THE BELLE AND THE SOLDIER.
Whoever has been in Havana, that strange and peculiar city, whose every
association and belonging seem to bring to mind the period of centuries
gone by, whose time-worn and moss-covered cathedrals appear to stand as
grim records of the past, whose noble palaces and residences of the
rich give token of the fact of its great wealth and extraordinary
resources—whoever, we say, has been in this capital of Cuba, has of
course visited its well-known and far-famed Tacon Paseo. It is here,
just outside the city walls, in a beautiful tract of land, laid out in
tempting walks, ornamented with the fragrant flowers of the tropics,
and with statues and fountains innumerable, that the beauty and fashion
of the town resort each afternoon to drive in their volantes, and to
meet and greet each other.
It was on the afternoon subsequent to that of the accident recorded in
the preceding chapter, that a young officer, off duty, might be seen
partially reclining upon one of the broad seats that here and there
line the foot-path of the circular drive in the Paseo. He possessed a
fine manly figure, and was perhaps of twenty-four or five years of age,
and clothed in the plain undress uniform of the Spanish army. His
features were of that national and handsome cast that is peculiar to
the full-blooded Castilian, and the pure olive of his complexion
contrasted finely with a moustache and imperial as black as the dark
flowing hair that fell from beneath his foraging cap. At the moment
when we introduce him he was playing with a small, light walking-stick,
with which he thrashed his boots most immoderately; but his thoughts
were busy enough in another quarter, as any one might conjecture even
at a single glance.
Suddenly his whole manner changed; he rose quickly to his feet, and
lifting his cap gracefully, he saluted and acknowledged the particular
notice of a lady who bent partially forward from a richly mounted
volante drawn by as richly it caparisoned horse, and driven by as
richly dressed a calesaro. The manner of the young officer from that
moment was the very antipodes of what it had been a few moments before.
A change seemed to have come over the spirit of his dream. His fine
military figure became erect and dignified, and a slight indication of
satisfied pride was just visible in the fine lines of his expressive
lips. As he passed on his way, after a momentary pause, he met General
Harero, who stiffly acknowledged his military salute, with anything but
kindness expressed in the stern lines of his forbidding countenance. He
even took some pains to scowl upon the young soldier as they passed
each other.
But what cared Lieutenant Bezan for his frowns? Had not the belle of
the city, the beautiful, the peerless, the famed Senorita Isabella
Gonzales just publicly saluted him?-that glorious being whose
transcendent beauty had been the theme of every tongue, and whose
loveliness had enslaved him from the first moment he had looked upon
her-just two years previous, when he first came from Spain. Had not
this high-born and proud lady publicly saluted him? Him, a poor
lieutenant of infantry, who had never dared to lift his eyes to meet
her own before, however deep and ardently he might have worshipped her
in secret. What cared the young officer that his commander had seen fit
thus to frown upon him? True, he realized the power of military
discipline, and particularly of the Spanish army; but he forgot all
else now, in the fact that Isabella Gonzales had publicly saluted him
in the paths of the Paseo.
Possessed of a highly chivalrous disposition, Lieutenant Bezan had few
confidants among his regiment, who, notwithstanding this, loved him as
well as brothers might love. He seemed decidedly to prefer solitude and
his books to the social gatherings, or the clubs formed by his brother
officers, or indeed to join them in any of their ordinary sports or
pastimes.
Of a very good family at home, he had the misfortune to have been born
a younger brother, and after being thoroughly educated at the best
schools of Madrid, he was frankly told by his father that he must seek
his fortune, and for the future rely solely upon himself. There was but
one field open to him, at least so it seemed to him, and that was the
army. Two years before the opening of our story he had enlisted as a
third lieutenant of infantry, and had been at once ordered to the West
Indies with his entire regiment. Here promotion for more than one
gallant act closely followed him, until at the time we introduce him to
the reader as first lieutenant. Being of a naturally cheerful and
exceedingly happy disposition, he took life like a philosopher, and
knew little of care or sorrow until the time when he first saw Senorita
Isabella Gonzales-an occasion that planted a hopeless passion in his
breast.
From the moment of their first meeting, though entirely unnoticed by
her, he felt that he loved her, deeply, tenderly loved her; and yet at
the same time he fully realized how immeasurably she was beyond his
sphere, and consequently hopes. He saw the first officials of the
island at her very feet, watching for one glance of encouragement or
kindness from those dark and lustrous eyes of jet; in short, he saw her
ever the centre of an admiring circle of the rich and proud. It is
perhaps strange, but nevertheless true, that with all these
discouraging and disheartening circumstances, Lieutenant Bezan did not
lose all hope. He loved her, lowly and obscure though he was, with all
his heart, and used to whisper to himself that love like his need not
despair, for he felt how truly and honestly his heart warmed and his
pulses beat for her.
Nearly two entire years had his devoted heart lived on thus, if not
once gratified by a glance from her eye, still hoping that devotion
like his would one day be rewarded. What prophets of the future are
youth and love! Distant as the star of his destiny appeared from him,
he yet still toiled on, hoped on, in his often weary round of duty,
sustained by the one sentiment of tender love and devotedness to one
who knew him not.
At the time of the fearful accident when Ruez Gonzales came so near
losing his life from the fall he suffered off the parapet of the Plato,
Lieutenant Bezan was officer of the night, his rounds having
fortunately brought him to the quay at the most opportune moment. He
knew not who it was that had fallen into the water, but guided by a
native spirit of daring and humanity, he had thrown off his coat and
cap and leaped in after him.
The feelings of pleasure and secret joy experienced by the young
officer, when after landing from the boat he learned by a single glance
who it was he had so fortunately saved, may be better imagined than
described, when his love for the boy’s sister is remembered. And when,
as we have related, the proud Senorita Isabella publicly saluted him
before a hundred eyes in the Paseo, he felt a joy of mind, a brightness
of heart, that words could not express.
His figure and face were such that once seen their manly beauty and
noble outline could not be easily forgotten; and there were few ladies
in the city, whose station and rank would permit them to associate with
one bearing only a lieutenant’s commission, who would not have been
proud of his notice and homage. He could not be ignorant of his
personal recommendations, and yet the young officer sought no female
society-his heart it knew but one idol, and he could bow to but one
throne of love.
Whether by accident or purposely, the lady herself only knew, but when
the volante, in the circular drive of the Paseo, again came opposite to
the spot where Lieutenant Bezan was, the Senorita Isabella dropped her
fan upon the carriage-road. As the young officer sprang to pick it up
and return it, she bade the calesaro to halt. Her father, Don Gonzales,
was by her side, and the lieutenant presented the fan in the most
respectful manner, being rewarded by a glance from the lady that
thrilled to his very soul. Don Gonzales exclaimed:
“By our lady, but this is the young officer, Isabella, who yesternight
so promptly and gallantly saved the life of our dear Ruez.”
“It is indeed he, father,” said the beauty, with much interest.
“Lieutenant Bezan, the general told us, I believe,” continued the
father.
“That was the name, father.”
“And is this Lieutenant Bezan?” asked Don Gonzales, addressing the
officer.
“At your service,” replied he, bowing respectfully.
“Senor,” continued the father, most earnestly, and extending at the
same time his hand to the blushing soldier, “permit me and my daughter
to thank you sincerely for the extraordinary service you rendered to us
and our dear Ruez last evening.”
“Senor, the pleasure of having served you richly compensated for any
personal inconvenience or risk I may have experienced,” answered
Lieutenant Bezan; saying which, he bowed low and looked once into the
lovely eyes of the beautiful Senorita Isabella, when at a word to the
calesaro, the volante again passed on in the circular drive.
But the young officer had not been unwatched during the brief moments
of conversation that had passed between him and the occupants of the
vehicle. Scarcely had he left the side of the volante, when he once
more met General Harero, who seemed this time to take some pains to
confront him, as he remarked:
“What business may Lieutenant Bezan have with Don Gonzales and his fair
daughter, that he stops their volante in the public walks of the
Paseo?”
“The lady dropped her fan, general, and I picked it up and returned it
to her,” was the gentlemanly and submissive reply of the young officer.
“Dropped her fan,” repeated the general, sneeringly, as he gazed at the
lieutenant.
“Yes, general, and I returned it.”
“Indeed,” said the commanding officers, with a decided emphasis.
“Could I have done less, general?” asked Lieutenant Bezan.
“It matters not, though you seem to be ever on hand to do the lady and
her father some service, sir. Perhaps you would relish another cold
bath,” he continued, with most cutting sarcasm. “Who introduced you,
sir, to these people?”
“No one, sir. It was chance that brought us together. You will remember
the scene on the quay.”
“I do.”
“Before that time I had never exchanged one word with them.”
“And on this you presume to establish an acquaintance?”
“By no means, sir. The lady recognized me, and I was proud to return
the polite salute with which she greeted me.”
“Doubtless.”
“Would you have me do otherwise, sir?”
“I would have you avoid this family of Gonzales altogether.”
“I trust, general, that I have not exceeded my duty either to the
father or daughter, though by the tone of your remarks I seem to have
incurred your disapprobation,” replied Lieutenant Bezan, firmly but
respectfully.
“It would be more becoming in an officer of your rank,” continued the
superior, “to be nearer his quarters, than to spend his hours off duty
in so conspicuous and public a place as the Tacon Paseo. I shall see
that such orders are issued for the future as shall keep those attached
to my division within the city walls.”
“Whatever duty is prescribed by my superiors I shall most cheerfully
and promptly respond to, General Harero,” replied the young officer, as
he respectfully saluted his general, and turning, he sought the city
gates on the way to his barracks.
“Stay, Lieutenant Bezan,” said the general, somewhat nervously.
“General,” repeated the officer, with the prompt military salute, as he
awaited orders.
“You may go, sir,” continued the superior, biting his lips with
vexation. “Another time will answer my purpose quite as well, perhaps
better. You may retire, I say.”
“Yes, general,” answered the soldier, respectfully, and once more
turned away.
Lieutenant Bezan was too well aware of General Harero’s intimacy at the
house of Don Gonzales, not to understand the meaning of the rebuke and
exhibition of bitterness on the part of his superior towards him. The
general, although he possessed a fine commanding figure, yet was
endowed with no such personal advantages to recommend him to a lady’s
eye as did the young officer who had thus provoked him, and he could
not relish the idea that one who had already rendered such signal
services to the Senorita Isabella and her father, even though he was so
very far below himself in rank, should become too intimate with the
family. It would be unfair towards Lieutenant Bezan to suppose that he
did not possess sufficient judgment of human nature and discernment to
see all this.
He could not but regret that he had incurred the ill will of his
general, though it was unjustly entertained, for he knew only too well
how rigorous was the service in which he was engaged, and that a
superior officer possessed almost absolute power over those placed in
his command, in the Spanish army, even unto the sentence of death. He
had too often been the unwilling spectator, and even at times the
innocent agent of scenes that were revolting to his better feelings,
which emanated solely from this arbitrary power vested in heartless and
incompetent individuals by means of their military rank. Musing thus
upon the singular state of his affairs, and the events of the last two
days, so important to his feelings, now recalling the bewitching
glances of the peerless Isabella Gonzales, and now ruminating upon the
ill will of General Harero, he strolled into the city, and reaching La
Dominica’s, he threw himself upon a lounge near the marble fountain,
and calling for a glass of agrass, he sipped the cool and grateful
beverage, and wiled away the hour until the evening parade.
Though Don Gonzales duly appreciated the great service that Lieutenant
Bezan had done him, at such imminent personal hazard, too, yet he would
no more have introduced him into his family on terms of a visiting
acquaintance in consequence thereof, than he would have boldly broken
down any other strict rule and principle of his aristocratic nature;
and yet he was not ungrateful; far from it, as Lieutenant Bezan had
reason to know, for he applied his great influence at once to the
governor-general in the young officer’s behalf. The favor he demanded
of Tacon, then governor and commander-in-chief, was the promotion to a
captaincy of him who had so vitally served the interests of his house.
Tacon was one of the wisest and best governors that Cuba ever had, as
ready to reward merit as he was to signally punish trickery or crime of
any sort, and when the case was fairly laid before him, by reference to
the rolls of his military secretary, he discovered that Lieutenant
Bezan had already been promoted twice for distinguished merit, and
replied to Don Gonzales that, as this was the case, and the young
soldier was found to be so deserving, he should cheerfully comply with
his request as it regarded his early promotion in his company. Thus it
was, that scarcely ten days subsequent to the meeting in the Paseo,
which we have described, Lieutenant Bezan was regularly gazetted as
captain of infantry, by honorable promotion and approval of the
governor-general.
The character of Tacon was one of a curious description. He was prompt,
candid, and business-like in all things, and the manner of his
promoting Lieutenant Bezan was a striking witness of these very
qualities. The young officer being summoned by an orderly to his
presence, was thus questioned:
“You are Lieutenant Lorenzo Bezan?”
“Yes, your excellency.”
“Of the sixth infantry?”
“Excellency, yes.”
“Of company eight?”
“Of company eight, excellency.”
“Your commander is General Harero?”
“Excellency, yes.”
“You were on the quay night before last, were you not?”
“Excellency, I was.”
“And leaped into the water to save a boy’s life who had fallen there?”
“I did, excellency.”
“You were successful.”
“Excellency, I was.”
“You were promoted eleven months since in compliment for duty.”
“Yes, excellency.”
“Captain Bezan, here is a new commission for you.”
“Excellency you are only too kind to an humble soldier.”
A calm, proud inclination of the head on the part of the
governor-general, indicated that the audience was over, and the young
officer returned, knowing well the character of the commander-in-chief.
Not a little elated, Lorenzo Bezan felt that he was richly repaid for
the risk he had run by this promotion alone; but there was a source of
gratification to him far beyond that of having changed his title to
captain. He had served and been noticed by Isabella Gonzales, and it is
doubtful if he could have met with any good fortune that would have
equalled this, in his eye; it was the scheme of his life-the
realization of his sleeping and waking dreams.
This good fortune, as pleasant to him as it was unexpected, was
attributed by the young officer to the right source, and was in reality
enhanced and valued from that very fact.
“A bumper,” exclaimed his brother officers, that day at the mess-table,
when all were met. “A bumper to Captain Lorenzo Bezan. May he never
draw his sword without cause; never sheathe it without honor!”
“But what’s the secret of Bezan’s good fortune?” asked one.
“His luck, to be sure-born under a lucky star.”
“Not exactly luck, alone, but his own intrepidity and manliness,”
replied a fellow-officer. “Haven’t you heard of his saving the life of
young Gonzales, who fell into the bay from the parapet of the Plato?”
“Not in detail. If you know about the affair, recite it,” said another.
Leaving the mess, as did Captain Bezan at this juncture, we will follow
the thread of our story in another chapter, and relating to other
scenes.