise, comprehensive, and comprehensible hand-book 
 which will give them all necessary information respecting 'how things are' in Eng- 
 land. While it deals with subjects connected with all ranks and classes, it is particularly 
 intended to be an exhibit and explanation of the ways, habits, customs, and usages of 
 what is known in England as ' high life.' " — Frojii the Preface. 
 
 TNTS ABOUT MEN'S DRESS: Right Prin- 
 ciples Economically Applied. By a New York Clubman. 
 l8mo. Parchment-paper, 30 cents. 
 
 A useful manual, especially for young men desirous of dressing eco- 
 oomically and yet accordmg to the canons of good taste. 
 
 IV\ 
 
 H 
 
 New York: D, APPLETON & CO., i, 3. & 5 Bond Street. 
 
D. APPLETON & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 ABRAHAM LINCOLN: The True Story of a Great 
 -^^ LIFE. By William H. Herndon and Jesse W. Weik. 
 With numerous Illustrations. New and revised edition, -with 
 an introduction by Horace White. In two volumes. i2mo. 
 Cloth, $3.00. 
 This is probably the most intimate life of Lincoln ever written. The 
 book, by Lincoln's law-partner, William H. Herndon, and his friend Jesse 
 W. Weik, shov/s us Lincoln the man. It is a true picture of his surround- 
 ings and influences and acts. It is not an attempt to construct a political 
 history, with Lincoln often in the background, nor is it an effort to apotheo- 
 size the American who stands first in our history next to Washington. The 
 writers knew Lincoln intimately. Their book is the result of unreserved 
 association. There is no attempt to portray the man as other than he really 
 was, and on this account their frank testimony must be accepted, and their 
 biography must take permanent rank as the best and most illuminating study 
 of Lincoln's character and personality. Their story, simply told, relieved 
 by characteristic anecdotes, and vivid with local color, will be found a fasci- 
 nating work. 
 
 " Truly, they who wish to know Lincoln as he really was must read the biography 
 of him written by his friend and law-partner, W. H. Herndon. This book was im- 
 peratively needed to brush aside the rank grovith of myth and legend which was 
 threatening to hide the real lineaments of Lincoln from the eyes of posterity. On one 
 pretext or another, but usually upon the plea that he was the central figure of a great 
 iiistorical picture, most of his self-appointed biog'raphei's have, by suppressing a part 
 of the truth and magnifying or embellishing the rest, produced portraits which those of 
 Lincoln's contemporaries who knew him best are scarcely able to recognize. There is, 
 on the other hand, no doubt a)jout the faithfulness of Mr. Herndon's delineation. The 
 marks of unflinching veracity are patent in every line." — Neiv York Sun. 
 
 "Among ihe books which ought most emphatically to have been written must be 
 classed 'Herndon's Lincoln.' "—Chicago Inter-Occan. 
 
 "The author has his own notion nf what a biosraphy should be, and it is simple 
 enougli. The story should teil all, plainly and even bluntly. Mr. Herndon is naturally 
 a very direct writer, and he has been industrious in gathering material. Whether an 
 incident happened before or behind the scenes. Is all the same to him. He gives it 
 without artifice or apology. He describes the life of his friend Lincoln just as he saw 
 it." — Chicirutati Commercial Gazette. 
 
 "A remarkable piece of literary achievement — remarkable alike for its fidelity to 
 facts, its fullness of details, its constiuctive skill, and its literary charm." — Ne-w Yo7-k 
 Times. 
 
 " It will always remain the authentic life of Abraham Lincoln." — Chicago Herald. 
 
 "The book is a valuable depository of anecdotes, innumerable and characteristic. 
 It has every claim to the proud boast of being the ' true story of a great life.' " — Fhila- 
 dclphia Ledger. 
 
 "Will be accepted as the best biography yet written of the great President." — 
 Chicago Intcr-Ocean. 
 
 y Mr. White claims that, as a portraiture of the man Lincoln, I\Tr. Herndon's work 
 *_will never be surpassed.' Certainly it has never been equaled yet, and this new edi- 
 tion is all that could be desired." — iV(?w ^'orh Observer. 
 
 "The three portraits of Lincoln are the best that exist; and not the least charac- 
 teristic of these, the Lincoln of the Douglas debates, has never before been engraved. 
 . . . Herndon's narrative gives, as nothing else is likely to give, the matciial from 
 which we may form a true picture of the man from infancy to maturity." — The Nation. 
 
 New York: D. APPLETON & CO., i, 3, & 5 Bond Street. 
 
D. APPLETON & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 GREAT COMMANDERS SERIES. 
 ADMIRAL FARRAGUT. By Captain A. T. 
 
 -^^ Mahan, U. S. N., author of " The Gulf and Inland Waters," 
 
 etc. With Portrait and Maps. l2mo. Cloth, gilt top, $1.25. 
 
 "The name of this hero Is very dear to the American people, and the tribute of 
 Captain Mahan, full of instruction as well as interest, will be welcomed by all classes 
 of readers," — New York yo7ir?ial of Co?n}nerce. 
 
 "A careful and conscientious biography of one of the most distinguished as well as 
 picturesque figures of the late war." — Detroit Free Press, 
 
 " We can not say too much in praise of the manner in which Captain Mahan has 
 brought home to us the finer traits of Farragut." — New Yoi'k Ttjnes. 
 
 GENERAL TAYLOR. By Major-General O. O. 
 Howard, U. S. A. With Portrait and Maps. i2ino. Cloth, 
 gilt top, $1.50. 
 
 " No one is better qualified for writing; a biography of the hero of Buena Vista than 
 General Howard. His work can not disappoint hi^ friends. The chapters relating to 
 the Mexican War are especially good, and the sadly brief story of Taylor's presidency 
 is tuld with soldierly siinpUcity and feeling." — ^hiladeljfjiia Bulletin. 
 
 *' The author has evidently been inspired with a genuine admiration for his subject, 
 and devoted a great deal of painstaking care to the collection of materials and their 
 presentation in an attractive form." — Detroit Free Fress. 
 
 " The career of ' Old Rough and Ready ' is extremely interesting. General Howard 
 takes equal pride and pleasure in offering his salute of lienor to the hero of Monterey 
 and Buena Vista. This is good reading for American youth." — Philadelphia Ledger. 
 
 THE above are the first volumes of the " Great Commanders Series," edited 
 by General James Grant Wilson. It is the aim of this series to supply 
 brief biographies, of the hig-hest order of excellence, of the most illustrious 
 American commanders from Washington to Sheridan. The lives of the ad- 
 mirals are by naval men, and the others of the series are by approved soldiers 
 who served under the Great Captains whom they commemorate. 
 
 The following are in press or in preparation ; General JACKSON, by 
 James Parton; General WASHINGTON, by General Bradley T. 
 Johnson ; General GREENE, by Captain Francis V. Greene ; Gen- 
 ER.AL SHERMAN, by General M.^NNiNG F. Force ; General GRANT, 
 by General James Grant Wilson ; General SCOTT, by General Marcus 
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 Secretary of the Navy ; General LEE, by General FiTZHUGH Lee ; Gen- 
 eral JOHNSTON, by Robert M. Hughes, of Virginia; General 
 GEORGE H. THOMAS, by Dr. Henry Coppee, late U. S. A. ; General 
 HANCOCK, by Genera! Francis H. Walker ; General SHERIDAN, 
 by General Henry E. Davies. 
 
 It is believed that these biographies will form a notable addition to every 
 American hbrary, and furnish a valuable and impartial source of reference 
 to the student of our military and naval history. 
 
 New York: D. APPLETON & CO., i, 3, & 5 Bond Street. 
 
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 of an educational or elevating character. It is important, then, in the 
 selection of books for public use, especially for the young, that great 
 care be exercised to secure only such kinds of reading as will be whole- 
 some, instructive, and intrinsically valuable. 
 
 For more than fifty years Messrs. D. Appleton & Co. have been 
 engaged in the publication of the choicest productions from the pens of 
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 America, and their catalogue now comprises titles of several thousand 
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 New York: D. APPLETON & CO., i, 3, & 5 Bond Street. 
 
™ 
 
 Important New Fiction 
 GOD'S FOOL. 
 
 By Maartun- Maakti.ns, miihor of " The Sin of Joost Avelingh." 
 I2mo. CI '111, §1,50. 
 
 "Throughout there is an cpi(;rariim,itK: fur.c wliith would mjiki- p.il.il.iblr a Irss 
 interesUnjj story of human hves or nnr lei.s di-i'tly told." 7/u- Sa/rir./,iy A\-^u-iii 
 (London), 
 
 " Perfeclly easy, graceful, humorous. . . . The autlior's skill in character- 
 drawing; is undeniable." -Laui/on Daily Chroiiich\ 
 
 " The story is wonderfully brilhant. . . . Il is, in .short, a book which no .student 
 of modern hterature should fail to rciv]." - -Boston 'limes, , 
 
 '* Not only the stron;;est work of the author yet 'jyw-.n to the American public, 
 but it undoubtedly stamps him as the stront;ust of the Dutch noveli.sts whose workf. 
 have so tar been republished in this country." -Philjdclfiliia Inquirer. 
 
 " No description of this work will fairly present its true character. It nnist be 
 read quite Ihroug^h to be understood and appreciated. It is very full of suggestions 
 as well as descriptions, and each one of its fifty-two chapters is a marvel in itself." 
 — New York Journal of Commerce. 
 
 " .Maarten Maartens is a Hollander whrt writes his romances in F.nfj^lish, and 
 good and strong Engli-sh it is. As a psychological romance, 'God's Fool' is far 
 more than curious: it is instructive." — A Vjc York Times. 
 
 FROM DUSK TO DAWN. 
 
 By Katharin-e p. Woods, author of " Metzerott, Shoemaker." i2mo. 
 Cloth, Si-25. 
 
 *' Rarely, indeed, does an author attain to such wide prominence in 30 short a 
 lime as did Katharine Pearson Woods on the appearance of her somewhat social- 
 istic novel called ' Metzerott, Shoemaker." That story, however, with all iLs absorb- 
 ing power, gave only the faintest evidence of the real strength that h,as hitherto re- 
 mained latent, but which is now so wonderfully developed in her latest stiiiy, ' From 
 Dusk to Dawn.' " — Ballimore American. 
 
 " The author h.is not only successfully interwoven discussion upon religion and 
 . the occult sciences, but she has handled them throughout in a masterly manner, 
 predicating her entire familiarity with them." — Boston Commercial Bulletin. 
 
 " If a novel may be called orthodo.K, this book is entitled to come under that 
 classification." — .San Francisco Call. 
 
 I 
 
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