"Your mother does not consent to our marriage,--is that it?"
Don Alfonso did not reply. Silence reigned for some time. Finally Julia
broke it in a trembling voice:--
"Don't take it so to heart, Alfonso. Instead of helping me, you take
away my courage."
"You are right, my beauty! even in this I am selfish. I ought to
consider that beside the grief that you feel as keenly as I do, if you
love me, you have had an insult put upon you."
"No, no," the young girl hastened to say; "I do not feel that it is an
insult. All I feel is that I cannot be yours."
Saavedra gave her a fascinating look of love, and pressed her hand
warmly.
"Mamma does not speak unkindly of you. If she had said anything that
could be construed as derogatory to you, I should know well how to reply
to it. It will be better for you to read her letter for yourself," he
said, taking it from his pocket.
This letter had been written by Saavedra himself, counterfeiting her
penmanship and sending it to a friend to be mailed back from Seville; it
was a document remarkable for its ingenuity. Julia's name was not
mentioned in it; the mamma deeply lamented, because she had dreamed of a
brilliant match for her dear boy; he well knew who she was. This had
been the hope of all her life, she had pledged her word, and all the
relatives were counting upon it; finally, that as now she was getting
old and feeble, this disappointment would certainly cause her death.
The effect caused by this letter on the young girl was exactly what its
author intended. Instead of quenching the fire, it made it burn all the
more fiercely; jealousy was the principal fuel in this case.
"Who is the woman whom they want you to marry, Alfonso?" asked Julita
timidly, while big tears rolled down her cheeks.
"I don't know, I don't know, let me alone!" he exclaimed, with a gesture
of despair.
"Tell me, Alfonso: I am very anxious to know."
"What difference does it make who she is? I hate her, I detest her."
"At any rate, I want to know what her name is."
"She is the Countess de San Clemente."
"Is she young?"
"Much older than you are: she is at least twenty-five or twenty-six."
"Is she pretty?"
"How do I know? What difference does it make to me whether she is pretty
or homely?"
"But is she pretty?"
"They say she is; but I tell you that it makes no difference to me."
The girl was silent for a long time; her heart beat violently. At length
she said in a melancholy tone, giving her lover an anxious look:--
"They will persuade you, Alfonso. At last you will agree to marry her."
The Andalusian _caballero_ looked at her with an angry face, and
exclaimed with energy:--
"They might tear me in pieces before such a thing happened!"
"You cannot be perfectly sure of it," said she, looking at him with the
same anxiety; "they will continue working at you, working at you; they
will get you so entangled that finally there will be no way out of it
but to yield."
"No, I swear to you, no! Come, don't speak any more of this, Julita, for
this sort of talk annoys me very much."
For a moment the young girl's eyes sparkled joyfully. Then the same
expression of unhappiness came back into them.
Five or six days passed. Don Alfonso redoubled his manifestations of
affection. Nevertheless, such oppressive unhappiness weighed upon the
lovers that they were obliged to remain long moments in silence, with
their heads down and their eyes fixed on vacancy. Julita often shed
tears, and Saavedra, also overwhelmed with sorrow put forth useless
efforts to console her. The truth was they saw no way out of their
difficulties. The horizon was absolutely shut in and dark.
"I haven't any profession whatever," said the _caballero_. "If we were
to marry, we should starve to death.... That is the result of having
educated me for a rich man!"
"As for starving to death, I don't believe it," said Julita, her face
deeply flushing. "Mamma and I are not rich, but we can live decently....
It is clear that for you who are accustomed to another sort of life, it
would be very hard ... but ..."
"Oh, don't speak of that, Julia!" exclaimed the _caballero_, with the
gesture of a man whose dignity was wounded.... "It is lowering me too
much to believe that I could consent for you to support me.... But even
if I were so low as that, still I could not do it, because I do not want
to be my mother's murderer."
The girl said no more, and, as often before, the tears began to slide
down her cheeks.
"Does your mother have any suspicion of what is going on?"
"No."
"Then be very careful. You know as well as I do how peculiar she is; if
she had a suspicion that my mamma objected, she would spoil the whole
business, and I should never consent to set my foot in this house
again."
One evening, after quite a number of days had passed, the _caballero_
came with his face brighter than it had been for some time. Instead of
sitting down near the piano, the lovers went and stood in the
bay-window. After painting things in very black colors as usual and
lamenting a long time, Don Alfonso said to his cousin:--
"As I have been thinking of nothing else than this all day and all
night, certain means of escaping from this difficulty have occurred to
me. I have not told them to you, for they are very absurd. Still, as
last night I was walking up and down my room without being able to
sleep, one scheme came into my head, and this one is very sure but very
bold ... so much so that I am afraid to tell it to you."
"Is it so bad as all that?"
"Bad, no; but bold. It requires you to disregard certain social
conventions and to show a great will power."
"Come, then, tell me. I am very curious to hear about it."
"Very well then, Julia; mamma, though you imagine her to be a hard
woman, because of your childish recollections and because in reality she
has a cold and serious exterior which prejudices against her, has a
heart that is in reality very warm. She has given me unequivocal proofs
of it, oftentimes forgiving me almost too quickly for very serious
faults. Her character is as haughty as your mamma's; but these natures
are easy to overcome; to make them yield it needs only that you
humiliate yourself.... This is what I was thinking of last night:--If
Julia had the courage to make a decided stroke and elope with me to
Seville and present ourselves before her, I am certain that she would
not hesitate to forgive us and grant us her blessing. No woman, however
bad she is, would consent to let the daughter of her own cousin be
dishonored."
"This scheme is madness. I cannot believe that you would propose to me
such an atrocious thing!"
"I do not propose it. All I do is to report to you a thought which
occurred to me. If I cannot tell you what my heart feels and what passes
through my mind, whom shall I tell it to, Julia _mia_?"
"This is the last thing that you ought to have conceived!"
"I have thought so much that it is not strange if it were the last thing
that I did conceive. The project would be very audacious, violent, and
repugnant to you, but not a piece of folly as you say; it is a certain,
infallible means of attaining what we desire."
"Well, then, even if it is certain and infallible, I will not hear to
it, do you understand?"
Don Alfonso did not give up conquered. He continued to argue the point,
not losing his calmness, adducing reasons, mentioning various examples
which he had already prepared, and in a thousand skilful ways overcoming
Julia's scruples. But even when the girl found herself cornered,
captured in the net of her lover's sophistries, she suddenly grew angry
and exclaimed, "Well, even if it be as you say, still I don't like it, I
don't like it, and that is sufficient!"
Julia, though endowed with a rash and impetuous nature, had an
undisturbed conscience; she was a good girl and that was the very reason
why this scheme deeply wounded her sense of propriety. Nevertheless,
Saavedra kept constantly tormenting her with the hope of shaking her.
The afternoon was now declining; the boudoir began to fill with shadows.
Don Alfonso had at last exhausted all the powers at his command, and was
still far from attaining his end.
"Very well," said he after a long silence, doing his best to hide his
scorn and giving his words a peculiarly melancholy intonation, "I have
eagerly tried to find some way of escaping from the painful situation in
which we are. I propose to you the only practicable and certain method.
You yourself have seen that it was so and you have comprehended the
necessity of adopting some energetic plan. And yet you refuse to accept
it. I respect the scruples which you entertain in regard to it, but you
will permit me to tell you that the woman who really and truly loves
will rise above them. If the love that you had for me were as great as
you say...."
"Alfonso!"
"I know well that you love me--don't go to protesting.... But the fact
is, that though we love each other very much, we are very unhappy and we
find no way of escaping from it. What is left for us to do? Nothing but
to part and never see each other again."
"O Alfonso!"
"Yes, Julia, yes; it must be: we must separate, and forever. Here all
that we do is to torment ourselves cruelly. It is an infernal life to
have happiness before our eyes and not be able to touch it. Before
proposing this last recourse,--which is very harsh to be sure,--but
absolutely indispensable,--I firmly decided to leave the country, in
case you did not accept it. So to-morrow I take the train for Paris. I
confess frankly I have not the strength to endure this tormenting
situation."
The astute _caballero_ ceased speaking. Julia likewise was silent: a
melancholy pallor spread over her lovely face; her eyes were fixed
wildly on a point of space, and she sat motionless as a statue. Don
Alfonso left her in this situation a long time without disturbing her
eager and anxious thoughts, though he kept looking at her. Her pallor
kept growing more and more pronounced.
When he felt that the right moment had arrived, the wily seducer went to
take his hat which he had laid on the piano, and returning to the girl,
and holding out his hand, he said in a trembling voice:--
"_Adios_, Julia!"
She retained it a moment, and then, giving him a desperate look, her
face being now livid, said:--
"Don't go, Alfonso. Do with me what you please. I am ready to follow
you."
The _caballero_, after assuring himself that his aunt could not see
them, long held her tightly enfolded in his arms.