CHAPTER XVI
HE OF THE DEBONAIR SCEPTRE
"And let us make a name."--_Genesis._
The flame of lofty resolve burned with a high, present heat inMaximilian's dreamy eyes. But the thing was not statesmanship. Thedanger dial pointed to some latest darling phantasy.
When the young prince--he was but thirty-three--descended from hiscarriage, he signed that the Cortege should not form as yet. And insteadof mounting the colonnade steps, he turned and mingled with his humblesubjects. A pleased murmur arose among the Indians. "Que simpatico!"they breathed in little gasps of admiring awe.
The unusually tall and very fair young man, in the simplicity of black,with only the grand cross of St. Stephen about his neck, moved aboutamong the ragged peons. Now and again he spoke to one and another,questioning earnestly. Anxious orderlies were quick to brush aside thetouch of an elbow, but to those outside the circle, watching what hewould do, he seemed alone with his people. And in thought, he reallywas. There was a great pity upon his face, and it was the more poignantbecause these timorous children could not comprehend the wretchednesswhich so appealed to him.
"And thou?" he demanded of an aged man whose tatters hung heavy infilth.
A look of poor simple craft came into the Indian's face. "I, senor?Maria purisima, I am cursed of heaven. But the rich senor wishes toknow--see!" and ere Monsieur Eloin could prevent, he bared a limb ofrotting flesh. "If it were not for my leg, Your Mercy----"
"_Animal_," snarled Eloin in his ear, "can't you say 'YourMajesty'?"
"Your--Majesty, or if I had children, I could make my debt--oh, grande,grande, twenty reales, maybe. And then, and then I should have a red andpurple scrape, with a green eagle, like my nephew Felipe has.--He owes,"the man added in a kind of pride, "thirty reales, my nephew Felipedoes."
But his wiles failed. The rich senor turned toward the colonnade, hissailor's easy swing giving way to a tread of determination. Also, thepure flame burned consumingly.
From the top of the steps, between files of dismounted Dragoons,Maximilian looked over the people, beyond, in some far away gaze of thespirit.
Jacqueline hid the golden gleam of her hair under the rebosa."Silencium!" she whispered, laying a finger across her lips. "For nowwe'll have the mountains to frisk, and the little hills to skip. In allthe Orient there blooms no flower of eloquence like unto his."
The monarch's inspired look promised as much. "Mexicans," he began. Thepeons huddled closer, their responsive natures quickened. His sonorousvoice was electrical, despite an accent, despite the German over-gush ofstammering when words could not keep pace with the vast idea. But theone word of address gave the peons a dignity they had never suspected.
"Mexicans: you have desired me. Acceding to the spontaneous expressionof your wishes, I have come to your noble country--our dear patria--towatch over and direct your destinies. And with me came one who feels foryou all the tenderness of a mother, who is your Empress and my AugustSpouse."
"But not," murmured the sententious lady of the rebosa, "august enoughto appear before Him unless He sends for Her."
Proceeding, the speaker solemnly told them of his divine right as aHapsburg, as one of the Caesars, and of his anointment by the Vicar ofGod at Rome, so that to God alone was he responsible. As a Mexican hegloried with them in their liberties, in the True Liberty he brought,for had not the Holy Father said to him, "Great are the rights of apeople, but greater and more sacred are the rights of the Church?" Hencehe burned with Heaven-given fire to lift them, his subjects, into thevanguard of Nineteenth Century Progress.
Here Maximilian paused mid cheers, and thinking on his next words, hisdelicate hand of a gentleman clenched.
"Mexicans," he began again, now in the vibrant tone of an overpoweringemotion. "I pray to fulfil the mission for which God has placed me here.There are six millions of you, a sober and industrious race. Cortezfound you so, and you astounded him with your civilization. But theconditions that followed have enslaved you. Enslaved, I repeat, for youare bound by debt. Your hacendado master contrives that you cannot payeven his usurious interest. The food you eat, you must buy from him, athis prices, of the quality he prescribes. And if your debt be notsufficient, that is, if there seems a chance of your paying it off, thenyou must increase it to obtain your daily bread. Your very children areslaves at birth, since with their first birth they inherit your chains.And if you or your children run away, you or they may be brought back asrunaway slaves. It is thus that I find you, Mexicans. And I find youawaiting a liberator, waiting vainly through the centuries. But now, atlast, the reward of your suffering and your faith has come. In a word,which shall be formally recorded in the Journal Official, We this daydecree----"
"I knew it," exclaimed Jacqueline, "he always coins his inspirations."
"----We this day decree your debts extinguished, and each and every peonin all our beautiful country--a free man!"
"Yet with not," said Jacqueline, "a foot of land to be free on. But youknow, messieurs, that Utopia is an asylum for the blind."
"It's a spider on his ceiling," muttered Colonel Dupin, touching his ownhead significantly.
The emancipator's face was beatific. He heard the peons acclaim him, asgradually they began to understand that there was to be no moreunhappiness. But it was curious how far, far away the sweet musicsounded, even when some belated "Viva el Senor Emperador!" cracked inludicrous falsetto. For the poet-prince these human chords might havebeen the strings of a harp, softly touched. And as far away asposterity.
Jacqueline fell to clapping her hands noiselessly. "Oh, la-la," shecried, "if we are not to have an epic flight from Monsieur Eloin!"
It was true in a degree. Five minutes of stupendous history making hadjust elapsed, and some graceful tribute was due. The royal favorite hadforeseen the need, and he was prepared; but whether by borrowing ororiginating, it is impossible to say.
"'Vous l'avez releve; votre main souveraine L'a rendu d'un seul coup a la famille humaine. De ce premier bienfait, Sire, soyez content: L'Indien fera de vous MAXIMILIEN LE GRAND!'"
"Parbleu, why not?" demanded Jacqueline. "If only he were as great ashis decrees, poor man!"
Maximilian by this time remembered that he must be somebody's guest."Who receives Us here?" he asked. But none of his court knew. EvenMonsieur Eloin could only point to the administrador. "Why is yourmaster not present?" inquired General Almonte. The administrador openedhis mouth, and it stayed open. Colonel Dupin had promised to shoot himif he breathed a word of Don Anastasio being a prisoner.
THE EMPEROR MAXIMILIAN]
But someone whispered something to a person on the outskirts of theentourage, who passed it on to the very centre till it came to the earof Col. Miguel Lopez of Her Majesty's Dragoons. The someone whoinitiated the message was Don Tiburcio, the watchful herder over onegolden goose. As a result, an aide rescued Murguia from the claws of theTiger.
Maximilian looked the weazened old man over in disappointment. Here,then, was the lord of Moctezuma, an hacendado, and hence one of theheavy timbers for his empire building. Don Anastasio scraped awkwardlyand craved many pardons for not being on hand to welcome His Majesty.Overcoming a curious aversion to the man, the emperor straightwayinvested him with the newly created order of Civil Merit, and DonAnastasio, without a peon to till his fields or to oil his machinery,quaked under the honor of a copper medal.
"And," pursued the monarch, "We find a need of stout officials, for Wehave been grieved to learn of hacendados who secretly aid the prowlingrebellious outlaws that infest our country.--And as We must have aprefect in this district of an integrity like your own, it pleases Us,dear caballero, to name you jefe politico."
The new jefe's greenish eyes contracted in terror. He thought of thebrigands whom magistrates were supposed to discourage, and he tried toframe excuses.
"Accept, you fool," someone whispered. "Mexicans can't refuseoffice--that's decreed." It was Don Tiburcio, his sombrero against hisbreast. To Murguia t
he Roman sword on the crown seemed more than everemblematic of "Woe to the conquered." In a veritable panic he accepted.
As it was fitting that this day of a people's emancipation should becommemorated by public praise to Almighty God, the Lesser Cortegeformed, and careful of precedence, went to worship their Maker. Thefreedmen trooped after, waving jubilee branches.
The little church of the hacienda stood on a barren knoll, mid chaparraland graves. The curate's white adobe adjoining was the only nearhabitation. A stone walk as wide as the church itself approached for ahundred yards, sloping up from a pasture below. The one tower opened onfour sides for the better ease of the bell ringers. Its bright mosaicpeak rose peaceful and still in the clear air.
The Emperor and suite arranged themselves within, and the Inditos gapedstolidly outside, to hear the Te Deum for their broken shackles. At themost solemn moment, the Grand Chaplain availed himself of his exclusiveprivilege, which was to present the Gospel to the royal lips. Assistinghim in the general service was the hacienda curate. This curate,obscurely found in the Huasteca wilds and yet not a Mexican, was a largesleek man whose paunch bulged repulsively under the priestly surplice.His flabby jowls hung down, and gave his head the shape of a pea, in thetop of which were the eyes set close together. They were restlessfawning little eyes and they roved constantly. But more than aught else,they were adventurous; two bright, glowing beads of adventure. From thefolds of dull yellow flesh they peered forth at the august worshipers.They hovered first over the Emperor before his cushioned_prie-dieu_. Then, in hungry search, they began to roam. Theylingered with General Almonte for a moment, but darted on, unsatisfied.They fluttered yet longer over Miguel Lopez, the gorgeously uniformedcolonel of Dragoons, and left him only reluctantly. But when theylighted on Monsieur Eloin, they gleamed. There was no longeruncertainty. They laid bare the man as the print of a mass-book, andfound him profitable reading. After that, the adventurous orbs returnedto their larger prey, the Emperor, and gorging themselves, scintillatedmore adventurously than ever.
And such a feast as the unconscious Hapsburg afforded the ghoul of apriest! It was a loathsome surgery; greedy fingers trembling on theknife, the victim's soul flayed, each nerve of a vanity, or tendon of anambition, or full-throbbing vein of hope, each and all lifted one by onefrom the clotted mass and scrutinized exultantly. There was not afeature but held a revelation as sure as vivisection. The high, broadforehead of a gentle poet was often shaded by a dreamy melancholy, butnever once did it furrow in either craft or cruelty. In that the priestknew his man for a devout mystic, knew him for a child confidinglylooking to a Destiny to inspire his every footstep. Then there was thebeard. It was too great a wealth of whisker, its satin, glossy flow oftoo dandified a precision. The delicate finger tips stroked it softly,affectionately, to the left; then softly, affectionately to the right;and always dreamily. But the most shameless traitor of all was the lowerlip. It was the Hapsburg lower lip, heavy and thick and sensuous, andill-fated. Hanging partly open under the silken drooping moustache, itrevealed the spoiled child of royalty, who mistakes obstinacy fordecision, and changes whims with despotic petulance. Maximilian believedin his star. But a lower lip is more potent than predestination. He needonly have leaned close to his mirror. Then he might have seen what thepriest saw so clearly.
Maximilian paused on coming out. The freedmen were just rising fromtheir knees among the thorns and stones. Then it occurred to theliberator that their participation in the rejoicing was not exactly,ah--conspicuous. "Would you not think it well, father," said he to theGrand Chaplain, "that these poor people partake of the holy communion onthis day that has been so eventful for them? If you approve, let it beordered that----"
"But Sire----"
Maximilian turned quickly, a pleased smile on his lips. The interruptioncame in his own tongue, in German. And he who had spoken was a German.It was the hacienda curate. His voice was soft, and purring withdeference. He wished to say, with permission, that the holy sacramentfor the Inditos was out of the question; scarcely one of them had beenbaptized.
"Not baptized!" Maximilian exclaimed. "And this, is this fulfilling yoursacred obligations?"
The curate bowed his head. He had found them thus, when he first came, afew weeks ago.
"And you came----"
"From Durango, sire, where as secretary I served His SenoriaIlustrisimo, the Bishop of the state." But, as he meekly explained, hehad sought the Lord's service among the Huastecans. Pastors were said tobe needed, yet never had he imagined----He stopped short, in naiveembarrassment.
Maximilian appreciated his delicacy in not wishing to reflect on theHuasteca bishop. But from others he learned that neither baptism norother spiritual office had been performed in the community for years andyears, and that the bishop resided in the capitol, because among hisflock he had neither comforts nor a befitting state.
"But why," Maximilian demanded sternly, "have you not put to use the fewweeks you have been here?"
The curate's small eyes leaped to adventure. But he lowered themhastily, and folded his hands over his rounded soutane. He had heardthat His Majesty might come, he said, and he had presumed so far as tohope that His Majesty might deign to act as godfather for the poorIndians, and so he had waited.
Nothing could have pleased Maximilian more, and he looked at the goodpriest with an awakening favor. "Then let it be this afternoon," hecommanded. "I will stand their sponsor."
"----Before God, who will bless Your Majesty," murmured the priest.
And to be brief, let it be recorded that they were baptized by thehundred, with hurried pomp--"pompes a incendie," as the godfatherhimself described it.
The Missourian Page 19
