THE love of a man for a girl is perhaps different from any
other passion our souls on earth are tempered with. Daphnis and Chloe
are pretty, natural, charming to paint and write _vers de société_
about; but so simple as to be shallow, so natural as to be replaceable.
To Daphnis, we know that any other Chloe will be Chloe too. And they
are in reality selfish; they seek the consummation of their wishes:
he his, she hers. It may be the same human energy; but in the fierce,
almost blasphemous, self-abnegation of the man’s love, it seems as
different a manifestation as the earth-rending power of freezing
water from the swelling of a bud at spring. The man can renounce his
love; but he desires her well-being with a will to which murder is an
incident and the will divine but an obstacle to be overcome.
The Archbishop had told del Torre that his nephew had been married
already--secretly, but married--married to the woman who came to seek
him out at the camp. Against this wall del Torre’s will had been
beating in vain before his own betrothal to Dolores was announced. If
she _could_ not marry Ramon, it might, indeed, be best she married
him. But it was with a fierce suspicion he received his friends’
congratulations at his club and camp. Among his officers no other
look or accent mingled with an unaffected joy. But in the city, he
fancied--he was ever ready to fancy--among the young men, a shade of
irony in their congratulations on his happiness. Was he not so old!
Don Ramon heard of it from Jacinta. Jacinta was on the side of the
younger man. She looked upon del Torre’s gray hairs with fierce eyes.
Ramon’s liquid voice and peachy lip had fascinated this supple creature
of the forest. Don Ramon heard; and his own answer was characteristic.
“The old fool!”
Jacinta nodded impatiently. She asked him for a message back. He took
pen and paper and wrote:
“SEÑORITA CONDESA: Thou lovest me. On the morning thou shalt
wed Don Sebastian I kill him.
“RAMON DEL TORRE.”
He read it over; then he stopped and thought. His first impulse was to
boast; his second, to intrigue. He was not all tiger; something of the
serpent lay within the handsome youth.
“I will send it this evening,” he said to Jacinta. And in the evening
this is what he wrote:
“SEÑORITA CONDESA: The Archbishop is my enemy and makes my
uncle marry you. Have you confessed to him? Surely, you have loved me?
On the day he marries you he shall kill your
“RAMON.”
This letter he sent. So he played upon the poor girl’s conscience, that
as a child she had given him a smile; and bragged even to her that he
had had her heart. This was Thursday, March 19, 1812. The marriage was
set for the 26th. Ramon went to the club, the café which served as
club to the aristocracy of Carácas, and announced publicly that his
uncle was forcing his ward to marry him against his will. The General,
when this story was brought to him, winced, but only replied: “My
nephew knows I cannot fight him; I must leave my honor to the kind
opinion of my friends.” This speech was repeated--“to the kindness of
my friends;” and that night a dozen young gentlemen called upon the
marquis and asked to be permitted to provoke Don Ramon. The General
refused it to all, with one wave of his hand. “I marry my ward for
family reasons; my nephew must be permitted to make what criticism he
chooses.”
Don Ramon then announced his uncle a coward, and promised to prevent
the marriage by force. Del Torre took no notice. Jacinta had taken
the letter to Dolores, but Ramon got no reply. After his last threat,
however, he received a call from a Jesuit priest, who was sent by the
Archbishop and hinted of the Inquisition. Then the young man was silent
for two days, and in devouring his rage he produced this letter to
Dolores:
“DOLORES: Hast thou confessed? And why no answer to me?
“For death (_para la muerte_),
“RAMON.”
To this Jacinta brought back a line:
“I shall confess upon my wedding-day. My answer to my husband, with
the message that your Honour” (V., only, in Spanish) “did not give.
“DOLORES, CONDESA DE LUNA.”
For Ramon had never given the message that went with the rose.
All this was in Holy Week. Palm Sunday passed; the Wednesday came; Holy
Thursday was the day fixed for the wedding--by the Archbishop’s special
will.
Now, it must be remembered that in all this time del Torre had spoken
with Dolores face to face three times, and three times only. Each time
he had seen her he had mentioned his nephew’s name, and each time she
had changed color. He would have married her to Don Ramon could he
have done so; even now he had dared but for Ramon’s own conduct. But
all this time del Torre was in an agony of doubt, through which even
Ramon’s insults could not penetrate. He would have sent Dolores to a
convent, but the archbishop forbade it; the priest feared not Don Ramon
against Don Sebastian; perhaps, however, he feared him at the convent
doors. But all this time del Torre had seen Dolores twice a day, at
mass, where he went and gazed upon her, dim through incense.