FACE TO FACE.
When General Miramón arrived in Mexico, the news of his defeat was
already public. Then a singular fact occurred. The clergy and the
aristocracy, whom President Miramón had always supported and defended,
and yet whose indifference and egotism had caused his ruin and entailed
his destruction, now deplored the way in which they had behaved to the
man who was alone able of saving them. If Miramón had wished in this
supreme hour to make an appeal to the people, they would immediately
have gathered round him, and it would have been easy for him to
organize a vigorous defense. The idea did not even occur to him. He was
disgusted with power, and only longed to give it up, and retire into
private life. His first care, immediately he arrived in Mexico, was to
assemble the diplomatic body, and beg its members to interpose for the
sake of saving the city, by putting an end to a state of war which was
no longer necessary from the moment when Mexico was prepared to open
its gates to the Federal troops without a blow.
A deputation, composed of the ministers of France and Spain, General
Berriozábal, the prisoner of Toluca, and General Ayestarán, a
particular friend of Miramón, at once proceeded to General Ortega, in
order to obtain an honorable capitulation.
Don Antonio de Cacerbar had tried to join the deputation. He had
heard of the deplorable end of his friend, don Melchior, and a gloomy
presentiment warned him that a similar fate impended over him. But the
gates of the city were carefully guarded; no one could leave without
a pass signed by the Town Commandant: and so, don Antonio was forced
to remain in Mexico. A letter he received restored him a little hope,
by allowing him a glimpse of a speedier conclusion than he believed of
plans, whose execution he had so long been pursuing.
Still, as don Antonio Cacerbar was a very prudent man, and as the
gloomy machinations to which he had devoted his dark existence had
accustomed him to be constantly on his guard, while remaining at home,
as he was requested to do in the letter he had received, he summoned a
dozen distinguished cutthroats, and concealed them behind the tapestry,
in order to be ready for any event.
It was the day of Miramón's return to Mexico, and about nine o'clock
at night. Don Antonio had retired to his bedroom, and was reading, or
rather, trying to read; for his troubled conscience did not allow him
the necessary calmness of mind to take this innocent amusement, when he
heard someone talking rather loudly in his anteroom. He at once rose
and prepared to open his door, in order to enquire the cause of the
noise he had heard, when this door opened, and his confidential servant
appeared, acting as introducer of several persons. They were nine in
number; six masked men wrapped in _sarapes_ and three ladies.
On seeing them, don Antonio gave a nervous start, but immediately
recovering himself, he remained standing at the table, probably waiting
till one of the strangers resolved on speaking.
This really happened.
"Señor don Antonio," one of them said, advancing a step, "I bring you
doña María, Duchess de Tobar, your sister-in-law, doña Carmen de Tobar,
your niece, and doña Dolores de la Cruz."
At these words, uttered with an accent of cutting irony, don Antonio
fell back a step, and his face, was covered with an earthy paleness.
"I do not understand you," he said in a voice which he strove in vain
to render firm, but which trembled.
"Do you not recognize me, don Horacio?" doña María then said in a soft
voice; "Has grief so completely altered my features that it is possible
for you to deny that I am the unhappy wife of the brother whom you
assassinated?"
"What means this farce?" don Antonio exclaimed violently. "This woman
is mad! And you, scoundrel, who dare to play with me, take care!"
The man to whom these words were addressed only replied by a laugh of
contempt, raising his voice.
"You wish for witnesses to what is going to take place here, caballero?
I presume you consider there are not enough of us to hear what is going
to be said. Well, I consent; come out of your hiding places, señores;
and you, caballeros, come."
At the same instant the tapestry was raised, the door opened, and some
twenty persons entered the room.
"Ah! You are calling witnesses!" don Antonio said in a mocking voice.
"Well, then, your blood be on your own head!" And turning to his men
standing behind him, he shouted, "Upon these scoundrels; kill them
like dogs!" and he leaped on a brace of revolvers which were laid on a
table within reach.
But no one stirred.
"Down with their masks," the person who had alone spoken hitherto
said, "they are unnecessary now. We must speak to this gentleman with
uncovered faces."
With a gesture he removed the mask that covered his face: his
companions imitated him. The reader will have recognized them already.
They were don Jaime, Domingo, count Ludovic, Leo Carral, don Diego, and
Loïck, the ranchero.
"Now, señor," don Jaime continued, "put off your borrowed name, as we
have thrown away our masks. Do you recognize me? I am don Jaime de
Bivar, your sister-in-law's brother. For twenty-two years I have been
following you step by step, señor don Horacio de Tobar, watching all
your movements, and seeking the vengeance which Heaven at length grants
me, great and complete as I dreamed of it."
Don Horacio haughtily raised his head, and surveying don Jaime with
a glance of sovereign contempt, he said to him--"Well, what next, my
noble brother-in-law, for, as you desire, I give up all feigning, and
consent to recognize you. What so grand and complete vengeance have
you gained at the end of twenty-two years, noble descendant of the cid
Campeador?--That of compelling me to kill myself--a fine profit. Is not
a man of my stamp always ready to die? What more can you do? Nothing.
Suppose that I writhe bleeding at your feet, I shall bear with me to
the tomb the secret of this vengeance which you do not suspect, and all
whose profit remains with me, for I shall leave you on my death a more
profound despair than that which turned your sister's hair white in a
single night."
"Undeceive yourself, don Horacio," don Jaime answered; "I know all your
secrets: and, as for your killing yourself, that consideration only
takes the second place in my plan of vengeance. I, too, will kill you,
but by the hangman's hand. You shall die dishonoured, the death of the
infamous--by the _garote_, in a word."
"You lie, villain!" don Horacio exclaimed, with a roar like a wild
beast; "I--I--the Duke de Tobar, noble as the king! I, who belong to
one of the oldest and most powerful families in Spain, die by the
_garote_! Hatred has turned your brain--you are mad. I tell you, there
is a Spanish ambassador in Mexico."
"Yes," don Jaime answered, "but that ambassador leaves you to all the
rigour of the Mexican laws."
"He, my friend, my protector, who introduced me to President Miramón?
It is not so, it cannot be. Besides, what have I, a foreigner, to fear
from the laws of this country?"
"Yes, a foreigner who took service with the Mexican government, in
order to betray it to the profit of another. That letter, which you
demanded so earnestly from Colonel don Felipe, and which he refused to
sell you, he gave me for nothing; and the compromising letters which
were taken from you at Puebla, thanks to don Estevan, whom you do not
know, but who is your cousin, are at this moment in Juárez' hands.
Hence you are hopelessly lost in that quarter; for, as you are aware,
clemency is not one of señor don Benito Juárez' striking virtues.
Lastly, I also possess your most precious secret--that which you
believed so well guarded. I know of the existence of doña Carmen's twin
brother; I know also where he is, and can, if I like, suddenly bring
him before you. See, here is the man to whom you sold your nephew," he
added, pointing to Loïck, who was standing motionless by his side.
"Oh!" he muttered, falling back into a chair, and folding his arms in
despair. "I am lost!"
"Yes, and most utterly lost, don Horacio," he said, contemptuously,
"for not even death will be able to save you from dishonour."
"Speak, in Heaven's name!" doña María exclaimed, approaching her
brother-in-law, "tell me that I am not mistaken, that don Jaime really
spoke the truth; that I have a son, in short, and that this son is the
twin brother of my beloved Carmen?"
"Yes," he muttered, in a low voice.
"Oh, thanks be to God!" she cried, with an expression of ineffable joy,
"And you know where my son is? You will restore him to me, will you
not? I implore you, reflect that I have never seen him, that I long for
his caresses! Where is he? Tell me."
"Where he is?"
"Yes."
"I do not know," he answered, coldly.
The unhappy mother sank into a chair, and buried her face in her hands.
Don Jaime approached her.
"Courage, poor woman!" he said to her, gently. There was a moment of
mournful silence. In the room where so many persons were collected,
nothing was to be heard but the sound of oppressed breathing and the
stifled sobs of doña María and the two young ladies. Don Horacio
advanced a step.
"My noble brother-in-law," he said in a firm voice, impressed with
a certain grandeur, "request these caballeros to retire into the
adjoining room; I wish to be alone with you and my sister-in-law for a
few minutes."
Don Jaime bowed, and addressing the count, said, "My friend, be kind
enough to conduct these ladies into the adjoining saloon."
The count offered his hand to the young lady, and went out without a
word, followed by all the company, who silently withdrew at a sign from
don Jaime.
Dominique alone remained with a flashing eye fixed on don Horacio. "As
for me," he said, in a sullen voice, "as I do not know what is going
to happen here, and fear a snare, I will not go except by the express
order of don Jaime--it was he who brought me up; I am his adopted son,
and it is my duty to defend him."
"Remain then, señor," don Horacio replied with a sorrowful smile,
"since you may belong to our family." Don Jaime stepped forward at this
moment. "Brother-in-law," he said to him, "that son, whom you carried
off from my sister, the heir of the Dukes de Tobar, whom you believe
lost, I saved! Dominique, embrace your mother. María! This is your son!"
"Mother!" the young man cried, bounding wildly towards her, "Mother!"
"My son!" doña María murmured, in a dying voice, and fell fainting in
the arms of the child she had at length recovered.
Though resolute against grief, like all choice natures, joy had
overcome her. Dominique raised his mother in his vigorous arms, and
laid her on a sofa; then, with frowning brows, eyes full of fury, and
clenched teeth, he slowly advanced toward don Horacio. The latter
watched him approach with a shudder of terror. Falling back step by
step before him until, at length, feeling the tapestry at his shoulder,
he was involuntarily forced to stop.
"Assassin of my father, torturer of my mother," the young man said in a
terrible voice, "coward and villain, my curses on you!"
Don Horacio bowed his head before this anathema, but drawing himself up
again immediately, he said, "God is just! My punishment is beginning.
I knew that this man was alive. By great search I had succeeded in
finding again, under the name of Loïck, the wretch to whom I sold him
at the house of his birth."
"Yes," said don Jaime, "and this Loïck, whom want led into crime,
repenting of his fault, restored him to me."
"Yes, all this is true," don Horacio said, in a low voice. "This
young man is really my nephew. He has the features and voice of my
unfortunate brother." He hid his face in his hands, but recovering
himself suddenly, he said, with firmness--
"Brother, you possess nearly all the proofs of the horrible crimes
I have committed; and," approaching a table drawer, which he burst
open, "here are the ones you want," he added, handing him a bundle
of papers. "Unconsciously, perhaps, remorse had already entered my
heart, here is my will, take it, it appoints my nephew my sole heir,
while establishing his rights in an undeniable manner; but the name of
de Tobar must not be sullied. For your own sake, and of that of your
nephew, whose name is mine, do not carry out the cruel vengeance you
meditated against me. I swear to you on my word as a gentleman, on the
spotless honour of my ancestors, that you shall have full satisfaction
for the crimes I have committed, and for the sorrowful existence to
which I condemned my sister-in-law."
Don Jaime and Dominique remained gloomy and silent.
"Will you refuse me? Are you pitiless?" he anxiously exclaimed.
At this moment, doña María left the sofa on which her son had laid her:
walking with a slow and mechanical step toward don Horacio, she placed
herself between him, her brother and her son. Then, stretching out her
arm with supreme majesty, she said in a voice marked with ineffable
sweetness--
"Brother of my husband, vengeance belongs to God alone! In the name
of the man whom I loved so dearly, and whom your cruel hand tore from
me, I forgive you the frightful tortures you have inflicted on me, the
nameless sorrows to which you condemned me, a poor innocent woman, for
the last two and twenty years. I pardon you and may God be merciful to
you!"
Don Horacio fell prostrate on his knees. "You are a saint," he said, "I
am unworthy of forgiveness, I know it, but I will strive to expiate the
crimes of my life as far as depends on myself by my death."
He then rose and tried to kiss her hand, but she recoiled with a start
of horror.
"It is just," he said sadly, "I am unworthy to touch you."
"No," she replied, "since repentance has entered your heart."
And turning away her head, she offered him her hand. Don Horacio
respectfully pressed his lips to it, and then turned to his
brother-in-law and nephew, who had not moved.
"Will you alone," he asked sadly, "be pitiless?"
"We no longer have the right to punish," don Jaime said in a hollow
voice.
Dominique hung his head and maintained a sullen silence, his mother
approached him and gently seized his arm: at this contact the young man
gave a start.
"What do you want, mother?" he asked.
"I have pardoned this man," she said imploringly, in a gentle voice.
"Mother," he replied with an accent of implacable hatred: "when I
cursed this man, it was my father who spoke by my lips, and dictated
the malediction from the bloody tomb in which this wretch laid him: the
indelible brand will cling to him, and God will ask of him as of the
first fratricide: Cain, what hast thou done with thy brother?"
At these words, uttered in an awful tone, don Horacio sank senseless on
the floor.
Don Jaime and doña María recoiled from him with horror. He remained
lying on the ground for some minutes, and the persons present did not
make a movement to succour him: at length doña María leaned over him.
"Stay mother!" the young man exclaimed, "Do not touch that wretch! The
contact would sully you!"
"I have forgiven him!" she said feebly.
Don Horacio, however, gradually recovered his senses, he rose slowly
and his frightfully contracted features wore a strange expression of
resolution.
He turned to Dominique.
"You insist," he said; "be it so; the reparation shall be striking."
He felt in the carefully locked drawer of a table, which he opened by
means of a key hung round his neck by a gold chain, took something they
could not see out of it, closed the drawer again, then walking with a
firm step to the door, he threw it wide open.
"Come in caballeros, all of you!" he cried in a loud voice.
In a second the room was filled with people. The count de la Saulay and
don Estevan alone remained in the sitting room with the young ladies,
upon receiving a sign from don Jaime. Don Jaime then walked up to his
sister and offered her his arm.
"Come," he said to her; "come, María, this scene is killing you. Your
place is no longer here, now that you have forgiven this man."
Doña María offered but a slight resistance, and followed her brother,
who led her into the sitting room, the door of which he closed after
them. The rolling of a carriage was heard, in which the three ladies
returned home under the count's escort. At the same moment a clash of
arms was audible outside.
"What is that?" don Horacio asked with a start of terror.
Numerous footsteps approached, the doors were noisily opened, and
soldiers appeared. At their head came the prefect of the city, the
Alcalde mayor, and several _corchetes_.
"In the name of the law," the prefect said in a stern voice, "don
Antonio Cacerbar, you are my prisoner: corchetes, seize this man."
"Don Antonio Cacerbar no longer exists," don Jaime said, as he threw
himself between his brother-in-law and the police agents.
"Thanks," the latter said, "thanks for having saved the honour of my
name. Señores," he said in a loud voice, pointing to Dominique, who
was standing by his side, "this is the Duke de Tobar. I am a great
criminal; pray to Heaven to pardon me."
"Forward, corchetes!" the prefect cried; "Seize that man, I tell you."
"Come on, then," don Horacio answered, as he quickly raised his hand to
his mouth.
Suddenly he turned pale, tottered like a drunken man, and rolled on
the floor without even a sigh. He was dead. Don Horacio had poisoned
himself.
"Señores," don Jaime then said to the prefect and the Alcalde mayor,
"your duty ceases with the death of the culprit; his corpse henceforth
belongs to his family. Have the goodness to withdraw."
"May God pardon the unhappy man this last crime!" the prefect said; "We
have nothing more to do here."
And after bowing ceremoniously, he withdrew with his followers.
"Gentlemen," don Jaime said in a sad voice, addressing the spectators,
who were terrified at the strange and rapid close of this scene, "let
us pray for the soul of this great criminal."
All knelt with the exception of Dominique, who remained standing, with
his flashing eyes fixed on the corpse.
"Dominique," his uncle said to him gently, "does your hatred for him
exist beyond the tomb?"
"Yes," he exclaimed in a terrible voice, "may he be accursed to all
eternity!"
His hearers sprang up in horror: this awful curse had frozen the prayer
on their lips.