The general's life was still more embittered by the painful secret which oppressed and involved him and his sons with him, as the serpent in the group of the Laocoon makes both father and sons his prey. He could not break the arcanum without sacrificing the one to whom his kind heart clung with tender affection, without defaming the sacred ashes of the mother of his children. He, therefore, respecting the youth and innocence of his boys, kept the fatal secret, which, in truth, he had not the courage to reveal. The time, he argued within himself, when the veil must be withdrawn from such a sad and cruel reality will come soon enough. Sometimes he resolved to let it be buried with him. But what right had he, a man of such strict principles, to deprive his heirs of their inheritance in favor of a stranger? Could he make an alien the head of his noble house? Allow a foundling to usurp the rights of its lawful representatives? Worldly fathers would rather listen to the opinion of the world than to the voice of conscience, placing social considerations above its decisions, persuading it that they are compelled thereto by circumstances. But let no one compound with conscience, lest she cease to be conscience; lest she become a conniver instead of a sentinel, a weather-cock instead of a foundation; lest she lose the respect and confidence she is bound to inspire. For she should give her decisions as the sun sends forth his rays, with nothing to hinder them or turn them from their direction.
The years sped onward. The count grew infirm and saw his end approaching. Wishing to pass the last days of his life in the society of his children, and feeling that he ought to reveal the secret he had kept so long, he sent for them to join him in Chiclana, where he wished to die, in order to be buried beside his wife, thereby giving her, even after he was dead, a last public testimony of affection and respect.
The word enlightenment had not then been brought into use, nor had the colleges been modernized. Yet this did not prevent the three brothers from being such finished and accomplished gentlemen that the sight of them filled their father's heart with pleasure and pride.
Ramon, the eldest, came from the school of artillery, where he had been the companion of Daoiz and Velarde. The second came from the academy of marine guards, the academy which produced the heroes of Trafalgar, those Titans who contended with a powerful adversary, with the treachery of an ally, and with the unchained fury of the elements, and who were crushed, not vanquished, by the three united. The youngest arrived from the university of Seville, in which, at that time, or a little before, the Listas, Reinosas, Blaneos, Carvajales, Arjonos, Roldanes, and the worthy, wise, and exemplary Maestre, were students. For though Spain has lacked railroads, hotels, and refined and sensual means of entertainment, she has never, in any epoch, lacked wise men and heroes.
The general looked at the three in turn with an indefinable expression of tenderness; but when his glance fell upon Ramon, he lowered his eyes to hide the tears that filled them.
His vivid pleasure at the sight of his children, mingled with the anguish of knowing that over the head of the unconscious Ramon the sword of Damocles was suspended, agitated the old man so much that he passed the night in feverish wakefulness, and his state on the following morning was such that his doctors advised him to make his last preparations. The grief of his children, by whom he was adored, was heart-rending. But the general was so well prepared to leave the world and appear before the bar of God, that his last dispositions, though solemn, were short and serene.
Toward night, feeling himself grow weaker every moment, he made arrangements to be left alone with his sons, who drew near his bed, repressing their tears in order not to afflict him.
He looked long at them, and then said: "My children, I am about to tell you a cruel secret, which will make one of you wretched. It has lain for many years buried deep in my soul; but I am dying, and can be its repository no longer. O my God! my heart gives the lie to my lips; and, nevertheless, one of you is not my son, and the mother at whose grave you go to pray never bore you."
The grieved astonishment which manifested itself in the countenances of the three youths, left them pale, speechless, and overwhelmed.
"You know well," continued the father, after a pause, "that my interest and tenderness, in and toward you all have been the same, and that it cannot be known, even to yourselves, which of you has no right to bear my name. And you, my children, which one of you is it that does not feel for me the affection of a son?"