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General Gynecology The Requisites Requisites in Ob Gyn
1 edition Edition Sokol A. Digital Instant Download
Author(s): Sokol A., Sokol E.
ISBN(s): 9780323032476, 0323032478
Edition: 1 edition
File Details: PDF, 22.16 MB
Year: 2007
Language: english
1600 John F. Kennedy Blvd.
Suite 1800
Philadelphia, PA 19103-2899

GENERAL GYNECOLOGY: ISBN-13: 978-0-323-03247-6

THE REQUISITES IN OBSTETRICS AND GYNECOLOGY ISBN-10: 0-323-03247-8
Copyright # 2007 by Mosby, Inc., an affiliate of Elsevier Inc.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

General gynecology: the requisites in obstertics & gynecology / [edited by] Andrew I.
Sokol, Eric R. Sokol. – 1st ed.
p. ; cm. – (Requisites in obstetrics & gynecology)
ISBN 0-323-03247-8
1. Gynecology. I. Sokol, Andrew I. II. Sokol, Eric R. III. Series.
[DNLM: 1. Genital Diseases, Female. 2. Pregnancy Complications. WP 140 G326 2007]
RG101.G4622 2007
48.1––dc26 2006046717

Acquisitions Editor: Rebecca Gaertner

Project Manager: Bryan Hayward
Designer: Steven Stave

Printed in the United States of America

Last digit is the print number: 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

This book is dedicated to my wife,
Alicia,
Whom I admire more than anyone else in the world;

To my son,
Matthew,
For making me see what is most important in life;

And to my parents,
Robert and Roberta,
For always steering me in the right direction.

Andrew I. Sokol

This book is dedicated to my wife,

Nikki,
Who is my best friend and my source of inspiration;

To my daughter,
Aria,
Who brings so much joy into our lives;

And to my parents,
Robert and Roberta,
Whose energy and enthusiasm set an example for us all.

Eric R. Sokol
CONTRIBUTORS

Marjan Attaran, MD
Department of Obstetrics and Gynecology, Cleveland Clinic,
Cleveland, Ohio
Matthew D. Barber, MD, MHS
Associate Professor, Cleveland Clinic Lerner College of Medicine, Case
Western Reserve University; Director of Clinical Research, Section of vii
Urogynecology and Reconstructive Pelvic Surgery, Cleveland Clinic,
Cleveland, Ohio
Mohammed A. Bedaiwy, MD, PhD
Department of Obstetrics and Gynecology, Cleveland Clinic,
Cleveland, Ohio
Paul Blumenthal, MD
Professor, Department of Obstetrics and Gynecology, Johns Hopkins
Bayview Medical Center, Baltimore, Maryland
Lori A. Boardman, MD, ScM
Associate Professor, Department of Obstetrics and Gynecology; Director,
Colposcopy and Vulvar Clinics, Women and Infants Hospital of Rhode
Island/Brown Medical School, Providence, Rhode Island
Linda D. Bradley, MD
Director, Center for Menstrual Disorders, Fibroids, and Hysteroscopic
Services, Department of Obstetrics and Gynecology, Cleveland Clinic,
Cleveland, Ohio
Mikael N. Brisinger, MD
Department of Obstetrics and Gynecology, Kaiser Permanente West Los
Angeles Medical Center, Los Angeles, California
Jeffrey L. Clemons, MD, FACOG, LTC, MC
Chief, Division of Urogynecology and Pelvic Reconstructive Surgery,
Department of Obstetrics and Gynecology, Madigan Army Medical
Center, Tacoma; Clinical Assistant Professor, University of Washington,
Seattle, Washington
Andres Chiesa-Vottero, MD
Department of Anatomic Pathology, Cleveland Clinic, Cleveland, Ohio
Amy S. Cooper, WHNP, MSN
Research Nurse Practitioner, Women and Infants Hospital of Rhode Island,
Providence, Rhode Island
 Contributors

Allison A. Cowett, MD, MPH

Director, Center for Reproductive Health; Assistant Director, Fellowship in
Family Planning; Clinical Assistant Professor, Department of Obstetrics
and Gynecology, University of Illinois at Chicago, Chicago, Illinois
Lee Epstein, MD
Fellow, Department of Urogynecology, University of Louisville, Louisville,
Kentucky
Pedro F. Escobar, MD
Department of Obstetrics and Gynecology, Florida Gynecologic Oncology,
Fort Myers, Florida
Tommaso Falcone, MD, FRCSC, FACOG
Professor, Cleveland Clinic Lerner College of Medicine, Case Western
Reserve University; Chairman, Department of Obstetrics and Gynecology,
viii Cleveland Clinic, Cleveland, Ohio
Stephen S. Falkenberry, MD
Clinical Assistant Professor, Brown University School of Medicine,
Providence, Rhode Island
Gita P. Gidwani, MD
Department of Obstetrics and Gynecology, Cleveland Clinic,
Cleveland, Ohio
Jeffrey M. Goldberg, MD
Head, Section of Reproductive Endocrinology and Infertility,
Department of Obstetrics and Gynecology, Cleveland Clinic,
Cleveland, Ohio
Eric M. Heinberg, MD, MPH
Department of General Surgery, Swedish Medical Center, Seattle,
Washington
Roxanne Jamshidi, MD, MPH
Assistant Professor, Department of Obstetrics and Gynecology,
Johns Hopkins Bayview Medical Center, Baltimore, Maryland
David L. Keefe, MD
Professor and Chairman, Department of Obstetrics and
Gynecology, University of South Florida College of Medicine,
Tampa, Florida
Steven D. Kleeman, MD
Assistant Professor; Head, Section of Urogynecology, Department
of Obstetrics and Gynecology, University of Cincinnati, Cincinnati, Ohio
Adam A. Klipfel, MD
Colorectal Surgeon and Program Coordinator, Colorectal Residency
Program; Clinical Instructor, Department of Surgery, Brown Medical
School, Providence; RI Colorectal Clinic, LLC, Pawtucket,
Rhode Island
Contributors

Jorge A. Lagares-Garcia, MD, FACS, FASCRS

Colon and Rectal Surgeon, Assistant Program Director, Colorectal
Residency Program, Clinical Assistant Professor of Surgery,
Brown University, Providence; RI Colorectal Clinic, LLC, Pawtucket,
Rhode Island
Susan H. Lee, MD
Assistant Professor of Surgery in Clinical Obstetrics and Gynecology,
Weill Medical College of Cornell University, New York; Breast Surgeon,
Department of Surgery, New York Hospital Queens, Flushing, New York
Robert D. Legare, MD
Assistant Professor and Medical Director, Cancer Risk Assessment and
Prevention Program, Department of Obstetrics and Gynecology, Women
and Infants Hospital of Rhode Island/Brown Medical School, Providence,
Rhode Island ix
E. Steve Lichtenberg, MD, MPH
Assistant Professor of Clinical Obstetrics and Gynecology, Feinberg School
of Medicine at Northwestern University; Medical Director, Family
Planning Associates Medical Group, Ltd., Chicago, Illinois
Lawrence Lurvey, MD, JD
Physician Director, Quality and Risk Management, Department of
Obstetrics and Gynecology, Kaiser Permanente West Los Angeles Medical
Center, Los Angeles, California
S. Gene McNeeley, MD
Professor of Obstetrics, Gynecology, and Urology, Wayne State University
School of Medicine, Detroit, Michigan
Chad M. Michener, MD
Division of Gynecologic Oncology, Department of Obstetrics and
Gynecology, Cleveland Clinic, Cleveland, Ohio
Magdy Milad, MD, MS
Professor, Department of Obstetrics and Gynecology, Feinberg School of
Medicine at Northwestern University; Residency Program Director and
Director of Gynecologic Endoscopy, Northwestern Memorial Hospital,
Chicago, Illinois
Margaret A. Miller, MD
Assistant Professor, Department of Internal Medicine, Women and
Infants Hospital of Rhode Island/Brown Medical School, Providence,
Rhode Island
Deborah L. Myers, MD
Associate Professor, Department of Obstetrics and Gynecology, Director,
Division of Urogynecology and Reconstructive Pelvic Surgery, Women and
Infants Hospital of Rhode Island/Brown Medical School, Providence,
Rhode Island
 Contributors

Renee T. Page, MD
Assistant Professor, Division of Gynecology, Wayne State University
School of Medicine, Detroit, Michigan
Elizabeth H. W. Ricanati, MD
North American Menopause Society Certified Menopause Practitioner,
Department of General Internal Medicine, Cleveland Clinic,
Cleveland, Ohio
Adam A. Rojan
Brown Medical School, Providence, Rhode Island
Joseph S. Sanfilippo, MD, MBA
Professor, Department of Obstetrics, Gynecology, and Reproductive
Sciences, The University of Pittsburgh School of Medicine, Magee-
Womens Hospital, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
x
Jennifer Scalia Wilbur, MS
Clinical Program Manager, Cancer Risk Assessment and Prevention
Program, Program in Women’s Oncology, Women and Infants Hospital,
Providence, Rhode Island
Steven Schechter, MD
Clinical Assistant Professor, Department of Surgery, Brown University;
RI Colorectal Clinic, LLC, Pawtucket, Rhode Island
Megan O. Schimpf, MD
Department of Obstetrics and Gynecology, Division of Urogynecology,
Hartford Hospital, Hartford, Connecticut
Andrea L. Sikon, MD, FACP
North American Menopause Society Certified Menopause Practitioner,
International Society for Clinical Densitometry: Certified Densitometrist,
Cleveland Clinic, Cleveland, Ohio
William Andre Silva, MD
Pacific Northwest Urogynecology, PLLC, Federal Way, Washington
Andrew I. Sokol, MD
Associate Director, Section on Minimally Invasive Surgery, Division of
Female Pelvic Medicine and Reconstructive Surgery, Washington Hospital
Center, Adjunct Assistant Professor of Obstetrics and Gynecology,
U.S.U.H.S., Assistant Professor of Clinical Urology and Obstetrics and
Gynecology, Georgetown University, Washington, DC
Eric R. Sokol, MD
Assistant Professor of Obstetrics and Gynecology, Co-Director,
Urogynecology and Pelvic Reconstructive Surgery, Director of Gynecology
Clinics, Stanford University School of Medicine, Stanford, California
Vivian W. Sung, MD, MPH
Assistant Professor, Department of Obstetrics and Gynecology,
Division of Urogynecology and Reconstructive Pelvic Surgery,
Contributors

Women and Infants Hospital/Brown Medical School, Providence,

Rhode Island
Claire Templeman, MD
Assistant Professor, Department of Clinical Obstetrics and Gynecology,
University of Southern California Women’s and Children’s Hospital, Los
Angeles, California
Holly L. Thacker, MD, FACP, CCD
Director, Women’s Health Center, Women’s Health and Breast Pavilion,
The Cleveland Clinic; Associate Professor of Surgery, The Cleveland Clinic
Lerner College of Medicine, Case Western Reserve University, Cleveland,
Ohio
Frank Tu, MD
Division Director, Endoscopic Surgery and Chronic Pelvic Pain; Assistant
Professor of Obstetrics and Gynecology and Physical Medicine and xi
Rehabilitation, Feinberg School of Medicine at Northwestern University,
Chicago, Illinois
Paul K. Tulikangas, MD
Assistant Professor, Division of Urogynecology and Reconstructive Pelvic
Surgery, Department of Obstetrics and Gynecology, University of
Connecticut (Hartford Hospital), Hartford, Connecticut
Mark D. Walters, MD
Head, Section of Urogynecology and Reconstructive Pelvic Surgery,
Department of Obstetrics and Gynecology, Cleveland Clinic, Cleveland,
Ohio
James L. Whiteside, MD
Assistant Professor, Department of Obstetrics and Gynecology, Division of
Urogynecology and Reconstructive Pelvic Surgery, Dartmouth Medical
School, Lebanon, New Hampshire
John W. Whiteside, MD
Assistant Professor, Department of Family Medicine, Mayo Clinic,
Scottsdale, Arizona
Nurit Winkler, MD
Department of Obstetrics and Gynecology, Division of Reproductive
Endocrinology and Infertility, University of Texas Southwestern Medical
Center, Dallas, Texas
Kyle J. Wohlrab, MD
Department of Obstetrics and Gynecology, Women and Infants Hospital of
Rhode Island, Providence, Rhode Island
Kristen Page Wright, MD
Fellow, Reproductive Endocrinology and Infertility, Department of
Obstetrics and Gynecology, University of Vermont, College of Medicine;
Fletcher Allen Health Care, Burlington, Vermont
The Requisites in Obstetrics
and Gynecology

FOREWORD
We are living in an era of rapidly changing technologies—an era in which
technical and now many medical services can be performed remotely and
often impersonally. At the same time, the cultures of medical practice
and training have been radically transformed as resident work rules, the xiii
use of new procedures and equipment, and changing perspectives on
the practice of medicine have evolved quite significantly over the past two
decades. As a consequence, the overall approach to medical education,
the slower rate of increasing responsibilities given to residents during their
training, and the tolerance for nonstandardized approaches to patient care
have likewise changed, with both positive and negative consequences.
Thus, the basics, the ‘‘requisites,’’ needed to operate in the current environ-
ment likewise have evolved. In this series, the editors and chapter authors
crystalize the foundations needed for independent practitioners to survive
and, in fact, thrive in the current medical climate. We hope readers will
view the materials as the basis for evolving sophistication in the practice
of obstetrics and gynecology.

Mark I. Evans, MD
PREFACE
General Gynecology: The Requisites in Obstetrics and Gynecology is written for
the busy resident, fellow, and practicing physician. It is meant to be a
comprehensive yet manageable textbook that can serve as both a primary
reference text and a quick clinical guide. We believe this book fills a void
left by other gynecology textbooks, which are too daunting or too brief
in their coverage of important clinical topics in gynecology. Chapters in
this textbook are meant to stand alone and can be read easily in one sit-
ting. Similarly, although General Gynecology: The Requisites in Obstetrics
and Gynecology is part of the Requisites in Obstetrics and Gynecology series,
it is written as a freestanding textbook.
As editors, we have chosen to format General Gynecology: The Requisites xv
in Obstetrics and Gynecology as a problem-based text. Readers should be
able to quickly and easily locate pertinent information about specific gyne-
cologic conditions. Each chapter is written in a practical, straightforward
manner and is comprehensive but concise. Important information is sum-
marized in easy-to-read tables and figures. Suggested readings are given at
the end of each chapter for readers seeking more in-depth information.
General Gynecology: The Requisites in Obstetrics and Gynecology also differs
from other general gynecology textbooks in two important respects. First,
it devotes considerable space to disorders of the pelvic floor, including uri-
nary incontinence, fecal incontinence, and pelvic organ prolapse. This
depth of coverage is rare for a general gynecology textbook, but reflects
the increasing importance of these disorders in gynecology. Second, mini-
mally invasive therapies are covered in detail, as these technologies have
become common in modern gynecology practice and are now considered
the gold standard of care for many gynecologic conditions.
The contributors to this book are authorities in their respective fields,
and we are greatly indebted to them for their collaboration in the creation
of this unique volume. Our book would not have been possible without the
help and support of many special people. Dr. Mark Evans invited our par-
ticipation, and we are thankful for his continued support of our academic
careers. We are also indebted to Dr. Mark Walters and Dr. Deborah Myers
for their support of this significant project during our busy Female Pelvic
Medicine/Reconstructive Surgery fellowships.
It is our hope that General Gynecology: The Requisites in Obstetrics and
Gynecology will serve as a clinically useful reference in gynecology that
can be read either chapter by chapter or cover to cover. We look forward
to hearing your comments and ideas about how to improve this textbook
for future generations of physicians.

Andrew I. Sokol, MD
Eric R. Sokol, MD
  1
EMBRYOLOGY
David L. Keefe and Nurit Winkler

INTRODUCTION

Understanding the earliest stage of development provides the clinician in-

sight into the mechanisms underlying reproductive failure, congenital 1
anomalies, preeclampsia, abnormal placentation, miscarriage, germ cell
and trophoblastic neoplasms, and stem cell treatments. Development
begins with fertilization, the process by which the sperm and oocyte unite
to give rise to the zygote. A critical precursor to fertilization is cell meiosis,
the two cell divisions that result in the formation of daughter cells known
as gametes. Each gamete contains half the number of chromosomes and
half the number of chromatids. Meiosis requires two consecutive cell divi-
sions: meiosis I, in which homologous chromosome pairs exchange genetic
material and then separate, and meiosis II, in which chromatids separate.
Each cell is thus provided with a haploid number of chromosomes and half
the amount of DNA of a normal somatic cell (Fig. 1-1).

GAMETOGENESIS

In females, the process of maturation from primitive germ cells to mature

gametes begins before birth and is completed years later with the fertiliza-
tion of the egg. At 4 weeks of development, primordial germ cells originate
from the endoderm of the wall of the yolk sac and begin to migrate to the
genital ridge (the indifferent gonad). Upon arriving at the genital ridge, the
germ cells undergo a period of intense mitotic activity, increasing their
number to 6 to 7 million. The number continues to rise until 20 weeks’
gestation and then rapidly falls through an accelerated process of atresia.
At birth, only about 2 to 4 million germ cells remain, and only about
40,000 persist until menarche. Fewer than 500 eventually will reach
complete maturation and be ready to fertilize.
Once primordial germ cells arrive at the gonad of the female, they differ-
entiate into oogonia. Although the majority of oogonia will continue to
divide by mitosis, some oogonia differentiate into primary oocytes that
enter the prophase of the first meiosis division. By 28 weeks of gestation,
all primary oocytes have started the prophase of the first meiosis division
where they are arrested at the diplotene stage, a resting stage of prophase
 General Gynecology: The Requisites in Obstetrics and Gynecology

Figure 1-1
A, Mitosis. Mitosis
Meiosis
B, Meiosis. (From
Larsen WJ: Human Chromosomes each
Diploid, Diploid,
Embryology, 3rd ed. 2N 2N contain one chromatid
New York, Churchill
Livingstone, 2001.) Preparatory phase: DNA doubles
Preparatory phase: DNA doubles

Diploid, Chromosomes each

4N contain two chromatids
Diploid,
4N Prophase 1: chromosomes condense

Prophase: chromosomes condense

Chiasmata form; crossing over can occur

Metaphase: chromosomes line up on Metaphase I−−anaphase I: double-stranded

mitotic spindle; centromeres replicate chromosomes pull apart

Telophase I: cell division

Anaphase: single-stranded Haploid,

chromosomes pull apart 2N

Anaphase II: centromeres replicate and each

double-stranded chromosome pulls apart to form
two single-stranded chromosomes

Cell divides: each daughter cell

contains two chromosomes of each type
Cell division yields four gametes

Diploid,
2N
Haploid,
A B 1N

characterized by a lacy network of chromatin. Primary oocytes remain in

prophase until puberty.
At puberty, 5 to 15 primary oocytes begin to mature with each ovarian
cycle. Usually only one reaches full maturity each month. The first meiotic
division resumes shortly before ovulation, and the primary oocyte com-
pletes division with the formation of two daughter cells of unequal size:
secondary oocyte receives most of the cytoplasm, whereas the first polar
body receives practically no cytoplasm. Each daughter cell contains 23
double-stranded chromosomes. The secondary oocyte advances immedi-
ately to metaphase II of the second meiotic division around the time of
ovulation. Meiosis II is completed only if the oocyte is fertilized. The
 Embryology

maturation process from oogonium to secondary oocyte thus takes from

about 12 to 50 years.

FERTILIZATION

Fertilization usually occurs in the widest part of the fallopian tube, the am-
pullary region. With each ejaculation, an average of 500 million sperm
are deposited in the female tract. The flagellar activity of the spermatozoa,
together with the contractions of the uterus and fallopian tubes, advances
the spermatozoa to the ampullary region. Only about 300 to 500 sperma-
tozoa reach the site of fertilization, and only one will fertilize the egg. The
fertilization process includes two preliminary steps: capacitation and acro-
some reaction. Both induce morphologic and biochemical changes in the 3
acrosomal region of the spermatozoa. These modifications enable the sper-
matozoa to penetrate the oocyte’s corona radiata and the zona pellucida.
Once the spermatozoa have penetrated the oocyte’s cytoplasm, the head
of the spermatozoa separates from the tail, leaving the tail behind. The
head of the spermatozoa progressively swells and forms the male pronucle-
us. Soon after the penetration of the spermatozoa, the oocyte undergoes
two major processes: modification of the cortical area and zona pellucida
to prevent other spermatozoa from penetrating the oocyte, and resump-
tion of the second meiotic division with extrusion of the second polar body
and formation of the definitive oocyte. The definitive oocyte then forms the
female pronucleus.
After both pronuclei have replicated their DNA (from both paternal and
maternal chromosomes), they undergo their first mitotic division, giving
rise to the two-cell stage called the zygote or one-cell embryo (Fig. 1-2).
The first division takes about 20 hours to complete. The ultimate results
of fertilization are restoration of the diploid number of chromosomes, de-
termination of the chromosomal sex, and initiation of embryo cleavage.
Five to six days after fertilization, the blastocyst differentiates into the
inner cell mass, which is destined to form the embryo proper, and the tro-
phectoderm, which is destined to form the placenta and membranes as well
as a fluid-filled cavity called the blastocele.

Early While the zygote is passing through the fallopian tube, it undergoes cleav-
Differentiation: age, a process of rapid mitotic divisions that result in the formation of
Morula and progressively smaller cells. These smaller cells, called blastomeres, are totipo-
Blastula tent (capable of forming a complete embryo). The first mitotic division of the
zygote occurs about 30 hours after fertilization. Approximately 3 days after
fertilization, the original zygote enters the uterine cavity. The zygote already
is composed of 16 blastomeres, forming the morula. Upon entering the uter-
ine cavity, fluid begins to penetrate through the zona pellucida and cell
membrane of the morula, giving rise to a single cavity, the blastocele. The
morula becomes the blastocyst (see Fig. 1-2). As the fluid gradually increases
 General Gynecology: The Requisites in Obstetrics and Gynecology

Figure 1-2
Fertilization occurs in Pronuclear stage 2-cell 4-cell 8-cell Morula Blastocyst

the ampullary region

of the fallopian tube.
During the first few
days, the zygote
undergoes cleavage as
it travels down the fal-
lopian tube and enters
the uterus. The blasto-
cyst hatches from the
zona pellucida and is Hatching
then able to implant blastocyst
into the uterine
endometrium. (From Day 0 Day 1 Day 2 Day 3 Day 4 Day 5
Larsen WJ: Human 24 hours 48 hours 72 hours 96 hours 120 hours

Embryology, 3rd ed.

4 New York, Churchill
Livingstone, 2001.)
within the cavity, it separates the blastocyst into two parts: the trophoblast,
which is the mass of outer cells that lines the epithelial wall of the blasto-
cyst, and the embryoblast, which is the inner pole that projects into the blas-
tocyst cavity.

Implantation Implantation involves the attachment, penetration, and embedding of the

blastocyst within the endometrium. This process begins 6 days after fertil-
ization, on the twentieth to twenty-second day of the cycle, and takes ap-
proximately 1 week. Implantation is an unusual process in that it
resembles invasion by malignant neoplasm, and it involves tolerance of
the antigenically foreign cells by the maternal host. At the time of implan-
tation, the mucosa of the uterus is in the secretory phase, containing
active glands, large amounts of nutrients, and tortuous arteries. It is com-
posed of three layers: the superficial compact, intermediate spongy, and
thin basal layers. Soon after the initiation of implantation, the endometri-
um undergoes a series of morphologic and biochemical changes known as
the Arias-Stella reaction. This is followed by gradual decidualization of the
endometrium, visualized between the fifth and sixth menstrual week as
a bright echogenic ring within the uterus, providing the first sonographic
evidence of pregnancy.
The blastocyst, arriving in the uterine cavity, hatches from the zona pel-
lucida and differentiates into the trophoblast (outer cell mass) and embry-
oblast (inner cell mass). The trophoblast invades the endometrial
epithelium and differentiates into the cytotrophoblast and syncytiotropho-
blast. The cytotrophoblast, or inner cell layer, is mitotically active. New
cells that originate from the cytotrophoblast join the increasing mass of
the syncytiotrophoblast. The syncytiotrophoblast, or outer cell layer, is re-
sponsible for invasion of the endometrium and production of human cho-
rionic gonadotropin. Human chorionic gonadotropin can be detected in
the mother’s peripheral blood as early as 6 days after ovulation, and
always by the twelfth day (Table 1-1).
 Embryology

Table 1-1
Events of Days After
Implantation Event Ovulation
Zona pellucida disappears 4–5
Blastocyst attaches to the epithelial surface of endometrium 6
Trophoblast erodes into endometrial stroma 7
Trophoblast differentiates into cytotrophoblast and 7–8
syncytiotrophoblast
Lacunae appear around trophoblast 8–9
Blastocyst burrows beneath endometrial surface 9–10
Lacunar network forms 10–11
Trophoblast invades endometrial sinusoids, establishing 11–12
uteroplacental circulation
Endometrial epithelium completely covers blastocyst 12–13
Strong decidual reaction occurs in stroma 13–14

SECOND WEEK OF DEVELOPMENT: BILAMINAR GERM DISC

The second week of development is characterized by formation of the

bilaminar germ disc and associated structures including the amnion, chori-
on, and uteroplacental circulation. The blastocyst at this stage consists of
trophoblast on the outside and embryoblast on the inside, as well as the
blastocyst cavity.

Trophoblast During this stage, the trophoblast already has differentiated into cytotro-
phoblast and syncytiotrophoblast (Fig. 1-3). The syncytiotrophoblast,
which is a solid structure at the beginning of implantation, develops
vacuoles that fuse together and form large lacunae. Concurrently, cells
of the syncytiotrophoblast penetrate deeper into the stroma, until they
reach the maternal sinuses. The syncytiotrophoblast erodes into the endo-
thelium of the maternal sinuses, allowing maternal blood to enter the
lacunar system. In this way, the syncytiotrophoblast establishes the first
contact between maternal and fetal blood, creating the base for the utero-
placental circulation. Meanwhile, cells of the cytotrophoblast proliferate
and penetrate into the syncytiotrophoblast, where they form cellular
columns known as the primary villi.

Embryoblast The embryoblast differentiates into two compact layers: the hypoblast, ad-
jacent to the blastocyst cavity, and the epiblast, adjacent to the cytotropho-
blast (see Fig. 1-3). These two layers together are known as the bilaminar
germ disc. Soon after the formation of the bilaminar germ disc, a small cav-
ity appears within the epiblast and gradually increases in size, giving rise
to the amniotic cavity (see Fig. 1-3). Cells originated from the hypoblast
proliferate and line the inner surface of the blastocyst cavity, forming
the primitive yolk sac. With additional proliferation of these cells, the prim-
itive yolk sac develops into the secondary yolk sac, which is also called the
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mockery, and acting perfectly moon-struck if she makes a silly grimace at
him. I should not mind it, if—at least—”
“You mean you would like to have him marry her?”
“Certainly. If the man who gave me being does not lose his soul, I shall
feel resigned to all the rest. You know the trouble I had on Doña Andrea’s
account. While she and my father lived—in that way—all I wanted was that
they should get married. I should have my mother’s maid for a stepmother,
but on the other hand papa would be living at peace with God. Doña Andrea
is an unhappy being—believe me, she has a good heart. She has never
shown the least disrespect for me, and has taken care of me with a real
affection that I cannot describe to you. Only, she has no—what shall I say?
—has no—”
“No moral sense.”
“That is it. She is naturally good, but she cannot discriminate between
good and evil.”
“That is what I call being idiotic in respect of conscience,” said the
father.
“Just so. So when she found that she was old and ugly, she considered it
the most natural thing in the world to bring this girl to our house, without
doubt, in order to regain her ascendency over my father, or in order that
some member of her family might inherit that honorable post!”
“My child, as you are going to get married, it is better to speak plainly—
so that we may understand each other. Formerly your father lived maritally
with Doña Andrea, and now—he does not?”
“You are right; he does not now.”
“Well, then, it does not make much difference now whether your father
marries her or not, if he has abandoned that sin. Still, so long as she remains
here the scandal continues.”
“Oh, no, sir; there is no scandal at all! Doña Andrea is in such a
condition that it seems to me she cannot scandalize any one,” replied my
aunt, with a jocose and somewhat mischievous smile.
“So much the better, so much the better; though when people are bound
to be scandalized, my daughter, they do not look to see whether a face is
pretty or ugly.”
 “Father, unhappily, there will soon be here another cause for scandal,
and that is what they look at. Don’t believe that people do not notice it. Not
a bit of it. I blush with shame whenever I perceive that anybody notices
certain things.”
“You surely have no cause to be ashamed, my daughter. Shame was not
made for you,” murmured the friar in so endearing and affectionate a tone
that Carmen blushed slightly, though I believe it was with pleasure.
“I can’t help it,” she stammered. “A father is so sacred that you do not
know how much a daughter suffers when she finds that she can no longer
respect him, as she ought to do, according to God’s holy commandments.
Outwardly I treat him with respect, but inwardly—no, I can’t live this way.
There are times when I think I shall go mad!”
“Hoity, toity!” exclaimed the friar, gayly. “Mad; nothing less! I have
already told you that your head is like a volcano. I suppose you refer to
what you have already told me—Candidiña!”
“Yes, sir; he runs after her like a cadet. And I don’t know what to do, nor
on whom to call. He has controlled himself during the last few days in the
presence of his guests and of strangers; but when we were alone, all I can
tell you about the way he pursues her does not do justice to it. I will not
enter into details which are unseemly; suffice it to say that one morning I
witnessed such a scene that I fell down on my knees at papa’s feet that
night, and begged him, in the name of God and the Virgin, to marry that girl
at once, or to send her away into service somewhere else.”
“Do you think that the girl gives him any encouragement?”
“Yes, Father, encouragement; yet at the same time, when things go too
far she defends herself, and leaves me puzzled. Well, I am not obliged to
look out for her. I have tried to persuade her; I have scolded her and given
her good advice; I have her in my own room. Her own mother could not do
more for her. What horrifies me is that my father,—believe me,—papa does
not know what he is doing; he is crazy,—perfectly crazy. He is passionately
in love with the girl; I counted upon that when I begged him to marry her;
but he replied that the world—the people—and his social standing—oh,
Father, I can bear it no longer! I cannot!”
“God bless me!” sighed the friar. “What folly! and, allow me to add,
what stupidity! At his age—at his age!”
 “Fancy it; he has even gone so far as to say, ‘I will not marry her,
because that would be nonsense; but, if Candidiña leaves by one door, you
shall leave by the other and go to your brother’s house.’ And he said it with
such a tone and air that—why, I shed more tears that day, Father, than I
should if my father had died! If he had died! Oh, I wish that he had died, if
he were at peace with his Maker! I would rather see him dead a thousand
times than this way—his gray hairs dishonored!”
As she said this, Señorita Aldao seemed to me very handsome. Her eyes
flashed, and her nostrils dilated with enthusiasm and indignation. Her
bosom rose and fell convulsively. The friar looked at her in amazement.
“You are more than right!” he exclaimed at last. “How much better it
would be to die than to wallow in disgusting sins! Death is nature’s law; we
all have to pay that tribute sooner or later; but, my child, at least let us
refrain from paying another to the devil so that he may laugh at the way he
cheats us. How slight a thing man is, my child, and for what vile toys he
will go to destruction! Lucifer’s sin consisted in pride, an ugly sin, but it is
not so vile, so indecent as—faugh!” and here the friar gave a start like a
man seeing some disgusting animal.
“Unfortunately,” said the young girl, trying to calm herself, “there is a
little of everything here, and pride plays an active part in this affair. If it
were not for pride, papa would marry that girl who has turned his head so
completely. People would laugh at him a little,—that is, a good deal,—but
there would be no disgrace, no crime. I should not be obliged to submit to
what has caused me such bitter sorrow ever since I reached the years of
discretion. Furthermore, I should not have to——”
She hesitated, but finally added:
“I should not be obliged to get married.” Her revelation was of such
serious import that the friar sat amazed, shaking his head and tightening his
lips, as though saying to himself, “Bad, very bad.”
“So you——” he added, “Carmiña, let us speak without reserve, for we
are here, in a sense, as though in the confessional. You are not marrying
willingly?”
“Yes, Father, I marry willingly because I have made up my mind to do it,
and when I make up my mind to do a thing—— I formed that resolution the
day that my father told me that if Candidiña left the house, I should leave,
too. Anything rather than hear and see what I have to. I have no other way
of protesting. My filial respect ties my hands and even my tongue. But to
sanction it by my presence; no, never!”
“And your brother?” asked the friar, eagerly.
“My brother—my brother has a child every year, and they need money,
and my father gives it to them. That closes his eyes to everything; and he
has even scolded me many times for urging papa to get married. He says
that if he gets married he may have more children, and injure our prospects.
I once thought of taking refuge with my brother, but his wife does not want
me there, nor he neither. I shall not force my presence where it is not
wanted.”
The friar remained silent for a few moments, his brow knit, and his
hands pulling at the tassels of the cord which bound his waist. His face
revealed the greatest anxiety, and he coughed and breathed heavily before
venturing to speak, as though he were about to make some decisive and
weighty remark.
“Well, my child,” he said, at last, “my advice is only what any person of
ordinary judgment would give you. It is not a joke to get married, nor does
it last only for a day. No, my child, it is the most decisive step of the whole
life, for an honorable woman as you are, by the mercy of God. Tell me the
truth, do you dislike that man?”
“Dislike him?”
Another long period of silence ensued. I held my breath. The rough
branches of the yew tree cut into my flesh and the hand with which I was
clinging to the tree began to get numb.
At length Carmen spoke in a changed tone:
“Dislike him? I do not know. What I do know is that I do not feel any
great affection toward him, nor any of that enthusiastic—don’t get
frightened, Father. I do not mean enthusiastic love. Let’s see if I can make
my meaning clearer. I should like, when I get married, to be able to look on
the husband whom I am to take, in the sight of God, as a person worthy of
the respect of all the world. Father, do you think that Felipe is—that?”
“Daughter, I speak with entire candor. I have never heard that he has
committed any crime, but his reputation is not very high in regard to
political machinations, and he is not much liked. As you have asked me, I
must tell you this.”
 “That he is not much liked,” said Carmen, with remarkable sagacity,
“cannot be due to political machinations, for in that respect let him who can
win. So I think it is for some other reason. Have you noticed his face?”
“Yes, I have. It is—goodness, I do not know how to tell you, daughter!”
“It is the face of a Jew,” said Carmen, resolutely. “It may seem singular
to you that I should say so,—I should dare say so only to you. It is a Jewish
face, indeed; so marked that it cannot be mistaken. For that reason, when
you asked me whether I disliked him, I was undecided. That face,—it has
cost me a great deal to get accustomed to it. I don’t know whether he is ugly
or good-looking, but that face——”
I was listening with all my might when, owing to a circumstance foreign
to the conversation, I was seized with sudden anguish. The fact is, I felt the
branch of which I was astride begin to creak with an ominous slowness as
though notifying me that it was not made to hold birds of my size.
Nevertheless, I kept on listening:
“Well, my child,” said the friar, resolutely, “if you feel such an antipathy
or dislike toward him as you really seem to, you should not marry him. At
least, consider whether you are able to go through with it. Reflect well on
what a married woman’s condition is. Remember that the husband you take,
whether he pleases you or not, is your life-long companion; the only man
whom it is lawful for you to love, who will be with you one flesh,—that is
what the Church says,—one flesh. He will be the father of your children,
and you owe him not only fidelity but love; do you understand? I’ll repeat it
to you,—love. Child, reflect, now that there is still time; don’t be obstinate.
I know it would make a stir and trouble to break off the engagement, but so
long as the indissoluble tie does not exist—pshaw! These things furnish
food for foolish tongues for a couple of days and then are forgotten. While
as for the other, my child, death alone,—only the death of one of the two,—
can dissolve it. Do you understand what the sacrament of marriage
signifies? Do you know what a husband is to a Christian woman? I want
you to study that question well, my child. Don’t say afterward that your
friend Moreno did not warn you in time!”
Just then I broke into a cold sweat. It was not fear; no, though the branch
was breaking. The danger of falling from so great a height was not enough
to frighten me at that moment; but I dreaded the mortification of being
caught in such unworthy eavesdropping. For then I could see clearly that
my eavesdropping was unworthy, my curiosity an affront, and my lying in
ambush an outrage.
The cracking of the dry wood, that dull and agonizing cra-a-a-ck! cra-a-
a-ck! seemed to say, in its thick and broken tones: “Impertinent meddler,
gossip, Paul Pry!” I seemed to hear the Father’s disdainful voice lashing me
with these scornful words: “I had already spotted you. I knew before that
you were watching us. Fool, you thought that we were all complacent
slaves of passion, and that this young lady and I—well, now you have seen
that we are two decent people.”
Making up my mind to renounce hearing the rest of their dialogue, I
tried to slide down the branch, mount astride the next, and, branch by
branch, descend to the ball-room, and thence to the ground. The operation
as a gymnastic exercise was not difficult; but it was impossible to carry it
out without making any noise—noise which would surely attract the
attention of the two speakers and immediately betray my hiding place. The
attempts I made to measure the distance were causing a prolonged rustling
of the leaves. My only choice was to keep calm, to hold out, not to breathe,
to commend my soul to God, and to hope everything of the strength and
good nature of that branch. Consequently, I tried not to bear my whole
weight on it, and remained half suspended in the air, in a very painful
position. What exasperated me most was not to be able to pay due attention
to their conversation, which was then more animated than ever. I do not
know whether I heard the last part very well; but I believe that the
following is more or less what Carmen said:
“It is evident that we cannot do anything without God’s assistance, but I
do not consider it vanity on my part to assure you that I shall fulfill the
duties I assume. If you knew, Father, how that word duty sounds to me! I
assure you with all the truthfulness of my soul, if I imagined that I should
fail in my duty toward him, as time goes on, I would a thousand times
rather die first. No; neither my husband, nor my father, nor God, shall ever
have any cause of complaint against me. In that way I shall live—or shall
die happy. If it were to be otherwise, I would kill myself! I am marrying
with my eyes open. Circumstances have placed me in this peculiar position
—well, then, with my eyes open, I will be good. I don’t want to make
excuses beforehand; I will be good, even if the earth should sink!”
 Let the reader smile; but these words made me wild with enthusiasm; so
much so that I even forgot my dangerous situation. I arose, as though to
applaud her, reaching out my hands toward my angel of an aunt, when, by
an involuntary movement, I fell heavily upon the branch; a terrible noise
was heard, which seemed to me like the blast of an unchained tempest, and
I instantly became aware that I was falling, slowly falling, the heavy, thick
foliage seeming to retard my fall, though I scratched and bruised myself
fearfully on the sharp points of the smaller branches and the knobs on the
larger ones. It seemed as though I was a century falling; and in the midst of
my bewilderment I thought I heard overhead, up in the tree, exclamations,
cries, and a confused clamor.
Finally, my descent grew faster and faster. I tore some of my clothing,
and at last fell flat on my face on the turf. I bounced up like a ball, and went
off, running like a hunted deer. What I wanted was to hide myself—to
disappear—to cover up, if possible, my wrong-doing and its ludicrous
result.
This thought spurred me on, and gave me wings, and even sharpened my
wits, leading me to plunge into the covered walk through the fruit trees,
where they could not see me from the yew. From that to the little grove was
but a step, and from the grove to the arbor covered with honeysuckle, no
distance at all. Into that I rushed, and without paying any attention to my
scratched and bloody hands or my bruised condition, excited, beside
myself, I lowered myself over the wall, and, once out of the orchard, did not
consider myself safe till, pushing on through short cuts and cross-paths, I
reached the beach. “A perfect alibi!—I was bathing!”
I undressed myself in a twinkling.
 CHAPTER XV.
The wedding took place two days after this episode. I awoke that day
with a violent pain in my chest. By dint of applying cloths soaked with
arnica, which I slyly procured of the druggist in San Andrés, I had
succeeded in partly disguising the scratches and bruises I had on my face.
As for my clothing, I had only torn the lining of my coat; that was lucky.
The only two witnesses of my fall had doubtless agreed to keep silent; but
they would look at me from time to time, and I felt a disagreeable sensation
on meeting Carmen’s surprised and severe gaze, or the Franciscan’s eyes, in
which I thought I observed a humiliating mixture of anger and contempt.
For that cause I deeply regretted my bruised condition, thinking to myself,
“I’ll bet I have sprained or broken something, and that will necessarily let
the cat out of the bag.” To my physical depression there was joined a mental
state of considerable excitement, as the following paragraphs from my latest
letter to Luis will demonstrate:
“My dear boy: I don’t know how to tell you what has happened to me.
By chance I have discovered Carmen’s secret, and I am convinced that she
is an angel, a seraph in the shape of a woman. The friar was right when he
declared that Carmiña is the type of a perfect Christian woman.
Undoubtedly there is something in such a woman which calls for reverence;
something heavenly. I did wrong to doubt it or even to imagine that she
might not be a saint. If you knew how unhappy she is, what self-sacrifice
she is making! I will tell you what is going on—and then you say whether
there can be greater heroism or dignity of character. I have been lost in
amazement ever since I have learned the motives for her conduct.”
I then proceeded to explain affairs at length, praising Carmen’s
wonderful strength of character; and added, to finish making a clean breast
of it: “I think that the friar is good, also. Although it may seem very strange,
yet I am inclined to think that he does fulfill his vows. There is no doubt of
it, my boy, he will fulfill them. Virtue does exist, of course it does! There is
even such a thing as country! I don’t know really what my feelings are;
whether, since I have seen clearly what my auntie is I love her more, in a
highly refined way, or whether I no longer care for her as a woman. What I
am sure of is that my uncle does not deserve the treasure which has fallen to
him from heaven. I know I shall never find such a woman, if ever I get
married myself some day.”
I wrote this letter on the eve of the fatal day. At daybreak next morning I
felt sore, as I was saying, and all my bones ached; I had a great desire to
stay flat on my back without moving, thinking, or breathing scarcely. But
the cursed acolyte came into my room with his customary jokes and boyish
pranks, and at once fell to pulling off the sheets.
“What is the matter?” he asked; “is your breast-bone broken? You are
like the cats that smash themselves jumping off the roof. What pains our
young gentleman? Shall I rub you?”
I arose painfully, and, threatening him with my clenched fist, exclaimed:
“If you talk about falls—”
“Well, we’ll talk about whatever your Excellency desires. Ne in furore
tuo arguas me!”
“I will argue with you with a shoe, if you don’t keep quiet.”
“Oh, it’s not worth while to put yourself out! Get up, for they are already
putting all the frippery on the bride. Don’t you hear the orchestra from the
Royal Imperial and Botanical Theater? Mighty good music!”
I could, in fact, hear, coming up from the court, the light, rapid notes of a
country measure, which seemed to dance along with pastoral joy. It was the
pipers tuning up and playing their prelude. That lively, merry, jubilant
music depressed my heart.
Making an effort I set my bones in motion. I felt a depressing
uncomfortableness in my chest, as though it held a heavy stone, giving me
unendurable distress. Pulling myself together, I washed, dressed myself as
well as I could, and went down to breakfast. Nearly all the guests were
there. I noticed that Señor Aldao was uneasy, and learned that his
disturbance arose from a letter he had just received from Naranjal. Don
Vicente Sotopeña’s godson and protegé, Lupercio Pimentel, wrote it in the
former’s name, and after many courteous congratulations and great
professions of friendship for my uncle, he went on to say that Don Vicente
had commissioned him to be present, in the great man’s name, at the
wedding feast, if not the ceremony itself.
Hence came Don Román’s anxiety, for he was afraid that something
might be lacking of the elegance which the presence of such an important
personage demanded. He would almost have preferred to deal with the great
chief himself. The latter, at least, was very unassuming and frank, and if one
gave him country dishes and jokes in Galician dialect, he would not observe
any omission. On the other hand, the godson—Heaven only knows! He was
young, very elegant, and accustomed to the splendid festivities in the
Capital.
After dispatching our chocolate without much ceremony, we proceeded
to the parlor. We could hear merry feminine voices outside in the hall, and
soon afterward the bride made her appearance, surrounded by several of her
young friends from Pontevedra, invited to the ceremony, and by Candidiña,
Doña Andrea, and the little girl, who were all stumbling over each other in
their eagerness to get a good view of her.
Carmen Aldao was pale and feverish, with deep circles under her eyes.
Her eyelids had a heavy, purplish look, as though she had passed a sleepless
night. She wore the white dress with the net-work of imitation pearls, a
black lace mantilla, fastened with jeweled pins, a spray of natural orange
blossoms on her breast, long gloves, and carried a lace handkerchief and a
prayer-book and rosary inlaid with pearl.
After bowing to her lover, who said “good-morning” to her in a
somewhat constrained voice, and then smiling at the rest of the company,
she remained standing in the middle of the room, not knowing what to do
next. But when Señor Aldao, at a signal from Uncle Felipe, said, “Let us
proceed to the chapel,” Carmen advanced, and went up to her father with a
frank and eager air.
“Forgive me if I have ever offended you,” she said, in a vibrating,
though restrained voice, “and I pray you give me your blessing.”
As she spoke, she fastened on her father an eloquent, profound, and
almost dreadful look, so intense was it. Her father turned away, murmuring,
“May God bless you!”
I believe that I saw something glistening in his eyes. There are some
things which grate on the nerves.
Her friends devoted themselves to arranging the bride’s dress, pulling
out her flounces and picking up the pearl beads, some of which were
already rolling around the floor. Not walking arm in arm, and in
considerable disorder, we set out for the chapel.
 It was fragrant with flowers, and entirely carpeted with ferns and anise,
while the altar was lighted up with countless tapers. The ceremony was
rather long, as they were married and took the communion at the same time.
I heard the clearly pronounced “yes” of the bride, and the indistinct one of
the bridegroom. I heard read what everybody calls St. Paul’s Epistle, though
it may not be so. There the husband is compared to Christ, the wife to the
Church; and, in confirmation of the man’s superiority, the embroidered stole
fell over the head of the bride at the same time that it fell on her husband’s
shoulder. Carmen Aldao, crossing her hands on her breast, bowed her head
and submitted to the yoke.
A number of peasants were among the spectators, attracted by curiosity,
and were crowding each other with a respectful murmur in their efforts to
see over the heads of the gentry. When the mass was over, the fire-crackers
went off, the country pipes gave forth their characteristic harsh sounds, and
the people all rushed out in a body, while the bride was surrounded by her
friends, who filched the orange leaves and buds from her dress, and gave
her hearty smacks.
That was an awkward moment. Where should we go? What should we
do? How should we entertain the company?
Castro Mera, who was young and lively, proposed that we should go
over to the yew, have the piano brought out into the garden, and get up a
dance, while the married couple and Father Moreno were breakfasting, as
they had not been able to do so before on account of the mass and
communion service. They all consented to this arrangement, but the dancing
had scarcely begun when the bride reappeared without her mantilla. She
had only taken a sip of chocolate, and came to fulfill her social duties. She
herself played the first country dance down in the garden. The second was
played by a young lady from Pontevedra, and Castro Mera then danced it
with her, whom I may now with propriety call my aunt. Afterward a young
lady from San Andrés proposed to have a waltz. I had dragged myself
through the country dance only so that people should not discover how
much I was suffering with my bruises; but when I heard them say “waltz,” a
Wertherian thought flashed through my mind: “I will embrace the bride
before the arms of her lover have touched her.” Rising quickly, and
forgetting all about my sprains, I invited her to take a turn. She refused,
smilingly, but her friends pushed her on, and then, making a grimace as
though to say, “Well, it will be for the last time,” she rested her left arm on
mine and allowed my right arm to encircle her waist.
As I clasped her form, I forgot all about my fatigue and bruises, and felt
intuitively that I was more in love than ever with that woman who was now
indissolubly bound to another. Thus to hold her—in that room walled in by
vegetation, gilded by the sun, which at times, stealing through the branches,
cast a playful ray upon the bride’s hair or brow—made me beside myself. I
observed the delicate outlines of her lithe figure; I felt her warm breath on
my cheek; and the wild fancy which agitated me became a longing so
vehement that I was obliged to exert all my self-control in order not to press
her so closely to my heart as to hurt her.
Nevertheless, my transport was the purest and most sublimated of all
such loving raptures. I felt a heavenly illusion, if I may so call it; a divine
illusion, noble in its origin and development. What thrilled me most was the
thought that I held in my arms the purest and holiest woman on earth, and
that, although she belonged to another, she was still a virgin, pure, unsoiled
as the calyx of a lily, as the orange blossoms which she still wore on her
bosom, and which, as they faded, gave out an intoxicating and delicious
perfume.
We waltzed on very smoothly, and between the turns, I believe I said to
her:
“As we are relatives now, may I address you with the tu?”
“Of course; it would be absurd for you to be so terribly formal as to say
usted to me.”
“Will you get vexed?”
“No, why should I?”
I remained silent. The silken folds of her dress brushed caressingly
across my knees, and I felt my heart, agitated by the movement of the waltz,
beating violently. Then, with an irresistible impulse, the truth burst from my
lips:
“Auntie,” I murmured, “forgive me. I have behaved very badly toward
you, don’t you know? I was indiscreet. But then, I am so glad, so glad!
Because I now know all that you are worth; and listen—I know it to be so
much, that I am like one crazy. Don’t you see it?”
 “Be quiet, you silly boy!” she replied, somewhat short-breathed from
dancing. “If you were really indiscreet, what shall I say to you? You did
very wrong.”
“I know it,” I said, remorsefully. “For that very reason I want you to
pardon me. Pardon me, come now, pardon me. Will you forgive me?”
“Oh, yes,” she replied, as though acceding to a childish whim.
“How good you are!” I exclaimed, impulsively, in a low, deep tone.
We took several turns more, and felt our heads grow dizzy from waltzing
in such close quarters. She stopped for a moment, and I then inquired:
“Auntie, do you expect ever to dance again?”
“No, this is my last waltz. Married women do not dance.”
“The last!”
“Certainly.”
“Then give me, I beg you, that spray of orange-blossoms. Do give it to
me!”
“What do you want it for?”
“Give it to me, or I shall do something desperate.”
“Take it, nephew,” she replied, stopping; “and don’t ever hide in the trees
again.”
I grasped the spray as a robber would grasp a stolen treasure, and looked
at my aunt, searching her eyes to their depths. I did not perceive either
resentment or severity in her while she thus frankly avowed that she had
discovered my outrageous performance. But a slight sense of startled
modesty was discernible in her eyes, though this severe bearing was
tempered by a half-smile and the animation of her countenance, flushed by
the dance.
I would gladly have had that waltz last forever. I remained silent, for the
force of my feelings tied my tongue; while I felt that I was raised to the fifth
heaven. Unable to restrain myself, I must have clasped her slender waist too
closely, for suddenly aunt stopped, and with an agitated countenance, but a
firm voice, said: “That is enough.”
 CHAPTER XVI.
We did not sit down to dinner until three o’clock in the afternoon. We
were somewhat crowded because the dining-room was almost entirely taken
up by a huge table in the shape of a horseshoe, adorned with vases of
flowers placed at regular intervals, and pyramids of confectionery. There
were more than thirty guests present; many of the gentry from San Andrés,
several priests, a number of physicians, the adjutant of Marines, three or
four landed proprietors, judges, district politicians, young ladies, some of
my uncle’s political adherents, and even the good Don Wenceslao Viñal,
who placed himself at my side so that he might have some one with whom
to talk about his archæologico-historical whimseys.
Lupercio Pimentel, Don Vicente’s godson, had the place of honor at the
bride’s right hand. He was good looking, well mannered, an easy talker,
cordial and full of fun, after the fashion of politicians of the present time,
who, instead of relying on the force which ideas and principles carry with
them, trust to their own personal magnetism. From the commencement of
the banquet, I observed that he left no stone unturned in order to ingratiate
himself with the company; “those elements,” as he would say. He looked
around, and I heard him say, bending toward my uncle over the bride’s
shoulder:
“How is it that the Mayor of San Andrés is not here?”
“Because he is so opposed to us,” replied my uncle.
“For that very reason he ought to be here. Our friend Calvete must
afterward put his name in the list of guests,” he added, pointing to the editor
of El Teucrense, who bowed, greatly flattered.
After a moment’s reflection, Pimentel resumed:
“Let two go after him. If necessary, have them bring him by force, so
long as he gets here in time to hear the toasts.”
Castro Mera and the officer of Marines rose with docility, and under a
blazing sun wended their way to San Andrés, in order to bring back the
refractory and obstinate “element.”
While they were serving the soup, the great leader’s godson said to my
uncle in a low tone, yet so that his words should make due impression on
the public:
“Cánovas has made himself out of the question. He has got the opinion
of all sensible people against him. The Regency is not feasible with him. A
conservative Administration would not be feasible.”
It appeared to me—I do not know why—that many of those present did
not comprehend the meaning of the word feasible, but somehow took it for
granted that it all meant something very bad, and highly prejudicial to
Cánovas; but they fully understood when Pimentel observed that Pi’s party
was Utopian, and they murmured their approbation.
I scarcely listened. I was in the yew, waltzing, feeling the floor sway, and
seeing the green foliage tremble with a prolonged rustle. At the second
course I was obliged to emerge from my reverie, because the clerical
apprentice, seated at my left, took it upon himself to pinch me, nudge my
elbow, and step on my foot at every word that Pimentel uttered.
I do not know what had come over Serafín; perhaps the two glasses of
Burgundy which he had imbibed with his soup, had stimulated his
impoverished blood and drew him out of his childish foolishness, causing
him to utter satirical and biting jests. All I affirm is, that he accompanied his
nudges and kicks with some terrible remarks worthy of a Juvenal in a
cassock.
“Behold,” he said, in a low tone, “the greatest miracle of the miraculous
boss. He has made a great man out of that creature. What do you think of it,
Salustio? And what is your opinion of the indecency of us Galicians? We
leave the temple of the Lord deserted, and worship the golden calf—
feceruntque sibi deos aureos. They will not make a pilgrimage to the shrine
of Our Lady of Nieves, and yet they repair to the saint of the orange grove,
to feed on offices and pap. They all do it—not one is lacking. He who
cannot get there alive will be carried there dead. And you’ll not escape the
contagion, either. You’ll worship the miraculous saint; for if you don’t,
invent all the magnetic bridges and electric carriage-roads you please, and
your countrymen will pay no attention to you whatever. Why don’t you
become a saint also, you goose?”
Fortunately, the length of the table, the number of guests, and the hum of
conversation prevented them from hearing the string of nonsense the
ecclesiastical monkey uttered; but I could not restrain my laughter on seeing
the amazement depicted on Don Wenceslao’s face, who was seated at my
right hand.
The saint had just performed one of his miracles, in the person of the
lucky archæologist, by getting up for him a nice little salary as librarian to
the Legislature; and his face expressed the most profound terror. If Pimentel
should hear that wild talk and attribute it to him! In spite of the customary
somnambulistic condition of library mice, Viñal sharpened his ears,
perceiving the terrible risk his blessed three hundred a year were exposed
to.
“Salustio,” he said to me, in anguish, “make that silly fellow stop
talking. He is drawing attention to us. Stop him, for pity’s sake.”
The highly excited state of my nerves induced me to go contrary to the
wishes of the peace-loving scholar. I also felt inclined to sour and
pessimistic censure. What irritated me was my uncle’s aspect, overflowing
with satisfaction, while he paid more attention to Pimentel than to his bride,
and even gave a toast dedicating the banquet to the protector of his
disgraceful schemes.
“Cringing people,” I thought, “if you want to worship any one, bow
down all you like before Father Moreno, who represents the sacrifice of a
life on the altar of an idea; bow down before that bride who is the
personification of virtue and duty; but as for doing it before him whose only
merit consists in distributing pap!—I also am disposed to give vent to my
feelings. Serafín is not far out of the way.”
Not knowing how to relieve my impatience, and without paying the
slightest attention to Viñal, who was pulling at my sleeve, I improved the
first opportunity to contradict Pimentel. I think it was about Pi and his
Utopias—and the things that were feasible or not feasible. It caused a great
sensation when they heard me dare to raise my voice in such an
inconsiderate manner, and my uncle looked at me with an expression which
redoubled my ardor.
“You say the Republic is not feasible here? And why not, I want to
know? We cannot possibly prolong the abject state of anarchy in which we
now live. We are suffering from the drawbacks of a monarchy, and,
nevertheless, do not enjoy its advantages. There is no cohesion, no unity,
while political customs have deteriorated so greatly that nowadays the
public man who aspires to set an example of morality appears ridiculous,
and he who holds any opinions of his own likewise.”
Pimentel turned toward me, replying with calm courtesy:
“What you desire and what we all desire, in fact, might answer for other
races—oh, yes, for northern races; but here, with the Arab blood in our
veins, and our everlasting rebelliousness—oh, it would be impossible,
utterly impossible!”
Nobody was a more ardent defender of civil rights than he; his sacrifices
were well known to all (they bowed assent), “but let us not confound,
gentlemen, let us not confound anarchy and license with a just, reasonable,
and feasible liberty. The northern countries produce statesmen because the
masses are already educated for political freedom; it comes to them through
hereditary transmission, if one may so say—it is hereditary. If you don’t
believe it, just look at the theories of Thiers—English public opinion——”
I, not knowing how to extricate myself, caught hold of Thiers like a
drowning man catching at a straw.
“It must be the French opinion you mean, sir; for you cannot be ignorant
that Thiers was a——”
I purposely made a pause, during which my adversary looked at me with
some anxiety.
“Thiers was a Frenchman.”
The priest from San Andrés timidly ventured to say, from his corner:
“Of course he was a Frenchman, for it was he who restored peace to
France after the Commune.”
As I looked around to observe the impression my words had made, I
noticed that Don Román’s face expressed disapprobation and surprise,
while my uncle’s was flushed with anger, and Father Moreno’s lighted up
by a roguish smile.
Pimentel replied, somewhat confused: “Of course he was a Frenchman;
we were not speaking of that, I believe. We were discussing English public
opinion,—for, there is no doubt about it, England is the land of self-
government, as the renowned Azcarate proved so conclusively,—while we
—our idiosyncrasy—it will not do to implant here what in other nations
more—it will not be feasible; because every ruler has to consider the
inherent tendencies of the race.”
 “That is all talk,” I argued; “generalities, which prove nothing. Let us
come closer to the point, if you please. We have nothing to do with races.
We are talking about the Spanish Republic, to which all those who are in
authority to-day, big and little, had committed themselves, but which they
betrayed for thirty pieces of silver, like Judas. Would they do the same by
the Restoration, if it had not given them full swing with the Government’s
salary-list?”
I did not perceive the insolence of my attack, until I heard Serafín
exclaim in his harsh voice, clapping his hands:
“That’s it! Go on, that’s where the shoe pinches.”
Pimentel wiped his mustache with his napkin, turned his head toward
me, and instead of answering me in an angry manner, smilingly agreed with
me, saying:
“That is very true, Señor Meléndez. The tact of the Restoration in
compromising with the revolutionary elements has rendered feasible that
which under other circumstances—”
His speech was interrupted just then by the arrival of the Mayor of San
Andrés, who was almost dragged in by the committee that had gone in
quest of him at their young chief’s command. They must all have run up the
hill, for they were dreadfully out of breath.
The Mayor was in a dripping sweat, and kept mopping his face with an
enormous handkerchief. He stammered out that he did not consider that he
was called upon to sit down at such a fine banquet; but Pimentel, as sweet
as honey, seized his hand, found a place for him at his own side, and
endeavored by every means in his power to gain the good will of his
political opponent.
I should not be able to give the menu of that tiresome dinner. It seemed
as though all the dishes enumerated in cook-books kept coming on the
table, while the stupidity of the servants, and their inexperience in serving,
prolonged the dinner indefinitely. The most difficult task of all would be to
give a detailed account of the wines, the sweets, the liqueurs, the endless
pastry, the coarse Pontevedra preserves, and the cakes sent by this or that
neighbor, which, as the donors themselves were present, could not possibly
be slighted.
I drank five or six glasses of champagne, but the only effect they had on
me was to revive the belligerent spirit which had induced me to attack
Pimentel. I felt quarrelsome, aggressive, quixotic, and desirous of pitching
into everybody, right and left. And beneath that singular effervescence I felt
the throbbing of a dumb ache in the depths of my heart, a sort of longing for
something I seemed to have lost. I cannot define it for it was one of those
subtle, vivid feelings which sometimes do not correspond to any deep
mental need, but to certain fantastical whims thwarted by stern reality.
The bride, at whom I glanced furtively from time to time, had a dejected
and weary appearance. This was very likely nothing more than the fatigue
caused by the long time they were at the table, but I fancied that it was
melancholy, the bitterness of the chalice she had put to her lips, the foretaste
of the bitter draught.
And why not? Had I not overheard the conversation in the yew tree? Was
I not positive that my uncle inspired her with an inexplicable feeling of
aversion, and that only in order to perform a moral duty, the “categorical
imperative” of her faith, had she drawn near to the altar, a veritable
sacrificial altar for her? I wanted, at all hazards, to penetrate into the depths
of her inmost soul, and read that gentle and suffering spirit. What could she
be thinking about? What can she hope for? What can the fair bride be afraid
of?
Meanwhile, the champagne, which had only quickened my imagination,
began to affect the others more strongly, as was shown by their flushed
faces, flashing eyes, somewhat obstreperous voices, unwarrantable and
vehement loquacity, loud laughter, and silly effusiveness. Pimentel,
although more decorous and self-possessed than the rest, became animated
also, discussing with my uncle a grand project which would assuredly be an
epoch-making event in the annals of the Sotopeña party; nothing less than
to convert the procession in honor of the Virgin into an imposing political
manifestation, Don Vicente himself to carry the standard, while all the
people of Pontevedra and its vicinity, for seven leagues around, would turn
out to furnish an escort of honor to their provincial divinities, the Virgin and
their wonder-working saint. Some of the priests were listening to this
project, and highly applauded it, exclaiming: “Excellent—give Catholic
sentiment the first place; that’s the way!” Castro Mera was vehemently
insisting on the excellency of law, a young man from San Andrés was
challenging another from Pontevedra to see which could drink the greatest
quantity of Curaçoa; the officer of Marines was disputing with the Mayor
about the fishing tackle prohibited by law; Serafín was laughing
convulsively because Viñal was maintaining with great energy that he had
documents which proved that Tenero had founded Hellenes, and was even
boasting that he knew the spot where Tenero was probably buried.
Don Román Aldao at last determined to make a move, telling the rest of
the guests not to disturb themselves, for he was only going to show
Pimentel the grounds and to take a little fresh air. The bride went off
leaning on Pimentel’s arm, while her father and the bridegroom followed
them arm in arm. As soon as they left, the rest became more animated, and
the hullabaloo grew so loud that nobody could make himself understood.
Some were disputing, others laughing loudly, others were arguing and
pounding the table, already stained with wine and dotted with bits of cake
and sweetmeats. Nobody was eating any more; they only kept on drinking,
consuming an extraordinary amount of wines and liqueurs. The young
gentleman from San Andrés, the one who had made the wager, had been
obliged to go to the window to cool his heated brow, while the other one,
from Pontevedra, was still unmoved in spite of the prodigious quantity of
wine he had guzzled down, and was entertaining himself by teasing Serafín.
He had already made him drink a quart of spirits, and now was amusing
himself by pouring out sherry and Pajarete for him through a cylindrical bit
of pastry, used as a funnel.
The acolyte would sometimes protest, sometimes swallow it down, while
his pale and distorted face revealed the effects of the alcohol. Finally he
asserted himself, and shouted in a bellowing tone:
“No more; I don’t want any more! Get out, I am not a sponge!”
He pushed away the other’s hand, and the sherry was spilt over his shirt
front, soaking it completely. Suddenly his paleness turned into an apoplectic
flush, and mounting his chair he began to harangue the company:
“Gentlemen, I know I am not doing right to stay here. It would only
serve me right if you were to drown me in Pa-Pa-jarete—or some other
Liberal poison. You are all Liberals—the first is proved per se—per se.”
“Per so!” shrieked Castro Mera, and the officer of Marines.
“To be a Liberal constitutes a greater sin than to be a homicide, an
adulterer, or a blasphemer. This second proposition I can prove by Sardá
and the fathers of the church at my tongue’s end. Therefore I, who drink
Pajarete with you, am liable to the major excommunication—Catæ
sententiæ! Don’t you know what a big-bug of the ecclesiastical hierarchy
once said? Don’t you know, you blockheads? He! he! he! Well, he said:
‘Cum ejus modi nec cibum sumere’—Hey? It seems that he made it clear
enough. Cum ejus modi nec Pajaritum su—sum—”
I looked at him with curiosity. There was no doubt that sometimes that
toad was sincere in his ravings, and that his true feelings bubbled forth from
his lips. The acolyte considered himself nothing less than an apostle, and
talked away, threatening us with his fists. His cries became hoarser, his
throat contracted, and his eyes, which looked like two big white balls,
seemed to start from their sockets. Suddenly he passed from words to
deeds, and seizing the bottle near him threatened to throw it at our heads.
What most excited his fury was Pimentel’s project for the civico-political
procession. That drove him wild. Strange effect of drunkenness! When in
his normal state, and free from vinous influences, the clerical apprentice
was very meek and humble; but as soon as he was under the influence of
alcohol he became belligerent and aggressive. He abused us all soundly, and
freed his mind especially regarding Sotopeña. I clearly perceived that
trouble would ensue, for Castro Mera, somewhat elevated also, rushed to
the fray, defending right and left the political principles which the little
priest was berating; and as the latter was replying with fearful invectives,—
or, rather, insulting epithets,—I suddenly saw him froth at the mouth, heard
his maudlin laugh, saw him double his fists, and noticed that his wandering
hands were seeking among the plates and glasses for a weapon—a knife. I
restrained Castro Mera, saying, in a low tone, “He has a terrific epileptic
fit.”
In fact Serafín was already struggling in the arms of several, who rushed
forward to hold him, with herculean strength, or rather a formidable
nervous force, a momentary effect of the seizure; he fought like a wild
animal, biting, scratching, and kicking so that at times we thought that he
would overpower us all.
Finally we succeeded in tying his hands with a handkerchief. We
deluged him with cologne, cold water and vinegar; we picked him up by his
feet and shoulders, and with great difficulty succeeded in taking him up to
the tower, and throwing him upon his bed, where he lay in a heavy stupor,
broken at intervals by short, sudden spasms.
 CHAPTER XVII.
We went down into the garden, and the cool evening air served to
refresh our heated brains. I thought that I was not even on the verge of what
is meant by intoxication, but nevertheless I attributed the strange weight on
my heart, the profound melancholy which took possession of me, to the
effects of wine, which sometimes produces that painful tedium. Those
happy, jesting, merry people, who considered the wedding a joyous event,
inspired me both with disgust and an inexplicable aversion. They roamed
over the grounds, enjoying themselves and laughing, but I tried to be alone
with my own dark thoughts and lugubrious fancies. My imagination took on
blacker hues every moment, as though some dire misfortune was weighing
me down. I wandered off instinctively to the most retired nook in the
orchard, and, opening the worm-eaten gate which lead into the grove,
rushed through impetuously, eager for quiet and solitude. A clear, energetic
voice exclaimed:
“Where are you going, Señor Salustio?”
In voice and words I recognized Father Moreno. He was seated on a
stone bench, leaning against the wall, and reading a book, which he closed
as he saw me.
“I came here,” he said, “looking for a fit place to read my prayers. I was
just finishing. And you, may I ask whether you also have come out from the
orchard to pray?”
“No,” I replied, with the impetuous frankness which is the usual result of
several glasses of strong wine inside one. “I came because all those people
bored me with their noise, their jollity, and silliness, and because their
stupidity made my head ache.”
“Bravo, dear sir, you are right, more than right! I also was satiated with
both the food and the company. It was a veritable hullabaloo, and it is not
singular that it should scare away a friar—but you——”
“Father Moreno, believe me, there are days when, taking no account of
one’s belief, he feels like becoming a friar, and renouncing the follies of the
world.”
The friar fastened his calm, powerful, and piercing eyes on mine, saying:
 “Do you really feel so? Well, then, you’ll not be surprised if a poor friar
should reply to you that in my opinion you are already at the beginning of
the road to knowledge, and even happiness, as far as it is possible for man
to obtain it in this world. To seek for peace and to renounce our worldly
affections is not virtue; it is simply calculation and selfishness. Believe me,
sir, I do not envy anybody in the world, but on the other hand, I pity a great
many people.”
My pride as a layman did not rebel at his words. I was surprised at this
afterward, when I reflected that the friar’s compassion, ironical though it
probably was, ought to have given me offense; because, taking into
consideration my ideas, my ways of thinking and feeling about religious
questions, and the ridiculous significance in my mind of monastic vows, it
was I that should have pitied the friar, and pitied him as one does victims of
an absurdity and of a useless immolation on the altars of a mistaken idea.
My strange acquiescence in Father Moreno’s words can only be explained
on the supposition that there exists in the inmost depths of our soul a
perpetual tendency to self-sacrifice, to renunciation; a tendency, so to speak,
derived from the Christian subsoil upon which the crust of our rationalism
rests. At that moment of moral depression the thought occurred to me:
“Which is better, Salustio, to go on studying, to learn your profession,
practice it, get married, assume the care of children, endure the trials and
tribulations of life, bear everything which it must bring in its train, sorrow,
disappointments, struggles, and combats, or pass your days like that good
Father, who, at a wedding festival, takes his book and comes out into the
grove to pray so peacefully?”
“Yes, indeed, I pity a great many,” proceeded the friar, taking my arm
familiarly, and leading me through the grove to a little meadow beyond,
which ended in a fence over which Parietariæ and wild flowers grew. “To
people who judge by appearances only, it may seem that I ought to be
envious in the midst of a wedding-feast, or at least consider my condition so
different from that of married people, eh? Well, see here, I assure you (and
you will not suppose me to be juggling with words, for you know now that I
am very frank) that it seems rather as if the newly-married couple inspired
me with a feeling of compassion—yes, compassion—when I realize the
hardships which await them on their way through life, however happy they
may be, even though God should shower upon them all that is understood
by the word happiness.”
 The friar’s sentiments tallied so well with mine just then, that I would
gladly have embraced him. But yielding the second time to the desire to
unbosom myself, I sat down on the fence and said:
“Father Moreno, the marriage appears perfectly absurd to me. Either I
am much mistaken, or it will lead to most lamentable results. Carmiña is an
angel, a saint, an exceptional being; and my uncle—well, I have reason to
know him.”
The appearance of the Father’s face suddenly changed. His eyes became
severe, he knit his brow, and his smiling lips contracted into a serious,
almost austere expression. His face revealed, what was seldom visible there,
the stamp of his vocation; the friar and confessor was reappearing from
under the semblance of the affable, courteous, human, and communicative
man.
“You speak thoughtlessly,” he said, without circumlocution, “and you
must pardon me for bringing you up with a round turn. Perhaps you think
that you have something to found your opinion upon, though I really regret
that you oblige me to recall that—because I desire to forget that you were
more indiscreet and inquisitive than is fitting in a person who, by his
training and the scientific nature of his profession, ought to set everybody
an example of seriousness. You know we have never alluded to that subject,
but now that you yourself afford me an opportunity, I shall not let it pass by.
I believe that you acted as you did out of the natural thoughtlessness of
youth; if otherwise, my goodness!”
“To what do you refer?” I asked, feeling my personal dignity begin to
assert itself, and looking him squarely in the face.
“Bah! as if you did not know! But I am not one who measures his words.
I refer to the tree—to the yew. Do you want it still clearer? To the fall you
got for listening to what did not concern you in the least.”
“See here, Father, your garb does not give you a right to everything,—I
——”
“You were listening to us? Yes or no. No rhetoric, now.”
“Yes, if you want to know. Yes, but with the desire to——”
“To hear what we were talking about.”
“No, sir; wait; let me explain myself. You may be superior to me in
discretion, Father Moreno, and on that occasion I acknowledge it; but as for
pure intentions and high-minded purposes,—Father, in spite of all your
vows and your belief, you do not surpass me in that regard; I give you my
word of honor.”
“I admit that you are right, and it is a good deal to admit,” said the friar,
calmly; “and I do so because I have liked you from the first moment I saw
you; because I think I can read and understand your disposition, and I do
not at all perceive in you fiendish malice, or a corrupt heart, or wicked
purposes. Come, now, you must acknowledge that I am doing you ample
justice. But in the case we speak of, I fancy that you are laboring under a
foolish, romantic spirit, which leads you to go about righting the wrongs of
the oppressed, as Don Quixote did; and that you suffer from a morbid
curiosity which sometimes tempts us to meddle in affairs that do not
concern us, and that the Lord has given us no commission to regulate.”
“But my uncle’s marriage——”
“May possibly affect you, inasmuch as it concerns your personal
interests; but as for whether Carmen will be happy or unhappy, whether she
is good or bad,—with that you have nothing whatever to do any more than I
have with the affairs of the emperor of China, not a bit more, Señor Don
Salustio; and still less to endeavor by means of an indiscretion to penetrate
into the sanctuary of a spirit and the intricacies of a conscience.”
“Father,” I answered, proudly, for I was urged on by my anger at his
reprimand, and by my singular and unpleasant predicament, “you may say
what you please about my conduct, and I will pay due respect to your
words, not on account of the garb you wear—which does not mean much in
my estimation—but on account of the dignity with which you wear it. Let it
be conceded that I was indiscreet, a meddler, a veritable Paul Pry, or
whatever you like to call me; but that does not prevent me from being right
in predicting evil of a marriage made under certain conditions and
circumstances. Now that you are aware that I have cause to know all about
it, and now that I acknowledge myself guilty of playing the spy, do not deny
that what you did to-day in the chapel was to give your sanction to a fatal
and horrible mistake.”
The friar kept looking at me, his frown growing all the while darker and
more displeased. In other circumstances his manifest displeasure would
have restrained me; but at that time no one could have silenced me. I caught
him by the arm, and said, resolutely:
 “Listen, Father,—marriages which have not been consummated are very
easy to annul, according to canon law. You must know that better than I.
Speak to me frankly; I appeal to your honor, Father. We may avert a terrible
misfortune. Do you think I had better go to Señorita Aldao, and say to her,
‘Poor child, you do not understand what you have rushed into, but you still
have time; your marriage is not valid; protest, and break it all off. Don’t let
the wrong become complete. Free yourself from that fearful thing. In your
innocency, you cannot imagine, unhappy girl, what it is to be my uncle’s
wife. It is a horrible thing, I assure you. I hope I may never live to see it.
First, let me become blind! Father Moreno is an honorable man, and his
advice to you is the same as mine. Come, now, be brave, break the chain—I
will help you, and the Father and all of us will help you. Courage!’ ”
“What I can swear to,” said the friar, “is that you are crazy, or are in the
straight road to become so. Or else—see here!” He clapped his hand to his
forehead, and added, “How many glasses of sherry have gone down you to-
day?”
“Do you think that I am drunk?” I shouted, drawing myself up fiercely.
“I give you my word,” he said, readily, “that I do not believe you are in
that shameful condition. I only wish to say that the wine has somewhat
excited your brain, producing a disturbance which is more moral than
physical, and which shows itself in talking fair-sounding nonsense, in
meddling in other people’s affairs and in regulating the world to suit
ourselves—goodness, when the one who should regulate it is God!”
“Very well; but if I should say to Carmiña that she must annul her
marriage, what would be your reply?”
“I should advise you to take care of yourself, and probably should say to
you, ‘Soak your head, my son, for it is red hot!’ ”
“So you think there is no remedy!” I cried, with painful vehemence.
“That we should allow the iniquity to be consummated and the catastrophe
to be brought on with our arms folded! But is it possible that you do not
know my uncle? Don’t you see the meanness and vileness of his nature—
above all, when compared with the goodness of that incomparable woman,
whom you ought to venerate as much as the Virgin Mary, because she is as
good——”
I could not go on. Exasperated and flushed with anger, with all the
energy of his nature and the spirit of his calling, the friar stopped my mouth
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