Indistinguishable days followed, one after the other. Andrea’s conversation had long since been depleted, and, after a few brief exchanges, Ana and Father Del Valle had said all that each wished to share. In reality, the creaking of the coach, the sound of the horses’ hooves, and the wheels crunching along the road did not lend themselves to easy discourse.
Olive trees, sheep, barren land, fields with meager crops of grain, all passed by Ana’s window in no particular pattern. Some days she tried to find a kind of loveliness in the starkness of the landscape. At times she succeeded, marveling that beauty could reside amidst hopelessness and suffering, just as she had perceived the dignity and grace in a painting of Christ Crucified.
Trying to temper her despair, Ana prayed her rosary, but always she soon found that while one part of her mind repeated the prescribed prayers, her thoughts reviewed what she had heard the night before. After her failure at the first two inns, each night Ana had made sure that she had asked about all of the possibilities, since she did not know whether Sebastián traveled with Juliana and Silvia, whether Silvia traveled with Juliana alone, or even if Sebastián accompanied Juliana and Silvia had disappeared elsewhere. Always the story was the same, however. No gentleman with his daughter and her dueña. No dueña with her charge. No girl with her father. With each negative response, it seemed less likely that Sevilla was her loved ones’ destination. Since there was nothing else she could do now, she would continue and, when she arrived in Sevilla, proceed as though she had not met with negative replies at every stop.
Even Juliana’s journal did not beckon Ana. In truth, she had come to both fear and long for an answer there. Now, at night, the exhaustion produced by her days-long journey overwhelmed her anxiety, and her body sought the refuge not allowed her in daylight hours: a deep, though troubled, sleep.
As they approached their last overnight stop before arriving in Sevilla, Señor Rojas informed Ana that they would be staying in the town of Carmona, and that his cousin was in the convent of Santa Clara there. He suggested she might like to spend the night with the sisters, and Ana gratefully accepted this promise of a brief but peaceful respite. The sisters welcomed her with calm and graciously invited her to join them in evening prayers in the church.
The church and the soft hum of the nuns’ prayers soothed Ana, and her own prayers asked for guidance and strength for whatever was to come. As though it were a physical blessing, Ana found solace in the graceful Mudéjar architecture, which reminded her of the similar Moorish influence on the architecture of Toledo, whose streets she had walked with Emilio on a short visit there.
When she returned to the tiny room the kind sisters had provided for her, Ana again ventured into Juliana’s diary.
22
Juliana
9 February
My first trip to the theater was today! Along with my father and his friend and colleague Don Lorenzo Pizarro de Robledo, we saw a play by Don Calderón de la Barca, Life Is a Dream. The play was most interesting, and I shall describe here the action and themes, to aid in future recollections of this wonderful day.
The heroine, Rosaura, has gone to Poland to restore her honor, stolen by a man who made her promises and then abandoned her. She chances upon an imprisoned man, Segismundo, who was put there by his father, King Basilio, the king having read in the stars that the son would be a tyrant. Now Basilio has decided to test Segismundo and has had him brought to the castle in a deep sleep. Segismundo awakens, responding to his new freedom and power with the cruelty his father foretold. The king had sought to coerce fate, but by those very actions, which imprisoned his son and made a beast of him, Basilio ensured the very destiny he had wished to avoid.
A sleeping Segismundo is returned to his prison and, upon awakening, is told that all was a dream. He has little choice but to believe this, declaring, “All of life is a dream, and dreams are but dreams.”
Basilio plans to put his nephew, Astolfo, on the throne, but the army rebels against this idea and releases Segismundo. Basilio’s forces are vanquished, but Segismundo shows his father mercy. Only in kneeling, of his own will, before his father, can Segismundo hope to tame his nature through his own humility and moderation.
Segismundo pledges Astolfo to Rosaura in marriage, as Astolfo was he who stole her honor. All applaud Segismundo’s wisdom, and he ends the play explaining that he still may awaken from this dream, but that all human happiness passes thus, and that he will act righteously and enjoy it fully while he may.
After the performance, my father invited Don Lorenzo to our home for a light repast, and they discussed the play at length, arguing its subtler points. In his discussions of the qualities of dream and reality, and of the fleeting nature of this life, if I may be so bold as to pass judgment on them, my father’s comments were most astute. Even Don Lorenzo, who has attended the university and is himself most learned, conceded that my father had pointed out aspects of the play that had previously eluded him.
When they began to speak of the question of honor, however, my father became most unreasoning, his discussion straying from the subject of the play. His voice began to rise, and he declared that whatever is done in the name of honor is justified, that the pernicious nature of honor is such that, though we may be blameless in its loss, we are duty-bound to restore it. At one point, my father was so agitated that he began to scream.
“Whatever the cost! Whatever the cost!”
Don Lorenzo, quite taken aback by the vehemence of my father’s outburst, attempted to assuage him. “Of course, Don Sebastián, honor is of paramount importance in the life of any man.”
“And of any woman!” my father shouted.
“And of any woman,” Don Lorenzo agreed quickly. “But man is the guardian of the honor of any woman under his protection, and thus it can be said that he is doubly burdened.”
“It is no burden to guard one’s honor. Without it, what is life?”
“Indeed, Don Sebastián. But it is getting late, and I must make my way home. Thank you so much for your hospitality. It has been a pleasure, Don Sebastián, to have the honor of accompanying you and your lovely daughter to the theater. Good evening, Juliana.” Don Lorenzo then looked at me in a way that made me feel uncomfortable. Perhaps I held his gaze too long, for as I responded, “Good night, Don Lorenzo,” my father cast a stormy look at me.
Don Lorenzo left, and I turned to my father, bewildered by his sudden disapproval. “Thank you for allowing me to go to the theater, Father. I enjoyed it very much.”
“See that you remember its lesson!” he replied roughly, then abruptly left the room.
I do not know what I could have done to offend my father, nor to which lesson he referred. Though my dueña tells me that I can be headstrong, I have always obeyed and honored him in all things. I must assume that my father referred to the question of the restoration of Rosaura’s honor as the lesson that he wished me to hold close. She held it above all else, and its loss cost her dearly. Still, I must admit that I was more intrigued by the questions of dream and reality, of fate and free will, that were presented in the play. How can we be sure of what is real? How large a part does fate play in the drama of our lives?
23
ANA
As Ana rode in the coach the next morning, she wondered whether she had found in the latest entry from Juliana’s diary an explanation for why her niece had been so agitated the morning when they had met for Mass. Her father had been inexplicably sharp with her, and she knew that Juliana was very sensitive to even his slightest rebuke. Still, Juliana had concluded her entry with philosophical musings about reality and fate, not further anxious comments about her father’s behavior.
Once again, Juliana’s account of Sebastián’s attitude worried Ana. She had known him to be intractable, and all those years ago, tragedy had been the result. But Ana tried to put that out of her mind, for always she had observed a gentleness in Sebastián in dealings with his daughter. Could it be that Juliana’s emotions had
caused her to exaggerate the virulence of her father’s comments? Could a sixteen-year-old girl be a faithful chronicler of her father’s words?
Ana put aside these disturbing reflections, as she needed to refine the story that she had mentally prepared for her meeting with Señor de Ovando, partner to Señor Monsalve, and acquaintance of Emilio. She had decided that she would go to see de Ovando as soon as she was settled into the home of Señora Nelleda, the woman Monsalve had recommended.
Anticipation vied with anxiety in Ana’s mind as she approached the house of Señor de Ovando. She had met him, but only on a few occasions, and then had spoken to him only briefly. She knocked on the door of the house, which spoke of respectability and affluence, if not great wealth. The servant who answered the door went in to announce her to his master, and she was soon asked to wait in a study that succeeded at looking both serious and comfortable. Señor de Ovando had taken care to show an inherent respect for his guests and visiting business associates by providing them with a chair as fine as his own. Both had wide arms and a slightly cushioned seat covered in tooled leather. The writing table was quite impressive for the modesty of the home in general, being of mahogany from the colonies, rather than from walnut, as was most common. Even Sebastián had not allowed himself such a luxury.
Her observations proceeded no further, as her host entered the room. “Ah, señora, it is delightful to see you. It has been such a long time, but I seldom get to Madrid anymore. What is the point? Things are in such chaos there that I might as well stay here and try to keep my business interests from dwindling any further.”
Immediately Ana recognized the long, thin face, with the turned-down nose and prominent lower jaw, which she had previously associated with images she had seen of the Habsburg kings. As the unusually tall man walked toward her, she saw that his gait was hampered by a slight limp, which she did not recall having noticed in the past.
“It is very kind of you to see me, Señor de Ovando, and you are right. We have not met since before my husband’s death.”
“I was gravely saddened when I heard of Don Emilio’s death. How can I stand here, complaining of petty business matters, when you have suffered so much?”
“Your letter of condolence was a great kindness. I do hope that your wife and family are enjoying good health.”
“Oh, yes, and our eldest daughter, who married last year, is soon to give us a grandchild.” Señor de Ovando relaxed again, happy to be speaking of his own family.
“Wonderful news indeed!” Ana replied, as she felt the familiar pang. It did not matter if her mind wandered, for Señor de Ovando was contentedly cataloging the current accomplishments of his family.
“But I must stop boring you with such details.”
“On the contrary, it is always a pleasure to hear of the good fortune of those with whom one has shared experiences. I do find that this is especially so with those who knew my husband before I met him. Somehow, conversing with you or other of Emilio’s old friends makes me feel as if a part of him carries on still, independent of my own memories of him.
“I have heard some women say they feel jealous of anyone who knows something of their husbands of which they themselves are ignorant. I might add that I have met men with similar sentiments about their wives. This is foreign to me, for I have learned, though it has not been an easy lesson, that what my husband was outside my comprehension makes him even more than I knew him to be. I now try to love that unknown part of him, as I always loved that part that was familiar. Realizing that there were complexities in his heart that I did not fathom adds to my grief in some ways but also gives me more to cherish in memory.”
Ana looked up to see Señor de Ovando fumbling with the papers on his desk, and she blushed to realize she had wandered into such personal musings with a man whom, niceties aside, she did not know well.
“But you must forgive me for my somber ruminations. I confess I am becoming overly pensive.”
“Not at all,” Señor de Ovando replied, still obviously uncomfortable. “May I have some tea brought for you?”
“You are very kind, though I fear I am already taking too much of your valuable day.” Having uttered the prescribed phrase to show that she was aware that she was imposing, Ana paused, hoping he would ask the reason for her visit.
“What brings you to Sevilla, Doña Ana? As I recall, Don Emilio once told me you do not care for travel.”
“That is so,” Ana said, and briefly wondered if Emilio had ever confided in Señor de Ovando regarding his dream of the Indies. “However, I am here for a most specific reason, and, as your kind letter of condolence offered help if ever I should need it, I have presumed to come to ask a favor of you.”
Señor de Ovando stiffened slightly but replied, “I am at your service, señora.”
“These circumstances may sound very strange to you, but please believe that my mission is urgent and there was no other to perform this duty. My brother, Sebastián Torres López, is in Sevilla on business, and I have come to seek him on a critical family matter. I felt that I needed to come myself, to convey to him the gravity of the situation, and to persuade him to return with me to Madrid immediately.”
“And of what help can I be, señora?” Señor de Ovando asked, his curiosity piqued and his manner more relaxed, now that he sensed that no very great sacrifice was to be required of him.
“Unfortunately, I do not know who my brother was planning to see here, and though I asked his secretary, even he was unable to apprise me of the details.”
“That is odd, is it not?”
“I thought so, but I can hardly worry about that now. What I have come to ask of you, Señor de Ovando, is your help in locating my brother. I hoped that if you could possibly contact other businessmen of your acquaintance, someone might have knowledge of him.”
“But, Doña Ana, surely you must realize that Sevilla is a large city, a very busy port. Visitors here are not noted, as men of business constantly come and go. I could make inquiries, but I can hold out to you very little hope of success.”
“Your effort is all that I ask, Señor de Ovando, and believe that I accept your offer with most heartfelt thanks, even should your endeavors prove fruitless.” Señor de Ovando had not actually offered his help, but Ana could not afford to allow him to talk himself out of making some effort on her behalf.
“Then of course I shall do what I can.” Señor de Ovando smiled at Ana, accepting that he had been tricked but wishing Ana to know that he was aware of what she had done. “Tell me, is your brother traveling alone?”
Though Ana realized instantly that she should have anticipated this question, she had not. She could not hesitate in answering, as it would seem most odd were she not to have this information.
“My sixteen-year-old niece, Juliana, is accompanying him,” Ana responded, wondering whether she had erred in her decision.
“He brought his daughter with him on a business trip?” Señor de Ovando asked, raising his brows. “Is that his usual custom?”
“Naturally not, but the girl has been somewhat melancholy of late, and I believe my brother wished to offer her new sites, to restore her usual cheerful demeanor.”
“I have never heard of indulgence as a cure for childish melancholia. In fact, I believe discipline to be the more appropriate course. None of my family has ever suffered from this malady.”
“You are fortunate indeed,” Ana interjected quickly, desirous of avoiding any further listing of the virtues of her host’s family. “I’m afraid that my brother is at times not as firm with my niece as he might be, but I assure you that the source of this fault is more a surplus of affection than a lack of duty. The necessity of raising Juliana alone has perhaps caused my brother to cosset my niece more than might be wise. Thankfully, my niece has a dueña, who is able to provide some balance. She also escorted my niece on this trip.
“Now that I think of it, perhaps it was my brother’s haste to relieve his daughter of her lugubrio
us mood that caused him to neglect to give the details of his visit to his secretary. It could also be that a major purpose of the trip was pleasure, rather than business, and for this reason the secretary would have little knowledge of my brother’s plans.”
“In that case, it will be even less likely that I shall meet with success in helping you find him. Many come to Sevilla for pleasure, but they rarely consult with my business acquaintances in pursuit of it.”
“Just so,” Ana replied, feeling that she had put off Señor de Ovando with her portrait of a lax father bringing his daughter on a pleasure trip. “Yet I do assure you that the reason for my search is of the utmost gravity, and I have few resources here in Sevilla to call upon.”
“I will do what I can, señora. Where might I get in touch with you to inform you of any progress, or lack of it, that I might make?”
Ana told him where she was staying, and as he accompanied her to the door, Señor de Ovando stopped a moment.
“Doña Ana, is not your brother an arbitrista?”
“Yes, he is. You have heard of him?”
“I have, and though I have admired many of his ideas, I must admit that some of his proposals have not always been popular with the business community here. We sometimes feel we are expected to forgo the fruits of our labor, to those who have not seen fit to commit themselves to hard work.”
Ana knew that he referred not only to arbitristas, but also to the nobility, who often scorned work, and to the poor. Ana had seen for herself, however, in her work with the poor, that they could not better their situations no matter how diligently they applied themselves. She doubted, however, that Señor de Ovando shared this opinion.
“Though my understanding of such things is limited,” she ventured, “I am sure there are men who, caught up in the enthusiasm of their own ideas, fail to take into account the needs of others.”
The Lines Between Us Page 10