was occupied with the thought, as we have said, that his life, that
until now he had dreamed might be worthy of the "Golden Legend," was
about to be converted into a sweet and perpetual idyl. He had not been
able to resist the lures of earthly passion. He had failed to imitate
the example set by so many saints, among others by St. Vincent Ferrer
with regard, to a certain dissolute lady of Valencia; though, indeed,
the cases were dissimilar. For if to flee from the diabolical courtesan
in question was an act of heroic virtue in St. Vincent, to flee from the
self-abandonment, the ingenuousness, and the humility of Pepita would,
in him, have been something as monstrous and cruel as if, when Ruth lay
down at the feet of Boaz, saying to him, "I am thy handmaid; spread
therefore thy skirt over thine handmaid," Boaz had given her a blow and
sent her about her business! Don Luis, then, when Pepita surrendered
herself to him, was obliged to follow the example of Boaz, and exclaim:
"Daughter, blessed be thou of the Lord; thou hast shewed more kindness
in the latter end than at the beginning." Thus did Don Luis justify
himself in not following the example of St. Vincent, and other saints no
less churlish. As for the ill success of the design he had entertained
of imitating St. Edward, he tried also to justify and excuse it. St.
Edward married for reasons of state, and without entertaining any
affection for Queen Edith; but in his case and in that of Pepita
Ximenez there were no reasons of state, but only a tender love on both
sides.
Don Luis, however, did not deny to himself--and this imparted to his
present happiness a slight tinge of melancholy--that he had proved false
to his ideal; that he had been vanquished in the conflict. Those who
have no ideal, who have never had an ideal, would not distress
themselves on this account. Don Luis did distress himself; but he
presently came to the conclusion that he would substitute a more humble
and easily attained ideal for his former exalted one. And although the
recollection of Don Quixote's resolution to turn shepherd, on being
vanquished by the Knight of the White Moon, here crossed his mind with
ludicrous appositeness, he was in no way daunted by it. He thought, in
union with Pepita Ximenez, to renew, in our prosaic and unbelieving
time, the golden age, and to repeat the pious example of Philemon and
Baucis, creating: a model of patriarchal life in these pleasant fields,
founding in the place where he was born a home presided over by
religion, that should be at once the asylum of the needy, the center of
culture and friendly conviviality, and the clear mirror in which the
domestic virtues should be reflected; joining in one, finally, conjugal
love and the love of God, in order that God might sanctify and be
present in their dwelling, making it the temple in which both should be
his ministers, until, by the will of Heaven, they should be called to a
better life.
Two obstacles must first be removed, however, before all this could be
realized, and Don Luis began to consider with himself how he might best
remove them.
The one was the displeasure, perhaps the anger, of his father, whom he
had defrauded of his dearest hopes. The other was of a very different
and, in a certain sense, of a much more serious character. Don Luis,
while he entertained the purpose of becoming a priest, was right in
defending Pepita from the gross insults of the Count of Genazahar by the
weapons of argument only, and in taking no vengeance for the scorn and
contempt with which those arguments were listened to. But, having now
determined to lay aside the cassock, and obliged, as he was, to declare
immediately that he was betrothed to Pepita and was going to marry her,
Don Luis, notwithstanding his peaceable disposition, his dreams of human
brotherhood, and his religious belief, all of which remained intact in
his soul, and all of which were alike opposed to violent measures, could
not succeed in reconciling it with his dignity to refrain from breaking
the head of the insolent count. He knew well that dueling is a barbarous
practice; that Pepita had no need of the blood of the count to wash
from her name the stain of calumny; and even that the count himself had
uttered the insults he had uttered, not because he believed them, nor
perhaps through an excess of hatred, but through stupidity and want of
breeding. Notwithstanding all these reflections, however, Don Luis was
conscious that he would never again be able to respect himself, and, as
a consequence, would never be able to perform to his taste the _rôle_ of
Philemon, if he did not begin with that of Furabras, by giving the count
his deserts; asking God, meantime, never again to place him in a similar
position.
This matter, then, being decided upon, he resolved to bring it to an end
as soon as possible. And as it appeared to him that it would be
inexpedient, as well as in bad taste, to arrange the affair through
seconds, and thus make the honor of Pepita a subject of common talk, he
determined to provoke a quarrel with the count under some other pretext.
Thinking that the count, being a stranger in the village and a confirmed
gambler, might possibly be still engaged at play in the club-house,
notwithstanding the lateness of the hour, Don Luis went straight there.
The club-house was still open, but, both in the court-yard and the
parlors, the lights were nearly all extinguished. In one apartment only
was there still a light. Thither Don Luis directed his steps, and, on
reaching it, he saw through the open door the Count of Genazahar engaged
in playing _monte_, in which he acted as banker. Only five other persons
were playing; two were strangers like the count; the others were the
captain of cavalry in charge of the remount, Currito, and the doctor.
Things could not have been better arranged to suit the purpose of Don
Luis. So engrossed were the players in their game that they did not
observe him, who, as soon as he saw the count, left the club-house and
went rapidly homeward.
On reaching his house the door was opened for him by a servant. Don Luis
inquired for his father, and, finding that he was asleep, procured a
light and went up to his own room, taking care to make no noise lest he
should disturb him. There he took some three thousand reals in gold that
he had laid by, and put them in his pocket. He then called the servant
to open the door for him again, and returned to the club-house.
Arrived there, Don Luis entered the parlor in which the players were,
walking noisily, and giving himself the airs of a fop. The players were
struck with amazement at seeing him.
"You here, at this hour!" said Currito.
"Where do you come from, little priest?" said the doctor.
"Have you come to preach me another sermon?" cried the count.
"I have done with sermons," returned Don Luis, calmly. "The bad success
of the last one I preached has clearly convinced me that God does not
call me to that path in life, and I have chosen another. You, count,
have wrought my conversion. I have thrown aside the cassock. I wish to
amuse myself; I am in the flower of my youth, and I want to enjoy it."
"Come, I am glad of that," returned the count; "but take care, my lad,
for, if the flower be a delicate one, it may wither and drop its leaves
before their time."
"I shall take care of that," returned Don Luis. "I see you are playing;
I feel inspired. You are dealing. Do you know, count, that it would be
amusing if I should break your bank?"
"You think it would be amusing, eh? You have been dining liberally!"
"I have dined as I choose to dine."
"The youngster is learning to answer back."
"I learn what it is my pleasure to learn."
"Damnation!" cried the count, and the storm was about to burst, when the
captain, interposing, succeeded in re-establishing the peace.
"Come," said the count, when he had recovered his temper, "out with your
cash, and try your luck."
Don Luis seated himself at the table, and took out all his gold. At
sight of it the count regained his serenity completely, for it must have
exceeded in amount the sum he had in the bank, and he already pleased
himself in anticipation with the thought of winning it.
"There is no need to cudgel one's brains much in this game," said Don
Luis to the count; "I think I understand it already. I put money on a
card, and if the card turns up, I win; and if the card opposed to it
turns up, you win."
"Just so, my young friend; you have a strong understanding."
"And the best of it is that I have not only a strong understanding, but
a strong will as well. But, though I may have the stubbornness of the
donkey, I am not the complete donkey that many a one I know of is."
"What a witty mood you are in to-night, and how anxious you are to
display your wit!"
Don Luis was silent. He played a few times, and was so lucky as to win
each time.
The count began to be annoyed.
"What if the youngster should pluck me?" he said to himself. "Fortune
favors the innocent."
While the count was troubling himself with this reflection, Don Luis,
feeling fatigued, and weary now of the part he was playing, determined
to end the matter at once.
"The object of all this," he said, "is to see if I can win all your
gold, or if you can win mine. Is it not so, count?"
"Just so."
"Well, then, why should we remain here all night? It is getting late,
and, according to your advice, I ought to retire early, so that the
flower of my youth may not wither before its time."
"How is this? Do you want to go away already? Do you want to back out?"
"I have not the slightest desire to back out. Quite the
contrary.--Currito, tell me, in this heap of gold here, is there not
already more than there is in the bank?"
Currito looked at the gold and answered:
"Without a doubt."
"How shall I explain," asked Don Luis, "that I wish to stake on one card
all that I have here, against what there is in the bank?"
"You do that," responded Currito, "by saying, 'I play _banco!_'"
"Well, then, I play _banco_," said Don Luis, addressing himself to the
count; "I play _banco_ on this king of spades, whose companion will to a
certainty turn up before his opponent the three does."
The count, whose whole cash capital was in the bank, began to be alarmed
at the risk he ran; but there was nothing for it but to accept.
It is a common saying that those who are fortunate in love are
unfortunate at play but the reverse of this is often more nearly the
truth. He who is fortunate in one thing is apt to be fortunate in
everything; it is the same when one is unfortunate.
The count continued to draw cards, but no _three_ turned up. His
emotion, notwithstanding his efforts to conceal it, was great. Finally,
he came to a card which he knew by the lines at the top to be the king
of hearts, and paused.
"Draw," said the captain.
"It is no use! The king of hearts! Curses on it! The little priest has
plucked me. Take up your money."
The count threw the cards angrily on the table.
Don Luis took up the money calmly, and with apparent indifference.
After a short silence the count said:
"My little priest, you must give me my revenge."
"I see no such necessity."
"It seems to me that between gentlemen--"
"According to that rule the game would have no end," said Don Luis, "and
it would be better to save one's self the trouble of playing
altogether."
"Give me my revenge," replied the count, without paying any attention to
this argument.
"Be it so," returned Don Luis; "I wish to be generous."
The count took up the cards again, and proceeded to deal.
"Stop a moment," said Don Luis; "let us understand each other. Where is
the money for your new bank?"
The count showed signs of confusion and disturbance.
"I have no money here," he returned, "but it seems to me that my word is
more than enough."
Don Luis answered, with grave and measured accent:
"Count, I should be quite willing to trust the word of a gentleman, and
allow him to remain in my debt, if it were not that in doing so I should
fear to lose your friendship, which I am now in a fair way to gain; but,
as I was a witness this morning to the cruelty with which you treated
certain friends of mine, to whom you are indebted, I do not wish to run
the risk of becoming culpable in your eyes by means of the same fault.
How ridiculous to suppose that I should voluntarily incur your enmity by
lending you money which you would not repay me, as you have not repaid,
except with insults, that which you owe Pepita Ximenez!"
From the fact that this accusation was true, the offense was all the
greater. The count became livid with anger, and, by this time on his
feet, ready to come to blows with the collegian.
"You lie, slanderer!" he exclaimed. "I shall tear you limb from limb,
you----"
This last insult, which concerned the honor of her whose memory was most
sacred to him, was never finished; its end never reached his ears. For,
with marvelous quickness, dexterity, and force, he reached across the
table which was between himself and the count, and, with the light,
flexible bamboo cane with which he had armed himself, struck his
antagonist on the face, raising on it instantly a dark purple welt.
There was neither retort, outcry, nor uproar after this. When the hands
come into play, the tongue is apt to be silent. The count was about to
throw himself on Don Luis, for the purpose of tearing him to pieces, if
it were in his power. But opinion had changed greatly since yesterday
morning, and was now on the side of Don Luis. The captain, the doctor,
and even Currito, who now showed more courage than he had done on that
occasion, all held back the count, who struggled and fought ferociously
to release himself.
"Let me go!" he cried; "let me get at him and kill him!"
"I do not seek to prevent a duel," said the captain; "a duel is
inevitable. I only seek to prevent your fighting here, like two porters.
I should be wanting in self-respect if I consented to be present at
such a combat."
"Let weapons be brought!" said the count; "I do not wish to defer the
affair for a single moment. At once--and here!"
"Will you fight with sabers?" said the captain.
"Yes," responded Don Luis.
"Sabers be it," said the count.
All this was said in a low voice, so that nothing might be heard in the
street. Even the servants of the club-house, who slept on chairs in the
kitchen and in the yard, were not awakened by the noise.
Don Luis chose as his seconds the captain and Currito; the count chose
the two strangers. The doctor made ready to practice his art, and show
the signal of the Red Cross.
It was not yet daylight. It was agreed that the apartment in which they
were, should be the field of combat, the door being first closed. The
captain went to his house for the sabers, and returned soon afterward,
carrying them under the cloak which he had put on for the purpose of
concealing them from view.
We already know that Don Luis had never wielded a weapon in his life.
Fortunately the count, although he had never studied theology, or
entertained the purpose of becoming a priest, was not much more skilled
than he in the art of handling the broadsword.
The only roles laid down for the duel were that, their sabers once in
hand, each of the combatants should use his weapon as Heaven might best
direct him.
The door of the apartment was closed. The tables and chairs were placed
in a corner, to leave a free field for the combatants, and the lights
were suitably disposed.
Don Luis and the count divested themselves of their coats and
waistcoats, remaining in their shirt-sleeves, and selected, each one,
his weapon. The seconds stood on one side. At a signal from the captain,
the combat began. Between two persons who know neither how to parry a
stroke nor how to put themselves on guard, a combat must of necessity be
brief; and such this one was.
The fury of the count, restrained for some time past, now burst forth
and blinded his reason. He was strong, and he had wrists of steel; and
he showered down on Don Luis, with his saber, a rain of blows without
order or sequence. Four times he succeeded in touching Don Luis--each
time, fortunately, with the flat of his weapon. He bruised his
shoulders, but did not wound him. The young theologian had need of all
his strength to keep from falling to the floor, overcome by the force of
the blows and the pain of his bruises. A fifth time the count struck
Don Luis, and this time with the edge of his weapon, although sidewise.
The blood of Don Luis began to flow abundantly. Far from stopping, the
count resumed the attack with renewed fury, in the hope of again
wounding his antagonist. He almost placed himself under the weapon of
Don Luis. The latter, instead of putting himself in position to parry,
brought his sword down vigorously on his adversary, and succeeded in
wounding the count in the head. The blood gushed forth, and ran down his
forehead and into his eyes. Stunned by the blow, the count fell heavily
to the floor.
The whole combat was a matter of a few seconds. Don Luis had remained
tranquil throughout, like a Stoic philosopher, who is obliged by the
hard law of necessity to take part in a conflict opposed alike to his
habits and his ways of thought. But no sooner did he see his antagonist
extended on the floor, bathed in blood and looking as though he were
dead, than he experienced the most poignant anguish, and feared for a
moment that he should faint. He who, until within the last five or six
hours, had held unwaveringly to his resolution of being a priest, a
missionary, a minister and a messenger of the gospel, had committed, or
accused himself of having committed, during those few hours, every
crime, and of breaking all the commandments of God. There was now no
mortal sin by which he was not contaminated. First, his purpose of
leading a life of perfect and heroic holiness had been put to flight;
then followed his purpose of leading a life of holiness of a more easy,
comfortable, and _bourgeois_ sort. The devil seemed to please himself in
over-throwing his plans. He reflected that he could now no longer be
even a Christian Philemon, for to lay his neighbor's head open with a
stroke of a saber was not a very good beginning of his idyl.
Don Luis, after the agitations of the day, was now in a condition
resembling that of a man who has brain-fever. Currito and the captain,
one at each side, took hold of him and led him home.
* * * * *
Don Pedro de Vargas got out of bed in terror when he was told that his
son had come home wounded. He ran to see him, examined his bruises and
the wound in his arm, and saw that they were none of them attended with
danger; but he broke out into threats of vengeance, and would not be
pacified until he was made acquainted with the particulars of the
affair, and learned that Don Luis had known how to avenge himself in
spite of his theology.
The doctor came soon after to examine the wound, and was of opinion that
in three or four days' time Don Luis would be able to go out again, as
if nothing had happened. With the count, on the other hand, it would be
a matter of months. His life, however, was in no danger. He had returned
to consciousness, and had asked to be taken to his own village, which
was distant only a league from the village which these events took
place. A hired coach had been procured, and he had been taken thither,
accompanied by his servant, and the two strangers who had acted as his
seconds.
Four days after the affair the doctor's opinion was justified by the
result, and Don Luis, although sore from his bruises, and with his wound
still open, was in a condition to go out, and promised a complete
recovery within a short time.
The first duty which Don Luis thought himself obliged to fulfill, as
soon as he was off the sick-list, was to confess to his father his love
for Pepita, and his intention of marrying her.
Don Pedro had not gone to the country, nor had he occupied himself in
any other way than in taking care of his son during the sickness of the
latter. He was constantly at his side, waiting on him and petting him
with tender affection.
On the morning of the 27th of June, after the doctor had gone, Don Pedro
being alone with his son, the confession, so difficult for Don Luis to
make, took place in the following manner:
"Father," said Don Luis, "I ought not to deceive you any longer. To-day
I am going to confess my faults to you, and cast away hypocrisy."
"If it is a confession you are about to make, my boy, it would be better
for you to send for the reverend vicar. My standard of morality is an
indulgent one, and I shall give you absolution for everything, without
my absolution being of much value to you, however. But if you wish to
confide to me some weighty secret, as to your best friend, begin by all
means; I am ready to listen to you."
"What I am about to confess to you is a very serious fault of which I
have been guilty; and I am ashamed to--"
"You have no need to be ashamed before your father; speak frankly."
Here Don Luis, growing very red, and with visible confusion, said:
"My secret is, that I am in love with--Pepita Ximenez--and that she--"
Don Pedro interrupted his son with a burst of laughter, and finished the
sentence for him:
"And that she is in love with you, and that on the night of St. John's
eve you were with her in tender conference until two o'clock in the
morning, and that, for her sake, you sought a quarrel with the Count of
Genazahar, whose head you have broken. A pretty secret you confide to
me, truly! There isn't a cat or a dog in the village that is not fully
acquainted with every detail of the business. The only thing there
seemed a possibility of being able to conceal was, that your interview
lasted until just two o'clock in the morning; but some gypsy cake-women
chanced to see you leave Pepita's house, and did not stop until they had
told every living creature in the place of it. Pepita, besides, makes no
great effort to conceal the truth, and in this she does well, for that
would be only the concealment of Antequera. Since you have been wounded,
Pepita comes here twice a day, and sends Antoñona two or three times
more to inquire after you; and if they have not come in to see you, it
is because I would not consent to their doing so, lest it should excite
you."
The confusion and the distress of Don Luis reached their climax when he
heard his father thus compendiously tell the whole story.
"How surprised," he said, "how astounded you must have been!"
"No, my boy, I was neither surprised nor astounded. The matter has been
known in the village only for four days, and indeed, to tell the truth,
your transformation did create some surprise. 'Oh, the sly-boots! the
wolf in sheep's clothing! the hypocrite!' every one exclaimed, 'how we
have been deceived in him!' The reverend vicar, above all, is quite
bewildered. He is still crossing himself to think how you toiled in the
vineyard of the Lord on the night of the 23d and the morning of the
24th, and of how diverse a character were your labors. But there was
nothing in these occurrences to surprise me, except your wound. We old
people can feel the grass grow. It is not easy for the chickens to
deceive the huckster."
"It is true, I sought to deceive you! I have been a hypocrite!"
"Don't be a fool; I do not say this to blame you. I say it in order to
give myself an air of perspicacity. But let us speak with frankness. My
boasting is, after all, without foundation. I knew, step by step, for
more than two months past, the progress of your love-affair with Pepita;
but I know it because your uncle the dean, to whom you were writing all
that passed within your mind, has communicated it to me. Listen to your
uncle's letter of accusation, and to the answer I gave him, a very
important document, of which I have kept the copy."
Don Pedro took some papers from his pocket, and read as follows:
* * * * *
_The Dean's Letter._