THE FAMILY TRIBUNAL.
The Hacienda del Toro, like many feudal mansions, contained one room
which remained constantly closed, and was only opened on solemn
occasions. The head of the family was conveyed there to die, and
remained on a bed of state till the day of his funeral: and the wife
was confined there. There, too, marriage contracts were signed. In a
word, all the great acts of life were performed in this room, which
inspired the inhabitants of the hacienda with a respect greatly
resembling terror; for on the few occasions on which the Marquises de
Tobar found themselves compelled to punish any member of their family,
it served as the tribunal where the culprit was tried and sentence
pronounced.
This room, situated at the end of the hacienda, was a large hall of
oblong shape, paved with alternate large black and white slabs, and
lighted by four lofty windows, which only allowed a gloomy and doubtful
light to penetrate.
Tapestry, dating from the fourteenth century, and representing with all
the simplicity of the age the different episodes of the mournful battle
of Xeres--which delivered Spain to the Moors, and in which Don Rodrigo,
the last Gothic king, was killed--covered the walls, and imprinted an
indescribable character of sepulchral majesty on this cold and mournful
hall, which was probably called the "Red Room" from the prevalence of
that colour in the tapestry work.
The young Count de Tobar had never entered this room since the day of
his birth; and, however far back his thoughts reverted in childhood,
he never remembered to have seen it open. Hence, in spite of all his
courage, and the firmness with which he had thought it wise to arm
himself for this decisive interview with his father, he could not
restrain a slight start of fear on learning that his parents were
prepared to receive him there.
The folding doors were open, and on reaching the threshold the young
man took in the room at a single glance. At one end, on a dais covered
with a petate, the Marquis and Marchioness of Tobar were seated,
gloomy and silent, beneath a canopy of black velvet with gold fringe
and tassels. Candles, lit in tall, many-branched candelabra, in order
to overcome the habitual gloom of the room, threw their flickering
light on the aged couple, and imparted to their faces an expression of
sternness and harshness that probably did not belong to them.
At the foot of the dais, and almost touching it, stood a young man of
three or four-and-twenty, with handsome and distinguished features,
whose elegant attire contrasted with the simple dress of the aged
couple: this gentleman was Don Hernando de Tobar, younger son of the
Marquis. A footman, the same who had preceded the Count in order to
announce his arrival to his master, took a step forward on perceiving
the young man.
"El Señor Conde, Don Rodolfo de Tobar y Moguer," he said, in a loud and
marked voice.
"Show in the Count," the Marquis said, in a voice which, though broken,
was still powerful.
The manservant discreetly retired, and the door closed upon him. The
Count walked up to the foot of the dais: on reaching it, he bowed a
second time, then drew himself up, and respectfully awaited till it
pleased his father to address him.
So profound a silence prevailed for some minutes in the room, that
the hearts of the four persons might have been heard beating in their
bosoms. Don Hernando took cunning side-glances at his brother, whom
the aged couple examined with a mixture of sadness and severity.
The young Count, as we said, was standing motionless in front of the
dais. His posture was full of nobility, without being in any way
provocative: with his right foot in front, his hand on his sword guard,
and the other holding his hat, whose long feather swept the ground, and
his head slightly thrown back, he looked straight before him, without
any display of arrogance or disdain. He waited, with a brow rather
pale, it is true, owing to the internal emotions he felt; but the
expression of his features, far from being that of a culprit, was, on
the contrary, that of a man convinced of his innocence, and who expects
to see his conduct approved rather than blamed.
"You have arrived, then, Señor Conde," the Marquis at length said,
sharply.
The young man bowed, but did not answer.
"You did not display any great eagerness in obeying my invitation."
"My lord, I only received very late last night the letter you did me
the honour to send me," the Count answered, gently. "This morning
before sunrise I mounted my horse, and rode twenty leagues without
stopping, so anxious was I to obey you."
"Yes," the Marquis said, ironically, "I know that; for you are a most
obedient son--in words, if not otherwise."
"Excuse me, my lord," he replied, respectfully, "but I do not
understand to what you deign to allude at this moment."
The old gentleman bit his lips angrily. "It is because we probably no
longer speak the same language, Señor Conde," he said, drily; "but I
will try to make myself better understood."
There was a silence, during which the Marquis seemed to be reflecting.
"You are the elder son of the family, sir," he presently continued,
"and, as such, responsible for its honour, which your ancestors handed
down to you unsullied. You are aware of this, I presume?"
"I am, my lord."
"Since your birth your sainted mother and myself have striven to place
before you only examples of loyalty; during your childhood we took
pleasure in training you in all the chivalrous virtues which for a long
succession of centuries have been the dearest appanage of the race of
worthies from whom you are descended. We continuously kept before your
eyes the noble motto of our family, of which it is so justly proud.
How is it, then, sir, that, suddenly forgetting what you owe to our
care and the lessons you received from us, you suddenly, without your
mother's permission or mine, abandoned without any plausible motive
the paternal roof, and that, deaf to the remonstrances and tearful
entreaties of your mother, and rebellious against my orders, you have
so completely separated your life from ours, that, with the exception
of the name you continue to bear, you have become a perfect stranger?"
"My lord!" the young man stammered.
"It is not an accusation I bring against you, Don Rodolfo," the Marquis
continued, quickly; "but I expect a frank and honourable explanation
of your conduct. But, take care; the explanation must be clear and
unreserved."
"My lord," the Count answered, throwing up his head proudly, "my heart
reproaches me with nothing: my conduct has been ever worthy of the
name I have the honour to bear. My object, in obeying your orders so
eagerly, has not been to justify myself, as I am not guilty of any
fault, but to assure you of my respect and obedience."
An incredulous smile played round Don Hernando's month, and the Marquis
continued with the same tone of frigid sternness--
"I expected another answer from you, sir. I hoped to find you eagerly
seize the opportunity my kindness offered you to justify yourself in my
sight."
"My lord," the young man replied, respectfully but firmly, "in order
that the justification you demand may be possible, I must know the
charges brought against me."
"I will not press this subject for the present, sir; but since, as you
say, you profess such great respect for my orders, I wish to give you
an immediate opportunity to prove your obedience to me."
"Oh, speak, father!" the Count exclaimed, warmly; "Whatever you may ask
of me--"
"Do not be overhasty in pledging yourself, sir," the Marquis coldly
interrupted him, "before you know what I am about to ask of you."
"I shall be so happy to prove to you how far from my heart are the
intentions attributed to me."
"Be it so, sir. I thank you for those excellent feelings; hence I will
not delay in telling you what you must do to reinstate yourself in my
good graces."
"Speak,--speak, my lord!"
The old man, cold and impassive, still regarded his son with the same
stern look. The Marchioness, restrained by her husband's presence,
fixed on the young man's eyes filled with tears, without daring, poor
mother, to interfere on his behalf. Don Hernando smiled cunningly
aside. As for Don Rodolfo, his father's last words had filled him with
fear; and in spite of the pleasure he affected, he trembled inwardly,
for he instinctively suspected a snare beneath this pretended kindness.
"My son," the Marquis continued, with a slight tinge of sadness in his
voice, "your mother and I are growing old. Years count double at our
age, and each step brings us nearer the tomb, which will soon open for
us."
"Oh, father!" Don Rodolfo exclaimed.
"Do not interrupt me, my son," the Marquis continued, with a commanding
gesture. "You are our firstborn, the hope of our name and race; you
are four-and-twenty years of age; you are handsome, well built,
instructed by us in all the duties of a gentleman; in short, you are an
accomplished cavalier, of whom we have just reason to be proud."
The Marquis paused for a little while. Don Rodolfo felt himself
growing more and more pale. His eyes turned wildly to his mother, who
sorrowfully bowed her head, in order that his anxious glance might not
meet hers. He was beginning to understand what sacrifice his father was
about to demand of his filial obedience, and he trembled with terror
and despair. The old man continued, in a firm and more marked voice--
"Your mother and I, my son, may be called away soon to appear before
the Lord; but as I do not wish to repose in the tomb without having
the satisfaction of knowing that our name will not die with us, but be
continued in our grandchildren--this desire, which I have several times
made known to you, my son, the moment has now arrived to realise; and
by marrying, you can secure the tranquillity of the few days still left
us to spend on this earth."
"Father--"
"Oh, re-assure yourself, Count," the old gentleman continued,
pretending to misunderstand his son's meaning. "I do not intend to
force on you one of those marriages in which a couple, united against
their wish, only too soon hate one another through the instinctive
aversion they feel. No; the wife I intend for you has been chosen by
your mother and myself with the greatest care. She is young, lovely,
rich, and of a nobility almost equal to ours;--in a word, she combines
all the qualities necessary not only to render you happy, but also to
revive the brilliancy of our house and impart a fresh lustre to it."
"Father!" Don Rodolfo stammered again.
"My son!" the Marquis continued, with a proud intonation in his voice,
as if the name he was about to utter must remove all scruples; "my son,
be happy, for you are about to marry Doña Aurelia de la Torre Azul,
cousin in the fifth degree to the Marquis del Valle."
"Oh, my son!" the Marchioness added entreatingly "this alliance, which
your father so dearly desires, will soothe my last days."
The young man was of livid pallor. He tottered, his eyes wandered
hesitatingly around, and his hand, powerfully pressed to his heart,
seemed trying to stifle its beating.
"You know my will, sir," the Marquis continued, not appearing to
perceive his unhappy son's condition. "I hope that you will soon
conform to it: and now, as you must be fatigued after a long ride in
the great heat of the day, withdraw to your apartments. Tomorrow, when
you have rested, we will consult as to the means of introducing you to
your future wife as soon as possible."
After uttering these words, in the same cold and peremptory tone he
employed during the whole interview, the Marquis prepared to rise.
By an effort over himself the young count succeeded in repressing the
storm that was raging in his heart. Affecting a tranquillity he was far
from feeling, he took a step forward, and bowed respectfully to the
Marquis.
"Pardon me, my lord," he said, in a voice which emotion involuntarily
caused to tremble, "but may I say a few words now?"
The old gentleman frowned.
"Did I not say tomorrow, sir?" he answered drily.
"Yes, my lord," the young man answered, sadly; "but, alas! If you do
not consent to listen to me today, tomorrow may be too late."
"Ah!" said the Marquis, biting his lips with a passion that was
beginning to break out, "And for what reason, sir?"
"Because, father," the young man said, firmly, "tomorrow I shall have
left this house never to reenter it."
The Marquis gave him a thundering look from under his grey eyelashes.
"Ah, ah!" he exclaimed, "Then I was not deceived; what I have been told
is really true."
"What have you been told?"
"Do you wish to know?" the old gentleman exclaimed, furiously. "After
all, you are right; it is time that this pitiable farce should end."
"Sir,--sir!" the Marchioness said, with deep grief, "remember that he
is your son--your firstborn!"
"Silence, madam!" the old man said, harshly; "This rebellious son has
played with us long enough; the hour of punishment has pealed, and, by
Heaven! It shall be terrible and exemplary."
"In God's name, sir," the Marchioness continued, "do not be inexorable
to your child. Let me speak to him; perhaps you are too harsh with
him, although you love him. I am his mother; I will convince him, and
induce him to carry out your wishes: a mother can find words in her
heart to soften her son, and make him understand that he ought not to
reject his father's orders."
The old man seemed to hesitate for a moment, but immediately recovered.
"Why should I consent to what you ask, madam?" he replied, with a
roughness mingled with pity; "Do you not know that the sole quality,
or rather the sole vice, of his race which this rebellious son has
retained is obstinacy? You will get nothing from him."
"Oh, permit me to say, sir," the old lady continued, in a suppliant
voice, "he is my son as well as yours. In the name of that love and
that unswerving obedience you have ever found in me, I beseech you
to let me make a final attempt to break his resistance, and lead him
penitent to your feet."
"And then, my lord," Don Hernando, who had hitherto remained an
apparent stranger to all that was taking place, remarked in a mocking
voice, "perhaps we are mistaken; do not condemn my brother without
hearing him; he is too good a gentleman, and of too old a family, to
have committed the faults of which he is accused."
"That is well, Hernando; I am delighted thus to hear you undertake your
brother's defence," said the old lady, smiling through her tears, and
deceived by his words.
"Certainly, mother; I love my brother too dearly," the young man said
ironically, "to let him be accused without proof. That Rodolfo has
seduced the daughter of the principal Cacique of the Opatas and made
her his mistress is evident, and known to all the world as true, but
it is of very little consequence. But what I will never believe until
it is proved to me is, that he has married this creature, any more
than I will put faith in the calumnies that represent him not only
as one of the intimate friends of the Curate Hidalgo, but also as one
of his most active and influential partisans in this province. No; a
thousand times No! A gentleman of the name and blood of Tobar knows
too well what honour demands to commit such infamy! Acting so would
be utter apostasy, and complete forgetfulness of all that a noble
Castilian owes to himself, his ancestors, and that honour of which he
is only the holder. Come, Rodolfo; come, my brother, raise your head:
confound the calumniators: give a solemn denial to those who have dared
to sully your reputation! One word from you, but one that proves your
perfect innocence, and the storm unjustly aroused against you will
be dispersed; my father will open his arms to you, and all will be
forgotten."
During this speech, whose deep perfidy the Count recognised, he
was suffering from extreme emotion. At the first words his brother
uttered, he started as if he felt the sting of a viper; but gradually
his anger had made way for contempt in his heart; and it was with a
smile of crushing disdain that he listened to the emphatic and mocking
conclusion.
"Well, my son," the marquis said, "you see everybody defends you here,
while I alone accuse you! What will you answer to prove your innocence
to me?"
"Nothing, father!" the young man said, coolly.
"Nothing?" the old gentleman repeated, angrily.
"No, father!" he continued; "because, if I attempted to justify myself,
you would not listen to me; and that, supposing you consented to listen
to me, you would not comprehend me. Oh! Do not mistake my meaning," he
said, on seeing the Marquis about to speak; "you would not understand
me, father, not through want of intellect, but through pride. Proud of
your name and the privileges it gives, you are accustomed to judge men
and things from a peculiar point of view, and understand honour in your
own fashion."
"Are there two sorts of honour, then?" the Marquis exclaimed,
involuntarily.
"No, father," Don Rodolfo answered, calmly, "there is only one; but
there are two ways of comprehending it: and my brother, who a moment
back told you without incurring your disapproval that a gentleman had
the right to abuse the love of a maiden and make her his mistress,
but that the honour of his name would forbid him marrying her, seems
to me to have studied the point thoroughly, and is better able than I
to discuss it. As you said yourself, father, we must come to an end.
Well, be it so. I will not attempt to continue an impossible struggle
with you. When I received orders to come to you, I knew I was condemned
beforehand, and yet I obediently attended your summons; it was because
my resolution was irrevocably formed. What am I reproached with? Having
married the daughter of an Indian Cacique? It is true; I avow openly
that I have done so: her birth is perhaps as good as mine, but most
certainly her heart is greater. What is the next charge--that I am a
friend of the Curate Hidalgo, and one of his firmest adherents? That
is also true; and I am happy and proud of this friendship: I glory in
these aspirations for liberty with which you reproach me as a crime.
Descendants of the first conquerors of Mexico, this land, discovered
and subjugated by our fathers, has become our country; for the last
three centuries we have not been Spaniards, but Mexicans. The hour has
at length arrived for us to shake off the yoke of this self-called
country, which has so long been battening on our blood and tears, and
enriching itself with our gold. In speaking thus to you, my venerated
father, my heart is broken, for Heaven is my witness that I have a
profound respect and love for you. I know that I am invoking on my head
all the weight of your anger, and that anger will be terrible! But, in
my sorrow, one sublime hope is left to me. Faithful to the motto of our
ancestors, I have done everything for honour; my conscience is calm;
and some day--soon, perhaps--you will forgive me, for you will see that
I have not failed in fealty."
"Never!" the Marquis shouted in a voice the more terrible because the
constraint he had been forced to place on himself, in order to hear his
son's speech to the end, had been so great. "Begone! I no longer know
you! You are no longer my son! Begone!--villain! I give you my--"
"Oh!" the Marchioness shrieked, as she threw herself into his arms,
"Do not curse him, sir! Do not add that punishment to the one you have
inflicted on him. The unhappy boy is already sufficiently punished. No
one has the right to curse him; a father less than any other--for in
that case it is God who avenges."
The Marquis stood for a moment silent and gloomy, then stretched out
his arms to his son, and shook his head sadly.
"Begone!" he said in a hollow voice. "May God watch over you--for
henceforth you have no family. Farewell!"
The young man pale and trembling, bent beneath the weight of this
sentence; then rose and tottered out of the room without saying a word.
"My son!--My son!" the Marchioness exclaimed in a heart-rending voice.
The implacable old man quickly stopped her at the moment when,
half-mad with grief, she was rushing from the dais, and pointed to Don
Hernando, who was bowing hypocritically to her.
"You have only one son, madam," he said, in a harsh voice, "and that
son is here."
The Marchioness uttered a cry of despair, and, crushed with grief, fell
senseless at her husband's feet; who, also overcome in this fearful
struggle of pride of race against paternal love, sank into a chair and
buried his face in his hands, while a mighty sob escaped from his bosom.
Don Hernando had rushed after his brother, not for the purpose of
consoling or bringing him back, but solely not to let the joy be
seen which covered his face at this mournful scene, all the fearful
incidents in which he had been so long preparing with feline patience.