THE SURPRISE.
It had already been announced among the knowing ones at Havana that
there was to be a new lieutenant governor general arrive ere long for
the island, and those interested in these matters feel of course such
an interest as an event of this character would naturally inspire.
Those in authority surmised as to what sort of a person they were to be
associated with, and the better classes of society in the island wished
to know what degree of addition to their society the new comer would
be-whether he was married or single, etc.
Isabella Gonzales realized no such interest in the matter; the
announcement that there was to be a new lieutenant-governor created no
interest in her breast; she remained as she had done these nearly four
years, secluded, with only Ruez as her companion, and only the Plato as
the spot for promenade. She had not faded during the interim of time
since the reader left her with Lorenzo Bezan’s letter in her hand; but
a soft, tender, yet settled melancholy had possessed the beautiful
lineaments and expressive lines of her features. She was not happy. She
had no confidant, and no one knew her secret save herself; but an
observant person would easily have detected the deep shadow that lay
upon her soul.
We say she had not faded-nor had she; there was the same soft and
beautiful expression in her face, even more tender than before; for it
had lost the tinge of alloy that pride was wont to impart to it; where
pride had existed before, there now dwelt tender melancholy, speaking
from the heart, and rendering the lovely girl far, far more interesting
and beautiful. She had wept bitter, scalding tears over that last
farewell between herself and Lorenzo Bezan in the prison; she blamed
herself bitterly now that she had let him depart thus; but there was no
reprieve, no recalling the consequences; he was gone, and forever!
Communication with the home government was seldom and slowly
consummated, and an arrival at that period from Old Spain was an event.
Partly for this reason, and partly because there was no one to write to
her, Isabella, nor indeed her father, had heard anything of Lorenzo
Bezan since his departure. General Harero had learned of his promotion
for gallant service; but having no object in communicating such
intelligence, it had remained wholly undivulged, either to the Gonzales
family or the city generally.
It was twilight, and the soft light that tints the tropics in such a
delicate hue at this hour was playing with the beauty of Isabella
Gonzales’s face, now in profile, now in front, as she lounged on a
couch near the window, which overlooked the sea and harbor. She held in
her hand an open letter; she had been shedding tears; those, however,
were now dried up, and a puzzled and astonished feeling seemed to be
expressed in her beautiful countenance, as she gazed now and then at
the letter, and then once more off upon the sparkling waters of the
Gulf Stream.
“Strange,” she murmured to herself, and again hastily read over the
letter, and examined the seal which had enclosed it in a ribbon
envelope and parchment. “How is it possible for the queen to know my
secret? and yet here she reveals all; it is her own seal, and I think
even her own hand, that has penned these lines. Let me read again:
“SENORITA ISABELLA GONZALES: Deeply interested as we are for the
welfare of all our loyal subjects, we have taken occasion to send you
some words of information relative to yourself. Beyond a doubt you have
loved and been beloved devotedly; but pride, ill asserted arrogance of
soul, has rendered you miserable. We speak not knowingly, but from
supposition grounded upon what we do know. He who loved you was
humble-humble in station, but noble in personal qualities, such as a
woman may well worship in man, bravery, manliness and stern and noble
beauty of person. We say he loved you, and we doubt not you must have
loved him; for how could it be otherwise? Pride caused you to repulse
him. Now, senorita, know that he whom you thus repulsed was more than
worthy of you; that, although he might have espoused one infinitely
your superior in rank and wealth in Madrid, since his arrival here, he
had no heart to give, and still remained true to you! Know that by his
daring bravery, his manliness, his modest bearing, and above all, his
clear-sighted and brilliant mental capacity he has challenged our own
high admiration; but you, alas! must turn in scorn your proud lip upon
him! Think not we have these facts from him, or that he has reflected
in the least upon you; he is far too delicate for such conduct. No, it
is an instinctive sense of the position of circumstances that has led
to this letter and this plain language. (Signed) YOUR QUEEN.
“The Senorita Isabella Gonzales.”
One might have thought that this would have aroused the pride and anger
of Isabella Gonzales, but it did not; it surprised her; and after the
first sensation of this feeling was over, it struck her as so truthful,
what the queen had said, that she wept bitterly.
“Alas! she has most justly censured me, but points out no way for me to
retrieve the bitter steps I have taken,” sobbed the unhappy girl,
aloud. “Might have espoused one my superior in rank and fortune, at
Madrid, but he had no heart to give! Fool that I am, I see it all; and
the queen is indeed but too correct. But what use is all this
information to me, save to render me the more miserable? Show a wretch
the life he might have lived, and then condemn him to death; that is my
position-that my hard, unhappy fate!
“Alas! does he love me still? he whom I have so heartlessly treated-ay,
whom I have crushed, as it were, for well knew how dearly he loved me!
He has challenged even the admiration of the queen, and has been,
perhaps, promoted; but still has been true to me, who in soul have been
as true to him.”
Thus murmured the proud girl to herself-thus frankly realized the
truth.
“Ah, my child,” said Don Gonzales, meeting his daughter, “put on thy
best looks, for we are to have the new lieutenant-governor installed
to-morrow, and all of us must be present. He’s a soldier of much
renown, so report says.”
“Doubtless, father; but I’m not very well to-day, and shall be hardly
able to go to-morrow—at least I fear I shall not.”
“Fie, fie, my daughter; thou, the prettiest bird in all the island, to
absent thyself from the presence on such an occasion? It will never
do.”
“Here, Ruez, leave that hound alone, and come hither,” he continued, to
the boy. “You, too, must be ready at an early hour to-morrow to go with
Isabella and myself to the palace, where we shall be introduced to the
new lieutenant-governor, just arrived from Madrid.”
“I don’t want to go, father,” said the boy, still fondling the dog.
“Why not, Ruez?”
“Because Isabella does not,” was the childish reply.
“Now if this be not rank mutiny, and I shall have to call in a
corporal’s guard to arrest the belligerents,” said Don Gonzales, half
playfully. “But go you must; and I have a secret, but I shall not tell
it to you-no, not for the world-a surprise for you both; but that’s no
matter now. Go you must, and go you will; so prepare you in good season
to-morrow to attend me.”
Both sister and brother saw that he was in earnest, and made
arrangements accordingly.
The occasion of instating the lieutenant-governor in his high and
responsible station, was one of no little note in Havana, and was
celebrated by all the pomp and military display that could possibly add
importance to the event, and impress the citizens with the sacred
character of the office. The day was therefore ushered in by the
booming of cannon and the music of military bands, and the universal
stir at the barracks told the observer that all grades were to be on
duty that day, and in full numbers. The palace of the governor-general
was decorated with flags and streamers, and even the fountain in the
Plaza des Armes seemed to bubble forth with additional life and spirit
on the occasion.
It was an event in Havana; it was something to vary the monotony of
this beautiful island-city, and the inhabitants seized upon it as a
gala day. Business was suspended; the throng put on their holiday suit,
the various regiments appeared in full regalia and uniform, for the new
lieutenant-commander-in-chief was to review them in the after part of
the day.
The ceremony of installation was performed in the state hall of the
palace, where all the military, wealth, beauty and fashion of the
island assembled, and among these the venerable and much respected Don
Gonzales, and his peerless daughter, Isabella, and his noble boy, Ruez.
The reception hall was in a blaze of beauty and fashion, till patiently
awaiting the introduction of the new and high official the queen had
sent from Spain to sit as second to the brave Tacon.
An hour of silence had passed, when at a signal the band struck up a
national march, and then advanced into the reception room Tacon, and by
his side a young soldier, on whose noble brow sat dignity and youth,
interwoven in near embrace. His eyes rested on the floor, and he drew
near to the seat of honor with modest mien, his spurred heel and
martial bearing alone betokening that in time of need his sword was
ready, and his time and life at the call of duty.
Few, if any, had seen him before, and now among the ladies there ran a
low murmur of admiration at the noble and manly beauty of the young
soldier. The priest read the usual services, the customary hymn and
chant were listened to, when the priest, delegated for this purpose,
advanced and said:
“We, by the holy power vested in us, do anoint thee, Lorenzo Bezan—”
At these words, Isabella Gonzales, who had, during all the while, been
an absent spectator, never once really turning her eyes toward the spot
where the new officer stood, dropped her fan, and sprang to her feet.
She gazed for one single moment, and then uttering one long and piteous
scream, fell lifeless into her father’s arms. This cry startled every
one, but perhaps less the cause of it than any one else. He he had
schooled so critical a moment ceremony went on quietly and was duly
installed.
“Alas, alas, for me, what made thee ill?” said the, as he bent over her
couch, after.
But Isabella answered him not; she was in a half-dreamy, half-conscious
state, and knew not what was said to her.
Ruez stood on the other side of her couch, and kissed her white
forehead, but said nothing. Yet he seemed to know more than his father
as to what had made Isabella sick, and at last he proved this.
“Why could you not tell Isabella and me, father, that our old friend
Captain Bezan was to be there, and that it was he who was to be
lieutenant-governor? Then sister would not have been so startled.”
“Startled at what, Ruez?”
“Why, at unexpectedly seeing Captain Bezan,” said the boy, honestly.
“General Bezan, he is now. But why should she be startled so?”
“O, she is not very well, you know, father,” said the boy, evasively.
“True, she is not well, and I managed it as a surprise, and it was too
much of one, I see.”
And father and brother tended by the sick girl’s bedside as they would
have done that of an infant. Poor Isabella, what a medley of
contradictions is thy heart!
The ceremonies of the day passed off as usual; the review took place in
the after part of the day, and as General Bezan, now outranking General
Harero, rode by his division, he raised his hat to his old comrades in
arms, and bowed coldly to their commander. His rise and new position
filled the army with wonder; but none envied him; they loved their old
favorite too well to envy his good fortune to him; even his brother
officers echoed the cheers for the new lieutenant-general.
But when the noise, the pomp, and bustle of the day was over, and when
alone in his apartment by himself, it was then that Lorenzo Bezan’s
heart and feelings found sway. He knew full well who it was that
uttered that scream, and better, too, the cause of it; he feared that
he could neither sleep nor eat until he should see her and speak to her
once more; but then again he feared to attempt this. True, his position
gave him the entree to all classes now, and her father’s house would
have been welcome to him; but he would far rather have seen her as the
humble Captain Bezan, of yore, than with a host of stars upon his
breast.
Isabella revived at last, but she scarcely escaped a fever from the
shock her system, mental and physical, had received. And how busy, too,
wore her thoughts, how never tiring in picturing him with his new
honors, and in surprise how he could have won such distinction and
honor at the queen’s hands, She read again and again the queen’s
letter. He had no heart to give. That she looked upon-those few
words-until her eyes became blind at the effort. And still she read on,
and thought of him whom she knew had loved her so dearly, so tenderly,
and yet without hope.
Isabella Gonzales’s pride had received a severe shock. Will she still
bow low to the impulsive and arbitrary promptings of her proud spirit,
or will she rise above them, and conquer and win a harvest of peace and
happiness?
The story must disclose the answer; it is not for us to say here.