Gfi^gifeffiLL UNIVERSITY 
 UIBRARIES 
 ITHACA, N. Y. 
 
 JOHN M. OLIN 
 LIBRARY 
 
uornell University Library 
 PQ6509.E5 1896 
 
 EIJa :or, Spain 50 years ago /Fernan Cab 
 
 3 1924 010 863 912 
 
The original of tliis book is in 
 tlie Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924010863912 
 
E LI A ; 
 
 OR. 
 
 SPAIN FIFTY YEARS AGO 
 
 FERNAN CABALLEKO, 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 CHRrSTFAN PRESS ARSOCTATTON PTTBLTSHING CO., 
 
 1896. 
 
J WORD FROM THE A UTHOR TO 
 THE READER. 
 
 YoTJ may not be indulgent, dear reader; 
 and in truth, one who thrusts himself before the 
 public, without being compelled to do so, has 
 no right to exact indulgence. 
 
 It is the reader's province to be a judge; 
 good or bad, a judge he is, and no one can de- 
 pose him irom his office. Indulgence is a favor, 
 and to sue for it a politeness, which no' author 
 will omit who has read Lord Chesterfield. 
 
 And first, we desire to clear ourselves of 
 certain charges which will be brought against 
 us. 
 
i XNTEODUCTION. 
 
 Bakac says, " "We shall all die misunderstood. 
 This is the death of women and authors." How 
 true this is ! 
 
 Those who consider the celebrated Heloise 
 as the true ty]je of a woman crossed in love, 
 will perhaps look upon our Elia as insipid and 
 false to nature, under similar circumstances ; 
 but we would remind them that the pure love 
 of a girl, brought up in a convent and attached 
 to it, is, in every respect, the opposite of that of 
 the self-willed woman, who regards the convent 
 in which she is immersed as a hateful prison 
 that separates her from the man whom she ele- 
 vates by her affection. 
 
 It may be that a woman who does not love 
 to madness is not the ideal of the masses, but 
 she is, we feel sure, of all those — less romantic 
 but more poetical — who sympathize with truth 
 and simplicity rather than with fiction and af- 
 fectation. 
 
 This want of passion, when it proceeds from 
 purity of soul, the force of reason, the influence 
 
mTEODUOTION. 5 
 
 of religion, and feminine delicacy, far from be- 
 ing despised by men, should be greatly ap- 
 preciated by them, forming, as it does, that 
 contrast to tlie masculine character which 
 gives woman all her enchantment in man's 
 eyes. 
 
 We may be charged with the want of rear 
 son of some of our personages in their arguments. 
 To this we answer, all speak and argue accord- 
 ing to their characters, and the author is in no 
 wise responsible for them. We do not even 
 maintain that the sayings and arguments of the 
 Lady of Calatrava, who possesses all our sym- 
 pathy, are entirely orthodox. 
 
 The spiritualism of such men as Doctor 
 Narciso is an affectation and hypocrisy ; but the 
 spiritualism which elevates man above sensual 
 passion and worldly pleasure is not the dream 
 of a visionary of strong mind and feeble body — 
 no- Spiritualism exists ; but, even in literature, 
 it exists, simple, natural, and stable, upon its 
 firm and only basis, true religion. 
 
6 rNTRODUCTION. 
 
 The proof of this assertion is found in the 
 portrait of Elia, painted from life, which we 
 here present to the public. 
 
 Reader, you may find fault with the copy, 
 but the origmal is far above criticism. 
 
ELI A; 
 
 OR, 
 
 SPAIN FIFTY YEARS AGO. 
 
 CHAP TEE I 
 
 It was one of tlie loveliest of the many 
 lovely days which the good God has bestowed, 
 as an inheritance, upon the Catholic land of 
 Spain. The sun's rays, falling to the earth in a 
 flood of golden light, after copious showers, 
 liad bedecked Andalusia aa with a garment 
 woven of brilliants; while in the calm blue 
 sky a few light, undefined clouds resembling 
 lace of the finest texture, floated lazily hither 
 a.id thither, impelled by a fickle zephyr as in 
 a tranquil and poetic mind flit vague and fan- 
 ciful conceptions. The air, redolent with the 
 perfiime of the orange-blossom, vibrated to the 
 
6 elia; or, 
 
 Bound of bells and the powei '^J voice of can- 
 non, annoTincing the solemniij- of the day to 
 the overjoyed inhabitants of the ever-faithful 
 -■■ity of Seville. From all the balconies of the 
 *^own gay streamers and bright banners were 
 waving merrily to and fro, as if animated by 
 the general gladness ; and gayly-dressed persons 
 of both sexes, with faces radiant with hap- 
 piness, conversed and embraced in the public 
 streets, and filled the air with shouts of joy and 
 satisfaction, as they wended their way toward 
 the grand cathedral, whose magnificent organ 
 was sending up to heaven the ravishing music, 
 of the Te Deum. Oh, it was a profound, elec- 
 trical, magnetic happiness which filled all hearts, 
 moistened all eyes, and placed upon each lip a 
 hymn of praise and thanksgiving to the Lord 
 of hosts — ^the God of armies. Ferdinand the 
 Seventh again occupied the throne of his an- 
 cestors ! 
 
 After the Te Deum, the liken ess of the le- 
 gitimate and longed-for monarch was carried 
 through the city, followed by the authorities 
 and a brilliant military escort. 
 
 In one corner of the balcony of an ancient 
 
SPAIN FIFTY YEARS AGO. 'J 
 
 house, seated in a low arm-cliair, was an old 
 lady, of a mild, benevolent aspect, shedding tears 
 of happiness, and throwing flowers, with both 
 hands, upon a body of hussars, who formed the 
 advance-guard of the procession. She wore a 
 black silk dress, a shawl of black thread lace, 
 and a black mantilla thrown carelessly over her 
 gray hairs, and displayed ostentatiously a neck- 
 lace of large pearls, to which was attached a 
 miniature of the sovereign set in diamonds. Be- 
 hind this person, and supplying her with flowers 
 from a basket which he held in his arms, stood 
 a man of middle age and demure countenance, 
 whose eyes sparkled with delight as they rested 
 upon the triumphal car which bore the portrait 
 of the king. At the opposite end of the balco- 
 ny sat another lady, richly but simply dressed, 
 whose beauty age had dimmed, but could never 
 whplly mar. 
 
 Between the two, leaning against the railing 
 of the balcony, was a young girl who had the 
 distinguished and impassible beauty of a statue. 
 The richness of her attire appeared to concern 
 her as little as the admiration of which she was 
 the object. 
 
 1* 
 
10 ELIA ; OE, 
 
 "Who is that beautiful girl?" asked .111 
 artillery officer, a stranger to Seville, of one of 
 his friends. 
 
 "Esperanza Orrea, daughter of the Mar- 
 chioness of Val de Jara," was the reply. 
 
 " Do you know her ? " 
 
 " Yes ; we are related. Her great-grand- 
 mother was a third cousin of mine. Here we fol- 
 low the trail of genealogy as a pointer follows 
 a hare." 
 
 " Take me to her house, then," said the 
 officer, " for Cupid has shot at me through her 
 beautiful eyes." 
 
 " Now God forbid ! " exclaimed his friend. 
 " She and all her family are conservatwes / and 
 you, who incline to liberalism, would be re- 
 ceived by her like a dog at mass." 
 
 "I will wait, then, imtil Carlos Orrea, who 
 is as liberal as I, arrives. But tell me, the old 
 lady whose face is so pitted with small-pox, does 
 she belong to the same family ? " 
 
 " That is Dona Isabel de Orrea, eldest sister 
 of the Marquis of Val de Jara, and widow of 
 the powerful and widely-celebrated Asistente * 
 
 * Asitiente is the title of the chief magistrate of Seville. 
 
SPAIN FIFTY YEAES AGO. 11 
 
 of Seville, Don Manuel Farfan and Oalatrava, 
 Her history is interesting, my mother has often 
 told me it. At seventeen, the lovely and only 
 daughter of the Marquis of Val de Jara, she waa 
 about to be married to one whom she dearly 
 lovde* III one short year she lost her lover, who 
 ffas instantly killed by a fall from his horse, and 
 \;ame near dying herself with the small-pox, 
 which disfigured her terribly ; and finally, her 
 father, by a second marriage, had a son, whose 
 birth deprived her of titles and estates. But 
 nothing could deprive her of her excellent and 
 amiable disposition. She attached herself to 
 her step-mother with sincere affection, and loved 
 her brothers (two in number) as if they had 
 been her own mother's children. The eldest 
 was father of the charming Esperanza, of your 
 ^end Carlos, and of his brother Fernando ; the 
 jecond, an officer of the navy, died at Trafalgar, 
 leaving an only daughter, who was brought up 
 by her aimt the Asistenta and is now the wife 
 of the Count of Palma, our ambassador at the 
 court of St. James. Isabel Orrea married the 
 Asistenta late in life, and at his death fell heir 
 to the immense wealth left biui by his father the 
 Viceroy of Mexico." 
 
12 
 
 " And tLe marchioness? " 
 
 '' Of the house of Cordoba, my friend, whose 
 blood, as j^ou know, is bluer than the indigo of 
 the city of that name. There is no entrance into 
 her palace, I can tell you ! There plays are pro- 
 Idbited, balls anathematized, courtships banish- 
 ed, and gallantry forbidden fruit. Take my ad- 
 vice, then, and like the fox in the fable who found 
 the grapes too high for him, content yourself with 
 gazing at a distance on the object of your desire." 
 
 The officer cast a penetrating glance at his 
 friend, and asked. " Is this the advice of a 
 friend or a rival? Perhaps you are smitten 
 with the fair damsel I " 
 
 " I ? " exclaimed the oilier, bursting into a 
 hearty laugh. " You deceive yourself greatly. 
 I am not such a simpleton, believe me." 
 
 " And the man who looks like a clergyman ? " 
 said the artilleryman, returning to his question- 
 ing. 
 
 " Is Doctor Benigno, son of the steward of 
 the deceased Asistente, who educated him for 
 the church, but finding that he could not get be- 
 yond the first orders on account of his want of 
 capacity, took him as his secretary, as he wrote 
 
SPAIN FIFTY TEARS AGO. 13 
 
 a good hand, wMch place he continued to fill 
 with the widow. He is a simple-hearted man, 
 whose fidelity to his benefactress is his best 
 eulogium." 
 
 After the procession had passed, the ladies 
 of Oalatrava and Orrea betook themselves to 
 the residence of the former, who had prepared 
 a great dinner for the occasion. The house was 
 one of the grandest in Spain, the entrance to its 
 court-yard being through an arched vestibule 
 of massive stone, in the wings of which were 
 the stable, carriage-house, and grooms' rooms. 
 In the rear of the court-yard was a garden 
 of some fifteen acres, where lofty cypresses and 
 wide-spreading orange-trees attested its anti- 
 quity ; and without being at all romantic or 
 poetical, one could readily imagine, while look- 
 ing at them, that they had lost the reckoning 
 of the generations of lords which they had shel- 
 tered, and of the generations of men to whom 
 they had given shade. The dinner, which was 
 brought in on silver dishes, put to shame that 
 of Camacho's wedding. At dessert the mar- 
 chioness said : " Let us drink now to the exter- 
 mination of all the enemies of the altar and the 
 
u 
 
 throne, those two holy and eternal foundation- 
 stones of society ! " 
 
 " No," replied the Asistenta ; " on this 
 happy day, I will think alone of restoration, not 
 extermination. Let us drink, then, to the health 
 of all the brave defenders of our country, and to 
 the speedy return of your two gallant sons, sis- 
 ter." 
 
8PAIH FIFTY TEAES AGO. 15 
 
 OHAPTEE II. 
 
 Opposite to Seville, beyond Triana, there 
 extends a vast plain, which seems to descend 
 from the distant hills for the purpose of drink- 
 ing in the waters ol the Guadalquivir. Far to 
 the left, the highlands themselves approach the 
 river, depositing on its brink the little village 
 of San Juan, crowned with a convent, erected 
 upon the ruins of an immense Moorish castle, 
 Uke a cross upon a turban. On the very sum- 
 mits of the hills are the villages of Tomares, 
 Castnieja de la Cuesta, and CastiUeja de Guz- 
 man, and, in the plain, Camas and Santi-Ponce, 
 whose black flag is raised, like a cry of anguish, 
 when the floods descend upon them, as a signal 
 to Seville to open her granaries and send her 
 children to the rescue. Near the last-mentioned 
 village two young men, stretched at full length 
 upon the grass, gazed wistfully . upon the mag- 
 
iC 
 
 nificent panorama before them. The elder of 
 the two was clad in the simple uniform of a 
 guardsman, while the younger wore with easy 
 grace the gold-embroidered jacket and showy 
 trappings of a hussar. His cap lay beside him 
 on the ground, and the wind played with the 
 ringlets of his raven hair. 
 
 " How glad I am, Fernando," said the lat- 
 ter, "to see the Geralda once more. This at 
 least the French were not able to carry off with 
 them. Eobbers that they are ! how we thrashed 
 them at last ! Thank God ! we have peace 
 once more; and yet, accustomed as I am to 
 camp life, I fear I shall find it dull enough at 
 home, and be compelled to resort to my old 
 tricks for amusement. Do you remember the 
 night when aunt came to our house in her 
 antique carriage, drawn by the ancient mules, 
 and driven by old John, and I cut the reins 
 and traces? At length, you remember, aunt 
 giving the order, John started up the mules and 
 away they went, without once looking behind 
 them. I can see John now, as he appeared 
 with the reins in one hand and the uplifted 
 whip in the other, and his mouth and eyes wide 
 
SPAIN FIFTY YEAES AGO. 17 
 
 open, while aunt cried out : ' This is some of 
 Oarlos's deviltry, who diverts himself at his 
 aunt's expense. — ^Wait till to-morrow, ingrate, 
 and you will find yourself in the peniten- 
 tiary ! ' " 
 
 "But, Carlos," said the grave guardsman, 
 "remember you are no longer a child, and 
 should respect as well as love our good aunt, 
 who has been a second mother to us. Kecol- 
 lect, too, that you have but little patrimony, 
 and that your future is in aunt's hands." 
 
 "Brother," answered Carlos, "I love and 
 respect my aunt, because she is the best of aunts 
 and the best of women ; because, without a silly 
 hair in her head, she has the frankness and sim- 
 plicity of a child, with the heart of an angel. 
 As to what she may leave me in her will, God 
 forbid that I should ever think of it ! " 
 
 " But your future ? " 
 
 " Is not that of a millionnaire, I admit. Let 
 me see— ^I am the owner of a house worth eight 
 thousand dollars, which has a mortgage upon it 
 of nine thousand; a plantation of olive-trees, 
 which the French burned down ; and a vineyard 
 that gives vinegar. What then ? ' QoWj, you 
 
18 
 
 know^ is a chimera^ as the French sang while 
 they were robbing us. And I have my sabre 
 and I have you. What more could I desire ? " 
 
 Fernando smiled with profound satisfaction. 
 " Tou speak, Carlos," said he, " like my own 
 dear brother and my best friend." At this mo- 
 ment a servant presented himself, with their 
 horses, when, throwing themselves into the 
 saddle, the brothers rode at full speed toward 
 Seville. When they reached the house of their 
 mother, they found the marchioness had gone 
 to their aunt's, whither they betook themselves 
 without delay. 
 
 Who can describe the joy of the whole 
 household upon seeing the brothers — who had 
 left home almost children — ^return safe and 
 sound, with their breasts covered with crosses of 
 honor, after a long and bloody war I The mar- 
 chioness, pale as death, was speechless from 
 emotion, the Asistenta wept aloud ; Esperanza 
 embraced them by turns at least a score of 
 times ; and Doctor Benigno, crossing his hands, 
 raised his eyes to heaven and his heart to God. 
 Carlos, wild with happiness, hugged everybody. 
 " John," cried he to the old coachman, " I have 
 
SPAIN FIFTY TEAES AGO. 19 
 
 not a razor to cut the reins of your mules, but 
 look out for my sabre. It has a keen edge on 
 it, I can tell you. — Maria," continued he, ad- 
 dressing himself to the housekeeper, " I have not 
 lost my taste for sweet things. Take good care 
 of your keys, and place a watchman over the 
 pantry ! " 
 
 " Aunt," said Fernando, " you will rejoice, I 
 know, when I tell you Clara will shortly be here. 
 Her health is somewhat delicate, and her phy- 
 sicians have advised her to pass the winter in 
 Andalusia." 
 
 " God be thanked ! " cried the Asistenta ; 
 " my cup of happiness is indeed full." 
 
 While Fernando was talking, Carlos was 
 turning his head in every direction. " Aunt," 
 said he, at length, " your house is like a clock 
 that doesn't go. I see nothing new in it bat 
 the likeness of the long-nosed king." 
 
 " Long-nosed ! " exclaimed the Asistenta. 
 " How dare you speak thus of your sovereign ? " 
 
 " By Jupiter ! " replied Carlos, " cannot a 
 king have a long nose as well as a plebeian? 
 Must he necessarily — " 
 
 " He has not a long nose," intemipted the 
 
20 
 
 Asistenta ; " but if he had a trunk like an ele- 
 phant, it would be irreverent in his subjects to 
 notice it. I tell you that such a nickname ap- 
 plied to the king must have been invented by a 
 rebel, and could be repeated by none but W>- 
 er(ds" 
 
 " Why, my dear aunt, you use the word lib- 
 eral as if it meant a Frenchman or a thief. A 
 liberal, I'd have you to know, is a game Spaniard, 
 like myself." 
 
 " Ave Maria ! An Orrea, a liberal and in 
 league with the rabble ! " cried the Asistenta. 
 " Have you lost your senses, child ? " 
 
 " With what have you been associating since 
 you left your home ? " said the marchioness, bit- 
 terly. " Have you been to Cadiz, the cradle of 
 license, misnamed liberty?" 
 
 " He is mad," exclaimed the Asistenta. 
 
 " He is possessed, which is worse," said the 
 marchioness. 
 
 " Great Heaven ! what an explosion ! My 
 dearly-beloved conservatives, what do you sup- 
 pose a liberal to be — a fellow who eats childreu 
 raw — a Herod or a Eobespierre ? " 
 
 " If they are not all Eobespierres," said 
 
SPAIN FO-TY YEAES AGO. 21 
 
 the marchioness, " they navigate in their wa- 
 ters." 
 
 " A liberal is one," chimed in the Asistenta, 
 " who wishes to destroy the throne and level onr 
 altars to the dust." 
 
 "No, aunt, no. You are wrong, entirely 
 wi'ong. A liberal is one who wishes Spain to 
 awake, and not lie dreaming over past glory. 
 True liberals recognize no other government 
 than that of the king, no other than the Cath- 
 olic faith." 
 
 " This is the gold with which the pill is gild- 
 ed that, once swallowed, poisons the whole sys- 
 tem," said the marchioness, vehemently. "I 
 wonder, Fernando, that you listen so calmly to 
 words that prove your brother false to his reli- 
 gion and his ancestors." 
 
 "Mother," answered Fernando, "I do not 
 think brothers should quarrel about their poli- 
 tics; but Carlos certainly should remember it 
 is a son's duty to respect the opinions of his 
 mother." 
 
 "That is true," responded Carlos, "and I 
 should have remembered, too, that intolerance 
 is the vice of conservatives." 
 
22 
 
 "It is not their vice," said the marchioness, 
 ''but their virtue. Error tolerates — ^truth con- 
 demns." 
 
 " And who is the competent judge ? " asked 
 Carlos. 
 
 " God in heaven, experience on earth," an- 
 swered the marchioness. 
 
 "Sist«r," intervened the Asistenta, "what 
 Carlos has just said throws a new light on the 
 matter. Those who respect and love the altar 
 and the throne, however much they may differ 
 with us in other respects, are in the main of the 
 same mind as ourselves. — So, my dear boy, if 
 you will promise me never to call the king long- 
 nosed again, we are friends. Between a liberal 
 such as you, and a conservative like me, there is 
 not a hair's difference." 
 
 " Tou are quite right, good aunt of mine : the 
 only difference is, that while you are whispering, 
 ' Stand sUll,^ I cannot for the life of me keep from 
 ahouting out, ' Oo ahead I ' " 
 
SPAIN FIFTY YEAES AGO. 23 
 
 OHAPTEE in. 
 
 The ancestral house of tlie Counts of Palma 
 was prepared, and the aunts assembled there to 
 welcome the countess. 
 
 " What a quantity of baggage Clara has sent 
 before her!" said the Asistenta. "From the 
 number of trunks and boxes, I should imagine 
 she had left the shops of London and Paris en- 
 tirely empty." 
 
 " The women of England and France," re- 
 plied the marchioness, "think of nothing but 
 fashion and finery ; and I suppose Clara's phy- 
 sicians have sent her here, where she wiU be 
 removed from that whirlpool of excitement, 
 because she needs entire rest of body and 
 mind," 
 
 " I feel anxious about her," rejoined the Asis- 
 tenta, " for she was always as frail as a jasmine, 
 and I don't like the treatment of her great doctor 
 
24 £LIA ; OB, 
 
 a bit. The idea of any one living on chicken- 
 broth — ^it is absurd!" 
 
 " Fernando," added the marchioness, " says 
 her doctor has not only a great reputation with 
 his faculty, but is looked upon as a savant. He 
 found him an insufferable pedant — one of those 
 unbelieyers who are politely termed philoso- 
 phers — and the worst of it is, he is a Spaniard 
 born." 
 
 " I can assure him of one thing," exclaimed 
 the Asistenta, " that so sure as I hear him say 
 one word against the king or the Catholic faith, 
 I shall fall upon him as St. James fell upon the 
 Moors ! — ^And you, Ines ? " 
 
 " I shall avoid all trouble by not permitting 
 him to enter my doors." 
 
 At this instant a light travelling-carriage 
 drove into the court-yard, and a moment after- 
 ward the countess entered, accompanied by 
 Fernando and Carlos, who had gone out to meet 
 her. She was a young woman of twenty-five, 
 remarkably pretty and graceful, and elegantly 
 dressed in the French fashion. 
 
 Warmly embracing her aunts, she cried out, 
 in a voice trembling from emotion, " I see no 
 
SPAIN FIFTY YEARS AGO. 25 
 
 change in either of yon, my dear aunts ; but 
 Esperanza, who was a child when I left home, is 
 now a beautiful woman, Tes, my darling, you 
 are indeed beautiful," she added, folding Espe- 
 ranza in her arms, " although I must say you are 
 horribly fagotee.^^ 
 
 " She is what ? " asted the Asistenta. 
 
 " Badly dressed, dear aunt." 
 
 " Badly dressed ! " exclaimed the Asistenta, 
 holding up both hands ; " what in the world are 
 you thinking about ? A black bombazine dress, 
 lace mantilla, open-work silk stockings, and 
 white satin shoes. I really think you must havr 
 left your senses in England, Clara ! " 
 
 " Her skirt is entirely too narrow," answered 
 Clara ; " and the idea of your showing your gray 
 hairs as you do — what shocking taste! Just 
 wait till I open my travelling-bag, and I'll show 
 you the greatest love of a wig you ever laid your 
 eyes on ; I got it for you in Paris." 
 
 " Holy Virgin del Oarme I " cried the Asis- 
 tenta, "i" wear a wig indeed ! I should as- soon 
 think of taking lodgings in a mad-house." 
 
 " It will make you appear ten years young- 
 er, aunt." 
 
26 ELIA ; OE, 
 
 " But I do not want to appear younger than I 
 am, I tell you, and I won't be made a fool of in 
 my old age ; so we might as well drop the sub- 
 ject." 
 
 " A woman of talent has said," remarked the 
 countess, " that a wig was not invented to make 
 one look well, but to prevent one from looking 
 ill, and therefore — " 
 
 " But I, who have no talent, say to you," in- 
 terrupted the Asistenta,'"thatl am not willing 
 a the end of life to deck myself out like a 
 frivolous Frenchwoman, when I have always 
 prided myself on being an Andalusian, Besides, 
 I am on very good terms with my gray hairs, 
 and T wouldn't put that hair of a corpse on my 
 head for all the wealth that Pizarro took from 
 Atahualpa." 
 
 " You have not told us yet any thing about 
 your husband," said the marchioness ; " how is 
 he, and how does he like England ? " 
 
 " The count rather likes England, I think," 
 was Clara's reply. " He is in excellent health." 
 
 " Sister was not asking you about the count, 
 but about Juan Maria, your husband," observed 
 the Asistenta. 
 
SPALV larrr years ago. 27 
 
 " And with this understanding, I replied to 
 her," answered Olara. 
 
 " Do you mean to tell me that you call yoiu* 
 husband ' coimt ? ' " 
 
 " Isn't he a count, then, dear aunt ? " 
 
 " Just hear her ! " said the Asistenta. "And 
 you on good terms with him ? " 
 
 Clara burst out laughing, and embraced her 
 aunt, saying, " Aunt, it is the custom among 
 women of fashion to call their husbands by 
 their titles, if they have them; and if not, 
 ' Mister.' " 
 
 " Well, we live and learn ; and does this cus- 
 tom extend to parents, brothers, sisters, uncles, 
 aunts, and cousins, as well ? Must we, for exam- 
 ple, in order to be fashionable, address you as 
 ' madame the countess,' my dear ? " 
 
 " Now God forbid ! dear aunt," answered 
 Clara hastily, at the same time kissing the Asis- 
 tenta's hand. 
 
 " Ah, I understand it all now," rejoined the 
 Asistenta, " the fashionable women of France 
 see so little of their husbands that they treat 
 them with great ceremony when they chance to 
 fall in with them. A fine w ay of living, truly ! " 
 
28 ELIA ; OK, 
 
 " How ugly and antiquated all this furniture 
 is ! " said Clara, yawning. " This is certainly 
 the mansion of misanthropy. Why, a steam-en- 
 gine is necessary to move these arm-chairs ; and 
 as for those pictures, they are enough to give one 
 the blues." 
 
 " Horrible ! " cried the Asistenta. " Where 
 in the world could you find handsomer furniture 
 than this, or walls more magnificently adorned, 
 covered as they are with pictures by Yelasquez 
 and Murillo, of such value that they are chained 
 to the wall to prevent their being stolen ? " 
 
 " All very well for a church," answered the 
 countess, " but entirely out of place here. I 
 shall make a complete transformation ! " 
 
 " You are mistress of your own house, and 
 can do as you please with it. As for me, I should 
 regard it as almost a sacrilege to make the 
 slightest change in it," said the A.sistenta. 
 " Clara, antiquity sets a seal of nobility upon 
 families, houses, and furniture, which parvenus 
 envy in reality while they affect to despise it. 
 Some years hence, what you now place here 
 will be old without being antique, without bear- 
 ing the stamp of its epoch, and it may be that 
 
SPAIN FIFTT TEAKS AGO. 29 
 
 this weattercock that you call fashion will then 
 adore what it now ridicules and throws aside." 
 
 Seeing that what she had said gave displeas- 
 ure to her aunt, whom she tenderly loved, Clara 
 changed the subject by asking : " What has be- 
 come of Ella ? Is she as handsome as she used 
 to be?" 
 
 " Elia," answered the Asistenta, with visible 
 satisfaction, " is more beautiful than ever! She 
 has been for the past six years in a convent, be- 
 cause every one said I was spoiling her, and that 
 she would never learn any thing at home." 
 
 " But you surely don't intend to keep her 
 there forever ? " 
 
 "Most assuredly notj for, although she is 
 perfectly satisfied where she is, I desire to have 
 her with me until I die, when she can return to 
 the convent if she prefers it." 
 
 " Tou should have taken her out of there a 
 year ago, and she would have been spared a year 
 of dull monotony." 
 
 " Elia does not find the convent dull," said 
 the marchioness. " On the contrary, it will cost 
 her many tears to leave it." 
 
 " She ought to see something of the world," 
 
30 ELIA ; OE, 
 
 rejoined Clara. " To imprison youth and beau 
 ty is monstrous, aunt ! " 
 
 " How I long to see her ! " exclaimed Carlos. 
 " Don't you remember how 1 used to torment 
 her, and how you used to scold me for it, sis- 
 ter." 
 
 *■ Tes, indeed," said Esperanza, " and you de- 
 serve a real good thrashing for it, for you were 
 a perfect plague of a boy. I hope your camp-life 
 has effected a reformation, however." 
 
 " You will take her out of the convent, aunt, 
 I am sure you will," continued Carlos, " and I 
 promise you not to tease her a bit." 
 
 " Ye3," replied the Asistenta, " and then I 
 shall see gathered around me all that I love upon 
 earth. "We will bring her home once more, will 
 we not, Ines ? " 
 
 She addressed these last words to her sister- 
 in-law, because she had become accustomed to 
 rely upon her firm and lucid judgment, and 
 never remained fully satisfied with her own opin- 
 ions unless they met with the approval of the 
 latter. The marchioness, who was evidently not 
 pleased with the turn tlie conversation had taken, 
 contented herself with replying : " You know 
 
SPAIN FIFTY YEARS AGO. 31 
 
 that a maniac knows more in his own house than 
 a wise man in another's." 
 
 Just as the Asistenta was about replying with 
 her usual vivacity, the door opened, and a gentle- 
 man advanced in Ufe limped into the room as if 
 he were afflicted with the gout. He was tall 
 and thin, and wore gold spectacles on his long, 
 pointed nose. 
 
 " This is my intimate friend. Doctor Narciso 
 Delgado, to whose skill I am indebted for my 
 life," said Clara. " I beg that you will look 
 upon him as a member of the family." 
 
 Doctor Delgado saluted with aifected cour 
 tesy, and apologized for presenting himself in 
 a travelling-dress. 
 
 " What a scarecrow ! " whispered the Asis- 
 tenta to her sister-in-law. " He looks as if he 
 had been fed upon garter-snakes." 
 
 Doctor Benigno now came in and greeted 
 Clara with warmth but with great deference. 
 
 " Who is the domine ? " asked Delgado, cast- 
 ing a disdainful glance at the inelegant figure 
 of the secretary. 
 
 " He is the son of — " Clara commenced to 
 reply, when the Asistenta broke in with — 
 
32 
 
 " Doctor Benigno Cordero, at your service ; " 
 and then ehe continued, in an affected tone of 
 voice: "he is my intimate friend, and I beg 
 that you will look upon him as a member of the 
 family." 
 
 Bemgno blushed like a child. He was 
 one of those persons whom the world calls un- 
 fortunate because they have not great minds. 
 But why should he have desired a great mind ? 
 Genius is a luxury — at times usefal, at times 
 hurtful. It is a torch or a consuming fire, ac- 
 cording to the use which is made of it, and, as 
 Lavergne says, " it is the inveterate enemy of 
 the heart." And, in place of it, he possessed 
 excellent common-sense, which, if not a sun, is 
 at least a fixed star. He rarely asked advice ; 
 not because he despised the opinions of others, 
 but because he was seldom or never in doubt as 
 to the proper management of the estate which 
 the Asistenta had intrusted to his care. If he 
 sometimes lacked energy and determination, he 
 performed every Christian duty with zeal and 
 sincerity. He looked upon the evil passions of 
 men as iaflrmities, and pitied those afflicted 
 with them from the bottom of his soul ; and, al- 
 
SPAIN FIFTY TEAES AGO. 33 
 
 ilioiigli his correct deportment gave him a rigM 
 to be hard with transgressors, no word of cen- 
 sure was ever heard to fall from his lips. 
 
 He served his benefactress with the fidelity 
 of a dog ; and in saying this, it must be borne in 
 mind that we know of nothing more touching 
 or beautiful than this figure portrays. 
 2* 
 
34 ELIA ; OB. 
 
 CHAFTEE IV. 
 
 On the following day the Asistenta, as was 
 her custom, rose at seven o'clock and went to 
 church. She heard two masses, seated in a 
 low arm-chair, brought to her by one of the 
 convent-boys, examined and carefully dusted an 
 altar which she had taken under her especial 
 charge, said her prayers to the Yirgin, gave 
 alms to the poor, and returned home with her 
 neart light at the remembrance of good works 
 done. 
 
 Breakfast was now served up to her, consist- 
 ing of ham and eggs, hot cakes and chocolate, 
 after partaking of which she withdrew to the 
 library, where she found a budget of papers, 
 letters, and notes, which Benigno immediately 
 began to read to her. Among the notes was 
 rine from a lady announcing the death of a 
 
SPAIN FIFTY TEAES AGO. 35 
 
 highly-esteemed man, who had left his widow 
 in a despairing condition. 
 
 " I must go to the house of weeping imme- 
 diately," said the good woman, and she was about 
 rising from her seat, when Benigno stopped her, 
 saying he had a letter from her lawyer in Mad- 
 rid concerning a lawsuit in which she was en- 
 gaged. 
 
 " I have no time to listen to it," replied the 
 Asistenta; " I must go to the poor widow." 
 
 " Senora," exclaimed Benigno, with a look 
 of alarm, as he cast his eyes over the letter, " we 
 ' have lost the lawsuit ! " 
 
 " Did you not hear me say I had no time to 
 listen to you ? " asked the Asistenta, springing to 
 her feet, and beginning to put on her mantilla. 
 
 "But," continued the afflicted secretary, 
 "your solicitor says you should appeal to a 
 higher court." 
 
 " I shall do no such thing," replied the se- 
 nora calmly. 
 
 " And why not, your excellency ? " 
 
 " In the first place, because I detest law- 
 suits, and am glad this one is oyer, although it 
 has gone against me; and, secondly, I have 
 
36 ELIA ; OE, 
 
 learned that tlie plaintiff is in needy circum- 
 stances. So we will leave things as God has 
 iixed them." 
 
 " Condemned to pay the costs, too ! " groaned 
 Benigno. " How can this be done, how can this 
 be done ? " 
 
 "By selling oil and corn, and then putting 
 your hands in ") our pockets and taking out the 
 money." 
 
 " Sell to raise money ! " cried Benigno, scan 
 dalized at the suggestion (for he was an excel- 
 lent administiXNtor and economist), " you mistake 
 my meaning, renora, we have money enough and 
 to spare, and prices are low ; but the costs are 
 out of all reason. Look at this charge, for in- 
 stance." 
 
 " I repeat, I have not time — I must go to the 
 widow." 
 
 " Here is a letter asking alms." 
 
 The Asistenta turned round and seated her- 
 self; but Benigno, whose whole soul was in the 
 bill of costs, did not observe her until she asked 
 for the ' otter. 
 
 " Vsv Ion me, your excellency," said he, " I 
 tho' /] fou had not time to listen to it." 
 
SPAIN FIFTY TEAKS AGO. 37 
 
 " And what excuse could I offer to His Di 
 vine Majesty for denying myself to the poor ? ' 
 said the good woman. 
 
 Doctor Benigno opened the letter and read : 
 
 " Senoea : 
 
 " An unhappy woman, lying on a mat, has 
 recourse to your worship, whose charity is so 
 well known. I am as helpless and naked as I 
 was when I came into the world. I beseech you, 
 then, to give me the means of covering my flesh, 
 in order that, in the hour of my approaching 
 death, my guardian angel may not turn his back 
 upon my nakedness. By this act of charity you 
 will prepare a swaddling-band for the infant Je- 
 sus next Christmas, who will not fail to give you 
 your reward in this world and the next." 
 
 The Asistenta called Maria. " You must 
 go at once to see this afflicted woman," said she, 
 " and Doctor Benigno will send our family phy- 
 sician to her, and desire the apothecary to sup- 
 ply her with medicine at my expense. — ISow 
 that I think of it, was the apothecary's bill 
 large last month ? " 
 
38 
 
 " 'No, senora," replied the secretary, " only » 
 hundred dollars." 
 
 " I ana thankful the health of the city contin- 
 ues good, and now I must be off — my mantilla, 
 Maria." 
 
 Before proceeding further in our story, we 
 have two words to say about this good servant. 
 
 Maria was a woman of fifty-six years, very neat 
 in her person, and a most excellent and careful 
 housekeeper, but an inveterate fault-finder and 
 grumbler. She entered the Asistenta's service 
 as a girl ; and after living with her some years, 
 married a schoolmaster, by whom she had two 
 sons, who, with their father and an infant only 
 six weeks old, all died in the year of the great 
 epidemic ; and as it so happened that the Asis- 
 tenta was just then looking for a wet-nurse for 
 Elia, Maria was employed in this capacity, and 
 afterward retained as housekeeper. She was, to 
 use a vulgar expression, the hands and feet of 
 her mistress, who gave her a carte Ua/nohe to do as 
 she pleased, and resigned to her and the steward 
 Pedro the entire charge of her household. For 
 Maria there were neither locks nor secrets. She 
 placed her spoon in every thing, and for the 
 
SPAIN FIFTT TEA.es AGO. 39 
 
 most part with judgment and discretion. Her 
 mistress had declared to her, on the previous 
 evening, her intention of removing Elia from 
 the convent, and the good woman was in ecsta- 
 sies at the announcement. 
 
 As the Asistenta was going down the great 
 staircase leading to the court-yard, she met the 
 marchioness coming up. 
 
 "What good thought brought you hither 
 at this hour, sister?" asked the former, affection- 
 ately. 
 
 "I wish to speak to you in private, Isa- 
 bel." 
 
 As the Asistenta led the way to a sofa in 
 the library, Don Benigno, after respectfully sa- 
 luting the marchioness, retired, followed by 
 Maria, who took herself off with a very bad 
 grace. " A visit at this hour," she grumbled to 
 herself, " cannot be for any good purpose; I lay 
 my life the marchioness has come here to give 
 advice where it is not needed. She never did 
 like Elia, and would gladly place another bar 
 across the door of the convent which holds the 
 poor child." 
 
 " Yesterday, Isabel," began the marchioness, 
 
40 
 
 " you desired me to give you my opinion in re- 
 lation to Elia." 
 
 " Tes," responded the Asistenta, with some 
 warmth, " and I have not forgotten your ungra- 
 cious reply, Ines ! " 
 
 " It was not a proper time or place to speak 
 deliberately and freely on a grave matter," re- 
 joined the marchioness ; " but before proceeding 
 further, let me ask you how you intend to place 
 Elia?" 
 
 " By my side, Ines." 
 
 " But upon what footing ? " 
 
 " As my daughter." 
 
 " Are you sure the world will concede to 
 her this position ? " 
 
 " "Wlio can object, if I grant it to her ? " 
 
 " Those who know it is not in your power, 
 not even in the power of God Himself, to annul 
 the past — those who know that nobility does 
 not admit grafts on its illustrious trunk, which 
 only deigns to nomish its legitimate branches." 
 
 " Gracious Heaven, Ines ! " exclaimed the 
 Asistenta, " is it necessary, in order to love and 
 appreciate this angelic child, that we should in- 
 quire after her patents of nobility ? "Would you 
 
SPAIN FIFTT TEAES AGO. 4:1 
 
 ask the rose, before deigning to partake of its 
 fragrance, whether it was brought up in a por- 
 celain vase or a potter's vessel ? " 
 
 " I do not see any similarity between per- 
 sons iu society and flowers in a flower-pot," re- 
 plied the marchioness, coldly. " It is necessary 
 to treat grave matters gravely. It will not do to 
 leave the futvu-e, like a weathercock, to every 
 jhance wind that blows. True affection is not 
 blind; it is far -seeing. "What happiness can 
 70U offer to this ohild, in society, which will be 
 at all conipavablo to that which she now enjoys 
 !!n the convent ? " 
 
 "None." 
 
 "What indncott you to bring her here, 
 then ? " 
 
 " The love I bAjtw her." 
 
 "It is not true h re, Isabel." 
 
 "Those o;nly imderstand love who feel it, 
 Ines ! » 
 
 " But what advantage will accrue to either 
 of you from this chaaige ? " 
 
 " To her, a knowledge of the world as well 
 as of convent-life, so that when slie chooses her 
 lot she will know what she renounces ; to me, 
 
42 ELIA ; OE, 
 
 the joy of having my darling with me to cheer 
 my last hoiirs, as the nightingale enlivens the 
 declining day. When I am dead, she can re- 
 ''um to the convent if she elects to do so." 
 
 ^ It may then be too late, sister." 
 I trust the futm-e to God's hands, Ines." 
 
 "Promise me at least, sister, to take more 
 time to ponder this matter." 
 
 "Ines," cried the Asistenta, impetuously, 
 " he who walks in the street of To-morrow will 
 bring up in the square of N&oer ! " 
 
 "Very well, then, Isabel," said the mar- 
 chioness rising and walking slowly toward the 
 door • " since you reject my advice, I can only 
 beg you to remember that I have given it to 
 you, and pray to God that you may never have 
 cause to repent not having taken it. " 
 
 The marchioness had scarcely left the room 
 when Maria entered it, with her face converted 
 into a note of interrogation. 
 
 "Put your shawl on," said her mistress, 
 " and, after calling to see the sick woman, go to 
 the convent and say to the lady-abbess, with 
 my warmest love, that three days hence I shall 
 send for my darling to live with me, during the 
 
SPA£N FIFTT TEAES AGO. 43 
 
 remainder of my days. And now I must away 
 to tlie widow's, even if the bishop himself should 
 be announced." Saying this, she departed, 
 leaving Maria with a glad heart. 
 
 " The marchioness might as well have stayed 
 at home, with her woAdXj pruderies and proud 
 categories'^ soliloquized she. " They soon dash 
 themselves to pieces against the firm goodness 
 of heart of the senora." 
 
i4 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Theee days had passed, and the Asistenta 
 was seated in her bedroom, listening to Don 
 Benigno reading the " Christian Year." " Lay 
 the ' Cliristian Year' aside," said thesenora, who 
 seemed to have the fidgets, " and read some- 
 thing from ' Don Quixote.' " 
 
 Don Benigno obeyed, casting a wistful 
 glance at Father Crasser's work as he put it 
 down, for his quiet and devout nature sympa- 
 thized rather with the friar than with the witty 
 Cervantes, especially as he felt greatly shocked 
 and grieved at finding a knight of such excel- 
 lent intentions, in almost all his wanderings so 
 roughly handled. But he had scarcely read 
 five lines when the Asistenta interrupted him 
 anew with " No more, no more, Don Benig- 
 no. Dorothea is stupid, and your reading so 
 monotonous to-day that I seem to be listening 
 to a monk's chanting. What time is it ? " 
 
SPAIN FIFTY TEARS AGO. 45 
 
 " A quarter of two," replied the reader, lag- 
 ging out a silver watch large enough for a clock, 
 and as round as a turnip. 
 
 " How they do make me wait ! " exclaimed 
 the Asistenta ; " and as for that Maria, when she 
 once commences chattering, she never knows 
 how to stop." 
 
 " As the sisters love the child so dearly, their 
 leave-taking will naturally be long and tender," 
 said Don Benigno. 
 
 " And my nieces and nephews will get here 
 before her," continued the Asistenta. "Ines 
 was the only one who did not speak of coming 
 to meet her ; but she cannot and will not dis- 
 semble the anger she feels at my bringing the 
 child home ; and this takes away somewhat from 
 my own pleasure. It is not kind in Ines." 
 
 " Senora," answered the secretary, " I have 
 not observed this, and it seems to me impossible 
 that the marchioness can be displeased with any 
 thing you do." 
 
 " I do not wonder at your not observing it," 
 cried the Asistenta, impatiently; "fori really 
 believe a donkey might fly through the air with- 
 out its attracting your notice; and as for ex- 
 
46 
 
 cuses, you are capable of making one for the 
 treacliery of Judas. — Gracious ! there goes the 
 cathedral clock striking two ! " 
 
 " Goodness me, seQora ! " said Maria, who 
 entering at this instant, overheard her, "the 
 convent is not within a stone's throw, I can tell 
 you. It is a good journey there and back." 
 
 " Child of my heart," exclaimed the Asis- 
 tenta, as Elia ran and threw herself into her 
 arms, " how glad I am to see you ! Hut you are 
 weeping, dearest; don't you wish to remain 
 with me ? " 
 
 " Indeed I do, my dear mother. I never will 
 leave you again; but I can f^ften go to see the 
 sisters, can I not ? " 
 
 " Whenever you wish, my darling ; so dry 
 your tears, for when I see others crying, I cry 
 too, and then my head aches." As the Asis- 
 tenta spoke, she pressed the child to her bosom, 
 and covered her head and face with kisses. 
 
 Elia was of medium size and perfectly form- 
 ed. Her large black eyes, had they not worn so 
 sweet an expression, would have seemed out of 
 all proportion to her charming face, wherein the 
 rose and the olive strove for mastery ; but her 
 
SPAIN FIFTY YEAES AGO. 47 
 
 greatest attraction consisted in the mixture of 
 sprightliness and simplicity whicli was observa- 
 ble in all she said and did. She wore a jacket 
 of black serge, a skirt of the same, plaited at the 
 waist, and morocco shoes Avith large silver buck- 
 les, and had a white muslin handkerchief around 
 her neck tied in a bow under her chin. Her 
 hair was parted in the middle, and hung in 
 tresses down her back, reaching nearly to the 
 ground. 
 
 While the Asistenta was caressing her, the 
 door opened, and in came the countess, Fernan- 
 do, Carlos, and Doctor Narciso ; and as Elia 
 looked toward them, all were struck with her 
 surpassing beauty. Clara embraced her repeat- 
 edly, and, looking at her from head to foot, ex- 
 claimed : " You must be as beautiful as Yenus, 
 vou little witch you, to look as you do in liat 
 outlandish garb! Do you remember me, 
 £Ua?" 
 
 "<• Certainly, Clara; I remember you perfect- 
 ly well, and that you are now the Countess of 
 Pahna. I have not forgotten, either, your kind- 
 ness to the poor orphan, nor your giving me that 
 beautiful bracelet when you went away — and 
 
48 elia; oe, 
 
 the white rats — alas ! poor little things, they died 
 long ago." 
 
 "And do you remember me, Elia?" said 
 Carlos. 
 
 "Carlos!" exclaimed Elia, and a radiant 
 smile mingled with the tears which were yet 
 running down her cheeks. " Did you suppose 
 that your lace and whiskers had so disguised you 
 that I would not know you ? They are more 
 becoming than your student's dress which you 
 used to be so fond of tearing." 
 
 "Tou have not entirely forgotten me, I 
 nope," said Fernando, in a somewhat formal 
 manner. 
 
 The color mounted into the child's cheeks as 
 she replied. " No, senor ; in the convent no one 
 is forgotten, nothing changes." 
 
 " And do you suppose," cried Carlos, warm- 
 ly, "that ia the world one forgets the ties of 
 love and friendship ? You would not think so 
 if you only knew how often I thought of you 
 when the balls were flying about me, and I said 
 to myself, ' This is not so pleasant as when Elia 
 and I threw acorns at each other ; ' and then — " 
 
 " Come, come, Mister Hussar," interrupted 
 
SPAIN FOTT YEAES AGO. 49 
 
 Clara, " you are expending rather too much gal- 
 lantry on a little nun. "Wait, at least, until she 
 is dressed like a rational being, before uttering 
 any more of your higb-flown nonsense. — Aunt," 
 sbe continued, turning toward the Asistenta, " I 
 will take Elia with me, and bring her back tc 
 your reception to-night, dressed as she ought to 
 be, for she is a perfect caricature now." 
 
 " This shall be attended to, to-morrow." 
 
 " No, no, this very day, aunt ; she is unpre 
 sentable as she is. Please don't deprive me ol 
 this pleasure; for Heaven knows there are few 
 enough in this antediluvian Seville ! " 
 
 " Let me stay with my mother to-day," said 
 Elia ; " for I have so much to tell her and so 
 many presents to give her from the nuns." As 
 she said these last words. Doctor Delgado smiled 
 sarcastically, and quoted the iU-natured saying r 
 " Give a bushel of wheat to a nun, and she wiU 
 make you a biscuit." 
 
 " So say the sons of the devU," cried the Asis- 
 tenta, " when they see the rich giving of their 
 abundance to the poor nuns ! " 
 
 " Poor nuns ! " echoed the doctor. " Say ra- 
 ther egotistical beings who separate themselves 
 
50 elia; oe, 
 
 from the world, either through caprice or lazi- 
 ness, and hold their heads very high be- 
 cause, as they presume, they are reserving for 
 God hearts incapable of feeling love or in- 
 spiring it." 
 
 Elia, astounded at these words, turned her 
 face instinctively from this bitter man and hid 
 it in the lap of her mother. 
 
 " Senor, senor," exclaimed the latter, " you 
 talk of convents as I suppose a blind man would 
 talk of colors. Let me teU you, then, what I 
 have seen there — ^matrons of eighty years with 
 the simplicity of cluldren, seraphs of twenty un- 
 mindful of their youth and beauty, and a seren- 
 ity of soul with both unknown to the world, 
 and—" 
 
 "Aunt," said Olara, interrupting her, "I am 
 off with Elia. "We are of the same height, and 
 after my maid has put one of my dresses on her 
 and arranged her hair, you won't know her. 
 Come along, Elia." So saying, she seized Elia 
 by the hand and ran off with her, and in a few 
 minutes her carriage was heard driving rapidly 
 away. 
 
 " There is no denying that witch any thing," 
 
SPAIN FIFTT TEAE8 AGO. 51 
 
 said the Asistenta ; " I don't wonder that Juan 
 Maria would not take no for an answer, as she 
 boasts so often." 
 
 At the evening reception all amused them- 
 selves as their inchnations prompted. The mar- 
 chioness and the Asistenta, with a few others, 
 played cards ; while a numher of ladies seated 
 themselves around a large lyrasero and chatted 
 pleasantly together, as they sipped their choco- 
 late, for which Maria was so famous. 
 
 " And so," said the Baroness de Bruno, " this 
 child is back again, is she ? What in the world 
 can have induced the Asistenta to remove her 
 from the convent?" 
 
 " It is not hard to guess, I should say," re- 
 plied Dona Marianita, an old maid of the Orrea 
 family, whom every one loved for her amiability. 
 " The pleasure of having her by her side to cheer 
 her old age. In every thing Isabel acts like a 
 mother toward a darling child." 
 
 " So it is acting like a mother," retorted the 
 baroness, " to bring up a foundling as if she were 
 a lady, and, after filling her head with nonsense, 
 marry her to a lackey 1 " 
 
 "I do not see why she should marry a 
 
62 ELIA ; OB, 
 
 lackey," replied Dona Marianita, a little warmly. 
 " She is well-bred, remarkably pretty,and will 
 be rick ; for, you may rely upon it, Isabel will 
 leave her a. handsome fortune," 
 
 " And do you suppose," returned the baron- 
 ess, " that money will induce, I will not say a 
 gentleman, but any man of respectability, to 
 marry her?" 
 
 " "Who knows but her parents are noble ? " 
 chimed in the wife of General Rios. "Have 
 you never been able to learn any thing about her, 
 Marianita?" 
 
 " ISTot one word ; all upon this subject have 
 maintained a profound silence. During the 
 great epidemic, Isabel went into the country, 
 and on her return brought Elia with her. This 
 is all I know. Maria, who nursed the child and 
 adores her, is a closed chest ; Pedro, the steward, 
 a padlock; Juan, the coachman, deaf; Don 
 Benigno, of course, dumb ; and Isabel, who is 
 open-mouthed about every thing else, said to me 
 one day, when I questioned her about the child, 
 that she was the daughter of the Grand Turk, 
 and, seeing my astonishment, added, 'Marianita, 
 ask me no questions, and I'll tell you no lies 1 ' " 
 
SPAIN FIFTY TEARS AGO. 53 
 
 " If it be certain, as every one says," re- 
 marked the baroness, " that Isabel has kept lf>ut 
 one secret in her life, it is equally certain that 
 she has kept that one well I " 
 
 " It may be," said the general's wife, " that 
 as Elia's birth took place during that fearful epi- 
 demic, both her parents died at the same time, 
 and confided her to the Asistenta's care." 
 
 " It may well be so," replied Dona Marianita, 
 " because she has told the child that she is the 
 daughter of a very dear friend of hers, who died 
 in giving her birth." 
 
 " Why this mystery, then ? " asked the bar- 
 oness, sourly. 
 
 " It is incomprehensible to me," replied Ma- 
 rianita, " but you may depend upon it, Isabella 
 has good reasons for it." 
 
 " Don't deceive yourself," said the baroness ; 
 " there is no good reason for this secrecy. Some- 
 thing is wrong, and time will show it," 
 
 At this instant the countess entered, leading 
 Elia by the hand. The young girl was beauti- 
 fully attired in a white crape dress, looped up 
 with roses, and wore a wreath of white japoni- 
 eas upon her head. It was impossible to imagine 
 
54 
 
 an apparition more ideallj beautifal. With- 
 out heeding any one, Blie ran to the Asistenta, 
 and with a smile of infantile happiness, exclaim- 
 ed, "Look, mother, how lovely I ami" 
 
 "As an angel of heaven," cried the Asis- 
 tenta, folding her to her bosom. 
 
 All ran to greet her. 
 
 " She has been crowned with flowers," said 
 Doctor Delgado, " to celebrate her emancipation 
 from the convent." 
 
 Elia stood for a moment, as if bewildered ; 
 and then seizing the wreath which had given 
 her so much pleasure, she threw it from her, ex- 
 claiming, " If there be any who think thus, I 
 will not wear it." 
 
SPAIN FIFTY YEAES AGO. 65 
 
 OHAPTEE VI. 
 
 "When tlie Countess of Palma liad arranged 
 and transformed her house to suit the modern 
 taste, assisted by the wise counsel of the elegant 
 IN arciso, she gave a large dinner-party, for the 
 double purpose of surprising her family and 
 friends, and of entertaining certain foreigners 
 who had brought letters of introduction from 
 her husband. 
 
 The marchioness could not be present, owing 
 to a slight indisposition; and so her daughter 
 remained at home with her, while Elia excused 
 herself, and obtained permission to pass the day 
 at the convent. / 
 
 About ten o'clock at night, the two former 
 were seated over a magnificent hrasero of ma- 
 hogany, inlaid with brass, when they heard a 
 carriage drive rapidly up to the door. " Who 
 can that be ? " said the marchioness — ^" can it be 
 your aunt ? " 
 
56 elia; oe, 
 
 " "When did her Methuselahs ever travel at 
 that rate ? " replied Esperanza, smiUng. 
 
 She had scarcely got the words out of her 
 mouth, however, when the door was thrown vio- 
 lently open, and in walked the Asistenta, fol- 
 lowed by Don Benigno. " Sister I aunt ! " cried 
 mother and daughter in a breath. But the Asis- 
 tenta, without noticing them, threw herself on a 
 sofa, and began to fan herself so violently that 
 she broke her fan. " How out of breath you are, 
 Isabel ! " said the marchioness ; " what has hap- 
 pened to you ? " 
 
 " Before I say a word, Ines, let me have a 
 cup of chocolate and a bit of bread. Such a din- 
 ner ! and I, with the weight of eighty years on 
 my shoulders, to be compelled to conform to 
 French manners and customs ! " 
 
 When the servants had brought in chocolate 
 and biscuits, the Asistenta, somewhat composed, 
 discoursed as follows : 
 
 "I could not have slept, sister, had I not first 
 come here to tell you how topsy-turvy I found 
 every thing in Clara's house. To realize it fidly, 
 however, you must see it for yourself. It appears 
 really as if the world had a brain-fever. Change, 
 
SPAIN FIFTT TEAE8 AGO. 57 
 
 change, is the order of the day. Oh, how I do 
 hate all mnovators — ^beginning with the toadies 
 and hangers-on at the court, and ending with 
 this simpleton Delgado I But to the point. I 
 went to Clara's at two o'clock. Imagine my as- 
 tonishment, when, upon entering the court-yard, 
 I missed the old fountain with its immense basin 
 filled with gold-fish, and the statue of the knight 
 in armor which we used to admire so much. 
 ' Oh, Clara,' said I, ' how could yon remove that 
 antique statue, which always appeared an inte- 
 gral part of the house ? ' — ' Dear aunt,' was her 
 reply, ' people of taste say it was badly executed, 
 and out of all proportion. It can only be put 
 at the end of an avenue of trees, to heighten the 
 perspective,' 
 
 " ' And the box which you have taken away, 
 what fault had you to find with it ? Do you not 
 know,' said I, ' that, among plants, it is the em- 
 blem of aristocracy, and is neither found wild, 
 nor ia the gardens of the lower classes ; so that, on 
 beholding it, we almost feel inclined to question 
 it about our ancestors, and confide to it messages 
 of love for our great-grandchildren ? ' — * But re- 
 member, aunt, it was in those hideous clay 
 8* 
 
58 
 
 vases,' said Clara, ' and had been trimmed and 
 retrimmed by tbe gardener's shears until it had 
 lost all beauty in my eyes.' What could I reply 
 to such nonsense, Ines? — ^But let us proceed. 
 You will scarcely credit me, when I tell you 
 that she has removed from the hall that magnifi- 
 cent collection of family portraits, and replaced 
 them with pictures of famous men, as she calls 
 them, in mahogany frames. I examined them 
 carefully, Ines, and there is not one Spaniard 
 among them. At the farther end of the hall, in 
 the place of her uncle the cardinal, there is an 
 old man with a face Hke a wolf's. Seeing me 
 look at it very earnestly, the learned Narciso 
 remarked that it was ' the likeness of the in- 
 comparable Voltaire.' ' Yoltaire ! ' I ex- 
 claimed, ' that monster of wickedness, whose 
 works are prohibited! "Well, senor, it may 
 truly be said of him that his face is as vile 
 as his acts!' I entered the drawing-room, 
 and lo and behold! the superb paintings of 
 MuriUo, Yelasquez, and Carho have given place 
 to engravings that are positively indecent. 
 Among them is a representation of a shepherd 
 embracing a goddess, as they call her, which is 
 
SPAIN FIFTY YEAES AGO. 59 
 
 not fit to be put in a stable. ' Is it possible, 
 Clara,' said I, ' tbat you can hang in plain view 
 such a disgusting picture ? ' 
 
 "'The ideal elevates itself above the sen- 
 sual,' said Don Narciso, stupidly and senten- 
 tiously. 
 
 "'Senor,' I replied, 'prate as you please 
 about your ideal, but here we call wine wine, 
 and water water, and a naked woman is consid- 
 ered indecent. — Clara, Clara, if the Inquisition 
 existed now, you would be forced to burn these 
 prints.' 
 
 " ' Inquisition ! ' exclaimed Narciso, giving a 
 spring backward, and covering his face with his 
 hands ; ' senora, this word burns the mouth that 
 utters it, and the ears that hear its mournful 
 sound ! ' 
 
 " ' Ah, senor,' I replied, ' if your conscience 
 were as clear as mine, neither the word nor the 
 institution itself would alarm you ! ' 
 
 " Clara insisted upon taking me to see the 
 irnprovements she had made in the garden, and I 
 did my best to try and admire them, for I saw 
 she was mortified at what I had said ; but, sis- 
 ter, it was impossible. She has removed the 
 
60 ELIA ; OE, 
 
 rock from the fountain ; and as for the nej to. 
 mounted on a crocodile, with a plate of pine- 
 apples in his hand, I helieve he has gone to 
 Guinea to visit his kinsmen — the snakes; the 
 lizards and the turtles have all gone, with the 
 sea-shells which had been collected for genera- 
 tions. The paved walks have given place to 
 clay paths, so that in rainy weather there will be 
 no walking in it. It makes one indignant to see 
 such devastation. Does it not, Don Beniguo ? " 
 
 Don Benigno made no reply. " Oaspita ! '' 
 exclaimed the Asistenta, impatiently ; " a 
 twenty-four pounder would not arouse this holy 
 man from his torpor ! " 
 
 " Senora," said the secretary, " it would not 
 become me to censure the acts of your niece." 
 
 "He is right, as he usually is," said the mar- 
 chioness. 
 
 "He is not right," replied the Asistenta, 
 quickly. "Every man has a tongue in his 
 mouth to censure what deserves censure, and 
 Clara is not an exempt because she happens to 
 belong to our family. But let me go on with 
 my curious narration. It was now about three 
 o'clock. — ' When shall we dine, Clara ? ' 'At 
 
SPAIN FIETT TBAE8 AGO. 6l 
 
 five,' was her reply. ' San Antonio ! ' I ex- 
 claimed — ' and my siesta ? ' 
 
 " Clara directed her maid to bring me a cup 
 of broth, and went off to dress, while I threw 
 myself on a bed, to see if I could not at least 
 catch a cdnoniga.* At five Olara came for me, 
 and we went to the drawing-room, where I 
 found, among other foreigners, a dapper little 
 Frenchman, to whom Narciso was most obse- 
 .quious. ' I'U bet ten to one, Olara,' said I, ' that 
 they are abusing Spain.' At this moment the 
 captain-general offered me his hand, to con- 
 duct me to the dining-room, and I asked him 
 the Frenchman's name. 'Monsieur Maillard, 
 the great violinist,' he replied, 'who is about 
 to give a grand concert in the theatre of San 
 Fernando.' ' Well done, well done ! ' said I. 
 ' From a nobleman's house to the stage, eh ? I, 
 for one, will not go to hear him; for I know 
 he'll play the MarseiUaise or something akin to 
 it.' — ^But now for the dinner, sister. Observing 
 that our favorite dish was not on the table, I 
 said to Olara, 'Tour cook has forgotten the 
 
 •A nap before dinner is called a caiumiga or canon, an 
 after-dinner nap a siesta. 
 
62 ELIA ; OE, 
 
 olla? — 'No, aunt,' slie replied, laugMng; 'I 
 never eat it,' 
 
 " And then I overlieard Narciso say to the 
 violinist : ' A country of routine, my dear sir. 
 Since the day when the first Spaniard ate olla, 
 no one has been able to do without it.' There 
 were many dishes, Ines, but all cooked with 
 lard ; so I waited for the second course, when 
 what should I see, in the place of turkey and 
 ham, but a haunch of venison ? ' Clara,' said I, 
 ' do you not know that none but the poorest 
 people eat venison ? ' 
 
 " ' Senora,' she replied, in a stately manner, 
 'venison is the favorite dish in London and 
 Paris.' — ' For the very good reason,' I rejoined, 
 ' that in London and Paris it has a much more 
 delicate flavor than in this country. Here it is 
 rancid and flabby.' 
 
 " The pheasants were spoiled, and absolutely 
 smelt badly ; but Narciso declared that in this 
 consisted their principal merit. ' When wiU the 
 twkey make its appearance ? ' I asked. — ' I never 
 have turkey on my table,' was the reply, 'it 
 looks so countryfied.' The dessert was abomi- 
 nable — none of our rich preserves or confection- 
 
SPAIN FIFTY TEARS AGO. 63 
 
 ery, but all sorts of stale lon-hons and candied 
 fruits from Paris. I would not have tasted them 
 for Paris itself. ' I never eat Spanish preserves,' 
 said Narcisco, 'for they have too much sugar 
 in them.' — 'And would you have them pre- 
 served in salt ? ' said I. In fine, not to tire you 
 to death, Ines, when the dinner was over, and I 
 found the servants handing around tea instead 
 of chocolate, I beat a hasty retreat and came 
 here ; and now I must be off, for John will be 
 catching his death of cold on the coach-box, and 
 I shall have eyes like a craw-fish's to-morrow. 
 Eemember, when you give a fashionable dinner 
 party, you must have spoiled pheasant on your 
 table, and preserves without sugar; and don't 
 offend your guests by the slightest allusion to so 
 vulgar a thing as a turkey — a Govmbryfied l/wrhey 
 — ha, ha, ha ! Good-night." 
 
64 ELIA ; OB, 
 
 CHAPTEK TIL 
 
 "You are making more flowers than the 
 Spring, Elia," said Maria, one day, on finding 
 her darling seated at a table covered with roses, 
 jessamine, and violets, " The garden itself 
 might envy yon." 
 
 " I am not only making flowers," answered 
 Elia, " but I am making verses also." 
 
 " Verses ! " exclaimed the astonished house- 
 keeper ; " who taught you to make vei-ses ? " 
 
 " No one. I made them after Trisagio's, by 
 counting the lines and imitating the rhymes, and 
 have succeeded admirably, I can tell you — ^I 
 was so anxious to succeed ! " 
 
 "And what are they for?" 
 
 " For to-morrow, my mother's birthday. I 
 have made this little basket of silver wire, to 
 present to her too." 
 
 "That is right, my child," said Maria, "but 
 
SPAIN FIFTY TEAHS AGO. 65 
 
 I have a great deal to do ; so I must take mj 
 self off." 
 
 On tlie following day all the happy inmates 
 of the house rose at an early hour, and with 
 smiling countenances betook themselves in a 
 body to the Asistenta's chamber, Don Benigno 
 presenting her with a cake, about the size of a 
 grindstone, adorned with flowers, among which 
 was an immense rose, with a paper butterfly on 
 it; and the servants chickens, ducks, turkeys, 
 rabbits, fruits, and preserves. 
 
 Shortly after breakfast the relatives throng- 
 ed the house, bringing with them all sorts of 
 costly presents ; and Don Narciso, who accom- 
 panied the countess, begged leave to read an 
 ode which he had composed for the occasion. 
 After fatiguing the ears of his hearers (the count- 
 ess excepted) for an hour or more, he con- 
 cluded ; it being the infallible and fortunate law 
 of compensations, that every thing on earth must 
 
 come to an end sooner or later. 
 
 " But where is Elia? " asked Carlos. 
 
 " I don't know," replied the Asistenta. " Go 
 and look for her, Carlos." 
 
 Carlos waited for no second bidding, bnl 
 
66 
 
 hurried out of the room, and soon returned with 
 Elia, carrying her little basket of flowers in her 
 hand. Maria followed her with a grand air. 
 Eut at sight of so many persons, and the beau- 
 tiful presents spread on the table, Elia seemed 
 bewildered, and stood still. 
 
 "My child," said the Asistenta, "why do 
 you not run to me ? Is that present for me ? " 
 
 But Elia remained immovable. 
 
 "Come, come," cried Maria, "why do you 
 not present your offei-ing? Is it because you 
 observe others more costly? One gives what 
 one can afl'ord to give, my darling." 
 
 " Maria is right," said the Asistenta, " and I 
 shall value your gift, not for its costliness, but 
 for the love I bear the giver." 
 
 " Go, my child," urged Maria, giving her a 
 slight push with her elbow, without its being ob- 
 served by the company, " your mother is waiting 
 for you;" and then observing that Elia was 
 about giving the basket without speaking, she 
 could contain herself no longer, but cried out, 
 '■' Not in that way, child, not in that way ; but as 
 you intended — reciting your verses, which must 
 be good, since they were made after Trisagio's." 
 
SPAIN FIFTY YEAE8 AGO. 67 
 
 " Verses ! " shouted all. The countess burst 
 into a hearty laugh, and Doctor Nai'ciso smiled 
 satirically. 
 
 " Maria," said the mortified Elia, " this was a 
 matter between us two ; and just see how ridic- 
 ulous you have made me ! " 
 
 " A discreet enemy is better than a foolish 
 friend, as the proverb has it," said Benigno in 
 a low tone of voice to Maria. 
 
 "Ridiculous!" cried the Asistenta at the 
 same time, in reply to Elia, " by no means, deai-- 
 est. That which is prompted by affection can 
 never be made to appear so. Come, my dar- 
 ling," she continued, coaxingly, "let me hear 
 your verses ; I warrant they will give me great 
 pleasure." 
 
 Elia leaned her head on the Asistenta's 
 shoulder, and, with her eyes east down and filled 
 with tears, recited in a low, tremulous voice as 
 follows : 
 
 "When as a babe, unconscious still, 
 I lost my mother's care, 
 You came her loving place to fill, 
 And all my heart to share. 
 
68 
 
 " And if a sinner's prayer to-day 
 Is heard by God above, 
 He will in favor you repay 
 For all your deeds of love. 
 
 " His mercy will your life surround, 
 And blessings send in showers, 
 Just as I now bestrew the ground. 
 Before you, with these flowers." 
 
 As she repeated the last words, she emptied 
 her basket at the Asistenta's feet, who, leaning 
 forward and clasping her to her bosom, exclaim- 
 ed, " They are as simple and sweet as yourself, 
 my angel ! " 
 
 " And now," said the exultant Maria to Don 
 Benigno, " what have you to say of the foolish 
 friend, I should like to know ? " and then turn- 
 ing to Doctor Nareiso, she asked, " Can you 
 deny, after this, sir, that good verses may be 
 made by imitating Trisagio ? " 
 
 " Certainly not," replied the doctor ; " and it 
 is a thousand pities that Boileau should have 
 forgotten to mention this new method in his art 
 of writing poetry." 
 
 " And cannot one write poetry without the 
 
SPAIN- FIFTY YEAES AGO. 69 
 
 pennission of Senor Bolo, I stonld like to 
 know ? " asked the housekeeper. 
 
 " Talk of soap-suds and corn-cakes, my good 
 woman," responded ISTarciso, haughtily, "and 
 '{on't make a fool of yourself about poetry ! " 
 
 " Was there ever such an arrogant donkey ? " 
 murmured Maria to herself, half aloud. " He 
 looks like a vinegar-cruet, and contains as much 
 acid — I can't bear him." 
 
 The impressions caused by the scene be- 
 tween the Asistenta and Elia were various. The 
 marchioness feared lest the exaggerated praise 
 bestowed upon Eha should turn her head, and 
 make a vain, worldly girl out of the pure, artlesa 
 child of the convent. 
 
 Fernando, while he sympathized with his 
 aunt, began to observe, with serious anxiety, the 
 marked impression which the fair enchantress 
 was producing upon the impassioned character 
 of his brother ; while the countess, as may be sup- 
 posed, became so enthusiastic over the " verses " 
 that she insisted upon the doctor's gathering 
 •' the beautiful wild flowers," as she called them, 
 ind inscribing them, " after being cultivated to 
 auit his own reiined taste," in her album. 
 
■^0 ELIA ; OE, 
 
 But the doctor refused to attempt tlie task, 
 affectedly declaring " that their leaves would be 
 withered by his rude touch." 
 
 " And he speaks the truth," whispered Car- 
 
 ■ los to EHa ; "for your verses are better than his 
 
 ponderous ode, which seems to have had for its 
 
 model, not the rhymes of Trisagio, but the long, 
 
 stiff, and withered structure of its author." 
 
 But the one who was most astounded by all 
 this, and who stood with his head bowed down 
 before Maria, was Don Benigno, to whom a 
 journey to Parnassus seemed as wonderful as 
 the voyage of Columbus to the New World; 
 and, as his modesty would not permit of his 
 joining in tlie conversation of his superiors, he 
 resolved, within himself, to repair to the convent 
 on the morrow, and unburden his mind on the 
 subject, not only to the abbess, but to the 
 whole community. 
 
 " And now run and get your breakfast, Elia," 
 caid the Asistenta, " for you know you fasted all 
 day yesterday." 
 
 " I did not know that one of your age was 
 obliged to fest, Elia," remarked Delgado, in his 
 bJH-flr, satirical way. 
 
SPAIN FIFTY TEAES AGO. 71 
 
 " I am not obliged to," Elia replied, " but I 
 fasted from devotion and choice." 
 
 " And do you think that to keep the stomach 
 empty is a mark of devotion ? " 
 
 "I do." 
 
 " And in what does it consist, my dear little 
 girl ? " asked the doctor, ironically. 
 
 " It consists in making a sacrifice." 
 
 " But of what benefit is this to God — can He 
 derive either pleasure or advantage from an 
 empty stomach ? " 
 
 " God cannot derive advantage from any act 
 of ours," answered Elia, " and therefore His Di- 
 vine Majesty accepts the offering of our hearts 
 and good intentions — which are all we have to 
 l3estow on Him." 
 
 " And it is no small matter, I can tell you," 
 exclaimed Maria, " to bridle one's appetites, and 
 oppose moderation to gluttony." 
 
 But Belgado, without deigning to notice her, 
 continued : " Believe me, my child, true piety 
 consists in being thankful for, and enjoying the 
 goods which God has bestowed upon us. Let 
 us lend a helping hand to suffering humanity^ 
 bend a knee before the Divine Creator — " 
 
72 ELIA ; OE, 
 
 " And why not two ? " interrupted the Asis- 
 tenta. "Elia," she continued, "forgot to tell 
 you, sir, who have learned in England to define 
 your d^^ties as a Christian, that fasting is a pre- 
 cept, whose merit consequently consists in the 
 submission which obeys, the humility which 
 does not question, the deference which respects, 
 and the self-denial which carries out the com- 
 mandment ; as also in the public testimony of 
 faith in the infallibility of the Church, which so 
 wisely and for such holy ends orders aU things. 
 Senor Delgado," she added, slowly and impres- 
 sively, " you are in a Catholic land, in a Catho- 
 lic house, and in the presence of — praised be tlie 
 Virgin ! — a Catholic lady ; and since you don't 
 eeem to know that your language is anti-Catho- 
 lic, and offensive to the country, the house, and 
 myself, it becomes my duty to remind you of 
 the fact." 
 
BPAIN FIFTY TEAKS AGO. 73 
 
 CHAPTEE Vin. 
 
 Bo soon as the Asistenta's birthday had 
 pahsed, she commenced making preparations to 
 visit one of her country-seats near the city,- and 
 invited Fernando, Carlos, Clara, and Delgado 
 to accompany her, all of whom accepted the in- 
 vitation. As to Elia, she was mad with joy at 
 the prospect of going into the country, which 
 she called a " great garden," as she had called 
 the convent " a little city." 
 
 At the time appointed, they set off in high 
 spirits ; the Asistenta and Elia in an old travel- 
 ling-carriage, drawn by four vigorous mules (the 
 Methuselahs, as Esperanza called them, having 
 received a holiday on this occasion). Fernando 
 and Carlos, dressed a la Andalusian — mounted 
 on two superb colts, which had just been pre- 
 sented to them by their aunt, and Clara, with 
 her doctor, in a light phaeton, drawn by two fast- 
 4 
 
74: 
 
 trotting " bob-tails," which she had pi , A.cd in 
 England. On one side of the cariiRge rode 
 Pedro, and on the other the oyerseer, armed 
 with muskets. 
 
 They were received at the country-house, 
 which was on the outskirts of a village, by the 
 curate, and a crowd of farm-hands, while a 
 troop of children, of all ages and of both sexes, 
 surrounded the equipages, which they seemed 
 to admire exceedingly, especially that of the 
 countess. At length a cry arose, at first almost 
 a whisper, but growing stronger, by the acces- 
 sion of one little voice after another, until it be- 
 came almost a roar, of — " Horses without tails ! 
 horses without tails ! " Upon hearing this ex- 
 plosion of surprise and astonishment, Clara and 
 Carlos burst out laughing ; not so the amiable 
 I^arciso, who raised his cane, and, threatening 
 the little ones with it, cried out, angrily : " You 
 should be silent, you little ragamuffins you, and 
 respect even the horses of your betters ! " 
 
 The youngsters dispersed like a flock of 
 sparrows, but, with the temerity of these birds, 
 returned immediately, and, encouraged by the 
 smiles of the countess, shouted, pointing their 
 
SPAIN FirrZ YEARS AGO. 75 
 
 fingers at Narciso, who happened to wear a 
 small gray jockey-cap. " Behold old uncle with 
 his brown-paper hunting-cap ! How much will 
 you take for it, uncle ? I'll give you a penny ! " 
 
 The doctor, finding the game decidedly 
 against him, rushed into the house and slammed 
 the door behind him, murmuring between his 
 teeth — " Bedlamites ! Hottentots ! Savages ! " 
 But the nickname clung to him in the Arillage, 
 in which the elegant and distinguished guest 
 of the first houses of England and France was 
 always remembered as "old uncle with the 
 brown-paper hunting-cap." Truly, " no one is 
 a prophet in his own country." 
 
 The whole party now seemed bent on enjoy- 
 ment. Their days, which were passed in mak- 
 ing short excursions to the neighboring planta- 
 tions, went swiftly enough, but their nights 
 seemed somewhat long. On one of these, when 
 the wind blew high and threatened a storm, 
 they were gathered together in the parlor, at 
 an early hour. Clara half reclined upon a pine 
 sofa, covered with a mat made of cocoa-nut 
 leaves, and rested her beautiful head upon one 
 of its cushions, " The time passed in yawning 
 
76 elia; oe, 
 
 ought not to be reckoned in our existence," she 
 remarked to Fernando, who sat at the other end 
 of the sofa reading, by the light of a candle, cer- 
 tain letters which he had just received from 
 Seville; "for to grow old and feel ennm at the 
 same time is rather too much of a good thing ! " 
 
 "Do not yawn, then, Clara," said her 
 cousin, smiling. 
 
 " Goodness me ! " exclaimed Clara, " in this 
 rattletrap of a house, where every thing seems 
 sleepy and sombre, who can help it, I should 
 like to know ? One would suppose that instead 
 of being a favorite of the court, you had passed 
 all your life in Seville, which seems to delight, 
 like an Indian Brahmin, in its immobility, and 
 rejoice, as an owl, in its obscurity ! " 
 
 " At the risk, then, of appearing an obscure 
 Sevillano, I must say, cousin, that I often felt 
 hored at the court, and never feel so here." 
 
 " Chacun d son gout,^' answered Clara. 
 
 " So long as I am by your side, Clara, I can- 
 not feel otherwise than happy." 
 
 " I regret Fernando," Clara rejoined, " that, 
 although I love you dearly, I cannot return the 
 compliment. — Carlos," she added, turning tow- 
 
SPAIN FIFTT TEARS AGO. 77 
 
 ard her other cousin, who was stirring the fire, 
 " what a smoke you are raising ! Of the three 
 characters who are said not to excel in making 
 a fire — a poet, a lover, and a madman — ^I think 
 you have the best claim to the last." 
 
 " I rather prefer to be reckoned among the 
 first and second," replied Carlos ; " but it is not 
 my fault that the chimney smokes ; that prop- 
 erly belongs to its maker." 
 
 Maria, who never let slip an opportunity of 
 seeing what was going on in the family, now 
 entered, crying out " My stars ! how bad the 
 Enghshman smells ! " She had given this name 
 to a mechanical lamp that the countess had 
 bought in London for her aunt, which, placed on 
 the mantel-piece, threw its full light on an English 
 periodical which Doctor JSfarciso, with his back 
 to the chimney, was attentively reading. These 
 lamps had just then been introduced into Spain, 
 to the great annoyance of all the indigenous Pe- 
 dros and Marias, who could not understand their 
 complicated mechanism ; and this night Maria 
 was quite right in her remark, for the badly 
 trimmed " Englishman " emitted a most insup- 
 portable odor. 
 
78 elia; oe, 
 
 " Oh, countess ! " exclaimed ]!f arciso, sud- 
 denly, and with such vehemence that he made 
 the Asistenta and Elia leap from their seats. 
 
 " What has happened ? " asked the former. 
 
 " The most marvellous discovery has been 
 made in this island, not of swans, as the poet says, 
 but of Titans, as the plain truth proves. Steam- 
 power has been used successfully in manufac- 
 turing cloth. " 
 
 " What men, vs^hat geniuses ! " said the count- 
 ess, abstractedly, -without feeling the slightest 
 interest in the discovery. 
 
 "And what does it amount to, that you 
 are in this ecstasy over it ? " asked the Asistenta. 
 
 " Seuora," replied the enthusiastic philoso- 
 pher, " think of the economy of labor which dis- 
 penses with two hundred strong arms in a single 
 factory ! He who conceived and carried out 
 such a magnificent idea deserves — " 
 
 " To be hung ! " cried the Asistenta, finish- 
 ing the sentence for him. 
 
 Doctor Narciso had just opened his mouth, 
 in readiness to make an eloquent harangue in 
 favor of moral and material advancement, when 
 a i'resh cloud of smoke set hira tg coughing and 
 sneezing together. 
 
SPAIN FIFTY TEAE8 AGO. 79 
 
 "In no other country but Spain," said he at 
 length, " where people live d la laszaroni, could 
 such detestable country-houses be found. There 
 is here an inertia, a scms-souoi, which throws the 
 Turks and Indians into the background. It is not 
 merely a stand-still, it is a retrograde, a marching 
 backward. I trust I shall one day see Cadiz, 
 which the Andalusians, with their usual boast- 
 fiilness, call a silver cup. I warrant I'll find it 
 more like a potter's mug." 
 
 " Oh, do hush, ISTarciso ! " said the countess, 
 who was justly provoked at the rudeness of her 
 Hippocrates. "I have heard you grumble 
 enough. In London you were in despair ; in 
 Paris raging, just as you are here ; and no doubt 
 will be when you get to Cadiz ! " 
 
 " Don't you remember," said Carlos, " the 
 story of the man who was continually changing 
 his residence because he had a spectre in his 
 house, and who one day had all his effects oh a 
 cart to move as usual, when lo and behold, he 
 espied, on his dining-table, the spectre, with 
 a horrible grin on his skeleton face, dancing a 
 rigadoon with a queer little fellow resembling a 
 monkey on hoofs ? " 
 
80 
 
 " So that he carried his evil spirit always with 
 him," said Clara, laughing, " with the old gen- 
 tleman in black to boot," 
 
 " Exactly so, cousin." 
 
 " You should remember, countess" said Nar- 
 ciso, " that I was suffering from rheumatism in 
 England ; and in Paris, that cradle of liberalism 
 and philosophy, sacred lights of society I — I was 
 shocked to see so much bigotry and superstition." 
 
 " And how were they manifested ? " asked the 
 Asistenta. 
 
 " Senora, those worldly people, seekers of 
 pleasure and followers of fashion, joined in reli- 
 gious processions, and actually thronged the 
 churches." 
 
 "And they did well," said the Asistenta; 
 " for the temple of God is the refuge of the sin- 
 ner, as well as the home of the saint." 
 
 " But, senora, many were hypocrites." 
 
 " Let them go to church nevertheless," rejoin- 
 ed the Asistenta. 
 
 " Many went to hear the music." 
 
 " Let them enter." 
 
 "Some solely to see the stained-glass win- 
 dows." 
 
SPADSr FIFTT TEAE8 AGO. 8] 
 
 *' Let them enter." 
 
 " Others to burlesque and criticise." 
 
 "Like yoiirself, Doctor Narciso; these last 
 are the only ones to whom the chm-ch should be 
 closed." 
 
 " And to all others open?" 
 
 "Yes, a thousand times yes — ^for look you 
 here, doctor; each one who enters God's house 
 uncovers His head, and there comes a solemn 
 moment when all bend the knee before His Di- 
 vine Majesty who then sees thousands prostrate 
 at Hie feet — and respect, even if it be shown 
 only in outward forms, has its merit. And why 
 should not the lukewarm and indifferent mingle 
 with the devout ? Is not virtue as well as vice 
 contagious ? Who knows but there may be dis- 
 tilled from the hearts of the vain and frivolous, 
 apon bending the knee, and under the impres- 
 sion of the general reverence, a drop of divine 
 adoration ! Certain sinful men, it seems to me, 
 are more exacting than the good God, and the 
 spotless Saviour of mankind." 
 
 " You are a Molimista of the worst type," 
 sneered the doctor. 
 
 " What do you mean by that, sir ? " exclaim- 
 4* 
 
82 elia; oe, 
 
 ed tlie Asistenta, sharply. "I am nothing, I'd 
 have you to know, that cannot be expressed in 
 intelligible language." 
 
 "I mean you have too much charity for 
 others by far, senora." 
 
 " Because I need it for myself, Doctor Nar- 
 ciso. "We must not expect too much from others. 
 Let us teach by example, rather than precept. 
 Instead of placing intolerance and austerity like 
 two sentinels at the door of the church, I would 
 place over it this inscription : ' The house of our 
 common Father, always open, and open to aU.' " 
 
 " Open to all," repeated Elia, with the sym- 
 pathy of an angel of heaven for the erring and 
 afflicted. 
 
 " Open to all," said Don Benigno, with the 
 indulgence of a good man for the weakness of 
 his fellows. 
 
 "Open to all," exclaimed Maria, with the 
 fervent zeal of a Catholic, " to unite all the earth 
 at the foot of one altar, in one faith, one hope, 
 one baptism." 
 
 " If you believe," said the doctor, " that, by 
 smiting yourself on the breast and praying, you 
 can enter the kingdom of heaven only — " 
 
SPAIN FIFTT YEAU8 AGO. 83 
 
 "By ttis alone? — ^no," interrupted the Asis- 
 tenta; "but without this, no one is saved; for 
 salvation is not a right, but a favor. No one, by 
 acts alone, can merit it, but must on bended 
 knees implore it." 
 
 " Senora," replied Narciso, with affected dig- 
 nity, " God makes man suffer in this world and 
 owes him a compensation in the next. To think 
 otherwise is absurd." 
 
 " Owes him ! " exclaimed the Asistenta, 
 " owes him ! So you have only to treat God as 
 you treat kings nowadays. Bestrict his rights, 
 Umit his powers, and prescribe his duties ; and 
 make him, if it were possible, conform to a writ- 
 ten constitution and recognize the rights of man 
 — rebellion, all of it — pure sphit of rebellion ! " 
 
 " The very name of king," rejoined ISTarciso, 
 who seemed anxious to shift his ground, " insults 
 the dignity of man. The great Voltaire has said 
 that ' the first king was a victorious soldier.' " 
 
 " Yoltaire lied ! " cried the Asistenta, warm- 
 ly. " This can be said of the first tyrant. The 
 first king was a patriarch." 
 
 "Who says so?" 
 
 «I say sol" 
 
84: elia; oe, 
 
 " Permit me to say to you, senora, that to 
 dispute tlie authority of sucli men as Yoltaii'e, 
 Diderot, Helvetius, Eousseau, D'Alembert — " 
 
 " The devil and his followers ! " exclaimed the 
 Asistenta, " who with their infamous doctrines 
 are the Neros and Diocletians of this century. 
 But, my friend, as much as it may displease you 
 and these other disciples, we will ultimately tri- 
 umph over them. Isn't it so, my children ? " 
 
 "We wiU triumph, we wiU triimiph!" 
 shouted all in fervent chorus. 
 
 At this moment Pedro entered to announce 
 supper. 
 
 " Isn't it wonderful, Pedro," said Maria to 
 him, after the family had left the parlor, " to see 
 how our mistress, who scarcely ever looks at a 
 boot, puts to shame that renegade Spaniard, 
 who does nothing but read ? " 
 
 While they were passing through the hall, 
 Carlos said to Elia, " I also wish to triumph, Elia." 
 
 " Over your evil passions, Carlos ? " 
 
 " No, I have no evil passions, Elia — ^I wish 
 to triumph over your convent, which is a Mino- 
 taur." 
 
 " And what is that, pray ? " 
 
SPAIN FIFTY TEAE8 AGO. 85 
 
 "The Minotaur was a monster, wlio de- 
 voured maidens by hundreds." 
 
 " Ton are thinking of your regiment, which 
 devoured so many of our young men, Carlos. 
 As to the convent, you know about as much of 
 it as a crow does of music." So saying, Elia 
 tapped him lightly on the head with her fan, 
 and, with a merry laugh ran to the Asistenta. 
 
86 
 
 CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 Fob two days tlie rain poured in torrents, 
 but on the third the sun broke through the 
 clouds, and the country looked as fresh and 
 smiling as an Eastern beauty emerging from a 
 perfumed bath. 
 
 It was determined to dine, on the morrow, 
 r.t a plantation belonging to the Asistenta, dis- 
 tant about a league from the village ; and the 
 good woman was in her room, making prepara- 
 tions for the excxu-sion. 
 
 " Shall I have an ox killed, senora ? " asked 
 Pedro. 
 
 " No," cried the officious Maria, " a lamb ! " 
 
 " An ox would be better," returned Pedro, 
 " for there will be a hundred persons in alL" 
 
 But Maria persisted in insisting upon having 
 a lamb for the oUa, so that quite a violent al- 
 
SPAIN FIFTY- TEAE8 AGO. 87 
 
 tercation ensued between herself and the worthy 
 steward. 
 
 " Stop quarrelling," said the Asistenta, " and 
 let us have both beef and mutton, Pedro ! " 
 
 "Through the obstinacy of this woman," 
 growled Pedro, " the seiiora is led into useless 
 extravagance." 
 
 "And she win not miss a lamb from her 
 large flock, nor a dozen lambs, for the matter of 
 that," retorted Maria. 
 
 " A robber's proverb, truly," objected Pedro. 
 " How very liberal you are, Madame Bountiful, 
 with others' property ! " 
 
 " You two are always quarrelling," inter- 
 vened the Asistenta ; " you either love or hate 
 each other greatly — I don't know which." 
 
 "Tou may believe in our eternal dislike, 
 senora," said Maria, " for our angels are surely 
 at variance." 
 
 " Toi;ir ladyship," added Pedro, " I am the 
 beef, and Maria the butcher's knife." 
 
 " Tou are quite right," returned Maria, " in 
 calling yourself heef, for, through idleness and 
 good living, you have become as round as a 
 fatted ox." 
 
88 elia; OB, 
 
 " And you," rejoined Pedro, " with Hhe fiery 
 teiaper wliicli consumes you, are like a stringed 
 bean, and about as yellow as a parched pea." 
 
 " Why don't you marry ? " asked their mis- 
 tress. ■ " There would be peace between you 
 then, by night at least." 
 
 " "With this woman, senora, there can be no 
 peace. I warrant, instead of snoring at night, 
 she grumbles." 
 
 "I have been married once," said Maria, 
 " but if I had not been, I would die an old maid 
 before marrying this fellow." 
 
 "I too have been married," cried Pedro, 
 " and I would not marry a second time if the 
 Princess of the Asturias were offered to me as 
 a bride, remembering, as I do, that story — " 
 
 "For Heaven's sake, Pedro," interrupted 
 Maria, " let us have none of your stories ! " 
 
 " Let me hear it, Pedro," said the Asistenta. 
 
 "Well, my lady, there were two friends, 
 Juan Castanos and Guillermo Pons, who vowed 
 a vow that the first who died should return and 
 inform the other how it fared with him in the 
 next world. Both were married, and, in pro- 
 cess of time, it happened that Pons died, and, 
 
BPAm FITTT TEAES AGO. 89 
 
 a few nights after his death, appeared to his 
 friend. 'How goes it with you?' asked Cas- 
 tanos. 'Grandly!' answered the apparition. 
 ' "When I presented myself on high, Saint Peter 
 asked me, " What sort of a life have you led 
 upon the earth ? " " Senor," I replied, " I am 
 a poor man. I was married to — " " Say not 
 another word," interrupted his saintship, " hav- 
 ing passed through purgatory, you are entitled 
 to paradise." So I am now in glory; good- 
 night.' 
 
 " Time passed ; Juan lost his wife, and mar- 
 ried a second time, and, finally, his own hour 
 came. After he had been carried out of his 
 house, feet foremost, he presented himself with 
 a very bold face at the gates of heaven. 
 
 " ' What has been your life on earth ? ' asked 
 the saintly gate-keeper. 'I have been twice 
 married,' answered Juan briskly, taking a step 
 forward to go in. But the bald-headed saint, 
 giving him a rap on his head with his key, cried 
 out : ' Stand back, friend ; heaven was not made 
 
 "Do you wish a receipt for that story, 
 Pedro? "asked Maria. " I can certify to having 
 
90 ELIA ; OB, 
 
 heard you repeat it at least twenty times. It is 
 as old as the hills." 
 
 ""Would you like to hear a new one?" 
 
 " God forbid, if you are to teU it ? " 
 
 Pedro was just opening his mouth to com- 
 mence anew, when the Asistenta cut him short 
 with — 
 
 "Maria, remember that spices do not agree 
 with Olara." 
 
 " I will bear it in mind, senora." 
 
 " Pedro, my nephews are very fond of gin- 
 ger-cakes." 
 
 " I know it, your ladyship." 
 
 " Be sure, Maria, that you have orange-jelly 
 for Elia, lemonade for Don Benigno, and a 
 number of bottles of claret for Doctor Delgado.' 
 
 " Gracious me, senora, if that grumbling doc- 
 tor cannot drink our sherry, let him have vine- 
 gar ! " 
 
 " Doctor Delgado is our guest, Maria," said 
 the Asistenta, reprovingly, and rising to leave 
 the room, " and should be treated as such." 
 
 " She thinks of every one but herself," said 
 Maria, after her mistress had departed ; " if you 
 had not provided a turkey, Pedro, and I the 
 
SPAIN FIFTY TEAKS AGO. 91 
 
 calves-foot jelly, she would not have any thing 
 to eat to-morrow." 
 
 On the following naorning, bright and 
 early, a large number of little angels, not reck- 
 oned among the good, gathered in the court-yard, 
 to get another look at the bob-tails, to which 
 they had given the name of frogs ; but in this 
 they were disappointed, as the whole party 
 went on mule-back, with the exception of Fer- 
 nando and Carlos, who rode the colts, and 
 Pedro, who mounted a sorry old horse, afflicted 
 with the spavin and heaves. The countess was 
 seated in a superb saddle of red morocco ; but 
 the Asistenta and Elia were content with the 
 common wooden saddle of the country, made in 
 the form of a cross. 
 
 " Oh, Tough-hide ! " cried one of the mule- 
 teers, placing a basket of provisions on his flinch- 
 ing mule, " it seems that you are not willing to 
 carry this basket, which is as light as a nun's 
 heart, although you are able to bear the weight 
 of the Giralda." * Saying this, he gave the poor 
 animal a blow which fairly took this skin off its 
 loins. 
 
 * The tower in the cathedral. 
 
92 
 
 " For God's sake," cried Elia, moTed to tears 
 by tlie suffering of ttie animal, "do not beal 
 your mule so ! " 
 
 "He does not understand any other lan- 
 guage," replied the man. 
 
 "It is barbarous," said the Asistenta, "to 
 treat an animal that helps you to gain your 
 daily bread, with such cruelty." 
 
 " If he had been born a bishop," said the 
 man, sullenly, " I would cover him with benedic- 
 tions." 
 
 " Well, you must not whip him so here," re- 
 joined the Asistenta, warmly ; " either give up 
 your whip, or leave the court-yard." 
 
 The muleteer, without replying, began to un- 
 load his mule. 
 
 " Sefiora," said the overseer, in a low voice 
 to the Asistenta, " because an ass gives a Mck, 
 would you cut his leg off? This poor man has 
 a wife and six children to support." 
 
 " Well, let him go with us, then, but he must 
 give up his whip " 
 
 "Tou hear what our lady says, Miguel — 
 come, load your beast again." 
 
 " If the basket waits till I take it," answered 
 
SPAIN FITTT TEAKS AGO. 93 
 
 Miguel, "it will be here at the day of judg- 
 ment." 
 
 " Don't be foolish, Miguel," whispered the 
 overseer, " ten shillings are not to be found every 
 day ; and then we will have wine and meat in 
 abundance." 
 
 " I would not go if the king ordered me," 
 was the reply. " No one need tell me twice to go 
 away. I eat my bread with honor, or suffer hun- 
 ger patiently." So saying, the muleteer gave 
 his mule a furious blow, and rode away. 
 
 " Did you ever see such a proud vagabond ? " 
 said the Asistenta. " I should like to give him 
 a dozen blows vrith that whip which he uses so 
 liberally on his beast. But his wife and children 
 must not suffer. Send them a dollar, Frasco, 
 and be sure not to let them know where it 
 comes from." 
 
 " A genuine Andalusian ! " sneered Delgado, 
 " poor as Job, proud as Tarquin." 
 
 "Honor and profit are not found in one 
 sack," said the overseer, speaking up for the 
 honor of his countrymen. 
 
 " Tou are right, Frasco," cried the countess, 
 enthusiastically. " These men have the souls of 
 
94. ELIA ; OB, 
 
 princes under the garb of peasants. Send him 
 a half ounce for me." 
 
 "That is not right, senora countess," re 
 marked the OTerseer, with great good sense; 
 " the sum is too large." 
 
 But the countess, without heeding him, rode 
 off at full speed. 
 
 The day was beautiful. Higher than ever 
 appeared the celestial vault, clearer the atmos- 
 phere, more brilliant the sun. The birds were 
 flitting to and fro, and singing merrily in the 
 smiling fields which were hedged in with aloes, 
 standing stately and stiff like sentries on post, 
 and protecting with their shade wild roses of 
 every shade of color ; and even the rough and 
 sterile bridle-path which our pleasure-seekers 
 were pursuing gave birth to the sweet-smelling, 
 white-flowered thyme, which filled the air with 
 its delicious fragrance. 
 
 The scenes of nature make a profoimd im- 
 pression upon those persons who, by reading and 
 culture, have enlarged the limits of their sen- 
 sations, and upon those who have experienced 
 either great joy or great sorrow. But those 
 whose past and present are uniform and tran- 
 
SPAIN FIFfY i-EAES AGO. 95 
 
 quil, .ind who have not lost in naturalness and 
 grace what they have gained in elegance and 
 polish, admire and enjoj nature, without having 
 their hearts greatly moved by it. And as our 
 party (Narciso excepted) belonged to this latter 
 class, they went along treading upon flowers 
 and breathing their perfume, with the enjoy- 
 ment of a troop of children issuing from a school- 
 room on the eve of a long vacation. 
 
 "Have you many children, Jose?" asked the 
 Asistenta, addressing the man who had charge 
 of the mule which she was riding. 
 
 "Eight, senora." 
 
 " Do you love them much ? " 
 
 " Senora, as many as are born are loved." 
 
 " Boys or girls ? " 
 
 " Five boys and three girls, senora : the two 
 eldest boys have been conscripted, the third 
 is in your service, and the youngest are swine- 
 herds." 
 
 "They are no longer an expense to you, 
 then?" 
 
 " True, senora ; but you know the saying, 
 
 ' A hungry wife and daughters three, 
 No sadder sight for man to see.' " 
 
96 ELiA ; oa, 
 
 "If I remember aright, I advanced you 
 money last year ? " 
 
 " Yes, your ladyship ; and if I have not re- 
 turned it — " 
 
 " Never mind that, never mind that," inter- 
 rupted the Asistenta, hurriedly. 
 
 " Well, senora, the past season nothing went 
 well with me. My donkey took the distemper 
 and died — a drought destroyed my hay and 
 corn — and a neighbor's pigs devoured all my 
 vegetables." 
 
 " Goodness me ! man, every thing seems in- 
 deed to have gone wrong with you." 
 
 " There is a saint, senora, in heaven, called 
 San Guilindron, who ever, while he dances be- 
 fore the throne, sings — 
 
 ' The petition of the poor, 
 Let it not reach heaven's door.'." 
 
 " Fortune is not always found by those who 
 seek it, that is certain, my good Jose." 
 
 " You have not heard all yet, my lady. In 
 the fall we all fell iU with the ague. His Di- 
 vine Majesty is ever saying, ' Give him more.' 
 ' Senor,' says Saint Good Fortune to Him, ' the 
 Duke of Medina Sidonia has drawn a prize in 
 
SPAIN FIFTY TEAKS AGO. 97 
 
 the lottery.' ' Give him more,' says His Majesty. 
 ' Poor Juan Quevedo,' cries the saint again, ' has 
 been beaten with stripes.' ' Give him more,' is 
 the commandment." 
 
 " Jose, our Father in heaven does all things 
 wisely and well." 
 
 " In the other world we will know it, senora." 
 
 " This year you shall have another advance, 
 and the first I consider cancelled. Frasco will 
 give you, too, a donkey and a couple of pigs." 
 
 " Now may God bless your ladyship ! well 
 have you been called the friend of the poor." 
 
 Don Benigno followed close to his lady, and, 
 with his accustomed pai-simony of words, only 
 said from time to time — 
 
 " Jos^, take care of that stump ; Jose, this 
 hiU is slippery ; Jose, there is a ditch on the 
 right ; Jose, don't the girths need tightening ? " 
 
 Elia preceded them, happier than the sun, 
 her lap filled with flowers, which her muleteer 
 had cut for her. 
 
 " Look at these beautiful flowers," said she to 
 Carlos, who never left her side. " This is yerba 
 Imena : tliis mejor a/na. Do you know why it is 
 60 called ? " 
 
 5 
 
93 ELIA ; OB, 
 
 "Fc, dojou?" 
 
 " Yes ; one day San Joaquin and Santa Ana 
 were gathering herbs. Santa Ana found the 
 former, and said to her husband, ' Joaquin, this is 
 j/erba huena / ' * but the saint, who had found the 
 other, handed it to her, and replied, ' This is, 
 ~>iejor A7ia.\ ' " 
 
 " They are very pretty, Elia, but I admire 
 
 . the beautiful red rose which you wear in 
 yuur hair, under your white veil, and which is 
 so becoming to you that I am at a loss to know 
 whether it is you who embellish these fields or 
 *^e fields that beautify you." 
 
 "' It is the rose of Jericho," said Elia. " There 
 was a rose-bush at the foot of the cross whose 
 roses were white ; a drop of the precious blood 
 of our Lord fell upon a rose, and gave it this 
 •livine color." 
 
 " What a salmagundi of superstitious non- 
 sense ! " exclaimed Delgado, whose mule, being 
 from the same stable as Elia's, had been gradual- 
 ly approaching it. " Of what avail is it to estab- 
 lish free schools among a people who have their 
 cln-onicles and etymologies, and even their faith, 
 
 * A good herb. f Better Anna. 
 
SPAIN FIFTY YEAES AGO. 99 
 
 handed doAvn to them in flowers, plants, rhymes, 
 and stories ? How could the plants yerba iuena, 
 and m^or ana have got their names as you sup- 
 pose, when* San Joaquin and Santa Ana did not 
 speak Spanish ? " 
 
 " Did not speak Spanish !" cried Elia ; " what 
 did they speak, French ? " 
 
 "No, senorita, they spoke Hebrew. Don't 
 forget this, which will be more useful for you tc 
 Uelieve than the stuff I heard you telling Carlos, 
 yesterday, about the passion-flower, that it con- 
 tained all the instruments used at the passion of 
 our Saviour. It is a shocking irreverence to 
 talk thus." 
 
 " Perhaps God has made the flower thus," 
 said Elia, " to remind us of our Saviour's suffer- 
 ings, or may be it grows so of itself to honor 
 Him." 
 
 " Cease your prattle," cried the doctor, impa- 
 tiently. " Can you suppose that flowers have a 
 will of their own, or that God gives understand- 
 ing to plants which jackasses eat ? Reflect and 
 reason a little." 
 
 At this instant the doctor's mule stumbled; 
 and threw him over his head into the road. 
 
100 ELIA ; OE, 
 
 " Curses on you ! " said he, rising and brush- 
 ing the dirt from his face, anjid the general 
 laughter, " rhis mode of diverting one's self, in 
 this outlandish hole, is more than vulgar — it is 
 villanous ! " 
 
 " You may consider your fall a punishment 
 from the gods," said Carlos, " for throwing can- 
 non-balls against the butterflies resting so grace- 
 fully upon EKa's vermilion lips, as upon a 
 rase. 
 
 Don Narciso replied not ; but, in a very bad 
 humor, remounted his mule, and, curbing him 
 violently, compelled him to drop "astern, as a 
 sailor would say, until he brought up with the 
 rear-guard, composed of Pedro and Maria. 
 
 " Seflor," said his attendant to him, after a 
 Jong silence, "have you ever seen the estates 
 about here? Eomeral is the most famous. 
 Three hundred acres of land in a park, a planta- 
 tion of young olives, and farm-houses that look 
 like a monastery. In all this section — " 
 
 " Hold your tongue ! " cried the doctor, iij. 
 terrupting him. "Every reasoning being re- 
 quires some hours a day for reflection. Tou 
 have just cut the thread of my thoughts with 
 
SPAIN I"IP"TY TEiES AGO. 1.01 
 
 your confounded clack ! What do you suppose 
 1 care about estates that are not mine ? " 
 
 The poor muleteer cast an envious glance 
 upon Jose, to whom the Asistenta, that great and 
 powerful lady, was so kindly and encouragingly 
 talking. " How great is the diiference between 
 Mistress Somebody and Mister Nobody ! " said 
 he to himself. 
 
 " You have forgottei? the toothpicks, Pedro," 
 said Maria, at this instant. " Tour memory is 
 like a sieve." 
 
 " They are not needed," said ITarciso, shout- 
 ing in her ear. " In England it is considered 
 bad manners to use them at dinner, and besides, 
 they ruin the gums." 
 
 " I thought," muttered Maria, " that we 
 could not get through the day without having 
 England thrown in our teeth ! " 
 
 " Pedro, have you brought any claret ? " 
 asked ISTarciso. 
 
 " Yes, senor, a half dozen bottles." 
 
 " Pedro has a good memory for liquor," 
 growled Maria, sarcastically, 
 
 " Certainly," returned the ungallant Pedro, 
 " for Father Thomas says that St. Paul took a 
 
102 ELIA ; OE, 
 
 little wine for his stomach's sake, and it is an 
 old saying, ' Water for horses, wine for men, and 
 a rod for women and donkeys.' " 
 
 "And a famous English poet also writes,'" 
 chimed in the learned and amiable JSTarciso — 
 
 " ' A woman, a dog, and a walnut-tree, 
 
 The more you thrash them, the hotter they be.' " 
 
 " Clara," said Carlos, pointing to Pedro and 
 the doctor, "Don Quixote and Sancho Panza 
 have changed animals, I perceive." 
 
SPAIN FIFTY YEAE8 AGO. lOH 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Thet Lad now entered an olive-grove, and 
 the white walls surrounding the plantation of 
 Romeral, so extolled by the doctor's muleteer, 
 began to appear through the dense foliage of the 
 trees. In front of the grand old farm-house 
 stood an enormous mulberry-tree, a giant of the 
 forest, raised by the hand of Time. Against its 
 trunk rested a rude plough ; from its branches 
 hung a musket and a guitar, and under its 
 shade a man of robust frame and animated 
 countenance carelessly reclined, who, it was 
 easily to be seen, could and would use any one 
 of the three, as circumstances might require. 
 He rose quickly as the Asistenta approached, 
 and called loudly, " Beatriz ! " when a woman 
 came out of the farm-house with a chair in her 
 hand, which she hastened to place so that her 
 mistress might alight from her mule easily. 
 
104 elia; or, 
 
 " Thanks be to God, ray lady," said she, fer- 
 vently, "who has permitted me to see you to- 
 day ! How fares it with your ladyship ? " 
 
 " As ■with all the girls of my time, Eeatriz, 
 who have lived many years, and have but few 
 left upon the earth. And you, woman, how 
 goes it with you ? And your mother, and your 
 children ? Has the one who broke his arm re- 
 covered ? " 
 
 She said this ascending the staircase, in the 
 interior of the house, and entering into a long 
 parlor, provided with a few broken chairs, a pine 
 table, and a bare floor. 
 
 "My God! aunt," exclaimed the countess, 
 " this seems like a plundered hospital." 
 
 " And why should I furnish houses in which 
 I pass a couple of hours about every three 
 years ? " asked the Asistenta. 
 
 They seated themselves, and partook of or- 
 angeade and lemonade, and, missing Delgado, 
 looked out of a window, and beheld him, like a 
 second Pickwick, kneeling upon the ground, 
 with his nose in close proximity to an old stone, 
 which he was examining with the closest atten- 
 tion. In a moment or two he jumped to his 
 
SPAIN FIFTY TEARS AGO. 105 
 
 feet, with an exultant smile on his face, and ran 
 into the house as fast as his frail under-pinning 
 would allow him. 
 
 " Senora," he exclaimed with emphasis, " 1 
 have just found a treasure, the stone over a Ro- 
 man grave, with its inscription. Did you know 
 that you possessed such a jewel ? " 
 
 "!N"o," answered the Asistenta, "and I am 
 sure I. don't care what was placed over the sep- 
 ulchre of a pagan." 
 
 " Who discovered it ?'" asked the enthusias- 
 tic doctor. 
 
 "How should I know?" replied the Asis- 
 tenta, coolly. 
 
 " They found , it," said Beatriz, " while dig- 
 ging a hole to bum lime in, and my husband 
 brought it here that it might serve as a thresh- 
 c>]d for the stable door." 
 
 " O stupid ignorance ! " exclaimed Delgado, 
 full of antiquarian fire. " Didn't your husband 
 see the Latin inscription, woman ? " 
 
 " My husband does not know how to read," 
 said the farmer's wife, meekly. " He was left 
 an orphan when quite a little child, and has had 
 to work hard all his life,'' 
 6* 
 
106 ELIA ; OE, 
 
 Fernando and Carlos, who liad gone out to 
 look at the stone, now returned. 
 
 " It is certainly Eoman," said the former. 
 " Tlie inscription has been rudely dealt with by 
 its finders, but the letters S. T. T. L. are plainly 
 to be seen." 
 
 "Do you hear, senora? The appreciable 
 S. T. T. L.," cried Don Narciso, looking tri- 
 umphantly at the Asistenta. 
 
 " And what do the appreciable S. T. T. L, 
 signify ? " 
 
 " Sit tiM terra levis : ' May the earth be light 
 upon thee ! ' " 
 
 " Why, that's nonsense ! " 
 
 " Senora, senora, Koman literature, the sanc- 
 tion of ages, the admiration of samants, is all 
 included in your sweeping assertion." 
 
 " And yet I must repeat it without being 
 imposed upon by your didactic tone or high- 
 flown expressions. And to prove that I am 
 correct, I have but to compare your appreciable 
 letters S. T. T. L. with those the Catholic faith 
 places over sepulchres, namely: E. I, P. A, 
 Requiescat in pace, Amen ! ' May he rest in 
 peace, Amen ! ' — a solemn prayer to God for the 
 
SPAIN FIFTY TEARS AGO. 107 
 
 immortal soul ; while the pagan's is an invoca- 
 tion to the earth that it may be as light as a 
 rope-dancer, and not bear heavily on bones and 
 dust ! What think you of it, Don Benigno % " 
 
 " That it would not apply to one buried in 
 a vault." 
 
 "Very true. And you, Maria, who stand 
 there with your eyes and mouth wide open ? " 
 
 "I think, senora, if there must be some- 
 thing light about it, it would be better to say : 
 May your sins be light upon you ! ' " 
 
 "And you say well, woman, much better 
 than the savants, for in matters relating to the 
 soul, and the other world, there is no wisdom 
 outside of the Church. And you, my child, 
 what think you of the appreciable S. T. T. L. 
 which so fills Doctor Narciso with admira- 
 tion ? " 
 
 "They do not awake in me the thoughts 
 which seem appropriate to death." 
 
 " "Well, what would you place over a tomb, 
 my little lady ? " asked Narciso, in a mocking 
 voice — "you who pretend to excel the Ro- 
 mans ? " 
 
 " I would place over it," said Elia, softly, " a 
 
108 
 
 little verse which the lady abbess was in the 
 habit of repeating when we spoke of death : 
 
 ' Be lowly, that you may be exalted : 
 Lose, that you may gain ; 
 Die, yet live.' " 
 
 " Yery well, my darling," cried the Asis 
 tenta. " I see that we all know more than those, 
 learned Romans, simply by being instructed in 
 the Catholic faith. Your husband did right, 
 Beatriz. Let the stone remain as a threshold 
 for the stable." 
 
 " But, senora," said the doctor, "if you do 
 not value it, you should tell it, for it will bring 
 a great price." 
 
 " I do not care to sell it." 
 
 " Give it to me then, aunt," cried Clara. 
 
 " I am not in the humor of giving," replied 
 tlip Asistenta, who was evidently bent upon de- 
 stroying the appreciable S. T. T. L. 
 
 " How obstinate aunt is ! " whispered Clara 
 to Carlos, who was standing by her side. 
 
 "As a proprietor of landed property, she 
 naturally does not like light ea/rth^^ replied Car- 
 los. 
 
SPAIN FIFTY TEARS AGO. 1(»9 
 
 "No, nor heavy nephews," said the Asis- 
 tenta, who had overheard him. 
 
 "What a pity, Clara," continued Carlos, 
 " that our friend Sir Arthur Sidney, who was 
 BO enthusiastic ahout antiquities, is not here ! " 
 
 " Is he the violinist who was at Clara's din- 
 ner-pai'ty ? " asked the Asistenta. 
 
 " No, indeed, aunt ; a young Englishman of 
 distinction, the son of a bishop." 
 
 " The son of a bishop ! what are you dream- 
 ing about, child ? " 
 
 " In England, my dear aunt, bishops are per- 
 mitted to marry." 
 
 " What an impudent falsehood ! Do you sup- 
 pose you can make me believe that there is a 
 country under the sun where bishops marry? 
 Come, sir, this is a little too much ! " 
 
 " Upon my word., aunt, you call one a cheat 
 with all the ease in the world. I tell you again 
 that in England the bishops marry, and not only 
 they, but the canons, chaplains, and curates. If 
 you don't believe me, ask Clara." 
 
 "It is so, aunt, I assure you," said Clara. 
 " The English are not papists, I'emember, as 
 they call us, and can — " 
 
110 
 
 " And you too, Clara ? " interrupted tlie Asis- 
 tenta. " Are you mad, or do you wisli to make 
 me so ? A hishopress ! a iisJwpress ! Don Benig- 
 no, can you conceive of a bishopress ? " 
 
 " No, senora, nor of a curatess." 
 
 " When we return to Seville, senora," said 
 tlie doctor, compassionately, " I will show you 
 the ' English Peerage,' in which are noted offi- 
 cially all the noble families, with their connec- 
 tions and intermarriages, and among them you 
 will see, in black and white, that of the bish- 
 ops." 
 
 " May you live a thousand years ! " replied 
 the Asistenta, laconically. 
 
 " There are none so blind as those who will 
 not see, aunt," said Carlos, " and therefore — " 
 
 But the countess, interrupting him, whispered 
 in his ear — 
 
 " Don't insist, cousin. You cannot convince 
 her ; and what harm can result from her believ- 
 ing that bishops cannot marry ? " 
 
 " Well, for my part," said Fernando, " I must 
 confess to a feeling of the highest veneration, at 
 beholding such a proof of the exalted and almost 
 ideal dignity which our bishops have been able 
 
SPAIN FIFTY YEAES AGO. Ill 
 
 to give to the mitre, as it is exhibited by aunt's 
 refusal to believe what Carlos tells her. This 
 instinctive faith of hers, which elevates these 
 worthy prelates above all passion, all love, all 
 the personal relations of earth, proves more, in 
 favor of the institution and the individuals, than 
 the most eloquent arguments of our finest ora- 
 tors," 
 
 " But, marquis," said Narciso, " you must 
 confess that it is sheer obstinacy to cling thua 
 to error, especially when she is told that we are 
 Qot speaking of Catholics." 
 
 " This holy respect of aunt's, doctor, extends 
 even to the na/me of bishop, which she cannot 
 separate from Catholicism. And this is grand 
 under the aspect of faith, and beautiful under 
 that of fldehty, and claims my sympathy. To 
 tell the honest truth, I envy aunt, who listens to 
 a fact which does not surprise us, as a profana- 
 tion, a fanciful creation. How true it is that 
 the more one knows, the less one feels ! " 
 
 " It is better to know than to feel," said the 
 enlightened doctor. 
 
 " Not so," cried Carlos, " I would give all my 
 books for a sentiment." 
 
112 elia; oe, 
 
 " Above all, in matters of religion," said Fer 
 nando ; " the faith of the heart is voluntary, that 
 of the brain compulsory." 
 
 After they had partaken of refreshments, the 
 whole party sallied forth for a walk. Fernando 
 offered his arm to his aunt. 
 
 " No, my son," said she ; " leave me with Don 
 Benigno, who is accustomed to my gait. I shall 
 not walk far, so go with the others. I charge 
 you, however, to look out for Elia. She runs too 
 much, and this hot sun may give her a fever." 
 
 Don Benigno opened an immense red um- 
 brella, capable of protecting a dozen persons, and 
 held it over his mistress, while the overseer 
 walked a little in advance. " Senora," said the 
 former, " Frasco and I have been thinking that 
 there are too many hands employed here, whose 
 wages might be saved. The services of several 
 of the muleteers and shepherds, for instance, 
 might be dispensed with." 
 
 " That is very true," replied the Asistenta ; 
 " there is one thing, however, that you have for- 
 gotten." 
 
 " And what is that, senora ? " asked both in 
 a breath. 
 
SPAIN FIFTT TEAES AGO. 113 
 
 " The important fact that, althougli I can do 
 without these men, they cannot get along with- 
 out me. So let every thing remain as it is." 
 
 While this conversation was going on, Ella 
 was running like a deer, examining trees, cull- 
 ing flowers, and keeping ahead of everybody, 
 except Carlos, who never lost sight of her for an 
 instant. 
 
 " Look," said she, handing him a bell-shaped 
 flower, " at this old woman's candle." 
 
 "I would rather behold the light from your 
 beautiful eyes," said Oarlos, passionately. 
 
 " Look here, Carlos," she answered, " you 
 have of late done nothing but flatter me. How 
 would you like to be praised continually to your 
 face?" 
 
 " Yery much, if you were the praiser." 
 
 " "Well, you are a presumptuous fellow. So 
 you like flattery, do you ? " 
 
 " Out of your mouth, yes." 
 
 " And why out of my mouth ? " 
 
 " Because I love you, Elia, with my whole 
 heart; not as a sister or a friend, but as the 
 body loves the soul, without which it cannot 
 exist.' Will you love me in return, Elia? " 
 
114 elia; oe, 
 
 A confusion, strange for her, took possession 
 of Elia, upon hearing these sweet bnt passionate 
 words, as she took a half step backward and 
 east her eyes to the ground. 
 
 " Do you believe me, my Elia? " asked Car- 
 los, in a voice profoundly moved, 
 
 Elia, reproaching herself for having invol- 
 untarily shrunk, like the sensitive plant, at the 
 first love-throb of her heart, now fixed her large 
 black eyes on Carlos, and, with the candor and 
 sweetness of an angel, repHed : 
 
 " Yes, I beheve you ; Carlos, why should 1 
 not believe you ? " 
 
 " And you, Elia," continued Carlos, in a soft 
 and trembling tone, " can you, will you love me 
 as I love you ? " 
 
 Eha's face and neck were suffused with crim- 
 son, and her lips quivered, as she artlessly re- 
 plied : 
 
 " I love you so dearly, Carlos, that I could 
 not live in the world without you, but should be 
 obliged to fly for refuge to the convent." 
 
 " I swear to you, then," said Carlos, solemn- 
 ly, and placing a gold ring on her finger as he 
 spoke, " and I call upon God your Father and 
 
SPAIN FIFTT YEAE8 AGO. 115 
 
 the angels your brothers as witnesses, to love 
 you always, to unite my lot with yours, to be 
 your companion and protector, and to share with 
 you loyally the pains and joys of life." 
 
 " That is, you will be my husband, Carlos ? " 
 
 " On the honor of a soldier and a nobleman." 
 
 "How happy mother will be when I tell 
 her!" 
 
 " You must not say a word to her on the 
 subject," exclaimed the young man, hastily. 
 
 "And why, Carlos?" 
 
 " Because — ^because — ^because it is customary 
 for men to speak of such matters to their parents 
 before others are informed of them." 
 
 " I feel that you are right, Carlos, but you 
 must speak to your mother at once ; for I cannot 
 long keep any thing from mine." 
 
 " I must prepare her mind for the announce- 
 ment, Elia. I cannot break it to her suddenly." 
 
 "Prepare her mind, Carlos — ^what do you 
 mean ? " 
 
 "Because, my little innocent, mothers do 
 not generally like their sons to marry, especially 
 at my age." 
 
 "Wtat! mothers do not like their sons to 
 
116 elia; oe, 
 
 marry ? — ^you surprise me. A secret, a secret ! " 
 she continued, sadly. 
 
 " Elia, do you not tliink a love-secret, like 
 ours, sweet ! " 
 
 " The love, yes, Carlos — ^the secret, no I " 
 
 "Why, my darling?" 
 
 "Because every thing is most beautiful, 
 Carlos, in the clear light of day ; because a 
 secret in the heart is like a stain on a crystal, 
 which mars its beauty and deprives it of its 
 transparency." 
 
 At this moment, Fernando, who was looking 
 for Elia, as his aunt had requested, came out 
 suddenly from behind the olive-trees. 
 
 Elia, instinctively abashed, turned and fled ; 
 Carlos, surprised, remained silent. 
 
 " Carlos ! Carlos ! " said his brother, in a tone 
 of bitter reproof, " this is not the conduct of a 
 gentleman." 
 
 " "What do you mean ? " asked Carlos, angrily - 
 
 " I mean that it is cruel, Carlos, to turn the 
 head of a young girl, an angel of innocence, with 
 hopes that can never be realized, and not re- 
 member that, while the roses are yours, the 
 thorns will all be hers." 
 
SPAIN FtFTT TEAES AGO. 117 
 
 " Ton do me injustice, Fernando ; in proof 
 of it, I will tell j6u that I have just sworn to 
 make Elia my wife." 
 
 Fernando, upon hearing this, seemed like 
 one in a dream. The invincible obstacles which 
 presented themselves to his brother's designs, 
 the discord and unhappiness which he foresaw 
 in consequence, terrified him ; on the other hand, 
 the satisfaction he felt on finding his brother, 
 although as thoughtless and impulsive as ever, 
 as ever noble and honorable, disarmed him, and 
 so, laying his hand on his shoulder, he said: 
 " Pardon me, brother, if I have been unjust ; but 
 you should at least have remembered, before 
 addi-essing Elia, that what you propose is im- 
 possible, and, if you persist in it, will only work 
 her unhappiness and your own." 
 
 "And why?" 
 
 " Because Elia, the foundling, ought not, can- 
 not, and will not be the wife of a,n Orrea! " 
 
 " Eha," Carlos answered, " is too little vei'sed 
 in the customs of the world, even to suspect that 
 the want of a patent of nobility can raise a bar- 
 rier between two persons who love each other ; 
 and as for me, I despise such efete notions." 
 
118 
 
 " Effete notions ! " echoed Fernando. " Know, 
 my brother, that there are trees with roots so 
 firmly planted in the ground, that although they 
 may be cut down, they will spring up again 
 with reneM'ed life, because the sap is in the bow- 
 els of Mother Earth — Carlos, you cannot set 
 society at deiiance." 
 
 " What care I for its verdict ? " 
 
 "No one is above the opinion of the world," 
 answered Fernando. " To think otherwise, is to 
 deceive one's-seif. Follow the advice of a brother 
 who loves you with his whole heart. Fly, Car- 
 los, and sacrifice passion to reason." 
 
 "What religion, what code of morality, 
 what duty imposes upon me this sacrifice ? upon 
 what altar shall I offer up Elia's happiness and 
 my own?" asked Carlos passionately. 
 
 "We are far from understanding each 
 other," replied Fernando with dignity, " if all 
 the duties of an illustrious house, of a gentle- 
 man, and of a man of refinement and sensibility 
 are confined in your opinion to the religious and 
 moral. Leaving this groimd, where your blind 
 passion separates us, let me remind you, Carlos, 
 that you are digging your mother's grave 1 " 
 
8PAm F11TT TTTARS AGO. 110 
 
 Carlos stood aghast and silent for a moment ; 
 and then, leaning his burning head upon his 
 brother's shoulder, he sobbed rather than said : 
 '• No, no, Fernando, mother is too good and just 
 to sacrifice this pure angel to her vanity and 
 pride. And you, who have been my protector 
 and guide, will you not befriend me now ? " 
 
 " With all the power I can command, Car- 
 los. But 1 prefer to snatch you alive from a 
 precipice rather than to drag you wounded and 
 bleeding from an abyss." 
 
120 £lia; Oit, 
 
 OHAPTEE XL 
 
 "While the scene we have described in the 
 preceding chapter was passing between the 
 brothers, one of a very different character was 
 taking place between the Asistenta and a mul- 
 titude of ragged, dirty beings, who, surrounding 
 her, and gesticulating violently, cried out in dis 
 eordant tones, " Prisoner ! prisoner ! " 
 
 The singular part of the whole affair was, 
 that the Asistenta's face, far from expressing 
 terror or indignation, seemed beaming with 
 pleasure. 
 
 "Let them alone, Frasco," said she to the 
 overseer, who was endeavoring to disperse the 
 crowd; "they are only claiming their dues." 
 
 ' Booty ! booty ! " cried the ragamuffins. 
 
 " "Will you be still ? " cried Frasco. 
 
 " Did I not tell you to let them alone, you 
 you! 
 
SPAIN FIFTr TEAB8 AGO. 121 
 
 " They will not have to take me to jail, for I 
 here oflfer a lamb for my ransom." 
 
 "Good! good!" shouted the crowd, "but 
 the secretary is our prisoner ! " 
 
 Don Benigno was about taking a dollar from 
 his purse, when the Asistenta stopped him, by 
 pledging a calf as his ransom. 
 
 At this there was a terrific explosion of hap- 
 piness. There were no vivas, but an infinity 
 of — " May God rejpay you ! " 
 
 " Senora, senora," said the economical secre- 
 tary, in a piteous tone, " I am not worth a calf.' 
 
 "But I am certainly Worth more than a 
 lamb," replied his mistress, "so one will be an 
 offset for the other.— Good-day, my children ; 
 Frasco wiU see that you are paid." 
 
 This legion of robber-hegga/rs consisted of 
 those engaged in gathering olives, who are, for 
 the most part, old men and women, and chil- 
 dren of both feexeis, between the detestable ages 
 of ten and fourteen, and all miserably poor. 
 They are clothe^d in rags and sleep in the fields, 
 or in the streets of the village to which they 
 belong. They had mside a prisoner of the Asis- 
 tenta ; this being their recognized manner, ac 
 6 
 
122 elia; oe, 
 
 cording to the custom prevailing among them, 
 from time immemorial, of exacting alms. 
 
 "When the party returned to the farm-house, 
 dinner was served. 
 
 "Delgado," said the countess, "I really 
 have an appetite, and I do believe I can eat 
 
 " Tou have been getting better," said Maria, 
 ■' ever since Dona Isabel prayed for you to San 
 Antonio." 
 
 " What stuff and nonsense ! " growled the 
 doctor. 
 
 " Senor," said the Asistenta, impatiently, " I 
 begin to think you are an infidel. Let me see, 
 now : do you believe in God ? " 
 
 " But, senora," said the philosopher, " it ap- 
 pears to me that this examination is out of place 
 here, to say the least of it." 
 
 " Answer ! answer 1 " retorted the Asistenta, 
 " for I am very curious, as all old women are, 
 and I insist upon knowing." 
 
 " Tes, then, senora, yes ; I believe in a Su- 
 preme Being." 
 
 "Eather indefinite; but proceed. Do you 
 believe tihere is a heaven? " 
 
SPAIN FIFTY TEAB8 AGO, 123 
 
 " I believe in the mansion of the just." 
 
 "Do you believe in prayer and its effi- 
 sacy?" 
 
 " I believe we should sing praises to the Di- 
 vine Maker, as the birds do at the dawn of day." 
 
 " Beautiful models of devotion, truly ! But 
 the efficacy of prayer ? " 
 
 " I do not believe in its immediate effect. 
 It is great arrogance to believe that the Divini- 
 ty is so far taken up with us that He intervenes 
 even in our private affairs." 
 
 " Why do you pray, then ? " 
 
 " My prayer is a hymn of thanksgiving and 
 praise." 
 
 " "With Alexanders, as on my birthday." 
 
 " Alexandrines you mean, senora." 
 
 "It is all the same to me," answered the 
 Asistenta, " provided I am not obliged to hsten 
 to more of them." 
 
 The doctor answered gruffly, " I am not a 
 religious poet, madame;" while the Asistenta 
 continued with — 
 
 "Tour catechism is certainly an original 
 one, but I'll be willing to lose my ears if you 
 can make the people understand it, and my 
 
124 
 
 nose to boot if I can comprehend it myself, ex- 
 cept that it squares well with your appreciable 
 S. T. T. L. and with the word agur, invented by 
 the devil, to avoid saying a Dios." 
 
 AU burst out laughing at this, except Elia 
 and Carlos, who were too much engrossed with 
 each other to heed what was passing about 
 them. Elia sat silent, wrapped in profound 
 meditation, the present and the future seemiiig 
 to her all light and happiness; and from time to 
 time a sweet smile stole over her face, such- as 
 is seen on the face of a babe when it looks upon 
 it? mother or its guardian angel. 
 
 Carlos, giving himself up entirely to the 
 present, was wild with happiness. He only saw, 
 he only thought of Elia. 
 
 " What a Happy day ! " he whispered in her 
 ear. 
 
 " It is indeed a happy day ! " replied Elia, 
 aloud, who had not yet learned that to conceal 
 one's thoughts in society is often necessary and 
 even decorous. 
 
 " Does happiness, then, reaUy exist ? " asked 
 the misanthropic philosopher; "where is it? 
 what is it ? will you be good enough to tell me? 
 my little lady?" 
 
SPAIN FIFTY TEAE8 AGO, 125 
 
 This the amiable gentleman addressed to 
 Elia, who, being considered by him the weakest 
 and most inoffensive of the company, was the 
 one whom he generally attacked with all his 
 forces ; but before she could reply, the Asistenta 
 fell upon him, sword in hand, with " Happiness 
 consists in being able and willing to do good to 
 others," 
 
 " Gracious, senora ! " replied Delgado, " this 
 is virtue, not happiness." 
 
 " It consists," said Elia, " in making a pleas- 
 ure of our duty." 
 
 "What do you think of that?" asked the 
 doctor of the countess. " Is it a pleasure, do 
 you suppose, for an artilleryman to place him- 
 self in front of the enemy's cannon ? " 
 
 "Tour argument is neither exact nor just, 
 Delgado. There are duties hard and exception- 
 al ; but even these afford us pleasure, not in the 
 act of performance, but in the feeling of satis- 
 faction which we enjoy after having performed 
 them. This, however, does not hinder me from 
 agreeing with you, who so well understand the 
 world and the human heart, that real happiness 
 does not exist ; and, therefore, we must content 
 ourselves with not expecting it." 
 
li*6 
 
 " This is high philosophy," said Narciso. 
 
 " And you, dear Benigno," said the countess, 
 hurriedly, to avoid an armed intervention which 
 she saw threatening in her aunt's eyes, " in what 
 do you say happiness consists ? " 
 
 "In not offending God," answered the ex- 
 cellent man, who was not to be prevented by 
 sarcasms from speaking the truth. 
 
 " This, doctor," said the Asistenta, " is not 
 what you would consider ' high philosophy,' I 
 suppose ; but it certainly is religion of the high- 
 est and most exalted character, which is bet- 
 ter." 
 
 "What a set of stupids, Elia!" whispered 
 Carlos. " Felicity is a love-secret, like ours." 
 
 " No, Carlos, no," answered Elia, softly ; " a 
 secret is half a lie." 
 
 " Happiness," said Fernando, in reply to his 
 aunt, " is the plaything in a child's hands. As 
 soon as he possesses it, he breaks it. So God 
 placed it in hope, which is r6newed as often as 
 annihilated." 
 
 "Don't deceive yourself, Fernando," replied 
 the Asistenta ; " there are people who are never 
 happy, and the fault is with them, not in the 
 
SPAIN FIFTif VEABS AGO. 12T 
 
 world. Happiness is like a good complexioD, it 
 comes from the blood." 
 
 When Elia about retiring that night she 
 
 Baid to Maria : 
 
 " Maria, I have two things to tell you : tlie 
 one must not be told now; the other is, that 
 Doctor Delgado says San Joaquin and Santa 
 Ana did not speak Spanish." 
 
 " I am not surprised at that," answered the. 
 worthy housekeeper; "for, although born "u 
 Spain, he's not a bit better than a foreigner." 
 
128 ELIA i OE, 
 
 OHAPTEK XII. 
 
 All had returned from tlie country : Carloe 
 with an intense passion, and determined to over- 
 come all obstacles in the way of his happiness ; 
 Fernando with great anxiety, and an impatient 
 desire to stop a disastrous current in its devas- 
 tating course ; Clara ready to serve the lovers 
 in their romantic attachment ;. Doctor Delgado 
 saying "there was nothing so inflammable as 
 the heart of a devotee ; " and Maria resolving 
 in her rnind that, happen what might, the match 
 should come off. The Asistenta and Don Be- 
 nigno returned, however, without having noticed 
 any thing ; and neither for a moment suspected 
 that the soft and transparent atmosphere in 
 which they lived was charged with the electric 
 fire of tmnultuouB passions. 
 
 The Carnival drew near ; it was the Thurs- 
 day of Comfodres, The countess, always ready 
 
SPAIN- FIFTY YEARS AGO. 1'20 
 
 to divert herself, and always talcing advantage 
 of her rights as a spoiled child in the house of 
 her aunt, secretly improvised a soiree as they say 
 now, or a sardo as it was then called, " to sur- 
 prise," as she declared, " the dreamy tertulia out 
 of its lethargy," as Bonaparte had roused the 
 sleeping Spanish lion from its lair ; not with the 
 design, however, of filling the earth with mortal 
 fear, but through its brilliancy to fill all Seville 
 with admiration, and make the old alameda, 
 with its immovables, die with envy. "With this 
 object in view, she had invited, for this evening, 
 everybody she could hear of, far and near ; so 
 that the Asistenta's parlors were fast filling up 
 with persons she had never seen before. Clara 
 and Carlos, who were observing her look of 
 amazement at each new arrival, were in the 
 " seventh heaven" with delight, and laughing 
 as they had never laughed before. 
 
 " This reminds me," said Carlos, " of a good 
 joke some of us young officers played on a store- 
 keeper in Madrid, who kept a store on the cor 
 ner of Palafox and Medina Streets, with a dooi 
 opening on each street. Dressed like peasants, 
 we went, one after the other, through the store. 
 6* 
 
130 
 
 entering at one door and going out at the other; 
 each one removing his cap and saluting the 
 storekeeper as he passed by him. When the 
 first one sahited, the storekeeper returned his sa- 
 hite with the utmost courtesy ; to the second he 
 remarked that young men were becoming more 
 polite every day ; at the third he stared ; and at 
 the fourth, who happened to be my unlucky self, 
 lie threw a candlestick, while his face wore an 
 expression of astonishment similar to that which 
 aunt's now wears." 
 
 While this conversation was going on, the 
 .•aptain-general, who was playing with the 
 Asiritenta, remarked, " Senora, you have thrice 
 omitted to follow suit." 
 
 " How can I help it, my friend," answered 
 tlio Asistenta, " when I am all the time bowing 
 to strange people ? I am like the king on the 
 throne, receiving persons whom I don't know. 
 [ take another card, and go it alone." 
 
 " Aunt," said Carlos, approaching her with 
 a fine-looking young ofEcer, who wore the uni- 
 form of a lieutenant-colonel, "my friend Eio- 
 secco has long desired to know you. His mother 
 ■>vas an acquaintance of yours, I think." 
 
SPAIN FIF'IY TEARS AQO. 131 
 
 "Don't say an acquaintance}" answered the 
 Asistenta, " say a very dear friend, whose son I 
 am delighted to see here." 
 
 "Aunt," cried Clara in her turn, "permit 
 me to present to you the Count Polikteiski, an 
 unfortunate son of Poland," 
 
 " Most happy to see you, sir," said the Asis- 
 tenta, cordially saluting a very, hairy gentleman 
 of florid complexion. " "Whose son did she say 
 he was ? " after he had passed. 
 
 " Of Poland, seriora," answered a gentleman 
 near her ; " the most rebellious counti-y in the 
 world." 
 
 " I thought he had a bad look. I don't see 
 why Clara brought the bear here." 
 
 " Ton lose, senora," said the captain-gen- 
 eral. 
 
 " Just to think of my losing a game with 
 such cards in my hands ! " cried the Asistenta, 
 throwing on the table an ace, two kings, and a 
 knave. " But how can one play in such a Babel 
 as Clara has made my house ? God help us ! 
 what is this ? " she exclaimed, as a band of music 
 struck up in the hall. 
 
 At this instant, Elia, accompanied by Carlos 
 
132 ELI A ; OK, 
 
 and a crowd of joung people, ran to the Asis- 
 tenta and raising her, almost by force, from her 
 arm-chair carried her into the hall, where a small 
 stage had been erected, on which stood Clara 
 holding by the middle a number of ribbons, 
 whose ends hung down on both sides of lier. 
 She then made the gentlemen go on one side 
 and the ladies on the other, and each take hold 
 of one end of a ribbon, the rule being, that those 
 who found themselves thus united were part- 
 ners, and must dance the first dance together. 
 
 " Make aunt take a ribbon," said Clara, and, 
 much against her inclination, the good senora 
 was obliged to yield to the supplications of the 
 merry throng around her. 
 
 " Sky blue ! " whispered Clara to Carlos, as 
 she observed Elia making choice of this color. 
 
 Carlos followed her counsel, and, when Clara 
 let fall the ribbons, found himself united to his 
 lady-love. Clara looked at him and smiled sig- 
 nificantly ; but the smile leit her face as she ob- 
 served her aunt's look of horror upon finding 
 herself, by a fatal casualty, joined to the Pole. 
 Such was the anger of the Asistenta, that» 
 placing the ribbon in Clara's hands, she ex- 
 claimed: 
 
SPAIN FIFTY TEARS AGO. 133 
 
 " You must dance with my partner, and tell 
 iiira that I neither dance nor speak French. 
 You will be delighted to dance with him, no 
 doubt, since you speak of this son of Poland as 
 a true Spanish woman would speak of a de- 
 scendant of Pelayo." So saying, she turned 
 her back and ran to Maria, whom she saw look- 
 ing in at a door, with a face sour enough to 
 turn all the wine in her vaults into vinegar, 
 
 " Be quick, Maria,'' said she. " Send for 
 ices, jellies, cakes, chocolate, coffee, preserves, 
 confections, wine, lemonade. Call Pedro. See 
 that nothing is wanting." 
 
 " The countess has ordered every thing, as if 
 she were in her own house," growled Maria, 
 
 " And why shouldn't she, woman ? Are we 
 in Lent, you grumbler, you ? " 
 
 " The mats will be ruined, senora." 
 
 " Then we will buy new ones," cried the se- 
 nora, running over to the other side of the room, 
 where sat the Baroness de Bruno. 
 
 " My dear Isabel," said the baroness, " your 
 uouse is a perfect bear-garden," 
 
 " I know it, baroness, but what can I do ? 
 This Clara would raise a riot in a nunnery ! " 
 
134 
 
 " What a looking set ! " contiuued the baron- 
 ess. "That fellow who is talking with your 
 friend Delgado is a music-teacher. The one 
 whose arm Clara has is a petty trader ; and as 
 for tlie big-whiskered rascal that she danced 
 with, why — well, never mind what he is, but be 
 Bure to tell Maria to look out for your silver 
 candlesticks." 
 
 " Come, come, baroness, you know he is not 
 so bad as that, though he has had the misfortune 
 to come from Poland." So saying, the Asistenta 
 moved away from her as unceremoniously as she 
 had left Maria, and approached a table where 
 her sister-in-law was playing cards. 
 
 " How are you getting on, Ines ? " she asked. 
 
 " Yery well, Isabel ; but I must be going, for 
 it is getting late, and I have the headache." 
 
 " Leave Esperanza, then, sister." 
 
 "Pardon me, Isabel, but I must take her 
 with me ; for I do not allow her to dance with 
 any but her equals, and you must admit that 
 Clara has gathered together a very promiscuous 
 company, to say the least of it. Good-night," 
 
 After Elia had danced the first country 
 dance with Carlos, her hand was claimed by 
 
SPAIN FIFTY YEARS AGO. 135 
 
 young Eiosecco, wlio could not conceal the pro- 
 found impression which her beauty had made 
 upon him. Carlos seated himself near the door, 
 and watched the beautiful pair with anxious 
 looks. Wlien the dance was finished, Elia took 
 a seat near him ; but Carlos, in a fit of jealousy, 
 left the room and commenced pacing violently 
 up and down the hall. Scarcely had Elia noted 
 his absence, however, before he was at her 
 side. 
 
 "Elia," said he, "do you know what the 
 color of the ribbon which united us to-night is 
 emblematical of? " 
 
 " Yes ; the purity of Mary." 
 
 " In the language of the world, Elia, it sig^ 
 nifies jealousy. Do you know what that is ? " 
 
 " Yes, Carlos, it is the pang one feels at be- 
 ing deceived. San Jose was unjustly jealous of 
 Mary, and so the — ^" 
 
 " Merciful Father, Elia ! " interrupted Car- 
 los, " do remember that you are not now in a 
 convent — jealousy is not founded on convictions. 
 It is this that I feel when I observe that another 
 wishes to take my love from me, and that she 
 forgets — " 
 
136 elia; ok, 
 
 "Do yoii suppose that I could forget you, 
 Carlos ? " interrupted Elia. 
 
 " At least, you did not think of me ! " 
 
 " All the time, Carlos ! " 
 
 " I don't believe it ! " 
 
 " Since I have consented to keep silence," 
 answered Elia, sorrowfully, " you think me ca- 
 pable of telling a falsehood, Carlos ? " 
 
 " But didn't I see that, as soon as the music 
 commenced, you thought of nothing but dan- 
 cing and amusing yourself." 
 
 " As soon as the music commenced, Carlos, 
 my heart sang such sweet words, in an idiom 
 that the lips cannot pronounce ! your name 
 alone I heard distinctly." 
 
 "Many times, Elia?" 
 
 " So many, so many ! may Grod send as 
 many angels to me in the hour of death ! So, 
 Carlos, I cannot conceive of your being jealous, 
 and—" 
 
 "But, Elia," said Carlos, interrupting her, 
 "if you saw me paying attention to another) 
 would you not be jealous ! " 
 
 " No," answered Elia, " no ! I should never 
 suppose you loved me less on that account. I 
 
SPAIN FIFTY YEARS AGO. 137 
 
 could never suspect you of wishing to deceive 
 me." 
 
 " But I, who have not your admirable sang 
 froid^^ exclaimed Carlos, getting angry again ; 
 " I, who am jealous even of the breeze which 
 fans your cheek, do not msh you to dance with 
 any one." 
 
 " I will not dance, Carlos." 
 
 " Nor speak to any one, Elia ? " 
 
 " I will not speak, Carlos." 
 
 "I do not wish you ever to look at any 
 one," continued Carlos, -getting more exacting, 
 as Elia became more submissive ; and convert- 
 ing into despotism the anger which he could 
 not vent in a quarrel. 
 
 " I will not look at any one without your 
 consent, " replied Elia, lowering her eyes. 
 
 " But why do you cry ? " said Carlos, after 
 a short silence, observing great tears trickling 
 down her cheeks. 
 
 "I weep," replied Elia, sorrowfully, "be- 
 cause I find that, without knowing it, I have 
 displeased you, and because I never thought 
 any one wcu.i chide so harshly, and you least 
 of alL" 
 
138 
 
 " Oh, pardon me, pardon me, Elia," said 
 Carlos, vanquislied by her tears, " T have been 
 unjust, cruel; I should have remembered that 
 the mortal who loves you can never make you 
 descend to his sphere, but must endeavor to 
 elevate himself to yours." 
 
SPAIN FIFTY TEAES AGO. 139 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Caelos was so madly in love, and Elia so 
 frank and sincere, that their mutual passion soon 
 became evident to all the world save the blind 
 Asistenta, and gave rise to the usual amount of 
 small talk pertaining to such matters. Their 
 mothers were, of course, " wondered at ; " Carlos 
 censured, and the " presumptuous Elia " abused 
 beyond measure, especially by maiden ladies on 
 the shady side of thirty. Each one traced, with 
 admirable judgment, the line of conduct Elia 
 should pursue and the measures she should 
 adopt for the future ; each one, in short, being, 
 according to custom — as you are who read this, 
 and I who write it — wise, prudent, and far-see- 
 ing in thB affairs of other people. 
 
 Among those who talked most on this oc- 
 casion was the Baroness of Bruno, who, as we 
 have seen, was one of those unfortunates that, 
 
i4C 
 
 like the hedgehog, are hostile to all with whom 
 they come in contact ; who make stilts of criti- 
 cism for their own elevation, unhappily forget- 
 ful of the iact that these very stilts make every 
 defect they themselves may happen to possess 
 more strikiiigly apparent. These people — 
 scouts for envy, telegraphs for malice — ^unlike 
 the bee, which extracts from all things honey. 
 seem to have received the sad mission of extract- 
 ing poison even from honey itself. And how 
 can this capital defect of our epoch be corrected, 
 what check can be given to this general depre- 
 ciation of men and things ? Making ourselves 
 virtuous ; for with virtue there will enter into 
 onr hearts benevolence, a. id indulgence for the 
 faults of others. 
 
 Tlie baroness, then, as we said, gave a loose 
 -rein to her tongue, saying among other things 
 that "she (iould not comprehend the passive 
 conduct of the marchioness, one of the Cordobas 
 de la Cepa, and as ridiculously vain as a certain 
 female ancestor of hers, who upon hearing a bell 
 toUing at the death, of a Queen of Spain, which, 
 ordinarily, only tolled for those of the house of 
 Cepa, asked haughtily, ' was the queen one of 
 
SPAIN FIFl'Y YKAES AGO. ' i i 
 
 tlie great Cordobas of Oepa, that our bell tolls 
 for her?'" 
 
 To tell the truth, the baroness owed the 
 marchioness a grudge, for the following reason : 
 Her family was of somewhat recent oiigln ; sc 
 that her family mansion, which was really mag 
 nificent, was built in much better taste than that 
 of the marchioness, which was constructed be- 
 fore the conquest; and, besides being a most un- 
 sightly pile, was in a most inaccessible part of 
 the country ; for the ancient grandees isolated 
 themselves as if they feared they might want 
 space to stretch their powerful arms, and raised 
 their roofs to heaven that they might not have 
 to bend their haughty heads. So the baroness 
 said, on a certain occasion, that " the marchion- 
 ess's house was like a coarse cloak, covered with 
 patches and placed m a garretP Of course, 
 there was not wanting a run-see-and-tell-her, 
 swifter than a locomotive and more diligent than 
 a carrier-pigeon, to report this to the marchion- 
 ess, who replied, in her usual calm way, " that 
 no one could be a better judge of these matters 
 than the baroness, whose house was so new, that 
 she herself might almost be considered the arclii- 
 
142 
 
 tect of it ; and that it was certainly a pity that 
 a new house could not accompany an old title." 
 
 We have not been able to learn whether, as 
 a Christian woman, the lady of the new house 
 was enabled to forgive the lady of the old one, 
 up to the hour of her death. 
 
 The marchioness, however, notwithstanding 
 her apparent indifference, was not a tranquil 
 spectator of what was passing in her family; 
 for, although she believed it an easy thing to 
 pluck out by the roots from Carlos's heart the 
 mad passion he had conceived for Elia, when the 
 proper time came to speak to him on the subject, 
 yet she feared lest his impetuous character should 
 cause him to reveal it to the world, and thus 
 give rise to a scandal which might be fatal to 
 the innocent girl, whose good name she respect- 
 ed as much as she did her child's. 
 
 She determined at length that there was no 
 longer any time to lose, and that Carlos must 
 either be persuaded to renounce Elia entirely, 
 or else forced to return to his regiment at Cadiz ; 
 and, her resolution being once taken, she be- 
 came tranquil, for she thought, and she thought 
 v,'isely, that there is no love which can resist 
 reason, time, and absence united, 
 
SPAIN FIFTY YEAES AGO. Ii3 
 
 On his part, Carlos had long since deter- 
 mined to come to an understanding with Lis 
 mother ; but had deferred it from day to day, 
 awaiting a favorable opportunity. 
 
 He had not sought an intermedium, because 
 he knew that no one had any influence over his 
 mother in family affairs, except his aunt, whom 
 his dehcacy forbade his mixing up in the mat- 
 ter. 
 
 One day, then, after they had finished break- 
 fast, and the servants had retired, the marchion- 
 ess, turning suddenly toward her son, said to 
 him in a low but firm tone : 
 
 " Carlos, although it may be contrary to the 
 maternal dignity to interfere in the gallantries 
 of one's sons, I find it impossible to refrain from 
 bO doing on this present occasion. It is my duty 
 as a mother to anticipate and avert the results 
 of your follies, which you, with your impulsive 
 character, cannot foresee. I am, therefore, under 
 the painful necessity of prescribing to you your 
 future course, since the past has given rise to 
 rumors which may compromise an amiable 
 ^oung girl." 
 
 Upon hearing this unexpected exordium, the 
 
144 ELIA ; OE, 
 
 brothers and sister were surprised and over- 
 whelmed. 
 
 Fernando, knowing the character of his 
 mother and the intentions of his brother, foresaw 
 a violent scene, the result of which would not be 
 what the marchioness expected ; and so he said 
 to her, " Mother, we men understand these mat- 
 ters better than women, and if you will permit 
 me to make your wishes known to Carlos, a dis- 
 cussion painful to both may be avoided." 
 
 "jSTo," answered the marchioness; "the 
 counsels of a mother, to have their full force, 
 must proceed from her own lips; from her 
 mouth alone has her will its full authority." 
 
 Esperanza, pale and trembling, gazed ner- 
 vously at her mother. Fernando seated himself 
 in an agitated manner, and leaned his head on 
 his hand. Carlos thought of Elia, and, wiping 
 the perspiration from his forehead, became calm 
 upon repeating to himself, " Now or never ! " 
 
 The marchioness attributed the visible emo- 
 tion of her children to their surprise at finding 
 her acquainted with Carlos's love-affair, and 
 thinking she would the more readily, on that 
 account, obtain her end, continued slowly and 
 
SPAIN FIFTY TEAES AGO. 145 
 
 dispassionately: "It is not my intention, Car- 
 los, to chide you for having placed your eyes on 
 a girl, who, as an orphan and b, protegee of your 
 aunt, should have been held sacred; for your 
 reason will demonstrate it to you better than my 
 words, and your conscience, when you listen to 
 it, more clearly than either. The fair fame of Elia 
 has suffered from your inconsiderate gallantry : 
 and unblemished reputation, Carlos, is the first 
 dowry that a man asks of a woman whom he 
 makes his wife — the most beautiful recompense 
 she can offer her parents — the most glorious in- 
 heritance she can bequeath to her children. It 
 is her crown in the world, her epitaph in the 
 tomb ; and it is a flower, Carlos, that is withered 
 by a glance. It is necessary, then, that Elia 
 should be protected from the withering stare of 
 the world ; to effect which there is but one way 
 — it is easy, simple, does not attract attention, 
 and, above all, it is my will. Carlos, you must 
 leave Seville without a moment's delay." 
 
 There reigned a moment of silence ; upon 
 Esperanza's clasped hands fell two large tears. 
 
 At length, Carlos, with the deference in- 
 spired by his profound respect for his mother, 
 1 
 
146 elia; oe, 
 
 but witli the determination and firmness which 
 his vehement love for Elia gave him, replied : 
 
 "Mother, if you exact it, I will depart. 
 But do not think, because I obey you in this, 
 that I renounce my consecrated love. No, it is 
 my life, my soul, my destiny, my whole being ! 
 I love an angel whom God has placed upon the 
 earth to see if men would know how to appre- 
 ciate her. She has accepted my love, and no 
 power on earth can separate us ! " 
 
 Such was the surprise of the marchioness, 
 upon hearing these words, that she became 
 dumb for the moment, and fixed her astonished 
 and glaring eyes on her son, while a mortal pal- 
 lor overspread her features. 
 
 " What ! " cried she at length in a choking 
 voice, " have my ears heard aright ? Have you 
 dared to say, in my presence, that nothing on 
 earth can deter you from an insensate madness ? 
 Is it my son, the son of the man whom T love 
 and revere in the grave, who has uttered these 
 words ? " 
 
 " Yes, mother, yes ! it is your son, who is 
 ready to sacrifice every thing for you except his 
 affection. Oh mother, mother, do not condemn 
 
SPAIN FIFTY lEAES AGO. 147 
 
 me ! Wliy should you condemn a sentiment so 
 pure, so noble, so unconquerable ? Do not force 
 me to rebel against your authority, which I have 
 ever cheerfully submitted to — against your judg- 
 ment, which 1 have been hitherto accustomed to 
 consult with the confidence of the shepherd in 
 the stars that cannot lead astray. Consent, 
 then, dear mother, so that, receiving my wife 
 from your hands, she may be doubly sacred ! " 
 
 "And dare you even to think for a mo- 
 ment," exclaimed the marchioness, beside her- 
 self with passion, " of uniting yourself to a — 
 yes! the veil must fall that, like a cloud 
 charged with lightnings and tempests, has here- 
 tofore covered the fatal secret of her birth ! — 
 know, then — " 
 
 " Oh mother ! " said Carlos, interrupting her, 
 "what do I care? "Would she make me any 
 happier, should I love her more dearly, if she 
 were the daughter of a king ? Of what impor- 
 tance is it to me to know the origin of the 
 flowers in whose bosom the honey was created 
 which is to sweeten my life? Pride alone 
 would hold rank in greater estimation than 
 virtue, innocence, and beauty 1 " 
 
148 ELIA ; OE, 
 
 " He is mad ! " gasped the marchioness. 
 " He neither listens to reason, nor hearkens to 
 the voice of his mother. Come to your senses, 
 oh my son, and leave fables to fools and chil- 
 dren ! " 
 
 " Dear mother," replied Carlos, " let me be- 
 seech you not to be as inexorable in your oppo- 
 sition as I am firm in my resolve. Command 
 the possible that I may obey you, and do not 
 destroy the authority which I venerate, against 
 the rock of impossibility." 
 
 "Fly from my sight, rebellious son!" ex- 
 claimed the marchioness, tremulous with indig- 
 nation. "Let not to-morrow's sun find you 
 here! Do not appear in my presence again 
 until you have regained your reason, and, with 
 it, the sense of your duty to your family, and 
 the respect which you owe to your mother." 
 
 " I will go," said Carlos, rising, " I will go, 
 but not before renewing in your presence the 
 oath I have sworn to Elia before Heaven. Elia, 
 whom I love, and who loves me — ^Elia in whom 
 I confide, and who confides in me — ^Elia shall be 
 my wife I " 
 
 The marchioness drew herself up to her foil 
 
SPAIN FIFTY TEARS AGO. 149 
 
 height, and, with a face as white as the wall, 
 shook her finger at her child, while from her 
 trembling lips came these terrible words : 
 
 "Then take to her as a dowry, unworthy 
 son, the bitter curse of your mother ! " 
 
 Esperanza shrieked. Fernando bent toward 
 his brother who fell fainting iil his arms. , 
 
 The marchioness went out with hurried 
 steps. Esperanza followed her to her bedroom, 
 wringing her hands. 
 
 " Mother, mother ! where are you going ? '' 
 she exclaimed, as she observed her putting on 
 her mantilla. 
 
 "I am going," answered the marchioness, 
 "to undeceive the presumptuous girl who has 
 dared to receive youi- brother's vows, and fo- 
 ment madness— I am going to dissipate her 
 wild illusions." 
 
 "Oh, mother!" remonstrated Esperanza, 
 falUng on her knees before her and seizing her 
 by the dress, " Elia is sick. Let me go to her. 
 Let a friend open her eyes, if you persist in it, 
 but do not go yourself — do not go yourself! at 
 this moment, at least, do not go, I implore 
 you!" 
 
150 
 
 " Leave me," answered tlie marcMoness, fa- 
 rioTisly, and tearing herself from her grasp as 
 she spoke, " let me not find an adversary in each 
 of my children ! " So saying, she went forth ; 
 and Esperanza, overpowered with grief, remain- 
 ed kneeling, with her hands extended toward 
 the door through which the marchioness had 
 made her exit. 
 
SPAIN FIFTY YEAES AGO. 151 
 
 CHAPTER XIY. 
 
 Elia was somewhat indisposed, and lying on 
 a sofa. Maria liad dressed her, and standing 
 beside her, with a spoon in one hand and a cup 
 in the other, said to her : 
 
 " Come, Elia, take some more of this jelly ; 
 I made it and I am sure it is good." 
 
 " I will take it," answered Elia, " but it ia 
 not good if yon did make it, you vain woman, 
 you ! " 
 
 " How yom' skin bums ! " said Maria, feeling 
 her pulse. 
 
 "Tou are determined to have me sick, I 
 see," answered Elia, " and aU for the purpose of 
 making me swallow your mixtures. Take them 
 yourself, for I am well and happier than the 
 queen, because, to-rfiorrow or next day, my se- 
 cret will be brought to light, and then from 
 
152 
 
 pure content you will not sleep for three nights, 
 nor grumble for three days." 
 
 "I'U bet," said Maria, smiliag inwardly, 
 " that this secret you talk so much of wiU prove 
 to be the mountain which brought forth a 
 mouse." 
 
 " On the contrary," returned Elia, earnestly, 
 " it is the mouse which is about to bring forth a 
 mountain — you will see, you will see ! " 
 
 The door opened suddenly, and the mar- 
 chioness, pallid, severe, and imposing, appeared 
 before them. 
 
 The spoon dropped from Elia's hands, and 
 Maria let fall the cup on the floor. 
 
 " Maria, leave us," said the marchioness ; " I 
 have something to say to Elia." 
 
 Maria, without moving, cast a look of un- 
 fathomable tenderness upon the agitated Elia. 
 
 " Did you hear me ? " asked the marchioness, 
 in a peremptory manner. 
 
 After waiting a moment, Maria, frightened 
 and confused, retired. " Can it be possible ? " she 
 murmured. " Ifo, no, it is not that, it cannot 
 be ! If she were even to allude to it, she ought 
 to be hung up by the tongue." 
 
SPAIN FIFTY TEAEB AGO. 153 
 
 Wheu Maria had closed the door, the mar- 
 chioness took a chair, and seated herself near 
 Elia. 
 
 " Elia," said she, " there are certain matters 
 in this world which may be hidden so long as 
 this concealment does not give rise to great 
 evils ; but which must be revealed when there 
 is no other way of preventing these evils. Such 
 is the case with respect to the secret of your 
 birth, which I now find myself under the neces- 
 sity of disclosing to you." 
 
 She was silent for a moment, and then con- 
 tinued : " Listen to me attentively, and let what 
 I am about to tell you serve for your guidance 
 in the future, 
 
 " On a certain occasion, my sister and my- 
 self, on our way to one, of her country-seats, 
 drew up at the door of the inn in the village of 
 Italia, where we saw the curate of the place, 
 whom we both knew very well, about setting 
 out for Seville. Isabel wished to know what 
 urgent business carried him to Seville, where 
 the plague was raging fearfully. We retired to 
 a room, and the curate spoke thus : 
 
 " ' A month ago, T was awakened, about mid- 
 7* 
 
154 
 
 night, by a loud rap at my door. I arose and 
 opened it; and a man, wlio hid Ms face in a 
 blanket, thrown over his shoulders, told me that 
 a woman required my ministry, and requested 
 me to go with him to her residence. I hesitated 
 at first, in the presence of that imposing appa- 
 rition, but said, finally, "Lead the way, and I 
 will follow you." We traversed the dark and 
 lonely streets of the village, until we came to its 
 western outskirt, where we found two horses tied 
 to a tree. " Where are we going ? " I asked. 
 " Where you are needed," was the curt reply. I 
 saw that I was to be a part or perhaps a victim 
 of some sad mystery, but I commended myself 
 to God, and, mounting the animal designed for 
 me, followed my guide. We had ridden, at full 
 speed, a half horn*, when he drew up at the en- 
 trance of a dense wood, and, throwing himself 
 from his horse, motioned me to do the same. 
 He now led the way, by a narrow path, until 
 we came to an open space, where a bright fire 
 was burning, around which eight or ten men 
 were reclining : it was not easy to deceive one's 
 self; they were robbers. " Father," said one of 
 them to me, a young man of fine appearance, 
 
SPAIN FIFTY TEAE8 AGO. 155 
 
 who seemed to be tlie leader of the gang, judg- 
 ing from his lofty air and tone of command, 
 " confess this woman." He pointed, as he spoke, 
 to an unfortunate stretched upon a blanket at 
 his feet, and then withdrew with his companions 
 to a httle distance. I thought they were about 
 to assassinate her, and my blood froze in my 
 veins. I drew near to her, and, seeing she did 
 not move, raised her head ; the light of the fire 
 fell full upon her face ; it was beautiful. " Fa- 
 ther," she cried, " I feel that T have not long to 
 live, but before I die I desire to confess my sins, 
 which are without number. Say, father, say, 
 can so great a sinner die in peace — will God 
 grant this grace to her who asks it when there 
 is no longer any thing else for her to ask?" I 
 calmed that agitated spirit as best I could, and 
 found, as the unhappy woman redoubled her 
 cries, that she was in the pangs of childbirth. 
 It was necessary that slie should have temporal 
 succor without delay. I called the captain, and 
 teUing him of the great danger the patient was 
 in, proposed to take her to my house, where my 
 sister would render the aid which was indispen- 
 sable. After some hesitation, he accepted my 
 
156 
 
 offer, upon the condition that I would give her 
 to him again when she got well. This I prom- 
 ised to do, provided she should desire to go with 
 him, which he seemed not to doubt for an in- 
 stant. She was carried then to my house, where, 
 after much suffering, she gave birth to a child, 
 and died, resigning her soul to the Saviour's 
 care, washed in the tears of contrition. When 
 he, who had intrusted her to my care, came for 
 her, I carried him to her bier. He stood a long 
 time, silently contemplating those lovely fea- 
 tures, which death had whitened and composed, 
 as it purifies and tranquillizes the souls of those 
 who die as Christians. Thus there were found, 
 on either side of the coffin of that beautiful 
 being, whose honor had fallen a sacrifice to love, 
 the man who had ruined her, and the priest 
 whose holy mission it was to save her : the one, 
 full of terror, looking upon that death as a 
 frightful punishment; the other, considering it 
 as a merciful dispensation, and calmly praying 
 to God, while, full of hope and faith, he gazed 
 upon the corpse. I brought the babe, but upon 
 beholding it the bandit uttered an imprecation, 
 as if he were reproving it for causing the death 
 
SPAIN FtPTT TEAE8 AGO. 157 
 
 of its mother, covered his face with his hands 
 and rushed from the house.' " 
 
 " And abandoned it ! " cried Elia, who wit' 
 her hands clasped, and all her soul in her beau 
 tiful eyes, listened to the marchioness withou 
 being able to comprehend how the secret of ht. 
 birth could be connected with the story she wa:^ 
 so solemnly narrating. " Poor babe, poor for- 
 saken one ! " she continued, murmuring to her- 
 self, as the marchioness, without replying to her, 
 proceeded ; 
 
 " ' I waited until now,' continued the curate, 
 'to see whether the father would return to claim 
 his child, to whom I have given the name of its 
 mother; and, as he has not made his appear- 
 ance, I am about to place her in the orphan 
 asylum at Seville.' 
 
 " ' "Which is the purgatory of the angels who 
 there expiate the crimes of their parents,' cried 
 my sister, with her usual impetuosity. ' Bring 
 her to me, I beg of you, that I may look at her.'' 
 They brought her asleep ; but as soon as Isabel 
 took her she opened her eyes and seemed to be 
 looking into hers. Isabel, who always allows 
 herself to be carried away by her first impulses. 
 
158 
 
 kissed her and said: 'Sir curate, this child is 
 mine.' That child," added the marchioness, ris- 
 ing, "is yourself. And now consider whether 
 the daughter of a bandit and an abandoned 
 woman can expect to ally herself to the two 
 first houses of Andalusia ! " 
 
 Saying this, the marchioness departed, as- 
 suming a calmness which a mortal pallor and 
 an involuntary tremor showed was not real. 
 
 Maria, who was not far off", saw her go out, 
 and hastened to return to Elia's room, whither 
 her cries attracted the whole household, when, 
 upon entering it, she found the child she had 
 nursed lying senseless on the floor, like a corpse. 
 
 With hasty steps, supported by Don Benig- 
 no, came the Asistenta. 
 
 " What is this ? " she asked of the servants 
 crowded around Elia. " What has happened ? " 
 
 " She is dying, she is dying ! " shrieked 
 Maria, who had lost her presence of mind. 
 
 " Elia, Elia ! child of my heart ! " exclaimed 
 the Asistenta, "a doctor! a doctor! run — fly 
 all of you ! " 
 
 Don Benigno ran to open the window ; 
 Pedro to get vinegar. 
 
SPAIN FIITY TEAES AGO. 159 
 
 "But Maria, have you lost your senses?" 
 said tiie Asistenta. "Speak! say; what pro- 
 duced this?" 
 
 " I do not know," answered Maria, " I was 
 not here." 
 
 "Where were you, then, careless woman, 
 when I trusted her to your care in her sickness, 
 which I believed slight." 
 
 "Senora, the marchioness commanded me 
 to leave her." 
 
 " Has my sister been here, then ? " inquired 
 the surprised Asistenta. 
 
 At this moment, Elia, who had been placed 
 upon a sofa, opened her eyes, which she had 
 scarcely fixed on the anxious countenance of 
 the Asistenta, when, rising with a sudden im- 
 pulse, she threw herself at her feet, and, era- 
 bracing her knees, exclaimed : 
 
 " Senora, senora, I am not the daughter of 
 a friend of yours. I am the despised child of 
 a bandit — of a father who abandoned me ! I 
 am not worthy of the sweet name of daughter, 
 which you have bestowed upon me; call me 
 slave, senora! I will serve your servants, if 
 they disdain not ray service I I will put my 
 
160 ELIA ; OK, 
 
 self Id my place, and it will cost me little if of 
 all your favors you leave me that which I most 
 appreciate, most value — your affection ! " 
 
 Her sobs would not suffer her to proceed. 
 The Senora of Oalatrava had thrown horself into 
 an easy-chair, pale as death and trembling like 
 an aspen ; and an expression of the most violent 
 anger took the place of the dolorous sui-prise 
 which had been painted on her frank and ex- 
 pressive countenance. 
 
 "This is an iniquity t" she murmured — "a 
 vile treachery ! — this is to have the heart of it 
 tiger. Bise, my daughter," said she, pressing 
 Elia to her heart, " this is your place, and will 
 ever be it. You are my daughter, and who- 
 ever is not willing to recognize you as such, 
 must leave my house and renounce my friend- 
 ship. I will avenge you, my darling! They 
 wish to abase you; I will raise you up — mj 
 child, my child ! " 
 
 But Elia did not answer; she had fallen 
 into a new fainting-fit, accompanied by de- 
 lirium. 
 
 " Senora, senora," cried Maria, crazy with 
 grief, " they have killed her ! this is an assassi- 
 
SPAIN FIFTY TEARS AGO. It l 
 
 nation ! The child was already ill, and this has 
 opened her grave. What crime had she been 
 guilty of, this rose without a thorn ? " and Maria 
 burst into a flood of tears. 
 
 " Maria, don't add to our lady's affliction," 
 said Don Benigno, without withdrawing his eyes 
 from the Asistenta's altered and mournful face. 
 
 " Console her yourself, if you can ! " an- 
 swered Maria. 
 
 " Pedro now entered with the doctor, who, 
 after bleeding Elia, and putting her to bed, took 
 his leave, promising to return in a few hours. 
 After he had left, the Asistenta made signs to 
 Don Benigno to follow her, and went to the 
 library. 
 
 "Bring the inkstand," said she, after she had 
 seated herself, with the clear voice and brevity 
 which were natural to her when she was great- 
 ly excited. 
 
 Don Benigno was so confused at hearing 
 these words, and the presage of what was about 
 to happen, that, instead of an inkstand, he 
 brought a candlestick. 
 
 " "What are you thinking of, man of God ? " 
 asked the Asistenta, angrily, rising herself and 
 
162 EUA ; OE, 
 
 bringing the inkstand with the agility of a 
 young gill. When all was ready, she said : 
 
 " Write what I dictate." 
 
 " ' You have murdered my Elia ! ' " 
 
 Don Benigno stopped, and his pen trembled 
 as if it were shaken by the wind. 
 
 " Why do you not write ? " asked the seuora. 
 
 " Because I do not know to whom to direct 
 the letter," said the secretary, who found it im- 
 possible to begin an epistle without heading it 
 with the name of the person to whom it was to 
 be sent. 
 
 " The superscription will tell you," replied 
 the A.sistenta, impatiently. 
 
 " ' El'ia^ " repeated Don Benigno after fin- 
 ishing the sentence. 
 
 '' ' You have behaved treacherously,' " con- 
 tinned the Asistenta. " You have offended me 
 irreconcilably. The cruelty of your conduct 
 toward my daughter ' — (underscore the word 
 ' daughter,' Don Benigno) : toward my daughter 
 have you done it ! '" 
 
 " Yes, seilora," replied the secretary, sorrow- 
 fully. 
 
 The Asistenta continued : 
 
SPAIN FIFTY YEARS AGO. 163 
 
 " ' And your offensive and inexplicable con- 
 duct toward me induce me to inform you that 
 you and your children may renounce forever — 
 you, my friendship^they, my property ! ' " 
 
 Up to the word friendship inclusive, Don 
 Benigno wrote, as well as he was able ; but 
 when he came io property, his pen fell from his 
 hands ; and he begged the senora, with an 
 earnestness never before known in him, either 
 to retract that last sentence or exempt him from 
 the task of writing it^a task it was impossible 
 for him to fulfil. 
 
 The Asistenta snatched the paper from his 
 hands, made two great blots, wrote in large 
 characters the objectionable word, signed the 
 letter, folded it as God willed, sealed it with a 
 large red seal, directed it, and sent it to her 
 sister-in-law. 
 
 A half hour afterward she received a neatly- 
 folded note. It read thus : 
 
 "The houses of Orrea and Cordoba have 
 lived ages in opulence and honor, without hav- 
 ing need of your property. Therefore we are 
 all indifi'erent to it, leaving the thirst of gold to 
 the lower classes; it is far diiferent, however, 
 
1 64 ELIA ; OB, 
 
 with your Mendship, which I regret to lose. I 
 haye taken a step, harsh perhaps, but necessary 
 — for great evils, great remedies ! But I will 
 not condescend to excuse myself, since I do not 
 recognize any other judge, in this matter, than 
 my own conscience. 
 
 " Your servant, who kisses your hands, 
 
 " Inks de Cordoba." 
 
 "And she calls my petting this angel and 
 treating her as my child great evils," cried the 
 Asistenta, indignantly, after she had read the 
 note. " Who would believe it ? But my child 
 she shall be, let Ines fret as she may." 
 
 From which remark, it is easy to see that 
 the good seiiora was a thousand leagues from 
 sus]>ecting the plot of that drama whose effects 
 she felt without divining its cause. 
 
SPAIN FIFTY VEAKS AGO. 165 
 
 CflAPTER XV. 
 
 A: EE the marchioness had left her, Espe- 
 ranzii jailed Fernando, and told him, sobbing, 
 of thf determination their mother had come to 
 in he/ concentrated anger. She begged him to 
 go for Father Salvador, of the order of the Capu- 
 chins, the marchioness's confessor, and the only 
 one who exercised any influence over her 
 haughty spirit, so jealous of her authority as a 
 mother. This authority had always been re- 
 spected by her children, in consequence of her 
 austerity as a widow, her nobility and dignity 
 as a woman, her entire consecration of herself 
 to the interests of her children as a mother, and 
 her virtues as a Christian. 
 
 " Only her confessor," said Esperanza to her 
 brother, "only his voice, which is that of reli- 
 gion, can calm this tempest of the soul, as the 
 Saviour calmed the waves of the sea." 
 
] fi6 ELIA ; OE. 
 
 Fernando approved of his sister's judgment, 
 and, to avoid all publicity, instead of sending a 
 servant, went himself to the convent, whence he 
 presently returned with the priest. 
 
 So venerable was the appearance of the 
 pious mail, in his coarse sack and with his sil- 
 very beard, that all who looked upon him recog- 
 nized the fact that it is not in gold and purple 
 that the dignity of man shines the most re- 
 splendent. 
 
 When the marchioness returned, Father Sal- 
 vador was already aware that upon that virtuous 
 and peaceful home the maternal anathema had 
 fallen, like a. thunderbolt, leaving its scathing 
 mark, and shaking the house to its foundation. 
 
 Upon beholding her confessor, the exaspera- 
 ted mother cast a glance of indignant reproof at 
 her children, and made a sign with her hand to 
 them to leave the room ; then turning to the 
 Capuchin, she said, with asperity : " You were 
 sent for, 1 presume ? " 
 
 "And if it were so?" 
 
 " I shall regard it as a piece of unparalleled 
 insolence in my children, to wish to impose a 
 judge upon me." 
 
SPAIN FIFTY TEAES AGO. 167 
 
 " I do not oome as a judge, I come as a me- 
 diator." 
 
 " And do you expect to persuade me to give, 
 my consent to the monstrous marriage which 
 my son desires to make ? " 
 
 " You know, senora, that I have never inter- 
 fered in the temporal affairs of your house. My 
 visits are altogether spiritual." 
 
 "I trust you have at least been informed, 
 father, of the enormity of my son's conduct, of 
 his scandalous designs, of his impertinent eman- 
 cipation. I always feared, from his want of 
 judgment, that he would fall into grave errors ; 
 but I never imagined that, at the age of twenty- 
 two, he would endeavor to dishonor his family, 
 stain his escutcheon, defy public opinion, and 
 tread under foot the will of his mothur — no, I 
 never imagined any thing half so horrible ! " 
 
 " Your youth so happily passed in the re- 
 tirement of the convent," answered Father Sal- 
 vador, "your even temperament, your happy 
 marriage have preserved you from the violence 
 of the passions ; therefore you know nothing of 
 them, and judge too hastily and harshly of their 
 effects upon your son." 
 
168 
 
 " Do you mean to excuse filial disobedience 
 and madness ? " 
 
 " By no means. I will only warn you, mar- 
 chioness, that passion is never more absolute and 
 decided than when confronted by despotic ob- 
 stacles, never more aiTOgant than when it finds 
 itself despised. Sweetness of temper and pru- 
 dence efi"ect more, in time, than rigor and intol- 
 erance." 
 
 " And is it a minister of religion, a judge in 
 the confessional," asked the marchioness, with 
 bitter irony, " who counsels indulgence toward 
 the passions ? " 
 
 " It is because I am sucli, senora, that I give 
 this counsel — otherwise who would kneel at our 
 feet? Marchioness," added the director, in a 
 composed but firm voice, "you are right in 
 what you condemn and prohibit ; and so your 
 will shall be obeyed, and your son depart: you 
 cannot and should not exact more. But you 
 have acted with violence and pride, and you 
 must retract yom- maternal curse, so lightly and 
 irreligiously given." 
 
 " I ! I ! " exclaimed the marchioness, wMle 
 the flush of anger overspread her pallid features. 
 
Sl'AIN FIFTY YEARS AGO. 169 
 
 "/ retract one moment what I have said the 
 moment before? / humble myself before mj 
 children ? /yield to an insensate rebel ? You are 
 jesting, father. I thought you knew, ere now, 
 that fickleness is not one of my failings." 
 
 " Bat it will, on this occasion, be a virtue of 
 which you can boast. I have often told you, 
 marchioness, that humility — ^this despised vir- 
 tue which, like the unpolished diamond, neither 
 shines nor sparkles — ^is the most reliable guide 
 to perfection." 
 
 "If humility require a mother to humble 
 herself before a son given up to his unblinded 
 passions, if it require her to lend him wings, in- 
 stead of placing fetters upon him, to fly to a 
 precipice — sir, a good mother renounces this 
 virtue ! " 
 
 " While you continue, then, in this frame of 
 mind," said Father Salvador, rising, "you can- 
 not, under my direction, partake of the holy 
 sacraments." 
 
 " Ah, well ! " replied the marchioness, with 
 
 angi'y haughtiness, " ah, well ! there are other 
 
 priests in Seville who will look at this matter 
 
 from another point of view, and who will not 
 
 8 
 
170 ELIA ; OK, 
 
 exact from me that which compromises my dig- 
 nity. Let the cause cease, atid its effects will 
 cease. Preach this doctrine of humility to the 
 son, in whom it would be more becoming than 
 in the mother." 
 
 " You know I am not the director of his 
 conscience, senora." 
 
 "Neither can you be of mine, hereafter. 1 
 will not give this rebellious son such an advan- 
 tage over me." 
 
 "Then my functions here cease," answered 
 the confessor, calmly. " Our yoke is so volun- 
 tary that it can be shaken off at pleasure. What 
 comes from God, comes accompanied with free 
 will, without which vice would not be culpable, 
 nor virtue entitled to its reward. For myself," 
 added the upright counsellor, " I cannot depart 
 from what appears my duty as your spiritual di- 
 rector. Adieu, senora ; remember that, if I do 
 not yield, it is because I ought not, and my con- 
 science will not permit me to do so, but that ob- 
 stinacy alone hinders you from yielding." 
 
 Saying this, he went out with a slow step, 
 and when the last fold of the coarse habit of the 
 Capuchin disappeared through the crack of the 
 'loor, a choking voice was heard : 
 
SPAIN FIFTY YEAKS AGO. 171 
 
 " Father Salvador ! Father Salvador, return ! 
 I obey you ! " 
 
 The religious woman had triumphed over 
 her passions ; the Catholic stood upon the head 
 of the serpent. The marchioness had let her 
 stately head fall upon her hands, and a torrent 
 of tears streamed from her eyes. 
 
 " Daughter," said the father, reentering the 
 room, in a voice profoundly moved, "there is 
 more merit in this than in a year of ascetic life." 
 
 On the following day, Carlos, absolved, left 
 Seville, sacrificing with the most violent grief 
 his present happiness, but firm in his hopes foi 
 
172 . ELIA ; OK, 
 
 CHAPTEE XVI. 
 
 Onk month after the events narrated in our 
 last chapter, a profound silence reigned in Elia's 
 chamber, which, but a little before, was the 
 sanctuary of flowers, songs, and happiness. The 
 window-curtains were carefully drawn, to ex- 
 clude the light. The perfume of the jasmin 
 and tuberose had given place to the smell of 
 lavender and burnt sug^i- ; pomades, ribbons, 
 and flowers were replaced on the toilet-table by 
 jellies, pills, and prescriptions. The Virgin of 
 Hope, whose altar was under the immediate care 
 Iff the Asistenta, and San Antonio, the favorite 
 saint of Maria, were hanging at the head of the 
 bed. On the bureau was a crucifix, with a 
 blessed candle burning before it. Peeping out 
 from under the pillows of a bed, as white as a 
 lily, were the silken cords of a little bag con- 
 taining precious relics which had been sent by 
 
SPATN FIFTY YEAES AGO. 173 
 
 the D.uns. In short, all that Catholic apparatus 
 was seen there which unbelievers behold with- 
 out being able to comprehend that it gives cour- 
 age in danger, supports in grief, and robs death 
 of its terrors. 
 
 At the head of the bed sat the Asistenta, and 
 at the foot Don Benigno, whose anxious eyes 
 wandered alternately from the bed to his mis- 
 tress, whose sunken cheeks showed the effects of 
 care and watchfulness. Near her was Maria, 
 seated on a low chair, and holding in her hand 
 a fly-brush, with which she waged perpetual 
 war upon the flies that dared to invade the 
 sacred spot where Elia, her darling, was repos- 
 ing. 
 
 Elia lay immovable upon the bed ; the bloom 
 of youth and health had disappeared from her 
 cheek, and, at a little distance, the sleeping girl 
 might have been confounded with the white 
 shests, had it not been for her dark hair, which 
 parted in the middle, hung down on both sides 
 of her pallid face-. — seeming, to a superstitious 
 mind, like the black hands of Death, claiming 
 that inert head as their prey. 
 
 The group we have described, was full of 
 
174 elia; ok, 
 
 profound interest, and made a picture just the 
 opposite of ttat whicli we are accustomed to 
 imagine for our consolation ; for, in this case, in- 
 stead of the compassionate angels watching over 
 the miseries of humanity, these were watching 
 over an angel: the Asistenta, personating old 
 age, Don Benigno impotency, and Maria, who 
 was worn to a skeleton, from grief and watching, 
 sickness and sorrow, with their attendant evils. 
 
 "This is the longest and most quiet sleej 
 she has had," said the Asistenta, softly. 
 
 "By far," answered Don Benigno, pulling 
 out his immense watch — "forty-three minutes 
 and a half." 
 
 " And this is San Antonio's day ! " exclaim- 
 ed Maria, opening her hands and extending 
 them toward the image of the saint with an ex- 
 pression of fervent gratitude. 
 
 After a little while, the Asistenta said, as if 
 she were following out the thread of her pre- 
 vious reflections : 
 
 "Carlos has gone, so I hear, and has not 
 come to bid me good-by — nor my poor child, 
 whom he appeared to be so fond of — nor even 
 you, Don Benigno, who were so patient with 
 
SPAIN FIFTY YKAKS AGO. 175 
 
 him. Who would have beKeved it ? I never 
 see any one now but Fernando, who makes a 
 lame excuse for his brother, by saying that he 
 went off in a great hurry. And tlus sister-in- 
 law of mine, more cruel than King Don Pedro, 
 after putting my child at death's door, not to 
 come near her, nor even to send a message to 
 inquire after her! If you can iiud an excuse for 
 such conduct, Don Benigno — how much better 
 the name suits you than your baptismal one of 
 Zacharias ! — if you can find an excuse for such 
 conduct as this, I repeat, Don Benignissimo, as 
 Carlos calls you, you are capable of raising an 
 altar with this inscription : 
 
 ' To THE Geeat and Good Heeod.' " 
 
 At this moment, Elia opened her beautiful 
 eyes, and fixed them with an indescribable ex- 
 pression of sweetness and gratitude on the per- 
 sons who surrounded her. Don Benigno rose 
 hurriedly, and, knocking down every thing 
 within his reach in his great effort to move 
 noiselessly, went to draw closer one corner of a 
 curtain which admitted a ray of light. 
 
 Maria smoothed the sheets, and the Asisten- 
 
176 
 
 ta took the patient's hand, and, alter feeling her 
 pulse, placed her cheek upon her forehead. 
 
 "How shall I ever repay so much kind- 
 ness ? " said Elia, in a feeble voice. " One single 
 heart is not enough ; a lifetime is too short ! " 
 
 " Silence," answered the Asistenta, placing 
 lier hand over Ella's mouth, " silence, you little 
 goose ! It is for us to thank you that you are 
 improving so fast, taking your medicine like a 
 good child as you are. For, my darling, if you 
 were wanting, would there be sunlight in the 
 house, flowers in the garden, or consolation for 
 us ? Now, my heart," she added, after a few min- 
 utes' silence, " I am going to the cathedral to hear 
 the mass I vowed to the Yirgin of "Kings if she 
 would heal you. It is now ten o'clock, and the 
 mass begins at eleven. Good-by, my darling. 
 Maria, tell her a story, and do your best to 
 amuse her until I return." 
 
 When the Asistenta had departed, accom- 
 panied by Don Benigno, Elia and her nurse 
 found themselves alone for the first time since 
 the visit of the marchioness. Elia gazed for a 
 long time in Maria's eyes, and, in the soft lan- 
 guor of her glance, there was a supplication her 
 
SPAIN FIFTY YEAB8 AGO. 177 
 
 Kps dared not titter, even in the presence of 
 this loTed and trusted attendant. 
 
 The quick-witted Maria at once understood 
 this mute question, she had expected and 
 feared; for she did not wish Elia to know of 
 Carlos's departure, which she highly disap- 
 proved; and yet she dreaded her hearing it 
 from the Asistenta, who constantly spoke of her 
 nephews. To be apprised of it suddenly by the 
 senora, without being prepared for it, might 
 give her a great shock, and make her ill again ; 
 so she took an indirect method of giving the 
 wound and its balsam at the same time. 
 
 " I am gomg," said she, " to tell you a story, 
 as the senora directed. 
 
 " There was once a young shepherdess so 
 good and pretty, and such a perfect Christian, 
 that she seemed an angel. Driving her flock 
 before her, on a certain occasion,' through a 
 sterile mountain-pass, in search of pasture, she 
 came to a plain as green and fragrant as the 
 one we crossed on our way to Romeral. In the 
 midst of a bed of wild flowers, which seemed to 
 wish to bury her amid th'eir luxuriance, she no- 
 ticed an old ruin, whose thick walls appeared as 
 8» 
 
178 ELIA ; OH, 
 
 sad as one who cannot live, and yet fears to die. 
 In a part of it whida was only prevented from 
 falling by a cypress-tree growing beside it, 
 there was a niche containing an image of our 
 Lady; her clothes, which were wet. by the rains 
 and shaken by the winds of heaven, hanging 
 about her in discolored rags. The little shep- 
 herdess began to weep bitterly, saying, ' Oil 
 my mother, my mother! how lonely and de- 
 serted you are ! What a sorrow ! What a sin ! 
 The Queen of Heaven so neglected upon earth ! 
 Oh ! that I were rich enough to repair this 
 chapel and reestablish your worship here, or 
 at least buy you a garment.' And, not being 
 able to do any thing more, she set to work to 
 clean the niche, and hung it round with gar- 
 lands which she made from the flowers of the 
 field. And every day, while her sheep fed on 
 the abundant pasture, she wove fresh garlands 
 for the niche, and taught the little lambs, to 
 bend the knee before the image. 
 
 " It happened that a very handsome prince, 
 returning one day from the chase, passed by the 
 ruin ; and no sooner had he set eyes upon the 
 beautiful girl engaged in her pious avocation, 
 
SPAIN FIFTT YEAES AGO. 179 
 
 than he fell madly in love with her, and offered 
 her his hand. But the queen, who was 
 prouder than Lucifer himself, did not desire a 
 beautiful and pious shepherdess for a daughter- 
 in-law ; but a princess, even though she were as 
 wicked as Barabbas knd uglier than I am. And 
 so, to separate him from his sweetheart, she sent 
 him on an embassy to a neighboring kingdom. 
 The son, who was too obedient by far, yes, hy 
 far^'' repeated Maria, laying great stress upon 
 these words, " obeyed her orders ; but he soon 
 returned, more enamoured than before, as is al- 
 ways the case with true lovers, and married the 
 shepherdess as truly and reverently as I married 
 the schoolmaster; and the shepherdess, whom 
 the Yirgin had made rich and happy, in recom- 
 pense for her devotion, repaired the chapel as 
 she had desired to do; and so my story ends 
 with bread, and pepper, and a grain of salt, and 
 I've no more to say." 
 
 " No, Maria," said Elia, sadly, while the tears 
 trickled down her sunken cheeks — for she ha:d 
 understood her nurse, and knew that Carlos was 
 gone — " you have not told the story as it is, but 
 as you would like it to be, and so made ayable 
 
180 elia; oe, 
 
 of it. The truth is, the unhappy shepherdess 
 never saw her beautiful prince again ; but one 
 night the shepherds hearing her moan piteously, 
 went into her hut, which was in the midst of 
 the ruins, and found her lying on the wet straw 
 (for it was raining), with her head upon the hard 
 ground ; and seeing her so sick, they ran to a 
 neighboring convent, whence two of the monks 
 immediately went forth to aid her. As they 
 drew near the hut, they observed a great light, 
 and thought it was on fire, but when they en- 
 tered it they saw a number of beautiful youths, 
 whose white raiment shone like the sun at 
 noonday. By the shepherdess, holding her 
 head in her lap, sat a lovely lady, and, as the 
 monks looked upon her with amazement, the 
 sufferer sighed, and with a sweet smile expired. 
 The lady then made a sign to the youths, who 
 took the corpse in their arms, and unfolding 
 their wings bore it to heaven ; for they were 
 angels, and the Lady the Yu'gin of the Ruins, 
 who returned to her niche to gain more souls 
 for Paradise. This is the truth, Maria. Oh, 
 happy shepherdess, who never divided her heart, 
 but kept it entire for God and the Yirgin I I 
 
RPAIN rrFTT YEABS AGO. 181 
 
 ■will go, my dear nurse, to some place where 
 I can pnrify my soul, and prepare myself for 
 the life to come." 
 
 Elia raised her eyes, as she spoke, and her 
 tears ceased to flow, as if worldly tears had no 
 place in heaven. 
 
 Maria, upon beholding such ideal beauty 
 and such sublime holiness, turned toward the 
 image of the Virgin, and imagined that she saw 
 the senora casting down her eyes to meet the 
 upward gaze of the angelic Elia. 
 
182 ELI A ; OK, 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 PooE Maria, whose moral energy had over- 
 come her physical weakness, so long as Elia re- 
 quired nursing, now found that she had over- 
 tasked her strength, which was so completely 
 exhausted that she was compelled to keep her 
 bed. 
 
 Her room was on the ground-floor, directly 
 under ^lia's, and, like hers, looked out on the 
 garden. 
 
 One day, after she began to grow stronger, 
 she seated herself in an arm-chair, by the win- 
 dow, and gazed sadly upon the blue sky, in 
 which were floating a mmaber of fleecy clouds 
 as white as the driven snow, and as pure as 
 every thing is which raises itself above the 
 earth. 
 
 The jasmines, entwined about the bars of 
 the window, and moved by the evening air, 
 
SFJift,' FIFTY TEARS AGO. 183 
 
 seemed to be tapping an invitation to her, with 
 their white fingers, on the panes, to throw up 
 the sash and enjoy their fragrance, with that of 
 their neighbors, the roses, on the garden wall. 
 The cypresses, covered with legions of birds, 
 were converted into green towers of Babel, while 
 the fountain, sparkling at their feet, threw its 
 spray far up into the branches, sometimes start- 
 ling the feathered songsters from their perch. 
 
 " Well, Maria," said Pedro, coming into her 
 room with a bowl of gruel, " how goes it ? As 
 usual, I suppose — sickness going off and grum- 
 bling coming on." 
 
 " As you are always as round and sound as 
 an apple, and have a face like the full moon," 
 answered Maria, " what can you know of sick- 
 ness ? Look at my face, and you can see how ill 
 I have been." 
 
 "And why didn't you take care of yourself? 
 Couldn't the child have been looked after prop- 
 erly without your killing yourself nursing her ? " 
 
 " No one could have taken my place, Pedro.' 
 
 " Nonsense 1 " said Pedro, " you women think, 
 in your infinite wisdom, that no one can watch 
 over sick people but yourselves," 
 
184 
 
 " And we are right, Pedro." 
 
 "Don't we all lo7e the child with our whole 
 hearts, Maria ? " 
 
 " Every one loves her, Pedro, but no one can 
 love her as I do who nursed her. In return 
 for your many foolish stories, in support of 
 your nonsensical sayings, I will tell you one in 
 support of what I have just said : 
 
 " There was once a woman so given up to 
 her vices, so base and avaricious, that her heart 
 became as hard as the metal she worshipped, so 
 that she even took her new-bom infants and 
 threw them out of a window into the river. If 
 she ever repented of her sins, and went to con- 
 fession to bewail them, she soon relapsed into 
 vice, and became as wicked as before. Her con- 
 fessor finally told her that when she was agai» 
 tempted of the devil to destroy her offspring, to 
 nurse it once before doing so. The woman 
 promised solemnly to obey him, and she was 
 again blessed with a child ; she first nursed it, 
 and then took it to the window to throw it out ; 
 but, Pedro, she could not ; she hugged it to her 
 breast, and, bathed in tears, became a mother 
 and a virtnnna Tjrnrnan " 
 
SPAIN FIFTY TEARS AGO. 185 
 
 At this moment they heard a knock at the 
 door, and Pedro took himself off. 
 
 "Who's there?" asked Maria. 
 
 " Who do you suppose? " was the answer, in 
 a well-known voice. 
 
 "Is it you, Catana?" 
 
 " Your servant, and no other." 
 
 " May you be God's for many years to come, 
 Catana." 
 
 " May He ever guard you ! " said the house- 
 keeper of the marchioness, now entering. 
 
 " And you also, my friend," responded Ma- 
 ria, endeavoring to rise to meet her visitor, 
 
 " Sit siU, sit still," said Catana, hurrying for- 
 ward, and kindly forcing her into her seat. 
 
 "The best compliment you can pay is to 
 dispense with compliment. How ill you have 
 been ! " 
 
 " Tes, indeed, Catana, I have been on the 
 rack by day, and in torment all night." 
 
 " It is this easterly weather," 
 
 " No, the east wind and I agree very well 
 together," 
 
 " It is, then, that gale from the eea that blew 
 the other day, and was as wet as the waves from 
 which it came." 
 
186 ELIA ; OE, 
 
 "Wrong again, Catana; tlie sea-breeze al- 
 ways kills the north wind, wMcli is my execu- 
 tioner." - 
 
 " WLat is it, then, Maria ? " 
 
 "Anxiety and watching over our darling 
 Elia, Catana, who has been ill with a fever." 
 
 It was not, however, as one might suppose 
 from this conversation, solicitude for the health 
 of her friend alone which brought Catana to 
 her sick-room. She had observed, with surprise, 
 the estrangement of the sisters-in-law, so closely 
 u cited up to this time ; the sudden departure of 
 Carlos; the illness of Elia. She marked the 
 coincidence of these events, without being able 
 to discover the slightest thing relating to them 
 from the austerely reserved marchioness; so she 
 came to see if she could not get the desired in- 
 foi-mation from Maria, who she felt sure had 
 been informed of every thing by her mistress. 
 But to get any thing out of Maria required a 
 great deal of tact, for the discretion of the faith- 
 ful servant was proverbial; so Catana began 
 the conversation from a point of departure aa 
 distant as possible from the object she had in 
 view. 
 
SPAIN FIFTY TEAE8 AGO. 187 
 
 " My dear frieiidj".said she, "I beg of you 
 to tell -me how you make your orange pudding ; 
 for my mistress is eternally declaring that I do 
 aot make it as well as you do." 
 
 Maria was exceedingly flattered by so great 
 a triumph over her rival : she smiled with more 
 satisfaction than Apollo felt when he triumphorl 
 over Marsyas; but, more generous than (je 
 god, instead of flaying her competitor, she an- 
 swered : 
 
 "To.the juice of nine oranges, udd a pound 
 of powdered sugar, beaten up with the yolks of 
 a dozen fresh eggs, and two tablespoonfuls of 
 the finest flour. Place it in a tin form, w ill 
 greased with lard, to prevent the pudding fron ; 
 sticking to it. Place the tin in an earthen pot 
 filled with boiling water, and put the pot on 
 live coals; and in five minutes your pudding is 
 ready. This is the way I make it, and my se- 
 nora calls it ' my child's pudding ; ' but you make 
 it as weU. as I do, and the marchioness does me 
 too much honor in complimenting me at your 
 expense. I suppose it is as the Scriptures say, 
 however, ' a prophet has no honor in hia own 
 country.' " 
 
188 elia; oe, 
 
 Catana thanked Maria for her minute re- 
 ceipt, and then asked: 
 
 "Have you any thing new to tell me, 
 Maria?" 
 
 " How could T learn any thing new here," 
 answered Maria, " shut up as I am between four 
 walls, like a chicken in its shell ? I see no one 
 but Pedro, and he says, in his impudent way, 
 that to tell any thing to a woman is like telling 
 it to the town-crier." 
 
 " I can tell you something, then," said Cata" 
 na. " The countess's French cook, who gives 
 himself more airs than a grandee of Spain, left, 
 her service the other day, because he said ho 
 found Spanish beef tough and our chickens 
 thin. The countess added ten dollars a month 
 to his wages, however, and he deigned to stay." 
 
 "He may go to Guinea," replied Maria; 
 " my mistress says she cannot eat his stews, and 
 that he doesn't even know how to roast a tur- 
 key." 
 
 " But, my friend, now that no one can liear 
 us," said Catana, " isn't it a pity that our ladies, 
 who have always been so intimate, should have 
 iallen out with each other, all on a sudden ? " 
 
SPAIN FTFTY TEARS AGO. 1S9 
 
 The physiognomy of Maria, whicli up to tliis 
 time wore so pleasant an expression, flushed as 
 it was by her recent triumph over her fellow- 
 disciple of the grea^; Soyer, changed its aspect at 
 these words, and gradually assumed its wonted 
 sourness. 
 
 "What has brought about this trouble," 
 continued Catana, " is a mystery even for the 
 oldest and most faithful of our house. I war- 
 rant the Asistenta has not been so reserved with 
 you, and that you are not ignorant of any thing 
 that has happened. It is really hard, after hav- 
 ing served the marchioness so long, to find my- 
 self treated as a stranger, and not to know what 
 to answer when I am questioned about the mat- 
 ter." 
 
 Maria did not open her lips for some time. 
 At length she replied : 
 
 "Catana, if you wish to know any thing 
 concerning myself, I will throw my heart wide 
 open to you as a friend ; but in relation to my 
 mistress's affairs, you must pardon me if I keep 
 silence : for my faults may be many ; but I am 
 as loyal as gold, as true as steel, and as trusty 
 as a watch-dog." 
 
190 elia; oe, 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 Some time after this, the Asistenta and Elia 
 were seated opposite to each other at a table 
 covered with fancy-work, which the senora had 
 bought for her child, whose profound sadness 
 was painfully apparent, notwithstanding the 
 effort she made to conceal it. 
 
 Elia was more beautiful than ever, because 
 the first tears that a maiden sheds extinguish 
 in her eyes the inquisitive stare of childhood, 
 and inaugurate in them the soft, pensive look 
 of womanhood. 
 
 The Asistenta was talking to Maria about 
 Elia's recovery. 
 
 " Certainly, Maria," said she, " if we had 
 given Elia chicken-broth, as Doctor Narciso di- 
 rected, she would have died." 
 
 "He says that diet kills the disease," ob- 
 ferved Don Benigno. 
 
SPAIN FIFTT YEAKS AGO. : 191 
 
 "TeSj and tlie patient also," replied the 
 Asistenta. " Thetse physicians of the new school 
 are like the man who, wishing to kill a fly on 
 his neighbor's forehead, gave him so violent a 
 blow that he killed him. 
 
 " And now that you are well again, my dar- 
 ling, you must be as happy aad gay as you used 
 to be. How I do wish I could find something 
 that would give you pleasure ! — Ah," she con- 
 tinued, turning toward Don Benigno, " where is 
 the letter that arrived for Elia when she was so 
 sick ? Now that I think of it, bring it here, for 
 it may serve to amuse her." 
 
 Had the Asistenta not been so innocent and 
 unsuspecting, she would have observed the em- 
 barrassment and emotion which her words pro- 
 duced on her hearers. All three were silent. 
 " Have I spoken in Greek ? " she asked at length. 
 
 "There was such confusion here at that 
 time," answered Maria, who observed the blush 
 on Elia's cheek, and the anguish expressed in 
 her eyes, " that I am quite sure Don Benigno 
 must have lost the letter." 
 
 " Don Benigno lose a letter ! " exclaimed the 
 Asistenta.; " what nonsense you talk, woma:i I 
 
192 EXiA ; on, 
 
 One would suppose you had known him but 
 a day. You have not lost it, I am sure, Don 
 Benigno ! " 
 
 "No, seiiora, I have not," he replied, too 
 honorable and truthful to assist Maria in hor 
 stratagem. 
 
 " Then, why do you not get it ? " 
 
 " Senora," answered the confused Benigno, 
 " I fear it will not be good for the child to 
 endeavor to make out a letter so illegibly writ- 
 ten that I can scarcely read its superscrip- 
 tion." 
 
 " Tou ca,n read it to her as you read mine to 
 me." 
 
 " But," said Maria, with a smile which she 
 intended should be roguish and pleasant, but 
 which really degenerated into a grin, " but,seno" 
 ra, the senorita may have Iter little secrets like 
 other young..girls of her age." 
 
 " Secrets ! and from me ! " exclaimed the 
 AsisteEta, looking at Elia with surprise; and 
 then, observing the expression of her face, she 
 added, " let us speak no more of it, then ; you 
 shall keep your secrets to yourself, my dar- 
 ling." 
 
SPAIN i'lFTT YEAES AGO. 193 
 
 "No, no," exclaimed Elia, "I will not keep 
 tliem to myself. They would weigli upon my 
 conscience like a sin, and on my heart as an 
 ingratitude. — Don Benigno," she added, "I beg 
 y-ou to bring the letter." 
 
 Don Benigno remained immovable, and 
 looked at Maria, as the miller looks for the 
 wind. Maria pulled at EHa's skirt and said, in 
 a low voice, "Wait until he returns; you have 
 no one to protect you now." 
 
 " Bring the letter, Don Benigno," said the 
 Asistenta, gravely. " Elia does well not to con- 
 ceal any thing from her mother, and I am sur- 
 prised that one of my household should advise 
 her to do so." 
 
 Don Benigno obeyed instantly, and returned 
 with the letter, which he gave to Elia, who with- 
 out opening it handed it to her mother. 
 
 " Do you know whom it is from ? " asked the 
 Asistenta. 
 
 " J!^o," answered Elia, " but I suspect." 
 
 The Asistenta opened the letter and read : 
 
 "Elia: 
 
 " A despotic will, a tyrannical duty obliges 
 9 
 
194 
 
 me to depart, without having the sad consola- 
 tion of saying farewell — that hard word which 
 precedes absence and death. 
 
 "Let not your heart be troubled by the 
 events of the past few days. 
 
 " Mine you will soon be, before men and the 
 world, as you have been before God and the 
 angels, since the hour when, calling upon them 
 as witnesses, I placed upon your linger the ring, 
 symbol of eternity. 
 
 " Absence and time will only prove to you 
 my constancy and infinite love. 
 
 " Your own Caelos." 
 
 It is impossible to describe the varied ex- 
 pi'essions of surprise, displeasure, mortification, 
 and grief, which passed across the countenance 
 of the Asistenta (who never could conceal her 
 feelings) as she read this letter. 
 
 "When she had finished it, she raised her 
 bands to heaven and then let them fall upon her 
 kneos, as she threw herself back in her arm- 
 chair, exclaiming, " Jesus Maria ! " 
 
 Here followed a great silence, which no one 
 dared to break, since the senora was so absorbed 
 
SPAIN FIFTY YEARS AGO. 195 
 
 in her reflections that she did not notice the 
 heart-rending sobs of Elia. 
 
 Large tears ran down Maria's cheeks, who. 
 looked at her darling with an expression of de- 
 votion such as is rarely seen upon the earth. 
 
 Don Benigno fixed his anxious eyes upon 
 the Asistenta. 
 
 " This was the reason, then," she said, after 
 a long silence, and stopped short. 
 
 But Elia, who had understood her, finished 
 the sentence. " Yes," said she, " this was the 
 reason that the marchioness came here, as it was 
 lier duty to do, to enlighten me, and not suflFer 
 me, in my ignorance, to take advantage of her 
 son's love and generosity ; and it was a mark of 
 kindness and delicacy in her to let the tw^ which 
 restored things to their former state, come from 
 her month instead of my lover's. So you see, 
 she did what the noble mother of Carlos, and 
 the generous woman who felt for me, should 
 have done. If you only knew, my mother, how 
 great my grief is — my remorse at seeing the 
 noble family that I love and venerate, at vari- 
 ance on my accotint ! Oh, mother ! oh, senora ! " 
 she added, falling on her knees, " I beg you, as 
 
196 
 
 [ pray to God for glory, to become reconciled 
 to your sister. Let me not be like the serpent 
 wliich tlie generous woodman sheltered, and in- 
 fuse, like it, venom into the bosom which sliel- 
 ters me ! Let your heart do justice to the 
 worthy mother who watches over the honor of 
 her house and race, as she formerly watched be- 
 side the cradle of her children, driving away 
 the perils not seen by eyes then closed in sleep, 
 but now blinded by passion. Pardon her just 
 dread and suspicion ! If I had the reproach of 
 sowing enmity, let me bear also the laurel of 
 reconciliation." 
 
 " No ! " answered the Asistenta. " I pardon 
 injuries done to myself, but not those inflicted 
 on my friends. I can excuse Ines for all except 
 her hardness of heart. Without consulting me 
 — against my wishes — she disclosed a secret nof 
 her own. And, after placing you on the verge 
 of the grave, neither her heart nor her con- 
 science has prompted her to inquire after you. 
 This is not only an indication of pride, but of a 
 lack of charity ; and charity is the key to heav- 
 en. Rise, my child," she added, taking her by 
 the hand, " and don't speak again on this sub- 
 
SPA.lJf FIFTf YEARS AGO. 197 
 
 ject, unless you wish to vex me ; for the iao:-3 
 humble and sweet-tempered you appear in my 
 eyes, the more egotistical and hard-hearted she 
 seems : so you will work the very opposite of 
 what you desire." 
 
 After uttering these words, the good woman 
 returned to her meditations, which were bitter 
 enough. "And I never observed any thing," 
 she said to herself; " it is unpardonable — blind ! 
 blind as the day I was born ! — an Orrea, a de- 
 scendant of King Pedro ! It cannot be ! God 
 knows but Ines may have been right. Perhaps 
 she would have been better off in the convent, 
 and I have been the author of her unhappiness. 
 Is it possible, then, that good produces evil, and 
 excessive goodness and affection do harm ? — 
 Don Benigno," said she at length, " you who have 
 studied, explain to me why it is that people who 
 take prudence and reason for their guides suc- 
 ceed better, in their endeavors to do good to 
 their neighbors, than those who suffer them- 
 selves to be led entirely by their affections ? " 
 
 " Senora," answered Don Benigno, " in my 
 studies, which were not extended far, I do not 
 remember ever to have seen any thing on the 
 
198 
 
 subject; but to my limited understanding it 
 seems clear that it is because the sphere of pru- 
 dence is the world, and that of the heart, heav- 
 en ; and we cannot, as the Evangelist says, ' serve 
 two masters.' " 
 
6PAIN FlirXY YEAKS AGO. liJO 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 The knowledge which the Asistenta had ac- 
 quired, of the mutual passion of the two beings 
 whom she loved best on earth, had been a ter- 
 rible blow to her. The thought that she might 
 have avoided all this misfortune had she but lis- 
 tened to her sister's prudent counsel, and the 
 void which she felt in her heart at being sepa- 
 rated from all her family (for Clara had returned 
 to England), preyed upon her mind and affected 
 her health. 
 
 In vain did Pedro fatten turkeys with wal- 
 nuts ; in vain did Maria put in operation all the 
 resources of the culinary art — the Asistenta 
 could not eat; and, at night, the maid, who 
 slept in the chamber adjoining hers, heard her 
 groan in her sleep. 
 
 Fernando, who had never ceased to call daily 
 on his aunt, whom he loved most tenderly, con- 
 
200 KT.IA ; OK, 
 
 suited her pliysieiaii on her altered appearance, 
 who advised immediate change of air. The 
 weather had become warm, from the long April 
 days, so that the Asistenta was easily persuaded 
 to make her annual visit to the country some- 
 what earlier than usual, which she hoped would 
 benefit Elia as well as herself, who was still 
 looking thin and dejected. 
 
 The journey was undertaken, then, but not 
 with the merriment of other days — a spring time 
 without its flowers and birds. 
 
 They alighted at the inn in Italia, where, as 
 in former days, the curate awaited their coming. 
 Sad recollections did the poor inn awaken in all 
 those who were gathered there ; for here it was 
 that the curate, seventeen years before, had 
 brought the forsaken babe, which, without hav- 
 ing a voice to ask assistance, had found a charity 
 more prejudicial perhaps from its excess than the 
 scant charity of those who practise it as a pro- 
 fession. There it had been snatched from its 
 humble lot — ^but was this a blessing ? or was it a 
 curse? Time alone could answer. 
 
 All were wrapped in their sad meditations, 
 when a noise was heard on the street, and the 
 
SPAIN FIFTY YKAES AGO. 201 
 
 servants of tlie inn ran to the front door, crying 
 out, " Castro ! Castro ! " 
 
 ""WTiat is the matter? who is this Castro? " 
 asked the Asistenta, 
 
 " Is it possible, seiiora," answered the curate, 
 " that you have never heard of Castro, that im- 
 placable officer intrusted with the persecution 
 of robbers ? " 
 
 " Senora," cried Maria, rushing into the 
 room, " the soldiers have had a fight with rob- 
 bers near the village, and are coming here with 
 their wounded and prisoners. Good gracious ! 
 How dreadful ! Let us be off! " 
 
 The curate rose to depart. 
 
 " Where are you going ? " asked the Asis- 
 tenta. 
 
 " To succor the wounded and minister to the 
 dying," was the reply. 
 
 He went out, and Maria hastened to close the 
 door, to hide from her mistress the terrible spec- 
 tacle of which the inn was about to become the 
 theatre. 
 
 The soldiers came in in a' body, dragging 
 along the wounded and the dying, and throwing 
 them roughly on the stone pavement of the hall, 
 fl* 
 
202 elia; or, 
 
 Women were screaming, horses neighing, and, 
 above all the tumult, was heard the word of 
 command of the indefatigable Castro. 
 
 " Let ns go ! let us go ! " exclaimed the Asis- 
 tenta, " since we can do no good here." 
 
 " Wait until they have entered and left the 
 passage clear," said Maria, who was looking out 
 of the window, and, pale and trembling, watched 
 for an opportunity of escaping from the dread- 
 ful scene. 
 
 After a while the door opened, and the cu- 
 rate entered. 
 
 In his countenance, usually so calm, was de- 
 picted profound emotion. He approached the 
 Asistetita, and, drawing her to one side, said in 
 a low voice : 
 
 " Seiiora, two steps from here Elia's father is 
 dying. He has recognized me, and asks for his 
 daughter. Shall I be doing my duty if I deny 
 lier to him and snatch frorH a dying man his last 
 consolation ? Shall I hinder a child from clos- 
 ing the eyes of her father ? May not her pres- 
 ence evoke the tender feelings of the sinner, and, 
 raising his heart to heaven, prevent his dying in 
 terrible final impenitence ? " 
 
ePAIN FIFTY YEARS AGO. 203 
 
 The Asistenta was beside hei-self. "My 
 poor child ! " she cried, passionately. " This 
 will kill her ! — 'No ! no ! no ! I cannot consent. 
 What obligation is she under to one who dis- 
 solved every tie when he abandoned her ? No, 
 no, she must not know of this — ^let us depart at 
 once." 
 
 " Senora," replied the curate, " consider that 
 we have no right to interfere between parent 
 and child. Tell her what has occurred, and let 
 her decide for herself. To judge for another in 
 so grave a matter is to assume a fearful i-espon 
 sibility." 
 
 The Asistenta fell upon a bench, overpow- 
 ered by her emotions. 
 
 Elia ran toward her. -" "What is the matter, 
 my mother ? what has happened ? " she asked. 
 
 " There is not a moment to lose," said the 
 curate. — " Elia, your father is here, and is dy- 
 ing ! " 
 
 Upon hearing these words, Elia gave a wild 
 scream, and rushed from the room. The curate 
 followed her ; and when the Asistenta, support- 
 ed by Fernando, and trembling in every limb, 
 reached the spot where the bandit lay, she found 
 
204 elia; ob, 
 
 « 
 her on her knees — divine as chai-ity, sublime ae 
 
 Christian valor, beautiful as filial duty — resting 
 
 on her innocent bosom a dark, bloody, terrible 
 
 head, that a brave man would have shrunk from, 
 
 and pressing to her pure lips a blood-stained 
 
 hand whose touch would have caused loathing 
 
 in a hangman. 
 
 The bandit opened his eyes, and fixed them 
 on this celestial apparition. 
 
 " This," said the curate, " is your pure and 
 innocent daughter, who comes to show you 
 God's clemency and the road to heaven." 
 
 " Seraph, whom God sends me in the hour 
 of death," said the dying man, in a feeble voice 
 and in broken sentences — " like hope — ^like mer- 
 cy — that I may trust in them ! — pray to God 
 foi' tlie pardon I implore ! God will hear your 
 voice, because you have heard His when He 
 says, ' Honor thy father and mother,' and He 
 i^xcepts nobody." 
 
 lie pressed the curate's hand — and expired, 
 
 Elia was carried to the carriage, which drove 
 off at full speed. 
 
 "Ah!" said Maria, lavishing her cares on 
 Elia, " what imprudence ! what cruelty ! what 
 
SPAIN FIFTY TEAKS AGO. 20.1 
 
 barbarity ! How could the curate have been 
 guilty of such an atrocity ? " 
 
 " Maria," answered the Asistenta, one sea of 
 tears, "let us not undertake to judge our priests. 
 If good results from what they think it their 
 duty to do, oui' censure is a rash calumny ; and 
 if they err with good intentions, our criticism is, 
 at best, an unwarrantable impertinence. Who 
 can say that the curate has not saved a soul ? " 
 
 The curate and Oastro remained alone in 
 the parlor of the inn, where the latter had deter- 
 mined to await reenforcements from Seville. 
 
 The sun had set, and night was upon them 
 with its silence. 
 
 They were seated vis-d-vis, at a small table, 
 upon which a lamp was burning, whose flame 
 was flickering as if fatigued with the impossible 
 task of lighting all that gloomy apartment. It 
 shone fuU, however, upon the white head of the 
 curate, while the dark, curly hair of Castro was 
 in 'the shade of the screen. These two figures — 
 the mail of peace and the man of action — apos- 
 tles of divine and human power — formed thus a 
 marked contrast ; the oae in his simple, black 
 garb, with a rosary hanging from the waist ; the 
 
206 
 
 other in dazzling military costume, sword l>j 
 his side and pistols in his belt. The curate rose 
 frequently to attend to the wounded, and Castro 
 to listen to the window for the tramp of the 
 soldiers from Seville, or the stealthy step which 
 should announce an attempted surprise on the 
 part of the bandits to relieve their chief, whoso 
 death they were not probably apprised of. 
 
 At length the curate said to Castro, " You 
 lead a very fatiguing life ! Don't you want to 
 sleep a little 1 " 
 
 " I watch, that others may sleep," was the 
 reply. 
 
 " But don't you desire to rest sometimes ? " 
 
 " There is no rest for me," answered Castro, 
 bitterly. 
 
 " Senor," said the curate, with a sweet smile, 
 " this word should have a place in the mouth of 
 reprobates only." 
 
 " Or of the despairing," added Castro. 
 
 " There is no grief without consolation in a 
 Christian soul, Senor Castro." 
 
 " You are wrong, curate ; there are sorrows 
 nliieh leave the soul ' without consolation, and 
 with one only desire." 
 
SPAnsr FIFTY YEAES AGO. 207 
 
 " And that is— " 
 
 " The thirst for revenge." 
 
 "Would that you had substituted forgive- 
 ness for revenge, Sertor Castro ! " 
 
 "How easy it is to pronounce this word, 
 curate ! " 
 
 "Senor Castro, when the soul wills, the 
 heart dbeys.''^ 
 
 " And do you believe, father, that all crimes 
 can be pardoned ? " 
 
 " All, without exception." 
 
 " Tell me, then, how to forgive what I am 
 about to narrate to you ; and if you find it fea 
 sible, I will efface the word impossible from my 
 vocabulary. 
 
 " On a wedding tour with my bride, whom I 
 idolized, I was attacked by bandits, who took 
 us prisonei'S after I had killed two of their 
 number and wounded a third. Furious at this, 
 they tied me to a tree and placed a gag in my 
 mouth ; and then beat my wife's brains out, be- 
 fore my ej es, with the butt-ends of their muskets. 
 I saw her rolling at my feet, in the agonies 
 of death. I saw her fix her dying eyes on mine, 
 asking aid in her helpless misery. I counted 
 
208 
 
 her sighs and groans ; I saw her die, abandoned 
 by the universe ! — and I was there — was there ! 
 — without being able to assist her, or to with- 
 draw my sight frona that dreadful pictui-e ! 
 Her blood wet my feet, and she expired with 
 her eyes fastened on mine, in which she read a 
 never-dying promise of vengeance^and I live 
 solely to fulfil it!" 
 
 At this instant the door opened, and Fer- 
 nando appeared. " Captain Castro," said be, 
 " I come to ask a favor of you." 
 
 " Do not say ask, but demand^'' answered 
 Castro, brusquely but frankly. 
 
 " Can you dispose of these malefactors as 
 you think proper ? " continued Fernando. 
 
 The face of Castro assumed a sinister ex- 
 pression. 
 
 " Do you come, senor," said he, " to inter 
 cede for these villains ? " 
 
 "No," answered Fernando, "I come to ask 
 you to give me a dead body." 
 
 " The captain's, perhaps ; it must not be. 
 His head shall be placed on a post, that in 
 death it may frighten evil-doers as in life it 
 terrified the good.' 
 
SPAIN FIFTY TEAES -AGO. 209 
 
 " Tou deny my request, then ? " 
 
 "I must do so," answered Castro. But 
 after a moment's silence he added : " What do 
 you want to do with the body ? Is it for a curi- 
 ous phrenological study ? " 
 
 " No, seflor," answered Fernando, " I wish 
 to bury it." 
 
 "As a good Christian !^-as an honorable 
 man ! " exclaimed Castro. " This would in- 
 deed be a bad example." 
 
 " Captain Castro," replied Fernando, " the 
 living do not envy the prerogatives of the 
 dead." 
 
 Castro gave some turns through the room, 
 and then stopping before Fernando he asked 
 abruptly, " Do you attach much value to your 
 request ? " 
 
 " An infinite value." 
 
 " Take it, then. I cannot deny any thing to 
 the Marquis of Val-de-Jara, not on account of 
 liis rank or order, but on account of the estima- 
 tion in which his character is held by all who 
 know or have heard of him." 
 
 " Captain Castro," answered Fernando, 
 deeply moved, "believe me, that the esteem 
 
210 ELIA ; OH, 
 
 and gratitude with which you inspire me by 
 this favor, and your manner of granting it, will 
 never be blotted from my memory." 
 
 When day broke, the body of the bandit 
 had found rest and protection in the village 
 grave-yard, and in its little church a mass for 
 the dead was said, in solemn silence and with 
 profound devotion. 
 
 In the obscurity of the dawn, a noble youth 
 was discerned kneeling near the altar. This 
 was Fernando. 
 
SPAIN FIFTY YEAE8 AGO. 211 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 OnB month afterward the house of the Asia- 
 tenta had changed its aspect. It was no longer 
 the smiling mansion, whose rose-tinted atmos- 
 phere seemed imbued with the spirit of wel- 
 come possessed by its mistress. There reigned 
 in it now a gloomy silence, while throughout 
 its wide halls were to be seen naught but 
 trembling forms, and countenances disfigured 
 with care and watching. On a table in the 
 court-yard, whose gates were wide open, lay a 
 large card of pasteboard, covered with the 
 names of the persons who each instant called 
 to inquire after the health of the good senora. 
 At the head of the list was inscribed in large 
 letters — 
 
 " The Asistenta continues dangerously ill." 
 In a darkened room, on a snowy conch, half 
 con<5ealed by the heavy folds of the curtain 
 
212 ELLA ; OB, 
 
 which hung from its massive tester, lay the pa 
 tient, the only one in the house unmoved by 
 her critical condition. On one side of the bed 
 was Elia, on the other Maria, and at its foot 
 knelt the worthy Don Benigno. These persons 
 neither spote nor wept, and scarcely seemed to 
 respire. In an adjoining apartment three phy- 
 sicians were in consultation. Fernando, stand- 
 ing near, listened to their deliberations, pallid 
 but serene. 
 
 " Senor marquis," said the family physician, 
 " since her ladyship's return from the country 
 her illness has alarmingly increased, and is aggra- 
 vated by some mental trouble which we have not 
 been able to fathom — ^it is perhaps the presen- 
 timent of her approaching end. She must die." 
 
 "It is as I expected," replied the marquis, 
 calmly. " Pedro, summon your lady's confessor." 
 Then seating himself, he wrote these lines, which 
 he sent by a servant to the house of the mar- 
 chioness : 
 
 "Mother, aunt is about to receive extreme 
 unction." 
 
 The confessor soon arrived, and was Bhowa 
 into the sick-room. 
 
SPADT FIFTY YEARS AGO. 213 
 
 " How do you find yourself now, senora ? " 
 he asked. 
 
 " All IS peace," she replied, half opening her 
 closed eyes. 
 
 " Have you any thing more to communicate 
 to me ? " he continued. 
 
 " N'othing ; my worldly affairs are arranged. 
 But if you think me worthy of it, father, I should 
 like to receive the last sacraments." 
 
 " Most gratifying will it be to me, my daugh- 
 ter," returned the priest, " to administer to you 
 those fountains of grace and consolation." 
 
 A deep groan escaped from the breast of 
 EUa, as, clinging to the bed-post, she resisted 
 the gentle efforts of Fernando to remove her. 
 
 " My poor child ! " sighed the Asistenta ; 
 " leave her, Fernando. I would fain have her 
 with me in my last moments." 
 
 In the mean time, Maria, inspired by the so- 
 lemnity of the ceremonial which was being pre- 
 pared, had raised an altar at the foot of the bed, 
 covered with gold and silver, and crowned with 
 a magnificent crucifix of marble. 
 
 Notice having been sent to the relations and 
 intimate friends of the dying woman, the hous6 
 
21 i ELI A ; OK, 
 
 now began to be thronged with persons, whose 
 silence" and affliction testified to their tenderness 
 and attachment ; while from the spacious vesti- 
 bule came the stifled sobs of the domestics and 
 of the many poor who had subsisted upon the 
 Asistenta's bounty. 
 
 At a little distance might be descried people 
 with their heads uncovered, kneeling in the 
 streets and balconies ; and little children leaving 
 their games, and throwing themselves on their 
 knees in the thresholds of the neighboring 
 houses, whose lips gave utterance to — 
 
 " "WTiere are you going, Jesna, 
 So gallant and so brave? " 
 
 "I go," the Saviour smiling said, 
 
 " A contrite soul to save : 
 For I must lead the penitent 
 
 Unto the promised land, 
 Althongh they have more flagrant rang 
 
 Than the sea has grains of sand." 
 
 The tinkling of the passing bell annonnced? 
 and two files of men, with long wax candles in 
 their hands, preceded the priest, who bore with 
 liim that Lord for whose clemency no hut is 
 
spai::t fifty thaks ago. 215 
 
 too small, for whose grandeur no palace is suf- 
 ficient, A military band, playing solemn m usic, 
 followed a few paces in the rear. 
 
 ^'What music and what chanting is this I 
 hear ? " asked the Asistenta of Maria. 
 
 " Senora," she replied, " it is the music and 
 chanting of those who by the direction of the mar- 
 quis accompany His Majesty to your residence." 
 
 " What pomp ! what ostentation ! so much 
 for me, and so little for God ! " cried the se- 
 nora. 
 
 Fernando and one of his cousins, carrying 
 candles, then went out to meet the August Guest, 
 and preceded Him to the chamber of the pa- 
 tient.' 
 
 And now, propped up with pillows, the dy- 
 ing woman fixed her gaze on the image of her 
 Redeemer, and received the viaUoum with pro- 
 found and tender adoration. 
 
 The ceremony being finished, she relapsed 
 into a state of holy and tranquil meditation. 
 
 " Senora," said the -confessor, after the lapse 
 of a few minutes, " I know that all resentment 
 against the marchioness has long since been ex- 
 tinguished in your breast." 
 
216 
 
 ELIA ; OE, 
 
 " Oh, entirely, entirely ! How mucli I grieve 
 at not seeing her before I die ! " 
 
 And scarce had she spoken, when the mar- 
 chioness clasped her to her bosom, while* Espe- 
 ranza fell sobbing at the foot of the bed. 
 
 " Dear, dear sister, how much I thank you," 
 sighed the Asistenta faintly as she fell back ex- 
 hausted on her pillow. After a little while, 
 she half opened her eyes and said, " Ines, my 
 Elia, my poor child — alone — unprotected ! " 
 
 The marchioness turned toward Elia, and, 
 throwing her arms about her, exclaimed, " Sister, 
 I accept the charge." 
 
 "My God," murmured the saintly woman, 
 "I die tranquil — ^her fortune, her well-being, 
 all is assui'ed. May God bless you, my dear 
 sister, and make life as sweet to you as you 
 have made death to me ! " 
 
 At the end of a minute, her confessor, lean- 
 ing over her, heard proceed from her lips, with 
 her latest breath, "Lord, receive my spirit." 
 
 " Thus," cried the priest aloud, " pass the 
 souls of the just to the bosom ot their God. Let 
 us pray." 
 
 All prostrated themselves with the solemn 
 
SPAIN FIFTY YBAB8 AGO. 217 
 
 reverence caused hj death, witli the profound 
 sentiment of piety it inspires, and the heart- 
 rending grief it leaves behind in the breasts of 
 those who survive their friends. 
 
 " My mother ! oh, my mother ! " cried the 
 despairing Elia. They raised her in their arms, 
 and, in spite of her resistance, carried her to her 
 room. 
 
 " Leave, my daughter," said the marchioness, 
 taking Esperanza by the arm, who with bitter 
 sobs was kissing the hands of the corpse. " Go 
 with Elia, and weep together as becomes two 
 sisters who have lost their mother." 
 
 Esperanza hastened to obey. 
 
 The marchioness gave the necessary orders 
 for preparing the body for interment, and was 
 about to send for hired women for the purpose ; 
 but Maria would not hear of it. " 'No, senora," 
 said she, " no mercenary hands shall touch my 
 mistress. I alone will render her this last sad 
 service." 
 
 They cleared the room, and then among the 
 
 ample folds of the bed-curtains Don Benigno 
 
 was observed, with eyes glazed and wandering, 
 
 and fixed on the dead body of the senora ; hi? 
 
 10 
 
■218 ELIA ; OE, 
 
 hands were clasped and extended toward her, 
 his lips without sound, his breast without sobs. 
 They carried him away, and he suffered himself 
 to be led along like a little child. 
 
SPAIN FIFrY YEABS AGO. 219 
 
 CHAPTER XXL 
 
 On the following day, tlie cathedral bells ut- 
 tered in monrnful tones their solemn prayer for 
 the dead — ^holy sounds which raise all hearts to 
 heaven ! Large wax candles, set in high candle- 
 sticks — ^like guards 'of honor for the dead — were 
 placed on both sides of the staircase and corri- 
 dors of the house of mourning. The drawing- 
 room, in which were seated, in ceremonious 
 order, the relatives and dear Mends of the 
 senora, was draped in black and lighted with 
 tapers. In the adjoining room, Fernando, stand- 
 ing in the midst of a circle of his most intimate 
 friends, received the compliments of condolence 
 of those who with him had returned from at- 
 tending the funeral sei-vice, celebrated with 
 great magnificence in the parochial church; 
 and this house, to which all Seville flocked, wa» 
 
220 
 
 nevertheless as empty as a head without a braiu 
 — a body without a soul — since she, whose pres- 
 ence there was like the spring, had that morn- 
 ing descended the grand staircase never to as- 
 cend it again, leaving a void in all hearts, an 
 oi-phan in every poor man's home. 
 
 This sad ceremony continued nine days. On 
 the tenth, Elia was in her room, which she had 
 not left since the Asistenta's death. 
 
 By her side was the good Dona Marianita^ 
 who had always been fond of Elia, and now loved 
 her more dearly than ever, out of respect to the 
 memory of her aunt. She was endeavoring to 
 console Elia with the platitudes common to the 
 occasion. 
 
 " There is a saint more in heaven," she said. 
 
 " Yes," answered Elia, " and one less upon 
 earth." 
 
 " How many troubles God has spared her, 
 by taking her to Himself! " . 
 
 " And how much happiness have I been de- 
 prived of!" 
 
 " It is necessary, my child, to conform our- 
 Gelves to the aflSictions which God sends us in 
 .Vhis vale of tears." 
 
SPAIN FIFTT YEARS AGO. 221 
 
 " It is natural to grieve over them ; if not, 
 they would not he afflictions, nor the world a 
 vale of tears." 
 
 " But Elia, why are we endowed with rea- 
 pon ? " 
 
 " To make us more sensitive than the 
 brutes." 
 
 " But, my child, when there is no remedy ? " 
 
 " All ! this is the very reason why my heart 
 is breaking," exclaimed Elia, hiding her face in 
 the sofa, wet with tears. 
 
 Marianita fell back upon her commonplace 
 consolations, without force, without logic, with- 
 out effect ; and which, nevertheless, do a great 
 deal of good, since they show the good-will of 
 the would-be comforter ; and for the wounds of 
 the heart there is no balsam but affection, 
 which, if it does not heal, at least alleviates. 
 
 The marchioness now came in, and, upon be- 
 holding Elia, said : " My child, how is it that 
 you are not in mourning ? " 
 
 The unhappy child had not thought of it. 
 
 " Put on a black dress at once, my darling," 
 ijontiuued the marchioness, " and come with 
 
222 
 
 The youag girl obeyed without question oi 
 reply, and followed the marchioness to the draw- 
 ing-room, where she found all the household as- 
 sembled. A notary public was seated at a table 
 in the middle of the room, holding in his hand 
 a large yellow document sealed with three seals. 
 
 Seated in a corner, dressed in deep black, 
 and with his head bent down and his hands 
 crossed, was Don Benigno, a prey to the most 
 profound grief and tbe most intense anxiety. 
 
 But when he saw Elia he extended his arms 
 toward her. She threw herself into them, and 
 their sobs were mingled together. 
 
 " Calm yourself, my child," said the mar- 
 chioness, "and sit down by my side; for the 
 occasion demands your undivided attention." 
 
 "Senores," said the notary wben silence 
 was enforced, " here is the last wiU and testa- 
 ment of Dona Maria Isabel Orrea de Calatrava, 
 — whom may God exalt ! — drawn up in due 
 form of law, signed, sealed and delivered in the 
 presence of competent witnesses." 
 
 Elia rose. " Why must I be present at this 
 cruel scene," she asked, "where my mother's 
 voice seems to speak to rae tlirough the board? 
 uf her coffin ? '" 
 
SPAIN FIFTY TE.iES AGO. 223 
 
 " Because," replied tlie marchioness, " this 
 will concerns you, and it is necessary that you 
 should be present when it is opened." 
 
 " But, senora," said Elia, imploringly, " this 
 is a family affair, and I am a stranger." 
 
 " Elia," answered the marchioness, witli 
 mild firmness, " your remaining here is a duty 
 [ impose upon you, in virtue of the authority 
 vested in me by your mother ; it is an homage 
 to her memory. And if there be more tender- 
 ness in weeping, there is more merit in respect- 
 ing and obeying the wishes of those whom God 
 has called to Himself." 
 
 Elia seated herself again, and the notary 
 read the will, which, after various legacies, de- 
 clared Elia sole heiress. 
 
 " Gracious Maria ! " exclaimed she, the pal- 
 lor on her countenance giving place to a scarlet 
 flush — " gracious Maria ! " 
 
 " Does it surprise you, my love ? " said the 
 marchioness ; " it surprises no one else." 
 
 "My God!" answered Elia, "this is the 
 only grief my holy mother ever caused me. 
 Her affection has made her do this injustice to 
 her relations. — Seilor," she added, approacli 
 
224 ELiA ; OK, 
 
 ing the notary, " draw up a paper at once for 
 me to sign, expressing clearly and plainly that 
 I renounce this property in favor of the legiti- 
 mate heirs ; for I long to rid myself of the bur- 
 den which oppresses and shames me." 
 
 The marchioness called to her. " Elia," 
 said she with severity, " if you should sign .such 
 a paper, it would be null and void, since I, the 
 guardian appointed by your dying mother, ex- 
 pressly forbid it ; but, apart from all this, tell 
 me how you dare to break the will of your 
 mother, whose dead body is scarcely cold ? " 
 
 " But why should T keep it — what am I to 
 do with all this property ? " exclaimed Elia, 
 with the utmost simplicity and sincerity. 
 
 " It is yours," answered the marchioness ; 
 " time and experience will teach you its use 
 and management." 
 
 " But I do not want it ! I do not want it ! " 
 insisted Elia. " I yield it, as is natural, to its 
 legitimate owners." 
 
 " And do you believe, my poor child," said 
 the marchioness, " that we would receive prop- 
 erty not left us by its possessor ? If you have 
 thought so, your innocence must serve as an 
 
SPAIN FIFTY TEAKS AGO. 225 
 
 excuse for the offence you ignorantly com- 
 mit." 
 
 Upon hearing these last words, which the 
 marchioness pronounced with grave dignity, 
 Elia remained silent. 
 
 " Could you believe us capable," said Fer- 
 nando, in a sweet voice, " of taking advantage 
 of your noble and generous self-sacrifice ? " 
 
 " But what power in the world," said Elia, 
 after a moment's reflection, " can force me to 
 consider as mine that which I do not regard 
 as such ? " 
 
 " The will of the testator," answered the 
 marchioness, "the solemn voice of the dead, 
 which you would disregard by relinquishing 
 the property, as we should if we received it." 
 
 " What shall I do ? what shall I do ? " cried 
 Elia, when she found herself alone with Maria 
 and Don Benigno. 
 
 " Give them," said the former, " if your 
 tender conscience troubles you, the Orrea prop- 
 erty, which does not amount to much ; and 
 keep that which came from the Oalatravas, 
 which is immense, and as much yours as the 
 hairs of your head." 
 10* 
 
226 
 
 " "WTiat shall I do, Don Benigno ? " asked 
 Ella, without attendiii^r to what Maria had said. 
 
 " Kender unto Grod the things that are 
 God's, and to Caesar the thing's that are Cae- 
 sar's," he replied, without hesitation. 
 
 " A.nd to John Smith the things that are 
 John Smith's," growled Maria, sarcastically. 
 
 Elia clasped the hand of the sympathetic 
 Don Benigno, who understood her. 
 
 And yet the Baroness of San Bruno said 
 that evening at a reception : " Have you heard 
 tlie news ? The Asistenta, who was in her 
 dotage, has left all her property to that hypo- 
 critical little foundling, who is more artful than 
 a serpent, and who, with this end in view, set 
 the two sisters-in-law at loggerheads a few 
 months since, who up to that time had been so 
 I'ondly united. A sad blow to the proud Ines, 
 who expected to exchange her shell of a house 
 tor the elegant mansion of the Calatravas ! 
 upon the opening of the will, I understa,nd, 
 there was the deuce to pay ; and they say that 
 the improvised heiress is so well satisfied, and 
 so perfectly happy, that she will not wear 
 mourning. All! she is a cunning one, and 
 
SPAIX FIFfY YEARS AGO. 227 
 
 Carlos, toOj knew very well what he was about. 
 Now he will marry her, and be master of all 
 that immense property, and the marchioness 
 will have to put up with it. She is well pun- 
 ished for her ridiculous pride and vanity, and 
 no one will be sorry for her, you may depend ! " 
 Such is the world ! and so we fulfil the di- 
 vine precept, to "love our neighbors as our- 
 selves." 
 
228 ELiA ; OE, 
 
 CHAPTEE XXII. 
 
 The just and pious judgment of the baroi! 
 ess was repeated, by an officer recently arrived 
 from Seville, in a crowded cafe at Madrid. 
 
 He formed one of a bappy circle of young 
 men seated around a table, upon which smoked 
 a large bowl of punch. 
 
 None of them had observed a young man, in 
 deep mourning, who was seated at a table be- 
 hind them, with his head resting on his hands, 
 and only raised, from time to time, to give an 
 impatient glance at the door, as if he were ex- 
 pecting some one. 
 
 But scarcely had the officer finished speak- 
 ing, when the stranger stood before him and 
 said, haughtily, " Cavalier, what you have just 
 said is an infamous slander." 
 
 The surprise which this abrupt intermptiou 
 caused was so great and genera'' that aU were 
 silent. 
 
SPAIN FIFTY TEARS AGO. 229 
 
 " Sir," replied the officer at length, " by 
 what right do you assume to be a judge of my 
 letions ? " 
 
 "By the natural right which every man has 
 to stand up in defence of truth and justice." 
 
 " It is Don Carlos de Orrea," whispered one 
 of the officer's friends in his ear. 
 
 " In that case," said the officer, " I wish it 
 tt ) be well understood that I did not design' to 
 offend Don Carlos de Orrea, and I was not 
 aware of his being present." 
 
 " I do not doubt it," rejoined Carlos, whose 
 voice was tremulous with indignation ; " I do 
 not ask satisfaction for an offence against my 
 person, but for an outrage upon truth. I de- 
 mand that you retract tliis vile calumny, if you 
 have forged it ; and if not, that you give me the 
 name of its author." 
 
 " I would most willingly retract what does 
 not concern me in the slightest degree, as I 
 only repeat from hearsay, if the contrary were 
 proved to me," rejoined the officer; "but the 
 word of command I do not recognize out of the 
 service." 
 
 "Very well, then," said Carlos, "I shall 
 
230 ELiA ; OE, 
 
 expect to convince you of the truth with vuj 
 sword." 
 
 " I am at your service." 
 
 " At six o'clock, to-morrow morning, I will 
 he outside of the gate of Recoletos." 
 
 " You will not have to wait for me." 
 
 Carlos bowed, and left the group, so merry 
 but a little while before, in a general consterna- 
 tion. 
 
 " He is right and so am I," said the oflBcer. 
 " Plague take the facility which we all have of 
 talking about people we don't know ! " and then 
 he added to himself: " I have got myself in a 
 nice fix with the king, who hates duels and has 
 a most excellent memory. My poor mother, too 
 is a widow, and I her only son. — But let us not 
 anticipate," he said aloud, " evils we cannot 
 remedy. Let us go to the theatre to see Mai- 
 quey." 
 
 Carlos, upon leaving the cafe, fell in with a 
 friend, and taking his arm, said : " I awaited you 
 here, according to our agreement, to inform you 
 of a project I had formed of returning to Se- 
 ville. But matters have changed, and I have 
 now to ask a favor of you," and he proceeded 'to 
 
SPAIN FIFTY YEARS AGO. 231 
 
 narrate what had transpired at the cafe to his 
 friend, who was griered to learn that the favor 
 expected of him was to be Oarlos's second in a 
 duel. 
 
 Duels were then of rare occurrence in Spain ; 
 the reason of this being easily understood when 
 we examine the causes which make them so fre- 
 quent in other countries. These are, most com- 
 monly, an ostentation of Itra/oery, and a sensi- 
 tiveness arising from vanity. 
 
 Opposed to which in Spain, at that epoch, 
 were an easy tolerance, and a politeness un- 
 known elsewhere; for men's minds were not 
 then exasperated and embittered by politics, as 
 tliey are now, nor were they goaded to madness, 
 under the name of progress, by a partisan press. 
 Besides, public opinion was against duels ; and 
 he who had expected to gain a reputation for 
 courage by sending a challenge, would only 
 have obtained the name of a bully and a brag- 
 gart. "We do not speak of the holy and noble 
 religious ideas which then exercised an influence 
 over all things and all men, because to mix them 
 up now with the affairs of the world, which 
 makes a boast ol" disregarding them, would be 
 
232 ELiA ; OE, 
 
 to confound tlie solemn notes of the orgaii with 
 the discordant and noisy sound of drums and 
 trumpets. 
 
 Add to this, that the king was bitterly op- 
 posed to this remnant of barbarism, which, while 
 it exists, will prevent the nineteenth century 
 from boasting of having shaken off all .the dust 
 of the dark ages. 
 
 It is asserted by some, who are disposed to 
 be nice upon points of honor, that duels are a 
 perpetual check upon the insolent, and cannot 
 be avoided; but we hold that they can be 
 without laws, prohibitions, or punishments, by 
 simply observing the "noble quality of respect. 
 Let us respect one another ; because the up- 
 right and honorable have a right to claim re- 
 spect and- politeness as their due, and for those 
 who are not so, they are the most difficult bar- 
 riers to surmount. He who expects to conquer 
 through insolence deceives himself, for, how- 
 ever he may excel in this most amiable accom- 
 plishment, he can hardly expect to pass through 
 hfe without meeting an antagonist more inso- 
 lent than himself. 
 
 Carlos went to his lodgings, wrote several 
 
SPAIN FIFTY YEARS AGO. 233 
 
 letters, and tore up various papers. Among 
 tliese he found the only remembrance Elia had 
 ever given him. It was a picture representing 
 Cupid seated on the ground, holding in hia 
 hand a rose whose thorns had pierced him. 
 Under it was written in a fine hand— 
 " The thorns for me, the roses for you." 
 Carlos kissed the keepsake a thousand 
 tiems, and watered it with his tears, and then 
 wrote a long and passionate letter to Elia, 
 which he directed to her under cover to Fer- 
 nando, to be delivered to him in case he should 
 be killed. On the following morning, at half- 
 past six o'clock, the oflScer lay upon the ground 
 with a deep gash in his head, and Carlos, run 
 through the body, was carried, in a senseless 
 condition, to a mean-looking house in an out-of- 
 the-way street of Madrid. 
 
234 ELTA ; OB, 
 
 CHAPTEE XXIII. 
 
 The mareliioiiess had taken Elia to her 
 house, where she was the object of the tender- 
 est attentions from both mother and daughter. 
 But Elia said nothing about her future pros- 
 pects, which made the marchioness uneasy. 
 
 She thought at times that Elia might, as 
 the mistress of so large a fortune, suppose that 
 the objections to her marriage with Carlos 
 would no longer exist. It was not impossible, 
 too, that if Ella's stay in her house should be 
 prolonged, Carlos might cherish vain hopes, and 
 return unexpectedly to compromise her author- 
 ity as a mother, and the hospitality she had 
 so generously extended to the disconsolate 
 orphan intrusted to her care. Delicacy for- 
 bade her taking the initiative in the question 
 of Elia's plans for the future ; but one day the 
 subject came up naturally. 
 
SPAIN FIFTY YEAES AGO. 235 
 
 They were seated in a room looking out on 
 tlie garden, and Elia was embroidering an altar- 
 cloth on the same frame with Esperanza, when 
 the marchioness said to her : " Elia, you have 
 known Lorenzo Kiosecco for some time, have 
 you not ? " 
 
 " Yes, seiiora," Elia answered ; " I met him 
 frequently at the house of my benefactress." 
 
 " He is the son," continued the marchion- 
 ess, " of an excellent lady, a friend of mine, and 
 of my deceased sister, and of a distinguished 
 but poor family. He is a lieutenant-colonel in 
 the army, and would be a colonel if he had 
 money enough to purchase his commission. 
 You know his fine manners and person, but you 
 do not know, as I do, the nobility of his senti- 
 ments,, the cultivation of his mind, and his ex- 
 emplary deportment. He has loved you ever 
 since he first saw you, and although his love is 
 not necessary in a marriage where every thing 
 is suitable and promises happiness to both 
 parties, yet it is better that it should exist than 
 not. He wishes to make you his wife, and 1 
 have promised his mother to urge his suit with 
 all the influence i can command, because I be 
 
236 ELiA ; OE, 
 
 lieve lie will make your happiness, as you will 
 iDiike Ills; and I feel it to be my duty to urge 
 this niai'i-iage upon you, since, if you give him 
 wealth, he will confer upon you position and 
 distinguished rank in the world." 
 
 Elia did not raise her head while the mar- 
 chioness was speaking. She turned deathly pale, 
 aud a feeling of humiliation, such as she had 
 not experienced upon prostrating herself and 
 kissing the hand of an infamous bandit, calling 
 liiui father^ now overcame her, causing her to 
 cast her beautiful eyes in sadness to the ground. 
 
 But resisting this impulse of a superior soul 
 which ieels itself under^'.ilued, she answered, 
 sweetly but firmly, whily 1 -.rge tears, pure and 
 silent as her grief, ran down her cheeks : 
 
 " Sefiora, long before my dear mother died, 
 my rer^olution was irrevocably fixed : my inten- 
 tions were, and I have not altered them, to re- 
 turn to the convent after her death. I have 
 come to your home solely for the purpose of 
 demonstrating to you how grateful I feel for all 
 your kindness ; otherwise I should be with the 
 nuns, now my sisters on the earth, as they will 
 be hereafter in heaven." 
 
SPAIN FTFTT yE.4JRS AGO. 237 
 
 The marchioness looked at Elia with ad- 
 miration : now that she no longer feared her, 
 she could appreciate the beauty of her charac- 
 ter. She felt that it was suhlime, at her age, 
 with her beauty and wealth, to renounce a 
 world that courted her, and a lover who adored 
 her. This was an elevation of soul, a denial of 
 self, which moved her profoundly. A tear 
 stole to her eyes, as she fixed them upon that 
 tender flower of the convent, and she felt an ir 
 resistible impulse to clasp her to her heart. 
 
 " My child," said she, after a short silence, 
 •' I admire your resolution, without approving it. 
 Before taking so decisive a- step, it is necessary 
 to examine thoroughly your inclinations ; and 
 this is not done in one day, nor in two. At 
 your age they are changeable. Your life is 
 just beginning ; do not decide lightly upon your 
 future. Consider well the advantages of your 
 position, which age and experience will make 
 you appreciate more than you do now." 
 
 At this instant the Countess of Medina was 
 announced, and the marchioness went out to re- 
 cei\'e her. 
 
 " Don't separate yourself from me," saiif 
 
238 at.u.3 o«, 
 
 Esperanza, throwing her arms about Elia, " let 
 us remain united, and marrying, as oiir mother 
 desires, live tranquilly and happily." 
 
 Elia could only reply with her tears, as she 
 vvathdrew precipitately to her room. 
 
 There she encountered Don Benigno, who 
 had come to see her. He was talking to Maria, 
 but they did not seem to agree.. Maria was ex- 
 cited, Don Benigno as impenetrable as ever, but 
 shaking his head, as a sign of disapproval of 
 wliat Maria had just said. 
 
 Elia entered, drying her tears. 
 
 " Gracious ! " exclaimed Maria, " what is the 
 matter? What afflicts you, my darling? Have 
 they said any thing to offend you, or hurt your 
 feelings ? " 
 
 " No, no," Elia answered quickly ; " on the 
 contrary, they have given me new proofs of in- 
 terest and affection. I weep, Maria, upon part- 
 ing with those who have been so kind to me in 
 my deep affliction." 
 
 " That's another thing," answered Maria, 
 " and I approve of your determination ; but 
 wh(;re do we go ? — to Madrid I hope ? " 
 
 " I am going into the convent," said Elia. 
 
SPAIN FITTY TEARS AGO. 239 
 
 " To the convent ! " echoed Maria ; " have 
 you lost your senses ? "What will the prince say 
 when he comes to seek the shepherdess ? " 
 
 "He will find her dead to the world, Maria, 
 and the companion of angels. Princes do not 
 marry shepherdesses except in your fables." 
 
 " But have you considered, blind one, thai 
 if the senora left you all her property, it was 
 with the expectation that it would return with 
 you to the family ? " 
 
 " You deceive yourself, Maria," said Don Be- 
 nigno ; " our deceased lady — may she rest in 
 peace ! — had no other intention, in leaving her 
 fortune to her adopted daughter, than to do her, 
 in death as in life, all the good in her power." 
 
 " Don Benigno speaks the truth," said Elia, 
 "his correct judgment is never at fault, passion 
 does not blind, nor interest influence ; nor is he 
 to be diverted from the right path by the world's 
 clamor. Your gray hairi, Maria, have not calmed 
 the excitement of the brain they cover, while 
 your excessive love for me clouds your reason. 
 For me there are but two existences possible : 
 the one brilliant but full of strife, the other hum- 
 ble but of unalterable tranquillity ; the rorruer 
 
240 
 
 at variance with luy character, the latter adapt- 
 ed to it. I choose that which suits me. Our 
 benefactress left yon an independence. Kemain, 
 then, and take care of Don Benigno, in the 
 house which she sanctified by her presence when 
 living, and which must not be profaned by 
 strangers now that she is no more." 
 
 " Don Benigno does not need my services," 
 Maria answered quietly ; " he can stay at home 
 with Pedro. Do you suppose I am going to let 
 you go into the convent without me ? " 
 
 Elia fhrew herself into her arms. 
 
 She then closeted herself with Don Benigno, 
 took the step she had long meditated, and made 
 the following dispositions. At her death the 
 property was to pass to the Orreas. Id the mean 
 time, the income (with the exception of a fifth, 
 which was to go to the poor) would be appro- 
 priated to paying taxes, and improving and add- 
 ing to the landed property. Don Benigno was 
 appointed administrator. 
 
 Maria, upon witnessing " so many absurdi- 
 ties," did not deign to combat them. She retired, 
 like Achilles, to his tent, thinking that the year 
 of novitiate contained many days in which many 
 
8PAUf FIFTr TEARS AGO. 241 
 
 things might happen. She said to herself that, 
 in supposing Carlos would remain quiet during 
 this period, they were reckoning without their 
 host, and she threw glances of anticipated tri- 
 umph at Don Benigno, which did not seem to 
 affect him in the least, nor make him depart, in 
 the slightest degree, from his chronometer habits 
 of life. 
 
 Some days after Elia had declared her inten- 
 tions to the marchioness, the latter, finding her 
 resolution inflexible, took her to the convent. 
 
 " I deliver to you," she said to the lady al) 
 bess, " this jour daughter as pure as she was 
 when she left the convent. It is meet that this 
 angel should be the bride of Heaven ; for she 
 has chosen that better part which shall not be 
 taken away from her." 
 
 Esperanza embraced Elia tenderly, and 
 sobbed aloud. 
 
 Elia passed in through the iron door, which 
 was closed behind her. 
 
 As the marchioness turned to depart, she met 
 Maria and Don Benigno, in charge of EKa's bag- 
 gage. 
 
 " And so, Maria, you are going to shut 
 11 
 
242 
 
 yourself up in the coavent with Elia ? This is 
 a proof of fidelity and attachment which does 
 you honor." 
 
 " Yes, senora," answered Maria, " but I am 
 going for the purpose of begging her day and 
 night not to take the veil." 
 
 " And you have come too, Don Benigno 'i " 
 said the marchioness, without answering Maria. 
 
 " Yes, senora ; I come to congratulate her 
 upon her holy choice." 
 
 " Go along with you, Seiior Don Benigno, 
 blessed of God ! " said Maria, on taking leave of 
 him. "You have been placing fuel on the 
 altar for the sacrifice of this poor lamb. And 
 you think you deserve the degree of doctor be- 
 cause you have helped with your wise sayings 
 to separate two beings who were born for each 
 other, which is against the law of Nature and 
 of God. And this too from you, who pretended 
 to love her so much ! One lives to learn." 
 
 " Maria," answered Don Benigno, " you are 
 blind as a mole." 
 
 " And do you pretend to be as far-seeing as 
 an eagle ? " 
 
 " If I do not see far, I see correctly." 
 
SPAIN FIFTY T£AE8 AGO. 2'i'6 
 
 " Correctly the length of your nose," re- 
 marked Maria. 
 
 " Gome, Maria, after living together as 
 friends for thirty years, let us part as such." 
 
 " Friends ? !N"o, sir ! I am not a friend of 
 any one who wishes ill to my child, and makes 
 a compact with the Queen of Egypt, your ser- 
 vant, Don Benigno. Enemies ! Tes, sir ; ene- 
 mies even to the valley of Jehoshaphat ! " 
 
 So saying, she went with hasty steps into 
 the convent. 
 
244 ELiA ; OE, 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV, 
 
 Oaelos awoke from a state of insensibility 
 wliich seemed to him a long dream. He sat 
 up in bed, supporting himself on his elbow, and 
 looked about the strange room. Suddenly he 
 uttered a cry of joy that aroused the watcher 
 by his bedside, whom want of rest had over- 
 powered, and throwing his arms around his 
 neck sighed in a feeble voice, " My brother ! 
 my dear brother ! " 
 
 It was, in fact, Fernando, who, as soon as 
 he heard of the duel, hastened to Madrid, to 
 take care of Carlos, he being on this occasion, as 
 071 all others, his defender, his refuge, the noble 
 type in fine of the firstborn who, with the con- 
 secrated right of primogeniture, unites the pro- 
 tection of a father with the sympathy of a 
 brother. 
 
 After the first outburst of afifection, Car- 
 
SPAIN FIFTY TEAES AGO. 245 
 
 los asked anxiously how his mother had borne 
 the news of his unfortunate aflfair; but Fernan- 
 do tranquillized him by the assurance that it 
 had been carefully concealed from her, and that 
 she attributed his illness to natural causes. 
 
 To his eager inquiries about Elia, Fernando 
 answered that she was at their mother's house, 
 and tenderly cared for. These words caused in 
 Carlos the wildest delight, and gave birth to 
 the most flattering hopes. 
 
 But Fernando was too upright and sincere 
 not to dispel them immediately. So he said to 
 his brother : 
 
 " Don't flatter yourself, Carlos, nor take 
 mother's noble and generous conduct as a proof 
 that she desists from her reasonable opposition 
 to your designs. Elia's great wealth, which in 
 the eyes of the world would seem to approxi- 
 mate distances — ^these riches, which raise if they 
 do not exalt, axe, my brother, a new obstacle to 
 your desire ; for mother would consider herself 
 debased if she gave to Elia rich the name of 
 daughter which she denied to EHa poor ; and 
 she would regard you as having forfeited your 
 rank in the world if you should owe your for- 
 
246 
 
 tune to a womaii separated from you by all the 
 steps of the social ladder. It was difficult, but 
 within the range of possibility, for her to raise 
 from the gutter an unworthy daughter-in-law ; 
 but to seek her on a pile of gold — never, mj 
 brother, no, never ! Could you believe, Carlos, 
 that, under any circumstances, mother would 
 tolerate seeing the cord of the hangman and 
 the shackles of the galley-slave suspended from 
 the proud branches of her genealogical tree — 
 that she would consent to have the stain of il- 
 legitimacy upon her unsullied title-deeds ? Car- 
 los, you are still delirious with fever if you 
 dreani of such a thing ! "Would you, forsooth, 
 exact from the marchioness of Yal-de- Jara that 
 which the humblest man of honor would not 
 consent to? Besides, Elia has decided to re- 
 turn to the convent, her only home, as she calls 
 it, and she is right ; for it is the true home of 
 innocence and virtue." 
 
 Carlos made a gesture of indignation as he 
 exclaimed : 
 
 "Mother has persuaded her to this! She 
 wishes to sacrifice this angel to her pride ; but 
 she will be disappointed ! If there is merit in 
 
spa:n fifiy yeabs ago. 247 
 
 not opposing tlie will of a jnst and affectionate 
 motlier, there is weakness in submitting to a 
 hard and inflexible one, in whom pi'ide smothers 
 all generous feeling ! And these are the people," 
 he added, bitterly, " who call themselves reli- 
 gious and speak of Christian virtue ; who wish 
 to introduce religion into politics, and yet drive 
 it from their own firesides ! " 
 
 " Carlos! " said Fernando, severely. 
 
 " Is it, then," continued Carlos, vehemently, 
 "is it Christian humility to break two hearts 
 and destroy two existences only through pride ? 
 Is it a religious spirit that makes a prison of a 
 convent? No; in hearts hardened by vile 
 worldly interests true religion does not dwell ! " 
 
 " If the state of physical suffering in which I 
 find you," said Fernando, " did not awaken a 
 softer emotion — that of pity in me — I should feel 
 indignant at your language. It is a pretty piece 
 of arrogance in you, truly, to set yourself up as 
 a judge of the duties and virtues of others, and 
 not to tolerate a person's being religious without 
 being perfect, and perfect after your own man- 
 ner of thinking. That a Christian loses all right 
 to interfere in worldly aff'airs. is a ridiculous ab- 
 
248 ELiA ; OE, 
 
 surdity ! And is it, then, religious virtue in a 
 mother to suffer her son to be carried away by 
 his first amorous impulses, and contract a mar- 
 riage that would embitter his life ? Consider, Car- 
 los whether or not mother would do right to let 
 you marry a woman whom your friends — apostles 
 of equality — would to-day approve and to-mor- 
 row be the first, perhaps, to treat with contempt ; 
 for the theories advanced to-day are to the expe- 
 rience of ages what paper money is to gold. 
 What is really hard and unjust, from every point 
 of view, is, the judgment that you have dared 
 to form of your mother. And is it possible that 
 the righteous will of an offended mother, which a 
 Capuchin breaks like a reed, that tender reconcili- 
 ation on the bed of death with a sister who had 
 caused all her sorrow, and disinherited her chil- 
 dren for a stranger ; that protection so generously 
 extended to one who, although innocently, has em- 
 bittered her life, and threatened the honor of her 
 house, that life which has been and is a model 
 of austeiity and virtue — is it possible, I say, that 
 all this, which society remembers and admires 
 her own son neither sees nor appreciates, simply 
 because she opposes what all the world condemns ? 
 
SPAIN FIFTY YEAE8 AGO. 249 
 
 You say, my brother, that pride blinds ; alas ! 
 how much greater blindness is produced by other 
 passions 1 " 
 
 " Yes," answered Carlos, bitterly ; " the gen- 
 erous protection offered and the manner of ex- 
 tending it, which consists in persuading a timid 
 girl to iramiu-e herself in a convent, is a model 
 of Jesuitical hypocrisy. But you admirably de- 
 fend it all. For a second Ananias there could 
 no doubt be readily found another TertuUus." 
 
 " And there is not wanting, to an unreasona- 
 ble brother who reproaches, a reasonable one who 
 forbears," said Fernando. 
 
 " Pardon, my brother," exclaimed Carlos ; 
 "my hot blood often makes me say what my 
 heart has no part in." 
 
 "So I believe," answered Fernando, "but 
 you deceive yourself in supposing that mother 
 has persuaded Elia to the course she is taking ; 
 on the contrary, I can assure you, that she has 
 begged her to defer the execution of her resolve. 
 Mother is too upright and high-minded to resort 
 to underhand measures to attain her object. 
 She trusts simply in the justice of her cause, and 
 the strength of her will. If at heart she cannot 
 11* 
 
250 elia; or, 
 
 but approve of Elia's determination, it is because 
 she feels that her position in the world, which 
 flatters while it looks down upon her, which 
 smiles yet wounds, is a false one, in which that 
 innocent girl could never find happiness nor 
 even contentment. Too humble to rise above 
 the world's verdict, too timid to face it, and too 
 delicate not to feel wounded by it, she has ex- 
 actly the qualities which would hinder her fi'om 
 enjoying the advantages of her station, while she 
 would be made to feel all its disadvantages." 
 
 "But do you suppose, Fernando," said Oar 
 los, " that I can reconcile myself to her loss ? 
 You seem to forget me entirely. I will not con- 
 sent to her sacrificing herself I What would re- 
 main to me in life without her ? " 
 
 " Forgetfulness ! " answered Fernando. 
 
 " Forgetfulness, Fernando I you insult me ! 
 Forgetfulness ? " 
 
 " Yes, brother, yes ! But I do not mean the 
 forgetfulness which blots out the image of the 
 past, but that which blunts its impressions. Our 
 hearts refuse to recognize the word, even while 
 they are yielding to its influence. God has 
 made forgetfulness a moral necessity of our exist 
 
SPAIN FirrY YEAKS AGO. 251 
 
 ence, as respiration is a physical one; and so 
 our souls inhale it, as our lungs do the air, by an 
 involuntary impulse." 
 
 " Tour words are worthy of the cold son of a 
 selfish mother ! " exclaimed Carlos. 
 
 " Carlos," continued Fernando, " the fire of 
 the passions is fed by tears and inflamed by 
 lamentations. There is but one way to avoid 
 its ravages, and that is by stifling it ! " 
 
 " Impossible ! " cried Carlos. 
 
 " Tou deceive yourself," answered Fernando, 
 in a voice profoundly moved ; " it is possible, 
 and what I have affirmed by words I can prove 
 by acts ! " 
 
 Upon hearing the sad tone of Fernando's 
 voice, Carlos turned his head and looked at him 
 intently. His fine countenance was as pale as 
 marble, and his eyes had that vague look known 
 only to those who have suffered some great and 
 hidden grief. 
 
 " Fernando ! Fernando ! " said Carlos, " I 
 comprehend! From your childhood you have 
 loved her ! Yes, you love her ! — ^you love Clara." 
 
 "Do not pronounce her namo," answered 
 Fernando, " except as a sister, if you do not 
 
252 
 
 wish to deprive my suffering of its purity. Let 
 my secret serve you as a proof that all good is 
 possible, and then let it return to its tomb — my 
 heart ! " 
 
 " You are a hero ! " exclaimed Carlos. 
 
 "No," replied Fernando, "but I am an 
 honorable man. Come," he added, observing 
 the increased agitation of his brother, " this con- 
 versation has already been carried too far. It 
 is necessary that you should keep quiet and 
 calm yourself. The great thing is for you to 
 reestablish your health." 
 
 Pretty soon Carlos was enabled to leave 
 his chamber. Then Fernando informed him 
 that the mother of the officer, who, although 
 recovering, had been at the point of death, was 
 determined to prosecute him, and had succeeded 
 in getting a number of affidavits showing him 
 to have been the aggressor, and that the king 
 was furious about the whole matter. 
 
 There remained, then, to Carlos only the 
 alternative of exile or imprisonment ; he could 
 not reasonably refuse to adopt the former, the 
 more especially as he felt sure that if he were 
 (mce in prison, his mother would take care that 
 
SPAIN FIFTY YBAES AGO. 253 
 
 he was not released from it until Elia had taken 
 the veil. He set out, then, with tears of sorrow 
 and anger, trusting in the promise his brother 
 made him, to do all in his power to obtain his 
 pardon from the king. He left a letter for Elia, 
 in which he told her that he would be absent 
 two months on public service, and that he was 
 not opposed to her going to the convent, where 
 she could tranquilly await his return. The 
 whole letter was filled with the most passionate 
 expressions of love and devotion, and he begged 
 her a thousand times not to forget the promises 
 she had made him, which gave him the right 
 to claim her as his wife even at the foot of the 
 altar. 
 
 Some days afterward, this letter reached 
 the convent, that reoeptOGle of cold, egotistical 
 souls, according to the philosopher IS'arciso, 
 and Carlos arrived in England, the swan's nest, 
 as Shakespeare calls it ; appellations which, in 
 our opinion, might very properly be exchanged, 
 and we see by your smile, gentle reader, that 
 jrou agree with us. 
 
254 ELiA ; OK, 
 
 CHAPTEE XXV. 
 
 Thi marchioness was not ignorant of Car- 
 los's duel, although she appeared so. It cansed 
 her proibund affliction ; nevertheless, she an- 
 swered the friend who told her of it : " If all 
 men acted as he has upon hearing his mother 
 slandered, evil-speakers would put a rein upon 
 their tongues." 
 
 But while Fernando was ui-gently soliciting 
 his brother's pardon at Madrid, his mother con- 
 trived, through her friends and relations, to 
 have it delayed ; for she was anxious that Car- 
 los should not return until Elia had professed ; 
 for the simple reason that she desired to avoid 
 a scene, so exceedingly repugnant to one of her 
 grave and quiet character. So Fernando could 
 only console his brother with the hopes that the 
 prime minister held out to him, at each succeed- 
 Mig interview. These delays exasperated Car- 
 
SPAIN FIFTY YEARS AGO. 255 
 
 los, who, with his Spanish constancy to his hidy- 
 love and native country, cursed his banishment. 
 All the splendor of London passed before his 
 eyes unheeded, without interesting his mind or 
 his heart. At the parties of the nobility, where 
 he felt as much bored as an old millionnaire lord, 
 he scarcely deigned to notice the ardent anJ 
 languid glances of the Englishwomen, who, in 
 imitating the maidens of Italy, have surpassad 
 them in coquetry. 
 
 He became very sad under that ash-colored 
 sky, which seems to be the first attacked by the 
 national disease, spleen — in that foggy atmoi- 
 phere, which envelopes the great city like a 
 shroud, and is overhead a night witJiout stars 
 and without repose. The' trees, stripped of 
 their leaves, seemed black, from their contrast 
 with the snow-drifts, which covered the earth, 
 and raised their long arms to heaven, like 
 skeletons asking for burial. 
 
 To Carlos the days seemed endless, and the 
 nights eternal ; and yet the months were swift- 
 ly revolving round the dial-plate of Time. 
 And soon the dying groans of Winter were 
 heard in the equinoctial storm, and Spring co;',i- 
 
256 £LiA ; OE, 
 
 menced her flowery reign. The fields put on 
 their brightest smiles, and decked themselves 
 in garments of various colors, and life seemed a 
 sylvan poem. But nothing spoke to the heart 
 of the exile, filled with recollections of the past 
 and hopes for the future. 
 
 His situation became intolerable when he 
 reflected that in two months Elia would have 
 finished her novitiate. He awaited, however, 
 the arrival of the latest period designated by 
 Fernando for the reception of his pardon ; but 
 when this came and he found that it was only 
 another link in the chain, forged to keep him 
 absent, he became indignant, and resolved to 
 return to Spain, let what would be the conse- 
 quence. How his heart beat with joy when 
 he descried Spain looming up on the horizon ! 
 The pure blue of heaven and the brilliant blue 
 of the sea seemed to be parted, like a tm-quoise- 
 shell, for the sole purpose of showing in their 
 embrace beautiful Cadiz, the white pearl of the 
 Atlantic ! He saw on his left hand the city of 
 San Lucar, at the mouth of the silvery Guadal- 
 quivir, and ahead and on his right Rota, Santa 
 Maria, Puerto Real, the island of San Fernan- 
 
SPAIN FIFTY TEARS AGO. 257 
 
 do, and Medina, a city on a rock, resembling a 
 nest of alabaster. He beheld in the bay that 
 moving forest of masts, browned by the suns 
 of the tropics, hardened by the snows of the 
 poles, displaying the names of their countries 
 from tlieir mast-heads, in their language of many 
 colors, and resting with furled sails, lite birds 
 who have folded their wings, trusting to their 
 anchors, fit emblems of hope. He fixed a grate- 
 ful glance upon the lighthouse of San Sebastian, 
 which Cadiz has built on a reef, in the midst 
 of the sea, in order that the noise of the city 
 may not distract it, while that of the waves re- 
 minds it of its holy mission — Cyclops of granite, 
 sleepless mariner, eternal " lookout," whose feet 
 are washed by the sea, whose forehead is wet 
 with foam ; Christian vestal, watching this 
 small flame which gives so much light! holy 
 flame whereby charity displays, amid the 
 treacherous dairkness, the word " Beware !" finger 
 of fire which indicates the danger night hides ; 
 wise counsellor who through darkness and tem- 
 pest, amid the waste of waters, points out the 
 course to steer, and unites in bonds of sympa- 
 thy those who wander, beset by danger, with 
 
258 ELiA ; OB, 
 
 those who rest secure; temple of charity which 
 the aiigels point out to God, in proof of man's 
 remembrance of the teaching of the Apostle 
 Paul! 
 
 Over this enchanting picture was the sky 
 of Andalusia, decked in smiles — that sky al- 
 ways serene, always peaceful — which never 
 covers itself with clouds except when the 
 parched earth cries, " I am thirsty. Give me 
 drink." 
 
 Carlos had no sooner arrived in Cadiz, than 
 he embarked for Santa Maria in a felucca that 
 attracted him with its half-arrogant, half-pious 
 inscription on the stern : 
 
 " With God I sail, 
 Witli good deeds court the gale I " 
 
 Unfurling her enormous lateen sail, which 
 expanded to the breeze as the heart of a wan- 
 derer expands upon beholding his native land, 
 the felucca darted through the waves, which 
 broke in soft ripples against her sides. The 
 bar at the mouth of the Guadalete being passed, 
 the master of the little craft took off his hat, 
 and repeated in a loud voice a Pater noster for 
 t'le souls of the many who have been wi'ecked 
 
SPAIN FIFTY YEARS AGO. 259 
 
 on that dangerous shoal ! a holy offering to the 
 dead which those should respect, from motives 
 of humanity, who do not reverence it from de- 
 votion ; and yet this pious custom has been 
 abolished, through the sarcasms of the world. 
 So have the impious added to the enlighten- 
 ment of the nineteenth century by suppressing 
 this prayer in the mouth of the common 
 people. 
 
 Carlos reached Santa Maria, after a few 
 hours' sail, and then drove twelve miles in a 
 light carriage, to San Lucar, where he took a 
 steani%)at for Seville, the bride of the Guadal- 
 quivir, whose loves were known to the ancieni 
 poets as they are known and celebrated by 
 the modem ; for love has no secrets from poetry 
 nor poetry from love, as there are none betwee 
 body and soul. He arrived at night. Tbe 
 moon threw a soft light over the silent C/ty, 
 lulled to rest by the song of the nightirgale, 
 which produces an indescribable emotior in the 
 heart and fills the eyes with tears. T" e notes 
 of a solitary guitar fell upon his ear, » id, moved 
 by the breeze, the orange-trees re'.eshed him 
 with their sweet-smelling fans. 
 
260 p:lia ; oe, 
 
 Carlos strolled about tlie paseo de las deli- 
 cias until a late hour, and then betook himself 
 to an inn, in an obscure street, where he passed 
 the night. 
 
SPAIN FIFTY YEAES AftO 201 
 
 CHAPTEE XXYI. 
 
 On the following morning, just as tlie ca- 
 thedral clock was striking seven, a young man 
 knocked at the door of the nunnery of Madre 
 de Dios. 
 
 " I will call the door-keeper," said a well- 
 known voice. 
 
 " Maria ! " cried Carlos. 
 
 " Who calls me by name ? " asked the voice. 
 
 " Don't you know me, Maria ? " 
 
 An exclamation of joy was the response, 
 and rapid steps were heard moving away. 
 
 " I knew it," cried Maria, " I knew he 
 would come. I have never doubted him for an 
 instant, for I know what love is ! " 
 
 The door-keeper soon came, and, finding 
 that Carlos was the son of the Marchioness of 
 Val-de-Jara, showed him to the visitors' parlor. 
 
a6'2 
 
 This was a long, narrow room, with a strong 
 iron grating at one end of it, behind which a 
 black curtain was closely drawn. 
 
 Over the grating was the following inscrip- 
 tion: 
 
 " Nostra conversatio in codis esty 
 
 On the opposite side, a small, grated window, 
 near the ceiling, admitted a pallid, mournfnl 
 light, which faded entirely away upon the black 
 curtain. On the wall, opposite to the door of 
 entrance, hung an immense picture represent- 
 ing Saint Cecilia, renouncing at her marriage 
 the seductions of love, converting her husband 
 to the spiritualism of her own exalted faith, and 
 transforming the marriage-bed into an altar, 
 crowned by the angels with white roses. 
 
 A number of high-backed wooden chairs 
 were placed against the cold, white walls, and 
 a pine table, painted black, stood in the middle 
 of the floor. 
 
 Carlos felt, upon entering this gloomy room, 
 as if a cold hand had been placed upon his 
 heart, and had stopped its beating. Thus it 
 happens to the brilliant bird of the tropics, 
 whose destiny takes it to the stunted pines of 
 
SPAIN FIFTY YEARS A(}0. 268 
 
 Lapland. It shivers with cold, its wings droop, 
 and its song dies in its throat. 
 
 Carlos sank into a chair. Suddenly the 
 curtain was rapidly drawn. A large, well- 
 lighted apartment appeared to his bewildered 
 eyes, and standing in the middle of it was Elia. 
 
 "Oh, Carlos!" she exclaimed in an accent 
 expressive of the most perfect affection, "what 
 pleasure it gives me to see you here on this 
 happy and solemn day, when I am about to 
 pronounce my vows! Only you, among all 
 those whom I love and who love me, were want- 
 ing!" 
 
 Carlos fixed his eyes upon Elia, as upon an 
 enigma he could not understand. 
 
 Nothing could have been more beautiful 
 than that enchanting apparition, surrounded 
 by a halo of light. Her eyes shone with heav- 
 enly brilliancy, the reflection of her pure ana 
 loving soul. A handkerchief thrown over her 
 head, and drawn closely under the chin, served 
 to display the perfect oval of her face. Her 
 white habit, falling in broad folds to the ground ; 
 the veil, which waved from her head to her 
 feet, gave tc that youthful figure a grave and 
 
264 ELiA ; OR, 
 
 soft dignity whicli filled tlie beholder with awe 
 as well as admiration. At that instant it 
 seemed to Carlos that his hopes withered like 
 flowers plucked from the earth and placed ou 
 the altar of a saint. But stifling this feeling — 
 "I come not, Elia," said he, "to witness 
 your vows; I come to prevent your taking 
 them. I come to fulfil my promise, and to 
 exact the fulfilment of yours. Can you have 
 forgotten them ? Is the past blotted from your 
 memory ? " 
 
 "All has been blotted from my heart, in 
 the convent, except gratitude, which fills it all." 
 
 " And dare you say th's ? " exclaimed Car- 
 los. "Dare you, with this same hand which 
 dispenses alms, dries the tears of those who 
 suffer and decks the altars with flowers, drive a 
 dagger into the heart of the man who loves 
 you ! the companion of youi- childhood — of him 
 whom your mother called son ? " 
 
 "I dare," answered Elia, "withdi»,v my- 
 self from him in order to turn him aside from 
 the path of error, and guide him to that which 
 it is his duty to follow." 
 
 "These are the ideas instilled into you in 
 
SPAIN FIFTY YEAES AGO. 265 
 
 tlie convent! Oh, Elia ! the path you have 
 marked out will lead you to sacrifice and me to 
 desperation ! Will you destroy the felicity of 
 the man who adores you? You so good, so 
 amiable — can you be ungrateful and cruel? 
 So young, so beautiful ! will you be so insen- 
 sate as to renounce the joys of life and obsti- 
 nately adhere to a resolution all must con- 
 demn ? " 
 
 "And who can blame me," answered Elia, 
 " for desiring to separate myself from a world 
 which each one of its inhabitants execrates? 
 Find me a single one who is content with his 
 lot ; find me but one who can say : ' The world 
 has given me true happiness, an unalterable 
 tranquillity : I have preserved in it a pure con- 
 science, a heart free from animosity ; no word, 
 no look has ever wounded me. I have lived 
 without fears and without hopes, or I have seen 
 the former realized and the latter vanish without 
 anguish or depression of spirits. I have seen 
 youth pass away without regret, and old age 
 arrive without repugnance ! ' Show me but one, 
 Carlos, who can say this, and it will be a practi- 
 cal eulogium of the world — a sound argument 
 12 
 
266 ELiA ; OR, 
 
 that will conviace me. The glance I cast upon 
 society was brief but lucid, and has produced its 
 effects upon my heart. My reason, if the finger 
 of God were wanting, would have led me in the 
 jweet path I am following, and I will not 
 wander from it. Yes, Carlos, my days of si- 
 lence and prayer will glide away peacefully 
 and happily, and be as sweet as the drops dis- 
 tilled from the honey -comb." 
 
 "Elia," answered Carlos, "you are under 
 the influence of a religious excitement which 
 obscures your vision, like a cloud of incense, 
 blinding you with regard to the future. You 
 know not your own heart, and are deceiving 
 yourself as to its aspirations. But I will never 
 consent," he added, with intense agitation, 
 " to your burying yourself in the convent. 
 You have plighted your troth to me ; you have 
 sworn to be mine. I have a right to claim you 
 as my wife, and I shall find means to enforca 
 this right ! " 
 
 " Your right ! " exclaimed Elia in a tone of 
 reproof. " Where is it ? What is it ? Am I 
 what I was? Are there not 'between us the 
 world and a mother's prohibition? Dare you 
 
SPAIN FIFTy TEAKS AGO. 267 
 
 come to snatch me from the foot of the altar — 
 dai'e you say to me, ' I deprive you of a peaceful 
 and happy life, and I offer you in exchange the 
 ephemeral felicity of earthly love? ' Dare you 
 tear me from the Church, as a maniac would 
 drag a child from it^ mother's bosom ? No, no ! 
 abandon all hope. We are as widely separated 
 as the sun that surrounds itself with light and 
 noise, and the moon that seeks silence and the 
 night. Follow the rapid and impetuous cur- 
 rent of your destiny, and do not attempt to 
 carry with it the feeble flower you have found 
 on its margin, and which would only perish by 
 the union. So, Carlos, you are the blind one, 
 blinded by passion; for this truly blinds, and 
 not the incense of which you have spoken, 
 which only serves to direct our eyes toward the 
 heaven to which it ascends." 
 
 " EUa, why do you talk thus ? " 
 
 "Because, Carlos, it is blind passion that 
 urges men to set public opinion at defiance, and 
 overturn an established order ; and this cannot 
 guide, but needs to be guided." 
 
 " How tranquil, how serene, how composed 
 you are ! " said Carlos, angrily. 
 
268 
 
 " Because I have prayed, Carlos." 
 
 " You have never loved me, Elia ! " ex- 
 claimed Carlos, falling into a chair, and cover- 
 ing; his face with his hands. 
 
 " oil, yes ! I have ]oved you, and still love 
 you, Carlos," answered Elia, in a soft and sweet 
 voice. " But in this infinite love that I bear you 
 there is neither presence nor absence ; nor past, 
 present, nor futnre ; time glides over it as over 
 eternity, without changing or disturbing it It 
 is a love which does not distract the heart from 
 God, but is identified with God, the fountain 
 and end of all love ! It is a love that does not 
 fear ingratitude, because it exacts nothing in 
 return ; it is an unchangj i )le love, that is heard 
 in prayer, and ascends with it to heaven. It is 
 a love like that of the stars, and must be con- 
 fined to its proper sphere. We may go to them 
 hereafter, but they will not come to us here." 
 
 " But this love," said Carlos, sorrowfully, 
 " this love which separates those who feel it up- 
 on earth, does not bring happiness, Elia." 
 
 " What do you call happiness ? " asked Elia. 
 " If it is the peace which repose of conscience and 
 freedom from the sway of the passions bring; if 
 
SPAIN FIFTY lEAItS AGO. 269 
 
 i1 IS the soft calm which is felt when the past is 
 without remorse and the future without fears ; 
 if it is found in a hfe whose dreams are peaceful 
 whose waking hours are calm and cheerful ; if it 
 consists in awaiting death without desiring or 
 fearing it, if this be true happiness and without 
 alloy — why, then I have comprehended it, Car- 
 los, and have made it miae," 
 
 Carlos, keeping his face still covered, rested 
 his head on the back of his chair ; tears trickled 
 through his fingers, and his whole frame shook 
 with his convulsive sobs. 
 
 " Carlos, Carlos ! '' continued the distressed 
 Elia, in a tone of supplication. " Do not afflict 
 me with your tears ; do not disturb my heart 
 with your sorrow. Love me ever, but do 
 not strive against Heaven. Come, generously, 
 and with religious feeling, to unite yourself to 
 me on that height from which I contemplate the 
 passions and interests of the earth ; that height, 
 Carlos — as I plainly saw in the world — is not 
 attained by talent and genius, but by faith, that 
 divine faith which fills the sea, and yet finds a 
 lodging in the humblest heart. Don Narciso 
 could not comprehend it, and yet it was plain 
 
270 ELiA ; OK, 
 
 and intelligible to Don Benigno. From this 
 height, Carlos, life appears so short, so insignifi- 
 cant — the zero of eternity ! and yet it can hold 
 many tears and prepare fearful remorse ibr 
 the future. Only on this height, Carlos, is 
 one divested of ignominy inherited from one's 
 forefathers, as are the sons of Adam of the curse 
 he entailed upon them. There we lay aside our 
 earthly bodies and soar toward heaven, as the 
 loathsome caterpillar is changed to the butterfly. 
 On this height, my brother, we are farther from 
 the earth but nearer heaven, heaven," she repeat- 
 ed, raising her eyes and hands toward it, with 
 holy exultation, " there, where all loving hearts 
 will be united in that celestial and perfect love, 
 which is beatitude ! " 
 
 Elia, filled with the inspiration of the Holy 
 Spirit, her face bathed in tears, appeared to 
 Carlos a seraph, descended from heaven, and 
 about to ascend to it again. 
 
 Moved, fascinated, swayed by a magnetic im- 
 pulse, he knelt down ; and resting his bowed 
 head against the bars of the grating — 
 
 " I find at last — unfortunately for my haj)pi- 
 iiess too late," he exclaiiued, " that in the midst 
 
Sl'Am FIFTY YEARS AGO. 271 
 
 of the base materialism of the world, there are 
 beings whose souls shine like divine torches in 
 the darkness, like beacon-lights at night, who are 
 so exalted that passion profanes them, and wbo 
 should only be loved upon the earth as the an- 
 gels are loved in heaven ! " 
 
272 
 
 EPILOGUE. 
 
 If you sliould ask me wtat became of ttose 
 who remained amid the great and shifting 
 scenery of the world, — it being the duty of the 
 novelist to give an account of the personages 
 ivhom he places on the stage, — I might answer 
 as Schiller replied to those who questioned him 
 concerning Thectla : 
 
 " Do you ask the trees of winter, perchance, 
 what has become of the nightingales whose songs 
 charmed you in the spring ? They lived only 
 while they loved." 
 
 Nevertheless, life is divided into two parts ; 
 the ideal and the material ; and we will speak of 
 the second, which outlives the first. 
 
 Fernando died at Madrid, in the unfortunate 
 affair of the 7th of July, 1822, defending the 
 king. 
 
 Carlos, faithful to a cause already lost, fell 
 
SPAIN FIFTT YEAES AGO. 2^3 
 
 at Trocadero in the following year, in that dis 
 astrous battle where blood was shed without en- 
 thusiasm, men fought without hope, and death 
 was met bravely, but to no purpose. 
 
 The marchioness bore with fortitude the loss 
 of Fernando, that beloved and perfect son, who 
 had realized her fondest expectations; but 
 the death of Carlos destroyed her. He was 
 the last of the Orreas, and the first who had died 
 defending a cause which was not that of his king, 
 his country, and his religion. Her haughty 
 spirit gave way, and she died in the arms of the 
 inconsolable Esperanza. 
 
 This perfect daughter married a distinguished 
 and worthy man, and had two sons. The elder, 
 brought up at home under the eyes of his par- 
 ents, joined the ranks of Don Carlos, and was 
 slain at the siege of Bilbao ; the younger, edu- 
 cated in the artillery-school at Madrid, made his 
 first campaign under General Cordoba, the com- 
 mander-in-chief of the queen's forces, and met 
 death in the battle of Mendigorria. 
 
 When Esperanza, wild with grief at seeing 
 these idols of her heart fall victims to that terri- 
 ble civil war — the moat frightful scourge that 
 12* 
 
/74 ELIA. 
 
 man has ever framed with his own hands — felt 
 her reason giving way, she went to the convent 
 to see Elia — and returned from it, calm and re- 
 signed. 
 
 ■ITD OF BUjL 
 
CONSOLATION IN DEATH. 
 
CONSOLATION IN DEATH; 
 
 A MOTHER'S PRAYER TO THE VIRGIN. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 In the spacious bay of Cadiz, between the 
 port of Santa Maria and the city of San Fernan- 
 do, stands Puerto Real, the most modest and 
 unassuming of the neighbors of Cadiz, notwith- 
 standing the nobility of its origin, it having been 
 founded, as its arms and beautiful name attest, 
 by the Catholic Sovereigns. 
 
 This town is the resort of the wealthy mer- 
 chants of Cadiz, who have erected here houses 
 and churches which would not bring discredit 
 on the capital itself. It is chiefly notfed, how- 
 ever, for the number and beauty of its gardens, 
 filled with the rarest and loveliest flowers, in 
 
278 CONSOLATION IN DEATH ; OK, 
 
 wliich the women of Cadiz seem to take as much 
 delight as if they were daughters of Flora, in- 
 stead of being the spoilt children of the Swan of 
 the Ocean. 
 
 Puerto Real is separated from the bay by 
 extensive marslies, covered with reeds, which the 
 sea fills and empties, by turns, with its unceas- 
 ing undulations. In the midst of these the in- 
 dustry of man has created the vast salt-works, 
 so famous for the excellence and abundance of 
 the salt which they produce. The view present- 
 ed by these salt marshes is sad and monotonous 
 in the extreme. 
 
 To the right of Puerto Eeal, on a projecting 
 point of land, like Puntales on the opposite shore, 
 is the famous Trocadero : the two forts, by com- 
 mon consent, seemingly having drawn near to 
 each other, for the purpose of keeping watch and 
 ward, like two valiant sentinels, over one of the 
 three arsenals of the Peninsula. Trocadero on 
 its side shelters Puerto Real from the fierce 
 attacks of the ocean, which even the massive 
 walls of Cadiz are unable to resist, so that, guard- 
 ed by the fort and intrenched behind its marshes, 
 the beautiful town sleeps peacefully amidst its 
 
A mother's peayee to the virgin. 279 
 
 flowers under the guardianship of its celestial 
 patron, St. Boque. But although not in con- 
 tact with the ocean, it does not the less enjoy a 
 view of its grandeur and loveliness ; and he who 
 of an afternoon pensively reclines in the shade 
 of the almond-trees whose branches overhang 
 every path of its far-famed jpaseo, may see, on 
 the right, a lovely country stretching far away 
 to the highlands of Konda ; in front, the port of 
 Santa Maria, ever gazing on its image in the 
 placid waters of the G-uadalete ; and, on the left, 
 Cadiz, with its rocks for a foundation, its walls 
 for a pedestal, its towers a crown, its light-house 
 a torch, and upon its snowy bosom, the church 
 of Carmen — thrice holy scapulary, the pride of 
 Andalusia ; and finally he may behold, between 
 Cadiz and Santa Maria, the immensity of the 
 sea, and the monarch of day slowly descending 
 beneath the waves, leaving, while he rests, his 
 mission of light in heaven, to the stars, and on 
 earth to the light-house, the holiest of all the mon- 
 uments which man has erected upon the earth — 
 afber the temple of God 1 
 
280 ooNsoiiAnoN m death; ob, 
 
 OHAPTEE IL 
 
 This beautiful view of the sea and the set- 
 ting sun gave no pleasure, however, to a man 
 who, on a bright afternoon in May, journeyed on 
 his mule by the Quarry road, toward the town 
 Although but fifty years old his hair was of a sil- 
 very white, while the wrinkles which furrowed 
 his forehead bore witness that sorrow had got 
 the better of age in the sad mission of destroying 
 the man. This person was an inhabitant of the 
 town, named Antonio Parra, and married to one 
 of those women who reconcile God with human- 
 ity ; in whom all is heart, all compassion ; who 
 put in practice the divine teaching. Love never 
 wea/ries of doing good, applying this not only to 
 the love of family and neighbors but to one's 
 bitterest and most implacable enemies. Love 
 sublime I which descended from the Cross, but 
 has become so corrupted, by its long residence 
 
A mother's peayee to the viEGm. 281 
 
 upon eartli, that when the generality of mankind 
 behold it exhibited in some favored being, they 
 either refuse to recognize it, or coldly deride it 
 as hypocrisy. 
 
 One would have supposed that the marriage 
 of this excellent couple must bring with it per- 
 fect happiness to both ; but alas ! happiness on 
 earth is not the lot of man, who, through sin, de- 
 graded his own primitive being and that of his 
 race. Toil for men, sorrow for women ! who 
 will remove this curse of God, which bows hu- 
 manity to the ground ? 
 
 Antonio and his wife, then, had been called 
 to mourn, in succession, the death of two sons, 
 MUed in battle, and a daughter, snatched from 
 them, in the bloom of youth, by that fatal mal- 
 ady which came frOm the Ganges to seek its 
 Adctims, There remained to them now only the 
 youngest child, Bernardo, who was common- 
 ly spoken of, in the neighborhood, as the Judas 
 of the family. This boy, who, at the time of 
 which I speak, was but twelve years of age, had all 
 the bad qualities which spring the one from the 
 other. Laziness had produced idleness, and this 
 evil indinations, which, uufortimately, the ex- 
 
282 
 
 cessive love of his parents liad prevented their 
 correcting, or perhaps observing, until they had 
 become so engi*afted on his nature as to threaten 
 his utter destruction body and soul. 
 
 Whilst Antonio on his mule was slowly ap- 
 proaching home, his wife Maria was seated in 
 the parlor of her house, with her little niece by 
 her side, whom she was teaching to sew, and at 
 the same time instructing in the Catholic faith. 
 
 " Yeronica, my child," said the good woman, 
 " do you think you know by heart now the story 
 which your neighbor, the sacristan's wife, taught 
 you?" 
 
 " Yes, aunt," replied the child, without ceas- 
 ing to work on her samples, which seemed to 
 afford her much pleasure, " and I will repeat it 
 to you. 
 
 ' In the midst of great Jernsalem, 
 
 The city of the Jew, 
 An afflicted mother moved in haste, 
 
 All clad in white and bine, 
 "Have yon seen, perohanoe, good genfleman, 
 
 My Son, my darling SonI " 
 **I saw Him pass this very spot, 
 
 Just as the cook orowed one^ 
 
A MOTHEk's PKAYEE to the VIKQIN. 283 
 
 With a cross upon His shoulders, 
 
 That oaased him fearfnl pain, 
 And a crown of thorns npon His head, 
 
 "Whose nettles pierced His brain ; 
 With the ■weight of His harsh burden. 
 
 Three times the Saviour slips. 
 And thrice npon the rugged earth 
 
 He pressed His sainted lipsl 
 And then came out Veronica, 
 
 A maid of humble race. 
 Who thrice knelt down upon the ground, 
 
 And kissed the sacred place ; 
 And then with snowy handkerchief. 
 
 Of blood and dirt the trace 
 Eemoved from oflf that beauteous brow, 
 
 Whereon rests Heaven's grace — 
 Three folds are La that handkerchief 
 
 Each bears the Saviour's face 1 " 
 • * 4> * • 
 
 One likeness is in Jaen found, 
 
 The second is in Borne, 
 The third was thrown into the sea, 
 
 To bless the sailor's home.' " 
 
 " Aunt," asked the child, as she finished her 
 narration, " of what wood was that cross made, 
 that it caused the Savioui- to fall three times ? 
 What made it so heavy ? " 
 
284 CONSOLATION IN DEATH J OE, 
 
 " It weighed so much on account of its great 
 size. The trunk was of cypress, its arms of 
 palm, and the part on which Our Blessed Lord's 
 feet rested of cedar, while the piece which was 
 set up over His divine head bearing this inscrip- 
 tion, ' This is Jesus, the King of the Jews^ was 
 of olive ; all of which incloses a great mystery, 
 niy darling," answered the aunt. " But now," 
 she continued, " you may leave your task, and 
 go out to play." 
 
 The child folded her sampler with much neat- 
 ness, taking care to put away her needle and 
 thimble in a pocket which was attached to it, and 
 then kneeling before an image of Our Lady 
 which was placed upon a table, crossed her little 
 hands, and said : 
 
 " ' Mary Most Holy I 
 
 Thy servant doth pray 
 Thy divine license 
 
 To run out and play. 
 With thy blessed hand — 
 
 All grief redressing — 
 Virgin Immaculate, 
 
 Give me thy blessing I ' " 
 
 Afterward she dressed a little clay doll, and 
 
A mothek's prater to the virgin. 285 
 
 then, taMng it in her arms, began to move to 
 and fro, and sing to it the following : 
 
 "' Every littlodoU 
 
 Gives pleasure to me, 
 Even clay ones that cost 
 Of farthings but three.' 
 
 " "Won't you go to sleep ? " she added, seat- 
 ing her doll in her lap ; " well, then, I will teach 
 yon to pray. In the morning the very first 
 thing you should say is : 
 
 ' Now blessed be the light of day, 
 Which God bestows on aU ; 
 Oh, bless Him for it, while you may, 
 All things both great and small I ' 
 
 Ajid at night, this : 
 
 * "With my Lord I go to rest, 
 To sleep until the morn ; 
 No other better can be found, 
 
 Nor was, nor will be, bom. — 
 If I sleep, dear Christ, awake me. 
 And, if I die, oh, take me I ' " 
 
 "Where can Bernardo have gone?" said 
 the good mother at length. "It is near ves- 
 pers ; his father will soon be here, and if he does 
 
286 CONSOLATION IN DEATH ; OK, 
 
 not find him at home, will be uneasy about 
 him." 
 
 "He is playing buU-flght with the other 
 boys," replied the child. "I cannot see what 
 pleasure the boys find in such racing and shout- 
 ing." 
 
 " "What pleases boys cannot and should not 
 please girls," responded her aunt, quickly, who 
 always, instinctively, excused her son. "Ho 
 will soon become more sedate, my child. W<s 
 must have patience with him." 
 
 At this moment Bernardo dashed into the 
 room, with his clothes all torn, and crying out 
 at the top of his voice : " Hurrah for the bull ! 
 hurrah for the bull ! " 
 
 "How in the world have you managed to 
 tear your clothes so, my son ? " asked his 
 mother. 
 
 " How should I tear them but with a nail 
 or some confounded hook ? " answered the boy. 
 " If you do not wish to see me in tatters, you 
 should not make my clothes out of this miserar- 
 ble cloth!" 
 
 " Maserable cloth, my son ? why, they ar« 
 bran new, and made of the iread of the poor?'' 
 
JL M'itheb's peatee to the viegin. 287 
 
 " Well, make them of the hread of the rioh, 
 then," replied the lad, disrespectfully. " Veron- 
 ica," he continued, turning toward the child, 
 "I saw your cat upon the roof of the house, and 
 threw a stone at it. I hit it, but unfortunately 
 did not kill it. I will do better next time." 
 
 "And what has my poor little cat done, 
 that you should wish to kill it ? " exclaimed Ve- 
 I'onica, bursting into tears. 
 
 " Oh, what a goose to weep for a cat ! " 
 sneered the boy. " I have a good mind to dry 
 your tears, Madame Ory-hoihy, with a handful 
 of nettles." 
 
 "You are capable of doing any thing, 
 Herod," replied the little girl, flying to her 
 aunt for protection. 
 
 And now came the ringing of a. bell, and 
 then of another and another, as if the holy voice 
 of the Church were many times repeating the 
 words, " Pray, sinner, pray ; for the day is 
 ended, during which you have not died, and 
 the night cometh, when your soul may be re- 
 quired of you." 
 
 The aunt and her niece, who understood 
 perfectly this Catholic language, rose up at on'-^ 
 
and tlie former said : " Come, Bernardo, salute 
 tlie Virgin, and pray — this morning, remember, 
 you were not willing to do so." 
 
 " Nor am I willing now," he replied, taking 
 a handful of chestnuts out of his pocket and be- 
 ginning to eat them. 
 
 His good mother, who knew by experience 
 that she could effect nothing by reasoning with 
 him, said, fetching a deep sigh, ""Well, then, 
 I will pray twice — once for you, and once for 
 myself;" and, accordingly, she commenced the 
 salutation to the Virgin, Veronica responding 
 with her infantile voice, and both ccncluding 
 their devotion in this manner : 
 
 " Receive, Holy Mother, 
 
 Ave Marias three, 
 Which thy sinful servant 
 
 Humhly offers thee. 
 The first for those in agony ; 
 
 For those in mortal sin 
 The next — and wanderers of the sea 
 
 Must claim the third, I ween. 
 Let not their hearts be hardened, 
 
 Prom grace ne'er let tljem faU — 
 Oh, grant their sins be pardoned, 
 
 And Christ be with them all! " 
 
A MOTHEk's prayer to the VIEGIlf. 289 
 
 " And let these nuts be roasted, 
 Although so very small ! " 
 
 — added Bernardo. 
 
 " Be silent, Bernardo ! " said his afflicted 
 mother. " What you say is irreverent." 
 
 At this instant the father entered. 
 
 " You do not know," he exclaimed, address- 
 ing his wife, " what this bad, this unfeeling boy 
 has done." 
 
 The poor mother began to tremble, and, be- 
 fore ascertaining the cause for her grief, her 
 eyes were filled with the tears which were de- 
 stroying them. 
 
 " With a stone he has laid open the head of 
 Juan de Silva," continued her husband. 
 
 " He threw at me first," said Bernardo pert- 
 ly. " Who owes a debt and pays it, is an honest 
 fellow!" 
 
 " It is false," replied the father ; " a man 
 who witnessed the occurrence told me all about 
 it ; but if the devil had not invented lying, you 
 would have done so. Juan did not even see 
 you when the stone struck him. A more pro- 
 voking boy than you cannot be found in the 
 town. And you are as bold about it as if yoii 
 13 
 
2'JU CONSOLATION IN DEATH ; OK, 
 
 Iiad done something meritorious. Ton neither 
 feel regret for the sin you have committed, nor 
 shame at being detected in a falsehood ! " 
 
 '"I have not told a falsehood," answered 
 Bernardo. " Juan threw at me the other day, 
 and T have been on the watch for him ever 
 since." 
 
 " Oh, perverse child ! " groaned the father. 
 " At so early an age to bear malice ! "Who 
 would suppose that this blessed woman brought 
 you into the world, and that in your veins flows 
 the honored blood of the Parras ? " 
 
 "Who injures me has to pay for it," 
 murmured the incorrigible boy, between his 
 teath. 
 
 The father sank into a chair, and indignant- 
 ly threw his hat upon another. 
 
 •' Don't you know, son," exclaimed Maria, 
 " that the law of God commands us not to re- 
 turn evil for evil, neither by word nor deed, and 
 that St. John says that he who hates his brother 
 is a murderer ? " 
 
 "Maria," said her husband, "I have told 
 you before that this unnatural son is carrying 
 me to my grave ; while you are losing your 
 
9.91 
 
 eyesight from incessant crying. Depend upoir 
 it, he will come to a bad end." 
 
 " Holy mother ! Yirgin of mercy ! grant 
 that he become a Christian ! " sobbed the 
 sainted mother. 
 
llHii COMSOLAnoJSf EN DEATH : OB, 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Ten years afterward, and the prophecies of 
 the old man were partly fulfilled. 
 
 Bernardo had continued in his evil ways, 
 and on various occasions had come near meet- 
 ing a disastroiTS end. His mother was almost 
 blind from weeping, and the poor old father lay 
 stretched upon the Led from which he was des- 
 tined never more to rise. 
 
 "And has Bernardo not come in to-night 
 either?" asked the sick man of his wife, who 
 shook her head sorrowfully, but made no reply 
 in words. 
 
 " Maria," continued her husband, " I am 
 covered vdth shame through the acts of my 
 own flesh and blood, and shame is a weighty 
 cross which I cannot bear up under. My 
 heart has been many years dead, and now my 
 
A mother's peatee to the VIEGIN. 2(t,'i 
 
 body is dying. This wicked son is burying 
 me." 
 
 "Husband," replied his wife, concealing 
 the tears which were choking her, " the lion is 
 not so fierce as he is painted. Be hopeful ; 
 Bernardo will yet be a good son. The greater 
 a sinner's faults are, the greater must be our 
 patience with him." 
 
 " It is because we have been too patient and 
 forbearing with him, Maria, that he is what he 
 is If there were no receivers, there would 
 be no thieves. We have always concealed his 
 vices, and given him money to squander, and so 
 it is that a part of his perdition falls upon us." 
 
 " What money could we give him, my hus- 
 band, when our purse is in such a state that the 
 rats may run through it ? " 
 
 " He has reduced us to this impoverished 
 condition, as you know, Maria, and there are not 
 wanting persons who accuse him of being con- 
 cerned in the robbery of a few nights since; 
 and although it has not been proved against 
 him, he has fallen into disrepute, and if he has 
 the impudence to disregard these things, /have 
 not, who have always been in the habit, hereto- 
 
294 CONSOLATION TN DEATH ; OE, 
 
 fore, of wearing my hat tlirovra back and not 
 down over my face." 
 
 "Tou well know that or;r poor son had 
 nothing to do with the robbery^ fcince that night 
 lie slept at home. Thus you ^ee, my husband, 
 how false appearances are." 
 
 " He slept at home, it is trte," anifiwered her 
 husband, " thanks to a debauc'i ; for out of the 
 four-and-twenty hours, he passes five-and- twen- 
 ty drinking. I am worn out, and glad to die, 
 for sorrow has so consumed my flesh that there 
 will be little left for the worms ; but I grieve to 
 leave you with no protection except the good 
 God, to be tormented ever by this hard-hearted 
 son, who, as I have often predicted, will come 
 to a bad end." 
 
 " Mother of mercy," prayed tbe sobbing 
 Maria, "grant that he "become a Christian f' 
 
 Shortly after this scene the lionored Antonio 
 Parra expired in the arms of his afflicted com- 
 panion, with all the divine consolations which 
 make deatb holy, and all tbe human sympathy 
 which makes it sweet ; but without the presence 
 of Bernardo, who was off on one of his usual 
 frolics. 
 
A mother's prayrk m the virgin. 295 
 
 Yeronica during this sad period was ever bj' 
 the side of her aunt, endeavoring to lighten her 
 labors, and after her uncle's decease she re- 
 mained with her, like a good daughter, to com- 
 fort her in her loneliness. 
 
 She was now a pretty girl, very modest and 
 retiring, and exceedingly religious. She dressed 
 with great simplicity, and in excellent taste, and 
 was beloved by the whole neighborhood for her 
 sweet temper and obliging, amiable disposition. 
 
 On Bernardo the death of his father had pro- 
 duced but little effect, or at least had not had 
 the effect of reforming his habits. It had rather 
 served to break the last tie which bound him to 
 virtue ; for the respect with which his father's 
 gray hairs (every one of which told of some sor- 
 row caused by the son) had inspired him had 
 restrained him from vice in the old man's pres- 
 ence. Shame had m ade him bow his head before 
 him ; for, though dissipated and vicious, he could 
 not forget the words he had been taught to re- 
 peat upon his mother's lap — " Love Ood above 
 all things ; honor thy father and thy mother." 
 
 And so, at first, he admired and almost en- 
 ,ied his cousin for the manner in which she 
 
296 CONSOLATION IN DEATH ; OE, 
 
 behaved toward his mother, after his father's 
 death ; and afterward, as he beheld her always 
 true to herself, always amiable, always calm, she 
 began to have for his restless spirit the soft at- 
 traction which a placid and tranquil haven has 
 for the mariner who on the high seas struggles 
 against the currents which are drifting him, and 
 the hurricane which impels him onward. 
 
 But the ardent glances which Bernardo fixed 
 upon his cousin prevented the modest and inno- 
 cent girl from ever looking toward him even, and 
 in fact his rough and sarcastic language had 
 given her such a dislike to him that she avoided, 
 as much as possible, being in his society, and 
 selected the times when she knew he was ab- 
 sent for remaining with and comforting her aunt. 
 This was not unnoticed by Bernardo; but he 
 was one of those men whom an obstacle urges 
 forward rather than drives backward ; one of 
 those blind worshippers of their own will who 
 are wholly given up to obstinacy, that stupid 
 mixture of ignorance and pride — the vice of 
 children, the vice of fools, the vice, in short, of 
 all those who delight in boasting of their own 
 acts and in depreciating the acts of others ! 
 
A motiieh's peatee to the vrEGIN. 207 
 
 As Bernardo did not think it possible that a 
 (voman could fail to love him, unless she loved 
 another, he set himself to watch his cousin at 
 all hours ; but he could not discover any thing 
 hidden in that existence which was gliding away, 
 piously and silently, at the foot of the altar, and 
 in the performance of good works at home and 
 abroad ; so he said to himself, " Either Yeronica 
 is not in love, in which case she will fall in love 
 with me when I say to her, ' I adore you,' or else 
 she is in love, and will not return my affection, 
 in which event I shall know that her lover is 
 Juan de Silva, who lives next door to her, and 
 can converse with her without being observed." 
 And being determined to know the truth, he 
 awaited his cousin one evening, hiding behind a 
 corner, so that when she turned it she met him 
 face to face. 
 
 " I was waiting for you, Yeronica." 
 
 " And what for ? " she replied, instinctively 
 alarmed. 
 
 " To tell you that I love you." 
 
 The effect of this abrupt declaration upon Ye- 
 ronica was to terrify her beyond measure, so that 
 she remained mute and trembling like an aspen. 
 13* 
 
298 CONSOLATION IN DEATH ; OE, 
 
 "Toil do not answer me, cousin," continued 
 Bernardo, in a low, sofb tone of voice unknown 
 to him before. 
 
 "You must not love me, Bernardo," she 
 said, at length, sadly. 
 
 " I must and will love you, cousin ; you who 
 are as bright and beautiful as the sun ! " 
 
 " You must not indeed, Bernardo ; you must 
 bestow your love on some one else." 
 
 " And why should I love another, and not 
 you?" 
 
 "Because another might be able to return 
 your love." 
 
 " And you cannot ? " 
 
 " No ; I cannot." 
 
 " And why not ? " asked Bernardo, return- 
 ing to his usual rough voice, " why not ? " 
 
 " Because it is impossible that I should love 
 you." 
 
 " Whom do you love, then ? " 
 
 " I do not love any one." 
 
 " I don't believe you." 
 
 " Must a young woman, then, needs have a 
 lover?" 
 
 " She must ; and when she has a lover, s^ie 
 
A mother's prayek to the viEGm. 299 
 
 does not rest until she marries him. You must 
 love some one ; and if not me, you will love an- 
 other, and I intend that you shall love me— do 
 you understand ? " 
 
 " Bernardo," said Veronica, wearied out 
 with his impertinence, "in God's name do not 
 detain me here with useless words or jests of 
 gallantry, which may suit the ears of some 
 trifling woman, but are not pleasing to me ! " 
 
 Saying this, she was about moving off, when 
 Bernardo seized her by the arm in so brutal a 
 manner, that the poor girl gave a cry of anguish 
 and terror. 
 
 " What right have you to treat me thus ? " 
 she demanded, indignantly. 
 
 "And what right have you to close your 
 door in my face without listening to me ? " said 
 Bernardo, vulgarly. 
 
 "I have listened and replied to you, Ber- 
 nardo, and now I am going home ; for it is 
 not proper for a young girl to stand talking 
 to a man in the street, even though he be 
 her cousin." 
 
 " Then let me see you at your reja^ 
 
 « Never!" 
 
300 CONSOLATION IN DEATH ; OR, 
 
 "Give me a, hope of love in the future, 
 then, shy one— only a hope, and I will leave 
 you ! " 
 
 " You wish me to deceive you, then ? " 
 
 " No, I do not wish you to deceive me, but 
 I wish you to take time to ponder upon what I 
 have said, before giving me a refusal as hard as 
 the stones under our feet." 
 
 " I have well considered what I have said, 
 and I cannot change my mind. I like to speak 
 plainly, cousin." 
 
 " You have not considered one thing, how- 
 ever," said Beruardo, bitterly ; " that if you de- 
 spise nie, I will be revenue 1 on Juan de Silva ! " 
 and he strode away, leavi.i^- Yeronica alone in 
 the street, and as much astonished at hearing 
 this mention of Juan de Silva, with whom she 
 had not the slightest acquaintance, although he 
 was her neighbor, as she had previously been^ 
 at his rude declaration of love. 
 
A motiiek's pkayee to the yiegin. 3*^1 
 
 CHAPTEE IT. 
 
 Some months had elapsed since the deatli 
 of her husband, and poor Maria sat in her soli- 
 tary parlor. In her pallid and wrinkled face 
 could be seen traces of unceasing suffering and 
 dread. Veronica was by her side, like the 
 angels of Grod whom grief attracts instead of 
 driA'ing away, since it affords them an opportu- 
 nity of exercising their mission of good-will to 
 men. 
 
 " Aunt, what is the matter with you ? " she 
 said, with her soft, low voice, " that you have 
 been crying all the morning ? " 
 
 " My child, your cousin went out yesterday 
 morning, and has not returned yet ! I cannot 
 help fearing that some evil has befallen him." 
 
 " Why, aunt, he often stays away from home 
 two or three days, you know ; he has probably 
 gone to Puerto to see the buU- fight." 
 
302 
 
 " If he went to Puerto, he should have re- 
 turned before this, for the bull-light came off 
 yesterday," 
 
 At this moment, Maria's sister, the mother 
 of Yeronica, entered the room, crying out, 
 " Maria, there is a fight in the street, and your 
 sou is one of the combatants." 
 
 Maria rose precipitately, and, without even 
 throwing a shawl over her head, rushed into the 
 stj'eet and in the direction indicated, followed 
 by her sister and Veronica. 
 
 Wlien they reached the place where the 
 fight was going on, Maria — this woman so re- 
 tiring and timid in her nature — threw herself 
 between two men, who, with faces livid with 
 anger and eyes flashing fire, brandished razors in 
 their right hands, and were wrapping their 
 manias about their left arms, in readiness for 
 another encounter. 
 
 " Son, son ! " she cried, throwing her arms 
 about Bernardo, " what are you about to do ? " 
 
 The mother of the other combatant, who 
 proved to be Juan de Silva, had also arrived 
 with a sister, and they each held Jiian by an 
 arm ; but without it being necessary to use 
 
A motiiee's peatek to the viegin. 303 
 
 much force, because at this instant his eyes 
 closed, the razor fell from his grasp, and he fell 
 senseless to the ground. 
 
 "Make your escape, Bernardo," said one of 
 his acquaintances. " The police have been sent 
 for." 
 
 Bernardo, who was bleeding from a wound 
 in his side, now started for home, leaning on 
 his mother, whose clothes were saturated with 
 his warm blood — whose ears were shocked with 
 the obscene blasphemies and words of vengeance 
 which fell from his lips on perceiving himself 
 (as he supposed) mortally wounded. Veronica 
 assisted in supporting his faltering steps, while 
 his aunt compressed his waist-belt, in the hope 
 of stopping or at least lessening the hemor- 
 rhage. 
 
 So they proceeded alone and without aid ; 
 for the men who had witnessed the fight had 
 all fled upon seeing Juan de Silva fall, with 
 that profound fear which exists among all 
 classes in Spain of being cited as a witness in a 
 criminal Cfse. 
 
 No one spoke; for debility had, at length, 
 sealed Bernardo's lips, while the grief of the 
 
304 
 
 women was too great for words. In this way 
 they reacted home; and now what a gronp 
 these three sisters of charity (for in sorrow and 
 suffering all women are such) formed about the 
 bed on which they had placed that man of 
 frightful aspect, who, white as the wall from 
 loss of blood, with mouth half opened and eyes 
 glazed and wandering, lay there senseless and 
 immovable ! Staining their pure djud innocent 
 hands in the blood which sin and passion had 
 caused to flow, Maria and her sister bound up 
 the wound of the delinquent, and wiped the 
 sweat of anguish from his brow ; while Veroni- 
 ca flew to the house of Dr. Gonzales, the prin- 
 cipal surgeon of the town, with whom she soon 
 returned to take her place by the bedside of 
 her cousin. 
 
 The doctor declared the wound serious, but 
 not mortal, and, after dressing it, took his leave. 
 Then Maria, no longer able to contain herself, 
 hid her face in her hands and sobbed aloud— 
 " My son, my son ! He has come to a bad end 
 at last, as his father predicted." 
 
 " Aunt, don't afilict yourself as one without 
 hope, nor look at the clouds without remember- 
 
ing the rainbow. Who knows but God has 
 chosen this method of reforming Bernardo? 
 Don't we see in the lives of the saints how 
 many of them God called to Himself through 
 sickness, shipwrecks, and other calamities, which 
 place men face to face with eternity ? Bernar- 
 do will get well, aunt, so the doctor assures us, 
 and God may be pleased, in His infinite mercy, 
 to heal body and soul at the same time." 
 
 "Veronica, my child, God will reward you 
 for the balsam which your words of consolation 
 have poured into my soul. You do not know, 
 darling, what it is to feel a pang for which 
 there is no alleviation." 
 
 " There cannot be such, aunt," replied Ve- 
 ronica ; " for God oflfers consolation to all who 
 fervently ask it ; and the greatest of all lies in 
 knowing that our afflictions are received by His 
 Majesty as offerings when presented as such. 
 Who, then, in order to have an offering to pre- 
 sent to the Lord which may be pleasing to 
 Him, would not wish to suffer as Saint Theresa 
 ardently desired to suffer?" 
 
 " Holy Mother ! " cried Maria, ecstatically, 
 " if I have to witness my son's, as I witnessed 
 
306 CONSOLATION IN DEATH ;. OE, 
 
 his fa her's deatL, God's holy will be done ! 
 Bui t?.ou, afflicted Mother, grant me thy last 
 consolation, and through thy blessed interces- 
 sion let it happen that as had the father, so 
 may the son have, a Christian death— a Ohria- 
 tian burial ! " 
 
A mothee's pbatek to the vikgin. 307 
 
 CHAPTEE V. 
 
 AiTEE the lapse of three days, which Maria 
 had passed by the bedside of her sod, between 
 the agony of fear and the consolation of hope, 
 without closing her eyes except to weep, nor 
 opening her lips but to pray, the patient came 
 out of his lethargy and gave signs of life ; that 
 is to say, he sighed and made a slight move- 
 ment, and then in a faint whisper uttered some 
 words which his mother, leaning over him, 
 made out to be — 
 
 " And then came out Veronica, 
 
 A maid of hnmble race ; 
 Who thrice knelt down upon the gronnd, 
 
 And kissed the sacred place ; 
 And then with snowy handkefchief — " 
 
 " The verses you were in the habit of recit- 
 ing when a child, Yeronica," exclaimed Maria. 
 
308 CONSOLATIOIT IN DEATH ; OB, 
 
 " Go back, my son, go back to tbe days of your 
 innocence. Do not be disconraged, and believe 
 it impossible. Bepentance and reformation 
 open to ns a new life ; and the father seats the 
 penitent prodigal at the head of his table. So 
 God, Himself made man, has told ns, promising 
 a pardon to all those who with true repentance 
 torn nnto Him, for — 
 
 ' Those who, weeping and kneeling, humbly pray, 
 God accepts always — never drives away.' " 
 
 " Who speaks to me of God ? " said Bernar- 
 do, opening his eyes and fixing them on Maria. 
 "My mother! "Who could it be but my 
 mother ? " 
 
 " It is my duty, son of my soul." 
 " Do not call me son ! " exclaimed Bernar- 
 do. 
 
 " And why not, tingratefdl child ? " 
 " Because I do not deserve to be called so." 
 Saying these words, the patient began to 
 weep bitterly. 
 
 " Debility ! " said the surgeon, who entered 
 at this instant. 
 
 " God, who through the intercession of His 
 
A mother's PBAYEE 'I'O THE VTEGIN. 309 
 
 Holy Mother, the special advocate of all 
 mothers, touches his heart," exclaimed Maria, 
 shedding tears of joy. 
 
 " A little wine," commanded the doctor. 
 
 "!N^o, no," cried Bernardo. "I will not 
 touch another drop of it as long as I live." 
 
 Maria crossed her hands with exalted grati- 
 tude, and raising her eyes to heaven, "Anto- 
 nio," she cried, " from the mansions of the just 
 bless thy child, and recall the terrible predic- 
 tion which thy fears drew from thee on the bed 
 of death!" 
 
 "Hold 'there," said the surgeon, smiling. 
 " Not to drink wine when you have recovered 
 your health, is all very well ; but you must take 
 this little now as a medicine. Let him have 
 next a cup of broth, and see that he neither 
 speaks to any one nor is spoken to. Did I not 
 tell you. Aunt Maria," he added, as he took his 
 leave, " did I not tell you he would get well ? 
 ni-weeds never die." 
 
 Some days after this, Bernardo was in full 
 convalescence. 
 
 "And 80 my son," said his mother to him one 
 morning, " you will never drink liquor again ? " 
 
310 CONSOLATION IN DEATH ; OE, 
 
 " Never ! for liquor has been tbe evil genius 
 who incited me to commit all the wicked deeds 
 I have been guilty of since I became a man." 
 
 " I know it, my child ; for you are not nat- 
 urally wicked. I trusted to the Virgin, who has 
 80 mucli influence with Him who is all-powerful. 
 And that you may feel full confidence in the for- 
 giveness of God, if you truly repent, I will nar- 
 rate to you a case in point. 
 
 " There was once a poor widow, who had an 
 only son, who was one of the most profligate 
 of men. The poor mother was worn out witli 
 grief, and did not eat a morsel of bread that 
 was not watered with her tears ; but she prayed 
 without ceasing to the Virgin to have pity upon 
 her child, and bring him back to the fold of the 
 Good Shepherd. In the mean time, the sinner 
 persevered in his evil courses, adding crime to 
 crime, until finally he was obliged to fly from 
 the village in which he lived. As he wandered 
 from place to place, harassed continually by the 
 officers of justice, it happened that one day, 
 overcome with heat and fatigue, he entered a 
 small chapel, which stood quite alone in a desert 
 Bpot. He leaned against a pillar, and cast his 
 
A mother's prater to the virgin. 311 
 
 eyes toward the altar, upon which was a beautiful 
 image of Our Lady with the Child. The wicked 
 man looked at her, withdrew his eyes, and again 
 gazed upon her. Upon seeing her with the 
 Child in her arms, he remembered his mother, 
 and bitter anguish tilled his heart. He wished 
 to shake it oif, and could not ; he wished to go, 
 and remained, because that Lady looked at him 
 with so much sweetness and compassion that she 
 seemed to beg him to stay, until, overcome by 
 his emotions, with tears streaming from his 
 eyes, he fell to the ground, crying out, ' Hercy, 
 my Mother, mercy ! ' 
 
 " On seeing him prostrate and weeping, the 
 Virgin said to the Child : ' My Son, pardon this 
 repentant sinner.' But Jesus answered : ' It 
 cannot be ; his evil deeds outweigh all clem- 
 ency.' 
 
 " The sinner, hearing this, beat his breast, and, 
 sobbing aloud, exclaimed : ' Mother of the For- 
 saken, behold, me forsaken by God and man for 
 my wickedness. Do not thou der.€Jt me also, 
 Refuge of Sinners, for so my mother taught me 
 to call you ; that mother who trusted bo devout- 
 ly to thy intercession.' 
 
312 CONSOLATION IN DEATH ; OE, 
 
 " ' Son,' said the Yirgia again, ' for Ma 
 mother's sake, who was so faithful a worshipper 
 of mine, by his tears, and by the precious blood 
 which you shed to redeem sinners, pardon this 
 unhappy man.' 
 
 " The wretched sinner now beat his forehead 
 against the stones of the pavement, and cried, 
 ' My Mother, my Mother ! must I be con- 
 demned ? WiU the gates of heaven be eternally 
 closed against one who at last opens his eyes to 
 ihe light and detests his faults ? ' 
 
 " ' Son,' sighed the Yirgin, ' how long have 
 you been deaf to the voice of penitence ? What 
 has this sinner done more than others ? ' 
 
 " ' He has emancipated himself, in his pride, 
 from his God.' 
 
 " ' Now he humbles himself before Him, and, 
 prostrate, adores Him.' 
 
 " ' He has profaned my temple.' 
 
 " ' Now he consecrates and purifies it with his 
 tears.' 
 
 " ' He has, by his bad example, led many 
 astray.' 
 
 " ' Now he will edify many by his co:iversion.* 
 
 " ' His crimes are legion.' 
 
A mother's PEA.YEE TO THE ¥IEGIN. 312 
 
 " ' So are his tears of contrition.' 
 
 " And descending from the altar, the Lady 
 placed her Son upon it, kneeled before Him and 
 said : ' Son, here at thy feet, I implore thee to 
 pardon this sinner.' 
 
 " What are you doing, what are you doing, 
 my mother ? ' cried the Child, raising the Lady, 
 ' Who ever beheld a mother kneeling before 
 the son whom she had brought into the world ? 
 Rise, and let him be pardoned who trusted so 
 implicitly in your intercession.' 
 
 " Upon hearing this merciful sentence, the 
 sinner raised his eyes, and, extending his arma 
 toward the Saviour, gave a shout of jubilee, and 
 expired. 
 
 " So you see, son," added Maria, " that in 
 no case is hope proscribed nor mercy denied ^oi 
 the contrite penitent." 
 
 "What a blessing it is to have a good 
 mother ! " said Bernardo. 
 
 " And this we all have in the most Holy 
 Virgin," answered JMaria. 
 
 A few days after this, and as he was con- 
 valescing, body and soul, Bernardo was seized 
 by the authorities and sent to jail — since, al- 
 14 
 
r,l4 CONSOLATION IN DEATH ; OE, 
 
 though Juan de Silva had not died, Bernardo 
 was proved to have been the aggresEor in the 
 contest. 
 
 We will not attempt to describe the grief 
 of the unhappy mother; 
 
A moxueb's pkayee to the viegin. 315 
 
 CHAPTEK VL 
 
 A TEAK had passed, and the patient and sub- 
 tnissive Maria lay upon her bed, listening to 
 Veronica, who was reading to her a letter, 
 written on fine paper and in a handsome hand. 
 In the pallid face of that woman, a living 
 image of suffering, there appeared a soft expres- 
 sion of happiness which, though it could not 
 light her almost-darkened eyes, played in a 
 sweet smile about her lips. 
 
 " There is always something, my child," 
 said the poor mother, " to thank God for, who 
 never wounds with both hands. The stab 
 which my son gave Juan de Silva did not prove 
 mortal, and so my poor son has not a murder 
 upon his conscience. He was condemned for 
 four years to the penitentiary at MeliUa, and a 
 charitable man has had his place of imprison- 
 ment changed to the Trocadero, where the con- 
 
316 COlfSOLATION IN DEATH J OE, 
 
 victs are working; so we can often go to see 
 him. He is in despair at the idea of being a 
 prisoner for four years, and threatens to make 
 his escape whenever an opportunity offers, al- 
 though I do my best to convince him that he 
 should bear his sentence with patience and res- 
 ignation. And now see how this great lady, 
 Dona Laura de Guzman— who came here last 
 summer to bathe in the ocean and learned of 
 my misfortunes through your mother, who 
 washed for her — see with what goodness and 
 charity she has taken the trouble to send me a 
 letter in her own handwriting, to say that the 
 regent promised to release Bernardo shortly, on 
 learning from her that I was sick and almost 
 blind, with this only son for my protection ! " 
 
 " Grod grant that he may be such ! " sighed 
 Veronica. 
 
 "And why is it," continued the excellent 
 old woman, "that ill-natured poor people are 
 continually murmuring at the rich, for no other 
 reason, that I can see, than that they are rich ? 
 I am of the opinion, Yeronica, that if these 
 griimblers were wealthy, they would treat us 
 poor people with much more haughtihess and 
 
A MOIHEE'S PEATBB TO THE VIEGIN. 317 
 
 much less charity than we now receive. May 
 God bless the charitable lady who has be- 
 friended me, and grant that her life may be 
 long and happy, and her death peaceful and 
 holy!" 
 
 "Tou may well be grateful to he ," said 
 Veronica, "for she has obtained a great favor 
 for you." 
 
 " It is very true," answered Maria ; " but 
 is it not sufficient punishment for his offence, 
 my child, to have had irons on his feet for a 
 whole year — those feet which I have so often 
 kissed when he was a child — so often wrapped 
 in my apron ! Oh, why do not children re- 
 main always small in their bodies and angels in 
 their souls ? But I must not waste time in talk- 
 ing. I wish to go myself to carry this letter of 
 glad tidings to my boy." 
 
 " Aunt," exclaimed Yeronica, " what are you 
 thinking of, as ill as you are, to talk of walking 
 such a distance ? It is impossible ! " 
 
 " I must go, my darling. Don't you know 
 that happiness gives strength ? But if you do not 
 wish me to walk there, run with all speed to the 
 bouse of the boatman Miguel Santos, and ask 
 
318 CONSOLATION IN DiIATH ; OR, 
 
 him if he will, for charity's sake, take me to the 
 Troeadero in his launch." 
 
 Maria now got up and dressed, while Veron- 
 ica ran to see the boatman, with whom she soon 
 returned, in order that they might both together 
 carry her aunt to the boat. 
 
 " I would not have gone afloat to-day for any 
 one but you. Aunt Maria," said Miguel, " for last 
 night I was fishing by torchlight, and I feel 
 sleepy this morning and wished to rest ? and be- 
 sides, the last night was the most terrible of my 
 life. God grant I may never pass such another ! " 
 
 " What could have happened to you ; for the 
 night was as serene and tranquil as my soul is at 
 this moment, thanks to God and to Dona Laura 
 de Guzman ! " said Maria. 
 
 "You must know," replied the boatman 
 " that as I was fishing off the Troeadero, I heard 
 about midniglit, coming frem the centre of tlie 
 marshes, a sound so piteous that it fairly froze 
 the blood in my veins. I could not imagine what 
 it was — whether the howling of a dog, the cry of 
 a human being, or the lamentation of a lost soul ; 
 for the distance whence it came was great, and 
 if it reached my ears it was only because the 
 niii;lit was as still as death. 
 
A mother's peayer to the VIEGra. 319 
 
 " All who are acquainted with Miguel Santos 
 well know that he is not one of those who turn 
 their backs when danger threatens, nor is he 
 disturbed by a slight thing, but I am not ashamed 
 to confess that in this instance my hair stood on 
 end, and that I crossed myself like a Christian ; 
 for neither am I a man who fears not God nor 
 the devil. As soon as I had composed myself 
 somewhat, I listened attentively, to see if I could 
 ascertain whence the sound came, and what it 
 really was. And now came the worst; for 1 
 comprehended, by degrees, that it was the voice 
 of a human being in distress — always proReeding 
 from the same spot, and in the same piteous tone, 
 like the hell of agony. I asked myself if it could 
 possibly be the signal of some smuggler — bnt 
 no; I could not deceive myself: it was a wail, 
 such as I trust His Divine Majesty will never per- 
 mit me to hear again. Each time that I heard it, 
 I shook as if I had an ague-fit ! I could neither 
 fish nor sit still, nor do any thing, in fact, but 
 recommend that unfortunate being to the clem- 
 ency of God, because, as I have already told you, 
 the night was as dark as the conscience of Judas, 
 and the voice came from the marshes among 
 
320 CONSOLATION IN DEATH ; OE, 
 
 which only those who know every foot of them 
 can walk, even by day, for when one steps into 
 a quicksand — from God oomes the remedy ! " 
 
 The fisherman made a pause, and raised his 
 liair from his forehead, as if it burnt him. 
 
 " But Miguel," said Maria, profoundly intur 
 eited in his narration, " you ascertained wliat it 
 was before you left there ? " 
 
 " Yes, indeed," answered Santos, " for the 
 dawn with its light came to confirm what my 
 heart liad long foreboded. The cries of the unfor- 
 tunate, groM^ng fainter and fainter, as the night 
 wore away, had long since ceased altogether ; but 
 as I had well noted the direction whence they 
 came, I landed, and, as I best could, made my 
 way through tlie marshes, which I know as well 
 as I know the palms of my hands, until I came 
 to a spot wliere two hands sticking out, like the 
 cross over a grave, showed that a man had been 
 buried alive there. All night had this burial 
 been taking place, and I, O Grod! so near, and 
 unable to assist the sufferer ! " 
 
 " Jesus, Jesus ! " exclaimed at the same in- 
 stant Yeronica and her aunt, " wlio could this 
 unhappy man have been 2" 
 
A mother's peayee to the vxegin. 321 
 
 " It could only have been one of the prison- 
 ers trying to make his escape from the Troca- 
 dero." 
 
 At this moment an officer of justice entered. 
 "I come," said he, roughly, "to search the 
 house." 
 
 "Why so," cried Maria, in an agonized 
 tone — " why so, sir ? " 
 
 "Because your son made his escape from 
 the fort last night." 
 
 Maria gave a sharp cry, and extended her 
 hands before her, as if to drive away some 
 frightful apparition. 
 
 "What is the matter with her?" asked the 
 officer. " What does this mean ? " 
 
 " It means," replied Miguel, " that he who 
 fled missed the path, stepped into a quicksanc 
 and was buried alive ! " 
 
 " Do you know this to be a fact ? " 
 
 " I was, I may say, present, without having 
 it in my power to render assistance to the poor 
 fellow," responded Miguel, sorrowfully. " Go 
 to the swamp, and unless the earth has already 
 swallowed them, you will see two hands whicl) 
 say, ' Here lies a Christian.' " 
 14* 
 
322 
 
 CONSOLATION IN DEATH ; OE, 
 
 The officer departed. 
 
 " My son, my son ! " now shrieked Maria, 
 " son of my life, son of my soul ! How he must 
 have suffered ! Oh, my Grod, my God ! To 
 die without aid human or divine, while I, who 
 brought thee forth, slept! Thy father well 
 said — ' He will come to a iad end I ' Alas for 
 me, unhappy mother ! — alas for thee, oh, unfor- 
 tunate and miserable son! God has forsaken 
 us both ! " 
 
 " Aunt, aunt," exclaimed the weeping Ve- 
 ronica, " God never forsakes any one." 
 
 " Let Him then aid me now ! " cried Maria, 
 trembling from head to foot. "Let Him aid 
 me now ! " 
 
 " Say first, as a submissive child," sobbed 
 Veronica, " Thy will he done.''^ 
 
 " Thy will be done ! " repeated the despair- 
 ing but truly religious woman, making the 
 sign of the cross with her trembling fingers; 
 " and if, like the child of my soul, I too must die 
 without consolation — Thy will he done! Thy 
 will he done ! " 
 
 " One consolation still remains to you," 
 said Miguel, gravely. 
 
A mother's PItAYEE TO THE VIEOIN. 323 
 
 "For me? There can be none for me 
 now," groaned Maria. 
 
 " And would not the certainty that your 
 son died a Christian be such ? " 
 
 " Ah ! if I had but this ; if the Holy Virgin 
 !iad heard the petition of my whole Hfe since I 
 became a mother ! " 
 
 ■' Your prayer was granted." 
 
 " My prayer was granted ! " murmui-ed 
 Maria, her voice choking with emotion, " who 
 c m assure me of this ? " 
 
 "I, who know his last thought," responded 
 tlie boatman, solemnly — " I, who beheld the 
 cross raised above his grave — the cross which 
 lie had formed with his fingers, to attest that 
 he died a^ a Christian; that is, repenting of bis 
 sins, believing, loving, and hoping in God." 
 
 The fervent Christian dropped on her kneei, 
 crossed her hands, and exclaimed': "My son 
 died a Christian ! Glory be to God, and blessed 
 be thou, Mother of Mercy! Glory, glory, 
 glory ! " 
 
 Exhausted nature could bear no more. The 
 poor mother fell forward, with her face to the 
 earth. When they raised her, life was extinct. 
 
324 CONSOLATION IN DEATH. 
 
 On the day of her burial, the place pointed, 
 out by the fisherman as the grave of Bernardo 
 was consecrated, and the funeral service read 
 over it, so that Maria's prayer—" As had the 
 father, so may the son have a Christian death, 
 a Cliristian burial " — was fully answered by the 
 \'^irgiD. 
 
 THK KND. 
 
NEW EDITION-PRICE REDUCED. 
 
 ® 
 
 ATHOLIC DICTIONARY 
 
 AND 
 
 Encyclopaedia 
 
 OF 
 
 Religious Information. 
 
 960 Pagres Octavo. Cloth, Extra. Retail, $3.50. 
 
 S^" Regular Discount to Dealers, etc. 
 
 This remarkable work received the approval of Cardinal Manning, 
 Cardinal Newman, and Cardinal McCIoskey. 
 
 " It wlH serve as an admirable haBd-book ol Information for the olerffy-" 
 
 —Cardincd QUibons. 
 " A,god-send to every CatboUc family and every Caaolic school, college, and seholar." 
 
 —American Co/tholic Quarhml^. 
 " It lets its modesty be known unto all men, and carefully abstains from violent attacks 
 on either the livins or the dead."— iondon Tablet. 
 
 "Admirably planned and carried out ; . . . full of learning and reference, admirably con- 
 densed, and yetsmootbly and eloquently written."— Duftl-to Review. 
 
 " A wonderful work— complete, compact, thoroughly reliable, and admirably arranged." 
 
 —Baltimore Neim. 
 Eeally a well-condensed enoyclopsedia."— Catholic Telegraph. 
 
 " A remarkably able work ; profound erudition and extensive scholarship, united to an ac- 
 curacy and impartiality of judgment."— The Graphic. 
 
 "The articles are ■wonderfully well condensed, without sacrificing, however, sense or clear- 
 ness of expression."^Pi"Ws6Mrg CathoMc. 
 
 "An iu'valuable auxiliary to the settling of all controverted points. "— Cojtholic CoUi/mMan . 
 
 "The Catholic reader has here given him a clear, concise statement of all that need be 
 known concerning his religion."— -.4d6 Ma/ria. 
 
 " Well complied and written— excellently written."— Baltimore Sun. 
 
 " There is an absolute correctness of statement-; . . . ^questions which still remain open 
 are discussed with great fairness and fulness."— BosfOTi IHlot. 
 
 " There sliould be a million copies of this work sold throughont the world." 
 
 —Catholic Heralrl. 
 
 " The working parish priest will find all that is necessary to refresh his memory and give 
 precision to Ms Instructions." — Texas Monitor. 
 
 CHRISTIAN PRESS ASSOCIATION PUBLISHING CO., 
 61 West 15th St., New York. 
 
NEW BOOK, JUST PUBLISHED. 
 
 JVi> Ho^r Witl^ a Sii^cgre Protestar>t> 
 
 By Rev. J. P. Jf. ScHLEnxEH, S. J., with the Imprimatur 
 
 of Archbishop C'orrigan. Retail, . . . lO cents. 
 
 Per 100, net, $3.00. 
 
 THIRD EDITION,— ^0\V Ri^lADT. 
 
 " It is written in simple language, in clear style, and its reasonings are just and 
 logical. The author aims to convince, he tells us, and his own faith shining 
 through the pages of this brief work must strike a chord of admiration and sym- 
 pathy in the mind of the intelligent reader. The paper and presswork of the 
 volume are first-class." — I\ew York Catholic Sews. 
 
 " In a brief compass it takes up the chief objections to Catholicism, and deals 
 with them in a plain and forcible way." — Calholic World. 
 
 " It is an excellent little book for a Catholic to hand to his Protestant neigh- 
 bor.'' — New York Freemari's Journal. 
 
 " The sincere searcher after religious truth who will spend an hour in reading 
 this little work cannot fail to profit by it, and the book is an excellent t ne for 
 distribution by all who are anxious to extend Catholic truth." — Sacred Beart 
 Review. 
 
 /' The work is one of the best of its size, and little books are most efBoaoious 
 with the average man." — The Pilot. 
 
 "His statements and expositions are concise, clear, and accurate. His little book 
 will prove very valuable for self-instruction of converts." — Messenger of the Sacred 
 Heart. 
 
 " The objections likely to be urged by a Protestant who is earnestly seeking 
 the truth are most ably met and overcome." — Catholic Union and Times. 
 
 "This little book, quite unpretentious in size and make-up, is well conceived 
 as to thought, and well executed as to style. It is multum in parvo, and the re- 
 sult of the autlior's large experience in dealing in a simple way with those who 
 know nothing of the claims of Catholicity on the intelligence of earnest Protestants. 
 Its spirit lends it an additional charm, for I can hardly imagine any inquiring 
 mind, opening its covers for the first time, that would not be led on to the end." 
 — Church News. 
 
 " A little pamphlet that is invaluable for placing in the hands of fair-minded 
 non-Catholics who have a desire to know the truth." — Catholic Journal. 
 
 " A good example of the effective pamphlet is 'An Hour with a Sincere Prot- 
 estant,' in which the whole ground of dispute is covered with much power and no 
 bitterness. Catholics would do well to help the circulation of this booklet, — 
 the work of a priest of the Archdiocese of New York." — Ave Maria. 
 
 " There are many good Protestants in America who will read this truly apostolic 
 book, it it is brought to their notice. And as it is a clear and simple exposition 
 of Catholic truth, with nothing controversial about it, only meeting common objec- 
 tions made by Protestants, it is going to do its noble work well. Protestants, who 
 are of sufficient good faith to read such a book at all, are more swayed by a, 
 clear presentation of the truth than by polemical arguments. It retails at 10 cts. ; 
 $5 per hundred." — Carmelite Review. 
 
 CHRISTIAN PRESS ASSOCIATION PUBLISHING CO. 
 6i West 15th Street, New York.