CHAPTER XVIII.
SAN MIGUEL DE TUCUMAN.
San Miguel de Tucuman, the studious and calm town, whose broad streetswere ordinarily almost deserted, and whose squares resembled thecloisters of an immense convent, had suddenly changed its aspect. Itmight have been called a vast barrack, so many soldiers of all kindsencumbered it. The quiet life of its inhabitants had been changed intofeverish existence, full of noise and excitement. Men, women, children,and soldiers, mingled pell-mell at the corner of each street, and inevery square, were calling out and talking in emulation of each other,gesticulating with that vivacity and animation peculiar to southernraces; brandishing banners with the colours of the nation, and draggingabout in all the busy streets, and close to the houses, boxes andcohetes, that supreme manifestation of joy in Spanish America.
A fete without cohetes or crackers, without fireworks, making noise andsmoke, is a failure in these countries. The quantity of powder which isconsumed in this way attains fabulous proportions.
We are pleased to render this justice to the Hispano-Americans--thatthey have no pretentiousness in their fireworks, and that they let themoff artlessly, to their great contentment, as well by day under themost brilliant sun, as by night in the midst of darkness. We have evenremarked that they prefer, by a refinement, no doubt, of extravagantselfish enjoyment, to let them off by daylight under the noses of thegaping crowd, that escapes half-burnt, howling and cursing at themischievous wags, who laugh convulsively at the good turn which theyhave done for their admirers.
On this day, as the travellers learned on their passage, theinhabitants of San Miguel were celebrating a great victory gained by achief of the Buenos Airean Montoneros over the Spaniards.
In the old Spanish colonies, and in general throughout America--thatof the south as well as that of the north--it is not well to take tooliterally these bulletins of victory, which for the most part are onlyskirmishes of no importance, when there are neither killed nor wounded;and which even frequently conceal defeats or shameful retreats.
For some years Europeans have been informed as to the character ofthese dwellers beyond the sea; their boasting and throwing the hatchethave passed into a proverb. Everyone knows that the puff is of Americanorigin; that the most magnificent flocks of canards reach us at asingle flight from the other side of the Atlantic; and that, althoughmany come from the Spanish republics, the most numerous start incountless troops from all the ports of the United States of America,which have justly acquired such a superiority for the rearing of theseinteresting birds, that henceforth no one will venture to dispute withthem the palm of the puff, the public announcement, and the officiallie.
An entire house had been placed at the disposal of M. Dubois by thenew republican power. The governor of the province and the generalcommanding the troops camped round the town, warned of his arrival,waited for him at the door of the house, at the head of a numerous andbrilliant staff.
The painter grasped the hand of his companion, allowing him to enjoy inhis own way the honours which they heaped upon him; and, curious, trueartist as he was, he put an album under his arm, glided through thecrowd assembled in the Plaza Mayor, and wandered about, his nose in theair and his hands in his pocket, in quest of studies to paint or typesto sketch; preferring to look out for novelty, than to submit to thewearisomeness of an official reception.
However, he had left his horses and his attendants with those of M.Dubois, who had only consented to his temporary departure after havingmade him promise not to choose any other dwelling than his own duringall the time he might be pleased to stay at San Miguel.
The artist wore the complete costume of the inhabitants of the country,and had nothing which could attract attention; so it was easy forhim to move about among the groups without being incommoded by theimpertinent curiosity of the gaping idlers, for whom, especially atthis time, a stranger--a European particularly--was an extraordinarybeing, who they imagined belonged to a different species to themselves,and towards whom they manifested more pity than goodwill. The greaterpart at the present day believe that Europeans are heretics, half menand half demons, and damned from the moment of their birth.
Nothing, in our opinion, is so agreeable as to walk about thus, withoutoccupation of any sort, wandering through the crowd, isolated amidstthe multitude; allowing oneself carelessly to follow out the capricesof the moment; mingling sometimes indirectly in the general joy,then resuming the course of one's thoughts, and again becoming alonein the midst of the crowd; only attaching oneself by an invisiblechain--incessantly breaking, and again joined by chance--to eventswhich, as an immense kaleidoscope, defile before one's eyes; at oncean actor and a spectator, indifferent or interested to everything thatstrikes the eye, elbowing and skimming everything without being oneselfmixed up in the facts which are transpiring.
The young man, happy as a scholar during the vacation at being soagreeably rid of his serious companion, thus wandered about, admiringthe public monuments, the squares, the promenades; gazing at the womenwho passed near him, with a light and gentle tread; carelessly smokinghis cigarette, walking right on without knowing where he was going, andcaring very little, seeing that he was on the lookout for novelty.
He thus reached, scarcely knowing how, the Alameda or promenade ofthe town, a charming garden with thick foliage, adorned with clustersof pomegranate and orange trees in flower, the delicious perfume fromwhich embalmed the atmosphere. By a singular chance the Alameda wasdeserted; all the population had been carried away into the centre ofthe town, and for one day had abandoned this delicious promenade.
The painter congratulated himself on the solitude in which he foundhimself, after the noise and uproar with which he had been so longmingled, and which began to oppress his temples, and to cause him tofeel a kind of moral lassitude.
He cast his eye round for a bench, which he soon discovered,half-concealed in a bower of orange trees, and sat down with anunspeakable sense of pleasure.
It was about five o'clock in the evening. The breeze had risen, andwas refreshing the heated atmosphere; the sun, nearly level with theground, immeasurably lengthened the shadow of the trees; a number ofbirds concealed in the foliage were singing with all their might, andmillions of insects with transparent wings were humming and flyingaround the flowers, the sweets of which they were gathering.
The sounds of the fete only came as a far-off echo, and almostinaudible to this solitude, which breathed the most complete calm.
Carried away in spite of himself by all that surrounded him, andsubmitting to the enervating influence of the perfume exhaled by theflowers, the young man allowed himself to fall back, crossed his armsover his chest, and, half closing his eyes, he fell into a sweetreverie, which soon absorbed his whole being, and made him completelyforget reality, to be borne away into the fantastic land of dreams.
How long had he been subjected to this delicious somnolence, withoutname in our language? He could not have answered his own question; whensuddenly he gained consciousness with a rude gesture of ill humour,listening and casting around him a look of discontent.
The sound of conversation had reached him.
However, it would have been in vain for him to try and pierce thedarkness, for night had come; he could see no one. He was still alonein the bower, into the recess of which he had withdrawn.
He redoubled his attention; then he discovered that the voices that hehad heard were those of two men who had stopped at a few paces behindhim, and that the cluster of orange trees, in the midst of which he wasalone, precluded his seeing them.
These two men, whoever they might be, appeared to wish not to be heard,for they spoke in a low voice, though with some animation. Unhappily,the Frenchman was so near them that, in spite of himself, and do whathe might to prevent it, he heard all they said.
"The devil take these fellows," murmured the young man to himself; "tothink of coming to talk politics here! I was so comfortable. What shallI do with myself now?"
But as he heard
what his neighbours said, and even their lightestmovements, the latter probably would have heard him if he hadendeavoured to leave the place. Force compelled him, then, though hegrumbled at it, to maintain his hiding place, and to continue to hearthe conversation of the two men--a conversation by no means calculatedto reassure him, and which from time to time assumed a very disquietingcharacter for a third party, called to be, spite of himself, aconfidant.
We have mentioned what horror the painter had for politics: the readerwill easily understand what was his anxiety on hearing such things asthose we are about to relate.
"This news is certain!" said one of the interlocutors.
"I have it from an eyewitness," answered the other.
"iCaramba!" said the first, slightly raising his voice, "So we may soonhope to see the general in these parts!"
The painter trembled. He seemed to recognise that voice, without beingable to recall where he had previously heard it.
"So the insurgents have been defeated?" continued the same speaker.
"Utterly defeated, Captain. I repeat it, at the battle of Villuma,General Pezuela pursued them more than six leagues, hard pressing themwith the sword."
"Bravo! And what is he doing now?"
"Carsi! He is marching, doubling the rations, in order to arrive thequicker; unhappily, as far as we can see, he will not be able to behere for two months."
"That is very late."
"Yes; but that allows you to prepare your batteries."
"That is true; nevertheless, the mission with which the general chargesme is full of difficulties. The insurgents are numerous round the town,and they keep a good guard; if it were a question of carrying away twoor three, or even ten deputies, perhaps I could answer for success;but consider, my dear count, that it is nothing less than causing thedisappearance of sixty or eighty persons."
"I do not understand you."
"That is natural," continued the captain; "only arrived today in thetown, and not having yet gone out, except with me, you are unacquaintedwith what is passing."
"Entirely so," pursued the other, to whom had been given the title ofcount.
"Here are the circumstances in a few words. The insurgents wish tostrike a decided blow. With this design they have convoked here atTucuman a congress composed of deputies from each revolted district.This congress has for its object the proclaiming of the independence ofBuenos Aires, and of all the Banda Oriental."
"iSangre de Dios! Are you sure of that?" cried the Count astounded.
"So sure that I know it by one of my cousins, who is himself one ofthese deputies, and who has no secret from us."
"iCuerpo de Cristo! This is dreadful! The general will be furious whenI inform him of it."
"I am convinced of it; but what is to be done?"
"To prevent it by all means."
"It is impossible; means fail us completely. I can only dispose of ahundred men, with whom I can attempt nothing, so much the more as weare playing an unlucky game at this moment. The population is runningfrantic at the success of the chief of the Montoneros, Zeno Cabral,has gained two days ago over the royal troops, commanded by ColonelAzevedo."
"This success is somewhat apocryphal, my dear Captain. I give you myword of honour; it merely consists of an unimportant skirmish betweenforagers."
"I admit it; it is even certain that it is so; but no one in the townwill believe it; so that the check must be considered real."
"Well, what matters? Let us leave these people in their error, and takeadvantage of it by acting. Now that they think themselves invincible,and that they amuse themselves by wasting their powder in fireworks, wecan perhaps try a bold attack on the town."
"Your idea is not bad; I even avow that it rather pleases me; but ithas to be matured. It would be necessary to adroitly remove the troopscamped in the environs, and to profit by their absence to attempt asurprise."
"Then nothing would be easier than to seize upon the deputies."
"Do not let us go too fast; let us first see what are the forces wehave at our disposal for this expedition, which cannot but be veryperilous, and which offers--I do not deceive you--very little chance ofsuccess."
"Well, let us discuss the matter; I am quite agreeable."
The painter, becoming more and more ill at ease through theseconfidences, which assumed rather a grave aspect for him, andwishing at all hazards to escape from the perplexing position inwhich he found himself--for he instinctively understood that it wasa conversation between conspirators, and that he risked his life ifhe were discovered--took a resolution which appeared to him to be aninspiration from Heaven. Not wishing to continue to be a third party tosecrets of such importance, he resolved to discover himself. He did notconceal from himself that the first moments would be very dangerous forhim to get through, when the two men knew that their conversation hadbeen heard throughout; but he preferred rather to risk this uncertainchance of saving his life than to remain any longer in the awkwardposition.
Emile was foolishly bold, and scarcely ever thought of danger; on thecontrary, he rushed headlong into it--the reader has already discoveredthis for himself; but this time, contrary to his habits, he used somelittle prudence before revealing his presence to the unknown speakers.
He gently cocked his pistols, which he held in his hand under hisponcho, ready to make use of them if need be: then rising from thebench on which up to that moment he had remained sitting--
"iHola caballeros!" said he, in a voice not loud enough to be heard byany other persons than those to whom he addressed himself. "Take care!There are ears which hear you."
The two men uttered an exclamation of surprise and terror; then therewas a trampling sound in the shrubbery, and they appeared in front ofthe young man, each holding a sabre in one hand and a pistol in theother, their countenances distorted by rage and fright.
But they suddenly stopped.
The young man stood motionless before them, his pistols in his grasp.
"Halt, and let us talk it over," said he coolly.
This scene had something strange and startling about it. In this littleenclosure of orange trees in flower--in the silver rays of the moon, inthe midst of a profound calm, in the bosom of that calm nature on whichthe imposing silence of a night impressed a stamp of majesty--thesethree men, thus placed face to face, measuring each other with theirglances and ready for attack, formed a most striking contrast with whatsurrounded them.
"Talk over the matter!" said the count. "Of what use would that be?"
"To prevent killing one another like brutes without knowing why,"answered the painter.
"A traitor merits death."
"I agree with you; but I am not a traitor, since I make myself knownto you, when it would have been easy to remain silent until I haddiscovered all your secrets."
This observation--very reasonable for that matter--appeared to producea certain impression on the two men.
"Then, why these arms?" continued the count, in a tone evidentlymollified.
"To avoid what would have happened had I not taken the precaution tofurnish myself with them."
"You are not a spy upon us, then?"
"By no means; in fact, I was here a good while before you. The soundof your conversation awakened me from a light slumber into which I hadfallen, and not caring to be, against your will, a confidant in yoursecrets, I have decided to warn you."
"Who can prove it?" sternly pursued the count.
"I presume, caballero," answered the young man, "that you allowyourself to doubt my words?"
"Who, then, are you, Senor, that you ought to be thus believed at thefirst words?"
"I!" said the young man, laughing; "Not much compared with you--a poorFrench painter, but honest, thank God, to the fingers' ends."
"Ah! I know him," cried the second stranger, who till that moment hadremained silent. "I know him now. Put up your sabre and drop yourpistol, my dear count. Arms are not wanted here."
"I will do so willingly, if that is your
advice, Captain," answered thecount, with hesitation. "However, it appears to me that in so serious aposition--"
"Down with your arms! I tell you," interrupted the captain, who hadalready put aside his own. "I will answer, body for body, as to thiscavalier."
"Be it so," said the count; "but prudence--"
"What? Since this caballero gives you his word, and this word iscorroborated by my own, that is sufficient, it appears to me," pursuedthe captain.
The young man, seeing that his adversaries had apparently no longer anyhostile intentions, quietly uncocked his pistols, and, replacing themin his girdle, he turned towards him who had so unexpectedly come tohis aid--
"I thank you, Senor," said he, "for the good opinion that you have ofme. Although your voice is not unknown to me, I shall be, nevertheless,happy if you will be good enough to refresh my memory, by informing me,if you can, where I have had the honour of meeting you before."
"Vive Dios, Senor. Don Emile," he resumed in a tone of good humour,"you have a short memory."
"How do you know my name?"
"And you know mine, unless you have forgotten it--which would notastonish me after what I see!"
"I am really astonished, Senor; but I cannot the least in the worldrecall where we have already seen one another."
"Come, since it is absolutely necessary that I tell you my name oncemore, I will do so. I am Don Lucio Ortega."
"The Spanish captain!" cried he.
"And whom you so dexterously disarmed. The very same, caballero."
"Oh! How could I forget that meeting, which has left me so charming asouvenir?" he said, holding out his hand.
"So this gentleman is a friend of yours?" pursued the count.
"Yes, my dear count; and one of the most intimate."
"Pardon me for saying it, but you know what would be the consequencesof indiscretion."
"They would be terrible. Continue."
"And you think yourself still in a position to answer for thediscretion of this caballero?"
"As much as for my own, I repeat."
"Good; act in your own way, then," he continued.
"Listen," said the captain; "I can understand how you, who do not knowthis gentleman, may entertain secret anxiety; we are not engaged inchild's play at this moment, we are risking our lives in a desperateundertaking; each of us has a right to demand of his companion a strictaccount of his conduct."
"Just so; it appears to me it ought to be so."
"Very well. This account I am going to give you. In spite of himself,and without having wished to do so, Don Emile has discovered secretsof the greatest importance. These secrets, I am convinced, he willkeep at the bottom of his heart; but the certainty that I have you donot share: this is your right, and I have nothing to object to in it;but, with the design of merely reassuring you, I will take all theprecautions, with respect to my friend, that you can demand. Of course,these precautions will have in them nothing to wound the honour orself-respect of Don Emile, whom I hold above all as my friend."
"I will act with the captain," briskly answered the young man; "and Iplace myself completely at your disposal as to anything you are pleasedto exact from me. I humbly confess that politics cause me a shudder,and that I most sincerely regret to be so unfortunately discoveredhere, when it would have been so easy for me to have been elsewhere,where, without doubt, I should have been much better off."
The gravity of the Count was not proof against this speech, utteredwith such despairing artlessness. He burst into laughter.
"You are a charming companion," said he; "and, although our connectionhas commenced under such hostile auspices, I hope it will be lasting:that soon you will become one of our friends, and I shall be one ofyours."
"That will be a great honour for me, Monsieur le Comte," he answered,bowing.
"Now that you have placed one foot on our secrets, it is necessary thatyou enter into them entirely."
"Is it, then, absolutely necessary?"
"Decidedly so."
"It is curious how for the last few days fate has been pleased topursue me and obstinately to make me a man of politics, when I shouldbe so happy merely to paint pictures--I, who have only come to Americafor that purpose. It has been a splendid idea, certainly, and I havewell chosen my time."
"In the first place, it is necessary for you to make your decision."
"I know it well, and that is just the reason why I am enraged; butas soon as I shall be able to act otherwise, I shall not hesitate amoment, I promise you."
"Until a new order, it is indispensable that you remain with us--thatyou be in some sort our prisoner; but, reassure yourself, yourcaptivity shall not be hard; we will make it, or at least we will tryto make it, as agreeable to you as possible."
"So you are going to deprive me of my freewill?" said the painter witha tragi-comic air.
"It must be so for the present."
"Hum! Well, I consent to it--the devil take politics! What occasion hadI to come to San Miguel to accompany that old Dubois?"
The two men started at that name.
"You know the Duc de Mantone?" they exclaimed.
"Ah, ha! You know whom I mean, it appears?"
"The Duc de Mantone, formerly a member of the Convention, a senatorunder the Emperor Napoleon, who has come to America under the name ofLouis Dubois?" said the count.
"That is he. Why, then, did he urge me so strongly not to give him histitle?"
"Because he hoped not to be recognised. He comes here, hunted by theBourbons for having voted the death of Louis XVI., to seek a refuge inthis country, and to lend the insurgents the aid of his experience inconducting the revolution."
"The fact is that he ought to know a great deal about this affair,"said the painter, laughing.
"But what were you saying about him? Was he really at San Miguel?"
"I myself aided him to enter the town today."
"You?"
"Parbleu! He is a fellow countryman: and, look you, Captain, we weretogether when I had the honour of meeting you."
"What! That tall old man with such a haughty look and such imposingfeatures, who sat so firmly on horseback near you?"
"The very same."
"Oh, if I had known it!" cried the captain.
"What would you have done, then?"
"I should have captured him, ivive Dios!"
"Then it is fortunate that you did not know him, for probably therewould have been a skirmish."
The captain took no notice of this remark.
"Come," said he.
"Where shall you conduct me?"
"To Cabildo."
"To Cabildo! What for?"
"The governor gives a grand ball there today; we shall spend somelittle time there."
"I fear that this conceals some political manoeuvre."
"Perhaps."
"Provided that I do not find myself further mixed up in it, spite ofmyself--"
"I will try to leave you ignorant of what may transpire."
"I shall be very grateful to you for it. Well, a la grace de Dieu!"
The three men, quite reconciled, left the little inclosure, set outfrom Alameda, and took the road to Cabildo, conversing in a friendlyway.
The streets were illuminated, and the population were divertingthemselves more than ever in letting off fireworks.
The Guide of the Desert Page 18
