CHAPTER XIV
THE HERALD OF THE FAIR GOD
"Les grenouilles se lassant De l'etat democratique, Par leur clameurs firent tant Que Jupin les soumit au pouvoir monarchique." --_La Fontaine._
A wide country road swept up the slope of the hill, curved in toward thelow outer wall of the little town on the brow, then swept down again.The portico of the hacienda house was set in the wall where the roadalmost touched, so that the traveler could alight at the very thresholdof the venerable place. Mounting the half-dozen steps, Driscoll crosseda vast porch whose bare cement columns stood as sentinels the entirelength of the high, one-storied facade, and on the heavy double doors hefound a knocker. Visitors were infrequent there, but at last a surprisedbarefoot mozo answered the rapping, and in turn brought a short man ofburly girth and charro tightness of breeches. This chubby person bowedmany times and assured Their Mercies over and over again that here theyhad their house. Driscoll replied with thanks that in that case hethought that he and the other two Mercies would be taking possession,for the night at least.
The man was Murguia's administrador, or overseer. He took it for grantedthat the French senor (in those days Mexico called all foreignersFrench) and the French senoras were friends of his employer, andDriscoll did not undeceive him. The trooper's habits were those of war,and war admitted quartering yourself on an enemy. He brought the news,too, that Murguia had come safely through his last blockade run, whichalone insured him a welcome without the fact that ranchero hospitalitymay be almost Arabian and akin to a sacrament.
Plunging into apologies for every conceivable thing that could or mightbe amiss, Don Anastasio's steward led them into the sala, a long frontroom, the hacendado's hall of state. To all appearances it had not beenso used in many years, but the old furnishing of some former Spanishowner still told the tale of coaches before the colonnade outside and ofhidalgo guests within the great house. There was the stately sofa ofhonor flanked by throne-like armchairs, with high-backed ones next inline, all once of bright crimson satin and now frazzled and stained. Theinevitable mirror leaned from its inevitable place over the sofa, but itwas cracked and the gilt of the heavy frame had tarnished to red. At theother end of the sala, a considerable journey, there hung a token of thelater and Mexican family in possession. The token was of course theVirgin of Guadelupe in her flame of gold, as she had gaudily emblazonedherself on the blanket, or serape, of a poor Indian. Murguia's print wasone of thousands of copies of that same revered serape.
Urging them to be seated, clapping his hands for servants, givingorders, ever apologizing, the overseer finally got the travelersconvinced that it was their house and that supper would be ready nowdirectly. With a glance at his two companions, Driscoll inquired for thesenoras of the family, whereupon a sudden embarrassment darkened theadministrador's fat amiable features.
"Dona Luz, Your Mercy means? Ai, caballero, you are most kind. And youtell me that her father will come to-morrow, that he will--surely come?"
"Might we," Jacqueline interposed, "pay our respects to Senor Murguia'sdaughter?"
The poor fellow begged Their Mercies' indulgence, but Dona Matilde, thesenora aunt of Dona Luz, lay sick in the house. As for Dona Luz, yes,Dona Luz had gone to the chapel, as she often did of an evening lately,to pray for her aunt's recovery. Dona Luz had vowed to wear sackclothfor six months if her dear patron saint, Maria de la Luz, would but hearher petition. Out of compassion, Jacqueline said no more.
Next morning Driscoll was astir early. He wandered through athick-walled labyrinth of corridors and patios, and came at last into arankly luxuriant tropical garden, where the soft perfume of china-treeblossoms filled his nostrils. Keeping on he passed many of the haciendabuildings, a sugar mill, a cotton factory, warehouses, stables withcorrals, and entered a tortuous street between adobes, where he foundthe hacienda store. Here the administrador was watching the clerks whosold and the peons who bought. The latter were mostly women, barefootedand scantily clothed. Their main want was corn, weevil-eaten corn, whichthey carried away in their aprons. They made tortillas of it for theirmen laboring in the hacienda fields, or on the hacienda coffee hills.The store was a curious epitome of thrift and improvidence. One wenchgrumbled boldly of short measure. She dared, because she was comely andbuxom, and her chemise fell low on her full, olive breast. She countedher purchase of frijoles to the last grain, using her fingers, andglaring at the clerk half coaxingly, half resentfully. But an intenselyscarlet percale caught her barbarian eye, and she took enough of it fora skirt. A dozen cigarettes followed, and by so much she increased herman's debt to the hacienda.
A shrunken and ancient laborer was expostulating earnestly with muchgesturing of skeleton arms, while the administrador listened as onehabituated and bored. The feeble peon protested that he could not workthat day. He parted the yellow rags over one leg and revealed decayingflesh, sloughing away in the ravages of bone leprosy. He showed itwithout emotion, as some argument in the abstract. And he was arguingfor a little corn, just a little, and he made his palm into a tiny cupto demonstrate. The administrador opened a limp account book, held hispudgy forefinger against a page for a second, then shut it decisively."No, no, Pedro, not while you owe these twelve reales. Think, man, ifyou should die. You have no sons; we would lose."
"But, mi patron, there's my nephew."
"True, and he has his own father's debt waiting for him."
"Just a wee little," begged the man.
The overseer shook his head. "When you've worked to-day, yes. Then youmay have six cents' worth, and the other six cents of the day's wagescounted off your debt. There now, get along with you to the timbercutting."
The administrador brightened on perceiving Driscoll. "How was His Mercy?How had His Mercy passed the night? How----"
"Where," interposed Driscoll, "might one find the nearest stage toMexico?"
Almost nowhere, was the reply. What with the French intervention andguerrillas, the Compania de Diligencias had about suspended its servicealtogether. "Then," said Driscoll, "could we hire some sort of a rigfrom you?" The administrador believed so, though he regrettedcontinuously that Their Mercies must be leaving so soon.
With a nod of thanks Driscoll turned curiously to the loaded shelves,and gazed at the bolts of manta, calico, and red flannel. "Jiminycrickets," he burst forth, "is there anybody on this ranch who can sew?"
Yes, the wife of one of the clerks was a passable seamstress. She didsuch work for the Donas at the House.
"And can she do some to-day, and can you send it on to overtake me byto-morrow?"
Most certainly.
Then Driscoll invested in a number of varas of calico print. It was thebest available. But the light blue flowering was modest enough, andthere was even a cheery freshness about it that called up mellowingrecollections of bright-eyed Missouri girls. Yet each time he thought ofthe costumes he had ordered, he blushed until his hair roots tingled.
Intent once more on departure, Din Driscoll hastened back to the House.But he only learned that Jacqueline and Berthe were not up yet. Hemumbled at such looseness in discipline, until he remembered that theywere not troopers, but girls. And since girls are to be waited for, hedid it in his own room. From his saddlebags he laid out shavingmaterial. The Old Brigade had advised these things, while speculatingwith dry concern on what was correct among emperors. After much sharpsnapping of eyes, for the razor pulled, the clean line of his jawemerged from lather and stubble. "Just in case any emperor should happenin," he tried to explain it, taking a transparently jocose manner withhimself.
Eight o'clock! Even civilized people do not stay abed that late! Yet hefound only Berthe in the dining room. She had come on a foragingexpedition. He watched the little Bretonne's deft arranging of abattered tray, and offered droll suggestions until she began to suspectthat he really did not mean them. Berthe was a nice girl with soft brownhair, and a serious, gentle way about her.
The maid found mademoiselle not onl
y still abed, but stretched on a rackof torture as well, her helpless gaze fixed on a Mexican woman with ahot iron. It was a flatiron, and it was being applied to Jacqueline'spoor rumpled frock. The dress was spread over a cloth on the floor, andthe woman strove tantalizingly, and Jacqueline was trying to direct her.
"Madame is served," Berthe announced.
Madame raised herself on an elbow and looked at the tray, at the sorrychinaware, at the earthen supplements. "Served?" she repeated. "Berthe,exaggeration is a very bad habit. But child, what are you about? This isnot a petit dejeuner!"
"I know, madame, but he told me to bring it. He said we'd be traveling,and there wouldn't be time for a second breakfast."
"_He?_ Who in the world----"
"Why, the, the American monsieur. He said just coffee wasn't enough, andfor me to bring along the entire contest of marksmanship--the, the wholeshooting match--and for madame to hurry."
"Berthe! one would say you thought him a prince."
"He--he is a kind of prince," said the little Bretonne doggedly.
Madame whistled softly. Still, she ate a hearty breakfast.
Meantime, outside two resplendent horsemen were galloping up the curvingsweep of the wide road. Their haste smacked of vast importance, and thevery dazzling flash of their brass helmets in the sunlight had a certainarrogance. The foremost jerked his horse's bit with a cruel petulanceand drew up before the hacienda house. Several natives were basking onthe steps, and he cut at them sharply with his whip.
"Wake, you r-rats!" A Teutonic thickness of speech clogged hisutterance, and he turned to his companion. "Tell this canaille," hesnarled in Flemish, "to go fetch their master here at once."
The administrador came hurrying, and was overcome. His hospitable flowgushed and choked at its source before the splendor of the twocavaliers. They were Belgians. The first wore a long blue coat bedeckedwith golden leaves and belted with a sash. Crosses and stars dangled onhis breast. His breeches were white doe, and his high glossy boots hadwrinkles like a mousquetaire's. Heavy tassels flapped from his swordhilt. A brass eagle was perched on his helmet. Altogether, here was aglittering bit of flotsam from the new Mexican Empire. But a narrownessbetween the man's eyes affected one unpleasantly. It was a mean and asour scowl, of a fellow lately come into authority. The other man gracedthe ornate uniform of an aide in Maximilian's imperial household.
"Your Mercy is--is the Emperor?" stammered the poor fat administrador.
He had, indeed, heard rumors of Maximilian on one of his ostentatiousvoyages. The first Belgian, however, was in no way embarrassed at thequestion. It was a natural mistake, in his opinion.
"Explain to this imbecile," he ordered, "since there's no better here toreceive us."
The aide explained. His Imperial Majesty, Maximiliano, was returning tohis capital. Fascinated by the beauty of the tropics, as well as ill ofa cough, he had lingered for a week past at the adjoining hacienda ofLas Palmas. He had also been deep in studies for the welfare of hispeople. But now the business of the Empire demanded that he relieve theEmpress of her regency. Accordingly, His Majesty and His Majesty'sretinue had left Las Palmas that very morning, and would shortly pass bythe hacienda of Moctezuma. His Majesty, when en voyage, always took aloving interest in his subjects, and a sincere ovation never failed totouch his heart. So Monsieur Eloin--here the aide glanced with someirony at the first Belgian--so Monsieur Eloin thought that the master ofLa Moctezuma would be grateful to know of His Majesty's approach, inorder to gather the peons from the fields to welcome him. It would be aswell, perhaps, to reveal nothing to the Emperor of this thoughtful hint.
"To make it quite plain," concluded the speaker, "can you assembleenough men within an hour to do a seeming and convincing reverence toyour ruler?"
"And tell him," interrupted Monsieur Eloin, "not to forget the greenboughs waving in their hands. Make him understand that there will beconsequences if it's not spontaneous."
As they galloped back to rejoin Maximilian, the imperial aide wasthoughtful. "I can't help it," he said aloud, "I feel sorry for him. Howhis blue eyes glisten--there are actually tears in them--when he talksto these Indians of freedom and a higher life! He thinks they love him!And all this elegance--no wonder they believe that the Fair God is comeat last to right their sorrows."
"The loathsome beasts!"
"But I do feel sorry. He really believes that he will verify thetradition and be their savior. It's his sincere goodness of heart. Man,how exalted he is!"
"But where's the harm?"
"Because, because the poor devils were fooled once before. And their newMessiah may deceive them as bitterly with unwise meddling as Cortez didwith greed and cruelty."
"Messiah for these pigs!" Eloin sneered. "What pleasure it gives him,_I_ can't see."
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