Gustave Aimard
The Insurgent Chief
CHAPTER III
THE RECLUSES
Almost at the moment when the half hour after ten in the morning had sounded from the clock of the Cabildo of San Miguel de Tucuman, a man knocked at the door of the mysterious house of the Callejón de las Cruces.
This individual, dressed somewhat like the well to-do artisans of the town, was a man of middle height, slightly bent by age; some few grey hairs escaped from under his straw hat, he wore large spectacles with iron frame, and supported himself on a stick. His appearance, on the whole, was very respectable; his well-made olive-green cloth trousers, and his poncho of Chilian make, left nothing to desire.
In a minute or two, a little slide moved in a groove, and the head of an old woman appeared behind.
"Who are you? And what do you want here, Señor?" said a voice.
"Señora," answered the old man, slightly coughing, "excuse my boldness; but I have heard that a professor of music is required in this establishment. If I am deceived, it only remains for me to withdraw, begging you once more to accept my apologies."
While the old man said these few words in the most natural tone, and with the most careless manner, the woman behind the grating examined him with earnestness.
"Wait," answered she, after a slight pause.
The slide was again put back.
"Hum!" murmured the professor, in a low voice, "The place is well guarded."
A noise of drawing bolts and of detaching chains was heard, and the gate was half-opened – just enough to admit one person.
"Enter, then," said, in a surly tone, the woman who had at first shown herself at the grating, and who appeared to be the portress of this convent-like house.
The old man entered slowly, his hat in his hand, and bowing low.
The sight of his bald head, with but here and there a few hairs of reddish grey, appeared to give confidence to the old woman.
"Follow me," said she to him, in a peevish tone, "and replace your hat, these corridors are cold and damp."
The old man bowed, replaced his hat on his head, and, leaning on his stick, he followed the nun with that somewhat trembling step which is characteristic of persons who have considerably passed middle age.
The nun led him through long corridors, which appeared to turn back upon themselves, and which at last opened into a rather spacious cloister, the centre of which was occupied by a mass of rose bushes and orange trees, in the middle of which burst forth a stream of water, which fell with a loud sound into a white marble basin.
The walls of this cloister, towards which opened the doors of some thirty little chambers, were garnished with a number of pictures of a mediocre character, representing various episodes in the life of Our Lady of Solitude, or of Tucuman.
The old man merely threw a disdainful look upon these paintings, half effaced by time and weather, and continued to follow the nun, who trotted on before him, causing at every step a jingling of the heavy bunch of keys suspended to her girdle.
At the end of this cloister there was another, on the whole like the first, only the pictures represented different subjects – the life, I believe, of St. Rosa of Lima.
Arrived nearly halfway through this cloister, the nun stopped, and after having fetched her breath for a minute or two, she cautiously gave too slight taps at a black oak door, curiously sculptured.
Almost immediately a gentle and musical voice pronounced from the interior of the little chamber this single word:
"Adelante."
The nun opened the outer door and disappeared, after having with a sign requested the old man to wait for her.
Some minutes passed, and then the inner door opened, and the nun reappeared.
"Come in," said she, making a sign for him to approach.
"Come, she is not very loquacious, at least," grumbled the old man to himself, as he obeyed; "she is accommodating."
The nun stood on one side to give him passage, and he entered the little room, whither she followed him, closing the door after her.
This little room, with very comfortable furniture in old black carved oak, and the walls of which were covered, in the Spanish fashion, with thin Cordova leather, was divided into two, which was indicated by a door placed in a corner.
Three persons were, at the time, in the room, sitting on high-backed carved chairs.
These three persons were women.
The first, still young and very beautiful, wore the complete costume of a nun; the diamond cross, suspended by a large silk ribbon from her neck, and falling on her breast, at once pointed her out as the superior of the house, which, notwithstanding the simple and sombre appearance of its exterior, was, in reality, occupied by Carmelite nuns.
The two other ladies, seated pretty close to the abbess, wore ordinary costume.
The one was the Marchioness de Castelmelhor, and the other Doña Eva, her daughter.
On the entrance of the old man, who bowed respectfully to them, the abbess made a slight sign of welcome with her head, while the two other ladies, as they bowed to him ceremoniously, furtively cast curious looks at the visitor.
"My dear sister," said the abbess, addressing the old woman, in that harmonious voice which had already agreeably struck the ear of the old man, "bring, I beg you, a chair for this gentleman."
The nun obeyed, and the stranger seated himself with an apology.
"So," continued the abbess, this time addressing herself to the old man, "you are a professor of music?"
"Yes, Señora," answered he, bowing.
"Are you of our country?"
"No, Señora, I am a foreigner."
"Ah!" said she, "You are not a heretic – an Englishman."
"No, Señora; I am an Italian professor."
"Very good. Have you lived long in our dear country?"
"Two years, Señora."
"And before that you were in Europe?"
"Pardon me, Señora; I lived in Chili, where I have for a long time resided at Valparaíso, Santiago, and subsequently at Aconchagua."
"Do you intend to remain among us?"
"I, at least, wish to do so, Señora; unhappily, the times are not favourable for a poor artist like me."
"That is true," pursued she, with interest. "Well, we will try to procure you some pupils."
"A thousand thanks for so much goodness, Señora," he humbly answered.
"You really interest me, and to prove how much I desire to assist you, this young lady will be pleased, for my sake, to take this very day her lesson with you," said she, pointing towards Doña Eva.
"I am at the orders of the young lady, as I am at yours, Señora," answered the old man, with a respectful bow.
"Well, that is agreed," said the abbess; and turning towards the portress, still motionless in the middle of the room, "My dear sister," added she, with a gracious smile, "be so good, I beg you, as to bring in some refreshments. You will return in an hour to accompany this gentleman to the door of the convent."
The portress bowed with a crabbed air, suddenly turned round, and left the room, casting a sour look around her.
There was a silence of two or three minutes, at the expiration of which the abbess gently rose, advanced on tiptoe towards the door, and opened it so suddenly, that the portress, whose eye was placed at the keyhole, stood confused and blushing at being thus surprised in the very act of a spy.
"Ah! You are still there, my dear sister!" said the abbess, without appearing to remark the confusion of the old portress; "I am glad of it. I had forgotten to beg you to bring me, when you return to reconduct this gentleman, my Book of Hours, that I left through forgetfulness this morning in the choir in my stall."
The portress bowed, grumbling between her teeth some incomprehensible excuses, and she went away almost with a run.
The abbess followed her a moment with her eyes, and then she returned, re-closed the door, over which she had let fall a heavy curtain in tapestry, and turning towards the old professor, who scarcely knew what countenance to assume:
"Respectable old man," said she to him, laughing, "cover up the locks of your fair hair, which are indiscreetly escaping from under your grey peruke."
"The devil!" cried the professor, quite taken aback, suddenly putting his two hands to his head, and at the same time letting his cane and his hat fall, the latter rolling several paces from him.
At this unorthodox exclamation, uttered in good French, the three ladies laughed afresh, whilst the disconcerted professor looked at them with fright, not understanding anything which had passed, and arguing nothing favourable to him from this railing and unexpected gaiety.
"Hush!" said the abbess, placing a delicate finger on her rosy lips. "Someone is coming."
They were silent.
She withdrew the curtain. Almost immediately the door opened, after a slight tap had been given to ask permission to enter.
It was two lay sisters, who brought sweets and refreshments, as the abbess had desired.
They placed the whole on a table, and then withdrew with a respectful bow.
The curtain was immediately dropped behind them.
"Do you now believe, my dear marchioness," said the superior, "that I was right in mistrusting our sister, the portress?"
"Oh yes, Madame; this woman, sold to our enemies, is wicked, and I dread for you the consequences of the rude lesson, although merited, that you have given her."
A brilliant flash darted from the black eyes of the young woman.
"It is for her to tremble, Madame," said she, "now that I have in my hand the proofs of her treason; but do not let us care for that," said she, resuming her cheerful countenance; "time presses, let us take our places at the table; and you, Señor, taste our preserves. I doubt whether, in the convents of your country, the nuns make such good ones."
The marchioness, remarking the embarrassed position and the piteous air of the stranger, quickly approached him, and said with a gracious smile —
"It is useless to keep up any further disguise," said she to him; "it is I, Señor, who have written to you; speak, then, without fear before Madame, she is my best friend, and my only protectress."
The painter breathed heavily.
"Madame," answered he, "you remove an immense weight from my breast. I humbly confess that I did not know what countenance to assume in seeing myself recognised so unawares. God be praised, who permits that this may come to a better termination than I feared a little while ago."
"You are an admirable actor, Señor," pursued the abbess; "your hair does not at all come out from under your peruke; I only wished to tease you a little, that is all. Now, drink, eat, and do not worry yourself about anything."
The collation was then attacked by the four persons, between whom the ice was now broken, and who talked gaily to each other. The abbess especially, young and merry, was charmed at this trick she was playing on the revolutionary authorities of Tucuman, in trying to carry away from them two persons to whom they seemed to attach so much importance.
"Now," said she, when the repast was finished, "let us talk seriously."
"Talk seriously – I should like nothing better," pursued the painter; "apropos of that, I shall permit myself to recall the phrase that you have yourself uttered – time presses."
"That is true; you are no doubt astonished to see me – the superior of a house which is almost a convent onto whom has been confided the care of two prisoners of importance – enter into a plot, the design of which is to permit them to escape."
"Indeed," murmured the painter, bowing; "that does appear rather strange to me."
"I have several motives for it, and your astonishment will cease when you know that I am a Spaniard, and have no sympathy with the revolution made by the inhabitants of this country, to drive my fellow countrymen out of it, to whom it belongs by every divine and human law."
"That appears to me logical enough."
"Moreover, in my opinion, a convent is not – and cannot, under any pretext, be metamorphosed into a prison. Again, women ought to be always placed out of the region of politics, and be left free to act in their own fashion. In fact, to sum up, the Marchioness de Castelmelhor is an old friend of my family; I love her daughter as a sister, and I wish to save them at all hazards, even if my life is paid for theirs."
The two ladies threw themselves into the arms of the abbess, loading her with caresses and thanks.
"Good, good," pursued she, gently motioning them aside, "let me continue; I have sworn to save you, and I will save you, come what may, my dear creatures. It would be marvellous, indeed," added she, smiling, "if three women, aided by a Frenchman, could not be clever enough to deceive these yellow men, who have made this disastrous revolution, and who believe themselves eagles of intelligence, and the thunderbolts of war."
"The more I reflect on this enterprise, the more I fear the consequences of it for you; I tremble, for these men are without pity," sadly murmured the marchioness.
"Poltroon!" gaily cried the superior; "Have we not the caballero with us?"
"With you, ladies, until the last gasp!" cried he, carried away by emotion.
The truth is, that the beauty of Doña Eva, joined to the romance of the situation, had completely subjugated the artist. He had forgotten everything, and only experienced one desire – that of sacrificing himself for the safety of these women, so beautiful and so unfortunate.
"I knew well that I could not be deceived!" cried the abbess, holding out to him her hand, which the painter respectfully raised to his lips.
"Yes, ladies," pursued he, "God is my witness, that all that is humanly possible to do to assure your flight, I will attempt; but, doubtless you have not addressed yourselves to me without concerting a plan. This plan it is indispensable that you make me acquainted with."
"Mon dieu, Sir!" answered the marchioness, "This plan is very simple, one such as women alone are capable of concocting."
"I am all attention, Madame."
"We have no acquaintance in this town, where we are strangers, and where, without our knowing why, it appears we have many enemies, without reckoning one single friend."
"That is pretty well my position also," said the young man, shaking his head.
"Yours, Sir!" said she, with surprise.
"Yes, yes, mine, Madame; but continue, I beg."
"Our good superior can do but one single thing for us, but that is immense – it is to open for us the gates of the convent."
"That is much, indeed!"
"Unhappily, on the other side of this gate her power ceases completely, and she is constrained to leave us to ourselves."
"Alas! Yes," said the superior.
"Hum!" murmured the painter, like an echo.
"You understand how critical would be our position, wandering alone at hazard in a town which is completely unknown to us."
"Then you thought of me!"
"Yes, Sir," she simply answered.
"And you have done well, Madame," answered the painter, with animation. "I am, perhaps, the only man incapable of betraying you in the whole town."
"Thank you for my mother and myself, Sir," gently said the young girl, who, up to that moment, had kept silence.
The painter was half dazed; the sweet and plaintive accents of that harmonious voice had made his heart beat rapidly.
"Unhappily, I am very weak myself to protect you, ladies," he resumed; "I am alone, a foreigner, suspected – more than suspected even, since I am threatened with being shortly placed on my trial."
"Oh!" said they, joining their hands in their grief, "We are lost then."
"Mon dieu!" cried the abbess, "We have placed all our hope in you."
"Wait," pursued he; "all is perhaps not so desperate as we suppose. As for me, I am preparing a plan of escape; I can only offer you one thing."
"What?" cried they, eagerly.
"To share my flight."
"Oh, willingly!" cried the young girl, clapping her hands with joy.
Then, ashamed at having allowed herself to give way to a thoughtless movement, she lowered her eyes, and concealed in the bosom of her mother her charming face, suffused with tears.
"My daughter has answered you for herself and for me, Sir," said the marchioness, proudly.
"I thank you for this confidence, of which I shall try to prove myself worthy, Madame; only I want a few days to prepare everything. I have only with me one man on whom I can rely, and I must act with the greatest prudence."
"That is right, Sir; but what do you mean by a few days?"
"Three at the least – four at the most."
"Well, we will wait. Now, can you explain to us what is the plan you have adopted?"
"I do not know it myself, Madame. I find myself in a country which is totally unknown to me, and in which I naturally want the commonest experience. I must trust to the direction of the servant of whom I have had the honour to speak to you."
"Are you quite sure of this man, Sir? Pardon me for saying this, but you know one word might ruin us."
"I am as sure of the person in question as one man can be of another. It is he who has furnished me with the means of appearing before you without awakening suspicion. I rely not only on his devotion, but also on his skill, on his courage, and especially on his experience."
"Is he a Spaniard, a foreigner, or a half-caste?"
"He does not come in any of the categories you have mentioned, Madame; he is simply an Indian Guaraní, to whom I have been fortunate enough to render some slight services, and who has vowed an eternal gratitude."
"You are right, Sir; you can no doubt reckon on this man. The Indians are brave and faithful; when they are devoted, it is to the death. Pardon me all these questions, which, without doubt, must appear very extraordinary on my part; but you know this affair does not only concern myself – it concerns also my daughter, my poor dear child."
"I think it is very natural, Madame, that you should desire to be completely informed as to my plans for our common safety. Be thoroughly persuaded that when I shall positively know what must be done, I will hasten to inform you of it, in order that if the plan formed by my servant and myself should appear to you to be defective, I may modify it according to your advice."
"Thank you, Sir; will you permit me to ask you one question more?"
"Speak, Madame. In coming here, I place myself entirely at your orders."
"Are you rich?"
The painter blushed; his eyebrows knitted.
The marchioness perceived it.
"Oh, you do not understand me, Sir," she eagerly cried; "far from me be the thought of offering you a reward. The service that you consent to render us is one of those that no treasure could pay for, and the heart alone can requite."
"Madame – " he murmured.
"Permit me to finish. We are associates now," said she, with a charming smile. "Now, in an association each one ought to take a share of the common expenses. A project like ours must be conducted with skill and celerity; a miserable question of money might mar its success or retard its execution. It is in that sense that I have spoken to you, and in which I repeat my words – are you rich?"
"In any other position but that in which fate has temporarily placed me, I should answer you – yes, Madame, for I am an artist – my tastes are simple, and I live almost on nothing, only finding joys and happiness in the ever-fresh surprises that the art which I cultivate procures me, and which I madly love. But at this moment, in the perilous position in which you and I find ourselves – when it is necessary to undertake a desperate struggle against a whole population – I must be frank with you, and admit that money, the sinews of war, almost wholly fails me. I must assure you, in a word, that I am poor."
"So much the better!" cried the marchioness, with a movement of joy.
"Upon my word," pursued he, gaily, "I never complain; it is only now that I begin to regret those riches for which I have always so little cared, for they would have facilitated the means of being useful to you; but we must try and do without them."
"Do not distress yourself about that, Sir. In this affair you bring courage and devotion; leave me to bring that money which you have not."
"On my word, Madame," answered the artist, "since you so frankly put the question, I do not see why I should give way, in refusing you, to a ridiculous susceptibility perfectly out of place, since it is your interests that are at stake in this matter. I accept, then, the money that you shall consider fitting to place at my disposal; but, of course, I shall render you an account of it."
"Pardon, Sir; it is not a loan that I offer to make you; it is my part in the association that I bring – that is all."
"I understand it so, Madame; only if I spend your money, will it not be necessary that you should know in what way?"
"Well and good!" exclaimed the marchioness, going to a piece of furniture, of which she opened a drawer, from whence she took a rather long purse, through the meshes of which glittered a considerable quantity of onces.
After having carefully closed the drawer, she presented the purse to the young man.
"There are there two hundred and fifty onces2 in gold," said she; "I hope that that sum will suffice; but if it is insufficient, let me know, and I will immediately place a larger sum at your disposal."
"Oh, oh! Madame, I hope not only that it will suffice, but that I shall have to give you back a part of this sum," answered he, respectfully taking the purse, and placing it carefully in his girdle. "I have now a restitution to make you."
"To me, Sir?"
"Yes, Madame," said he, drawing off the ring that he had placed on his little finger, "this ring."
"It is mine, that I wrapped up in the letter," eagerly exclaimed the young girl, with a charming heedlessness.
The young man bowed, quite confounded.
"Keep that ring, Sir," answered the marchioness, smiling, "my daughter would be vexed if you were to return it."
"I will keep it, then," said he, with secret joy, and suddenly changing the conversation; "I will only come once more, ladies," said he, "in order not to arouse suspicion; that will be to tell you when all is ready; only every day, at my usual hour, I will pass before this house. When, in the evening, on my return towards home, you shall see me holding a súchil flower or a white rose in my hand, that will be a sign that our business proceeds well; if; on the contrary, I remove my hat and wipe my forehead, then pray to God, ladies, because new embarrassments will have risen before me. In the last place, if you see me pulling asunder the flower that I hold in my hand, you must hasten your preparations for departure; the very day of my visit we shall quit the town. You will remember all these recommendations?"
"We are too much interested in remembering them," said the marchioness; "never fear, we shall forget nothing."
"Now, not another word on this subject, and give your music lesson," said the abbess, opening an instruction book, and handing it to the young man.
The painter seated himself at a table between the two ladies, and began to explain to them as well as he could the mysteries of black, of white, of crotchets, and of minims.
When, some minutes afterwards, the portress entered, her serpent-like look gliding from under her half closed eyelids, perceived three persons apparently very seriously occupied in estimating the value of notes, and the difference between the key of F and the key of G.
"My holy mother," hypocritically said the portress, "a horseman, saying that he is sent by the governor of the town, asks the favour of an interview with you."
"Very good, my sister. When you have reconducted this gentleman, you will introduce this caballero to me. Beg him to wait a few minutes."
The painter rose, bowed respectfully to the ladies, and followed the portress. The door of the room closed behind him.
Without uttering a word, the portress guided him through the corridors that he had already traversed, as far as the gate of the convent, before which several horsemen, enveloped in long mantles, had stopped, to the general astonishment of the neighbours, who could scarcely believe their eyes, and who had come out to their doors, the better to see them.
The painter, thanks to his looking like an old man, his little dry cough, and his trembling walk, passed in the midst of them without attracting their attention, and went away in the direction of the river.
The portress made a sign to one of the horsemen, that she was ready to conduct him to the superior.
Just at that moment, the painter, who had gone some little distance, turned to give a last look at the convent.
He suppressed a gesture of fright on recognising the horseman of whom we are speaking.
"Zeno Cabral!" murmured he. "What does this man do in the convent?"
