Don+Rogelio+de+la+Flor

CHARACTER Don Rogelio de la Flor

ROLE OF CHARACTER IN NOVEL Don Rogelio de la Flor is the husband of Clothilde Armenta, the owner of the milkshop. Represented as generous and courteous, the “good Don Rogelio de la Flor” (54) is unsuspecting of the Vicario brothers, and does not believe Clothilde when she tells him that the brothers are trying to kill Santiago Nasar. “Don’t be silly,” he says to her, “they’re not about to kill anybody, much less someone rich” (55). He then lends his razor to Pablo Vicario for shaving; he is courteous and trusting of the brothers. However, when he sees the savaged corpse of Santiago Nasar, he doesn’t “survive the shock,” despite being a “marvel of vitality at the age of eighty-six” (97). His death is caused by the tremendous shock of the gruesome incident that he did not suspect, and possibly guilt. 

SIGNIFICANCE OF NAME The name “Don” is of English descent. It means “leader” or “man”, and parallels Don Rogelio’s male authority in the house as a husband. When Clothilde attempts to warn Don Rogelio about the Vicario brothers, hoping that he might be able to stop them, he disregards her claims and asserts his opinion (“they’re not about to kill anybody” (55)) instead. “Rogelio” means “renowned spearman” or “famous soldier” in Spanish. However, this seems contradictory to Don Rogelio’s behaviour in the novel. He did not participate in, or intervene, the commotion of the murder; rather, he disregarded and avoided it, only to find that it had actually occurred. He may have been renowned as the “good husband” of the milkshop owner, but not as an aggressive man who fought bravely. “de la Flor” means “of the flower” in Spanish. His vitality and sudden death are paralleled to a flower’s life: beautiful bloom followed by a death due to its fragility. The shock from Santiago Nasar’s murder is enough to kill Don Rogelio, which underscores his flower-like weakness and sensitivity.

MS. CARLSON!!!! NOW I CAN'T OPEN STUDYWIZ!!!!!!!

Rena Minegishi Ms. Carlson IB HL English I 24th February, 2010 A Chronicle of a Death Told by Don Rogelio de la Flor I was in a deep sleep when Clothilde, my good wife, came into tell me something about the Vicario brothers. The drowsiness kept me from understanding her… I almost fell back unconscious again. Eventually I had a grasp of the nonsense she was telling me about. At such an early time in the morning, she thought the good Vicario brothers would kill the rich, handsome Santiago Nasar with pig knives. How silly! As clever and sweet Clothilde is, all women can be a little ridiculous at times.

“Don’t be silly,” I assured Clothilde. The Vicario brothers were just boys: too young and afraid to be cold-blooded killers, too old to disregard the power of wealth. “Those two aren’t going to kill anyone, much less someone rich.” I stretched in my bed and fell back asleep.

Then she soon came into the room again and asked if the brothers could use my safety razor. It was such a simple question: I was glad that they would be able to look and feel clean with my help. The good Vicario brothers, who would be much too gentle and much too afraid to carve someone with pig knives in the early morning… “Of course the boys can use my razor,” I smiled at Clothilde.

Not too long after, I was awaken by a cry in the street: “They’ve killed Santiago Nasar!” I heard. For a moment, I could not tell whether the cry was real or just a trick my sluggish mind played on me. But then the air smelt different. The town looked as though it had come to bear a strange heat.

A little by little, fear soaked into me. I remember dabbing my face in water and grabbing a clean shirt. Soon I was running across the square, toward his house, toward where the commotion and smell was. I got through the crowd to see Santiago Nasar. In the center of his living room, remains of an incident – a truth too gruesome to believe – were spread over an iron cot. The rich, handsome boy was no more: I saw slices of meat, like of a butchered pig, thoroughly wet with blood. The smell was emanating out of the corpse. I folded my body as I felt a wave of vomit rising. How could such a ghastly murder be committed—

“The Vicario brothers stabbed him to death against his own door,” someone said with a quavering voice. I tumbled to the wall; I had trouble breathing. In my head I saw red and blue pieces of Santiago Nasar, the rich, handsome son of Placida Linero, divided and slithering down the wood of his door as fragments of reeking flesh and insides. //Don’t be silly//, I had said. //Those two aren’t going to kill anyone…// How wrong I had been!