Gustave Aimard
The Rebel Chief: A Tale of Guerilla Life

CHAPTER XXV
THE AVENGER

"Immediately he reached home, the Count gave orders for his departure. He had completely forgotten the business for which he came to Bruneck: besides, had the business been even more important than it really was, it could not have retained him, so great was his anxiety to get away. Still, he was obliged to remain ten hours longer in the town. It was impossible to procure horses before three o'clock in the afternoon."

"He profited by this hindrance to take a little rest; in truth, he was utterly worn out with fatigue. He soon fell into so deep a sleep that he did not even hear the furious cries and vociferations of the crowd assembled in the square, on seeing that, instead of three criminals, whom they had so long awaited in order to enjoy their punishment, and satiate a vengeance so long desired, only three corpses were offered them. At the moment when the gaoler and officials entered the dungeon to lead the condemned men to the gallows, they only found their corpses; the men were quite dead. When the Count woke, all was over, the shops were opened again, and the town had reassumed its accustomed appearance. The Count enquired after his carriage, the horses had been put in and it was waiting at the door. The final preparations were soon made; the Count went down."

"'Where are we going, Excellency?' the postillion asked, hat in hand."

"'The Vienna road,' the Count replied, making himself as comfortable as he could in the corner of the carriage."

"The postillion cracked his whip, and they set off at full speed. The Count had reflected, and the following was the result of his reflections: – Only one person was powerful enough to render him thorough and prompt justice, that person was the Emperor. He must, consequently, apply to the Emperor, and that was the reason why he was going to Vienna. It is a long distance from Bruneck to Vienna; at that period, more especially when railways were only just beginning, and only existed in few places, journeys were long, fatiguing and expensive. This lasted twenty-seven days. The Count's first business on arriving, was to enquire after his Imperial Majesty; the court was at Schönbrunn. Now Schönbrunn, the Saint Cloud of the Austrian Emperors, is only a league and a half from Vienna. Still, not to lose precious time in false steps, he must obtain an audience with the Emperor as speedily as possible. Count Oclau was of too great a family to be kept waiting long; two days after his arrival in Vienna an audience was granted him. The palace of Schönbrunn stands, as we said, about a league and a half from Vienna, beyond the suburb of Maria itself and a little to the left. This imperial palace, commenced by Joseph I., and finished By Maria Theresa, is a simple, elegant, and graceful building, though not without a certain majesty. It is composed of a large main building with two wings, with a double flight of steps leading to the first floor; low buildings running parallel to the main edifice, serve as offices and stables, and are attached to the end of the east of the wings, leaving merely an aperture of about thirty feet, on either side of which stands an obelisk, which thus completes the courtyard. A bridge thrown across the Vienne, a thin stream of water which falls into the Danube, gives access to the palace, behind which extends in an amphitheatrical form, an immense garden, surmounted by a belvedere, placed on the top of a large grass plot, which is flanked on the right and left by magnificent coppices full of shadow, freshness, and twittering birds. Schönbrunn, rendered celebrated by Napoleon I. residing there twice, and by the painful death of his son, bears a stamp of indescribable sadness and languor, everything is gloomy, dull, and desolate; the court with its formal etiquette and brilliant parades only imperfectly succeeds at lengthened intervals, in galvanizing this corpse. Schönbrunn, like the palace of Versailles, is only a body without a soul, and nothing could restore it to life."

"The Count arrived at Schönbrunn ten minutes before his audience, which was fixed at noon. A chamberlain on duty awaited him, and at once introduced him to his majesty. The Emperor was in a private room, leaning upon a mantelpiece. The reception granted the Count was most affable. The audience was a long one, it lasted nearly four hours, no one ever learned what passed between the sovereign and the subject. The last sentence of this confidential interview was alone heard. At the moment when the Count took leave of the Emperor, his majesty said, while giving him his hand to kiss – "

"'I believe it will be better to act thus on behalf of the whole of the nobility, every effort must be made at any cost, to avoid the frightful scandal which the publicity of so horrible an affair would arouse; my support will never fail you. Go, my lord, and Heaven grant that you may succeed with the means I place at your service.'"

"The Count bowed respectfully, and retired. The same evening he left Vienna, and took the road which would lead him home. At the same time with him, a cabinet courier sent by the Emperor, started on the same road."

On reaching this point in his narrative, the adventurer paused, and addressing Count de la Saulay, asked him: – "Do you suspect what passed between the Emperor and the Count?"

"Nearly," the latter answered.

"Oh!" he said, in amazement; "I should be curious to know the result of your observations."

"You authorize me then to tell you?"

"Certainly."

"My dear Don Adolfo," the Count continued, "as you are aware, I am a nobleman; in France the king is only the first gentleman of his kingdom, the primus inter pares, and I suppose that it is much the same everywhere now; any attack upon one of the members of the nobility affects the sovereign as seriously as all the other nobles of the empire. When the Regent of France condemned Count de Hom to be broken alive on the wheel upon the Place de Grivé, for robbing and murdering a Jew in the Rue Quincampoix, he replied to a nobleman of the court, who interceded with him on behalf of the culprit, and represented to him that the Count de Hom, allied to reigning families, was his relative: 'When I have any bad blood, I have it taken from me;' and turned his back on the petitioner. But this did not prevent the nobility from sending their carriages to the execution of Count de Hom. Now, the fact you are talking about is nearly similar, with this exception, that the Emperor of Austria, less brave than the Regent of France, while allowing that justice ought to be dealt upon the culprit, recoiled from a publicity, which, according to his views, would brand a stigma of infamy upon the entire nobility of his country; hence, like all weak men, he satisfied himself with half measures, that is to say, he probably gave the Count a blank signature, by means of which the latter, on the first plausible pretext, might put down his noble relative, kill him, or even have him assassinated, without other form of trial, and in this way, obtain by the destruction of his enemy the justice he claimed; since, the Prince once dead, it would be easy to restore to his sister-in-law or her son, in the event of his being recovered, the titles and fortune which his uncle had so criminally appropriated. This, in my opinion, is what was arranged between the Emperor and the Count at the long audience granted at Schönbrunn."

"Matters turned out so in reality, Count, with the exception that the Emperor insisted that hostilities should not commence between the Count and the Prince, until the latter was beyond the frontiers of the empire, and the Count requested the Emperor to place at his disposal all the means of action he possessed, in order to try and find his nephew again, if he still lived, and to this the Emperor consented."

"The Count returned then to his castle, provided with a blank signature of his majesty, which gave him the most extensive powers to carry out his vengeance, and in addition, with an order entirely in his majesty's handwriting, empowering him to obtain the aid of all the imperial agents, both at home and abroad, at the first requisition. The Count, as you of course understand, was but moderately satisfied with the conditions which the Emperor had imposed on him; but recognising the impossibility of obtaining more, he was obliged to give way. For himself, he would have certainly preferred, whatever might have been the consequence, a public trial, to the paltry and disgraceful vengeance that was permitted him; but it was better, in the interests of his sister and nephew, to have obtained these semi-concessions, than to meet with a formal refusal. He immediately set to work in search of his nephew, for this search the papers which Red Arm had handed him, contained precious information. Without saying anything to his sister, through fear of giving her false hopes, he immediately went about his task. What more shall I tell you, my friends? His search was long, and is Still going on; still the situation is beginning to grow clearer, and has been so fortunate as to find his nephew again: since this discovery, he has never let the young man out of sight, although the latter is ignorant to this day of the sacred bonds which attach him to the man who has brought him up, and whom he loves like a father, the Count has kept this secret even from his sister, not wishing to reveal it to her till he can announce at the same time that justice has at length been done, and that the husband she has deplored for so many years is avenged. Very frequently, since that period, the two enemies have met, many opportunities have been offered the Count to kill his foe, but he has never let himself be led astray by his hatred, or, to speak more truly, his hatred has given him the strength to wait; the Count wishes to kill his enemy, but he desires first that the latter should dishonour himself and fall, not conquered in an honourable contest, but justly struck, like a criminal, who at last receives the chastisement of his misdeeds."

After uttering the last words the adventurer stopped. There was a lengthened silence; night was coming to an end, white gleams were beginning to filter through the half-open window; the light of the candles was growing pale; indistinct noises announced that the city was awaking, and the distant bells of monasteries and churches were summoning the faithful to early mass. The adventurer left his chair and began walking up and down the room, every now and then casting searching glances at his two companions. Dominique, thrown back in his butaca, with his eyes half closed, was mechanically smoking his Indian pipe. Count de la Saulay was playing the devil's tattoo on the table, while watching the adventurer's movements.

"Don Adolfo," he suddenly said to him, as he raised his head and looked him full in the face, "your story has ended then?"

"Yes," the adventurer answered, laconically,

"You have nothing more to add?"

"Well, excuse me, my friend, but I fancy you are mistaken."

"I do not understand you, my dear Count."

"I will explain myself; but on one condition."

"What is it?"

"That you will not interrupt me."

"Very good, if you insist. Now I will listen to you."

"My friend," the Count said, "the first friendly face I met on landing in America was yours; though we were placed in very different situations, accident was pleased to bring us together with such persistency, that what was at first but a passing acquaintance has become, without either of us knowing how, a sincere and profound affection. It is not possible to become so connected with a man without studying his character a little, which I have done with you, and you doubtless have done with me. Now, I believe that I know you intimately enough, my friend, to feel convinced that you did not come suddenly to our house tonight with the mere object of supping, or, forgive the phrase, indulging in a debauch, which does not agree with your character or morals, as you are the most sincerely sober man I ever met. Moreover, I ask myself, why you, so chary of your words, and especially of your secrets, have told us this story, very interesting, I allow, but which, apparently, does not concern us in any way, and can have but a very secondary interest for us. To this I answer that if you thus came to ask of us a supper, which you could very well have done without, you came expressly to tell us this narrative: that it interests you more than us, and I conclude that you have still something to tell us, or, to speak more clearly, to ask of us."

"That is evident," said Dominique.

"Well yes: all you have supposed is true – the supper was only a pretext, and I really only came here tonight with the intention of telling you the story you have just heard."

"Very good," said Dominique, joyously, "that, at any rate, is being frank."

"Still I confess," the adventurer continued sadly, "that I now hesitate because I am afraid."

"You afraid? And of what?" the two young men exclaimed in surprise.

"I am afraid, because this long history must shortly have its conclusion; because this conclusion must be terrible and though when I came here I intended to ask your assistance, I have since reflected, and recoil from the idea of mixing you up, you who are so young, happy, and careless, even indirectly, in this horrible history to which you ought to remain strangers. Pray, my friends, forget all you have heard – it is only a story told after drinking."

"No, on my honour, Don Adolfo," the Count exclaimed, energetically, "it shall not be so, I swear, and I speak for myself and Dominique: you want us and here we are. I know not what mysterious interest you have in this affair. I do not even wish to discover the motives that lead you to act, but I repeat to you, if you were to send us away when you are going to incur a great danger, which we might, perhaps, protect you from by sharing it with you, it would be a proof to us that you entertain neither esteem nor friendship, and that you regard us rather as thoughtless young people than men of courage."

"You go too far, my dear Count!" the adventurer warmly exclaimed. "I never had such ideas, far from it. Still, I repeat, I tremble at the thought of mixing you up in this affair, which does not concern you."

"Pardon me, my friend; from the moment it interests you, it concerns us, and we have the right to mix ourselves up in it."

The adventurer hung his head and began walking up and down the room again in great agitation.

"Well, be it so, my friends," he said at the end of a moment, "since you insist, we will act in concert. You will aid me in what I have undertaken, and I hope that we shall succeed."

"I feel convinced of it," said the Count.

"Let us go then," Dominique said, rising from the table.

"Not yet: but the moment is at hand. I swear to you that you will not have long to wait. Now, one last toast, and good-bye. Ah! I forgot: in the event of my not being able to come to you myself, this is the signal —one and two make three. It is very simple and you will remember it, I think?"

"Perfectly."

"In that case, good-bye."

Five minutes later he had left the house.

CHAPTER XXVI
SUNNY HOURS

The small suburban house in which Doña Dolores had found such a secure shelter between Doña Maria and Doña Carmen, though simple and comparatively unimportant, was a delightful abode, furnished very plainly, but with perfect taste. In the rear, a rarity in Mexico, was a small but well laid-out garden, full of shade and freshness, which afforded a charming retreat from the heat of the sun at the burning hour of noon. It was in these fragrant clumps that the young ladies hid themselves, to prattle and gossip at liberty, responding, by the sweet bursts of their laughter, to the joyous songs of the birds. Three persons alone were admitted to the house: they were the adventurer, the Count, and Dominique. The adventurer, incessantly absorbed by his mysterious occupations, only made rare and short visits there. It was not the same with the young men. During the first days they had strictly conformed to their friend's recommendations, and paid short, and, so to speak, stealthy visits, but gradually led on by the invisible charms which unconsciously attracted them, the visits were multiplied, became longer, and inventing all sorts of pretexts, they at last came to spend nearly the whole day with the ladies.

One day, while the inhabitants of the small house had withdrawn to the garden and were gaily conversing together, a frightful tumult was heard outside. The old servant ran in great alarm to inform his mistress that a band of ruffians, assembled before the house, insisted on having the gate opened to them, threatening to break it down if they were not obeyed. The Count re-assured Doña Maria, told her to fear nothing, and after begging her and the young ladies not to leave the garden, he and Dominique advanced to the outer door. Raimbaut had accidentally come a few minutes previously to bring his master a letter, and his presence, under the circumstances, became very valuable. The three men took their double-barrelled guns and revolvers, and after making their arrangements in a few words, the Count approached the gate, on which furious blows were being dealt outside, and ordered the old servant to open it. The gate was hardly opened ere there was an awful pushing, and a dozen individuals rushed into the zaguán with furious shouts and yells. But suddenly they stopped. Before them, at ten paces distance at the most, three men were standing with shouldered guns, ready to pull the trigger. The bandits, who were mostly unarmed, as they were so fully convinced of meeting with no resistance, and who only had the knives thrust through their belts, stood struck with stupor at the sight of the guns levelled at them. The fierce looks of these three men awed them; they hesitated, and finally stopped short, exchanging glances of alarm. This was not what had been announced to them: this house, apparently so tranquil, contained a formidable garrison. The Count handed his gun to the old man servant, and drawing his revolver, advanced resolutely toward the ruffians. The latter, by an opposite movement, commenced to recoil step by step, so that they soon reached the gate; then, turning round with a bound, they rushed out. The Count quickly locked the gate after them. The young men laughed heartily at their easy victory, and rejoined the ladies, who had hidden themselves, all trembling, in the thickets. This lesson had been sufficient; henceforth the quiet of the inhabitants of the small house was undisturbed.

Still, Doña Maria, grateful for the service the young men had done her, not only did not think that they paid too long visits, but even when they proposed to retire, she invited them to remain. It is true that the young ladies joined their entreaties to hers, so that the Count and his friend easily allowed themselves to be induced to remain, and thus passed the greater part of the day with them.

It was the day after the night Don Adolfo had spent in supping so heartily with his friends; noon had long struck from all the city churches, and the young men, who generally presented themselves at Doña Maria's at eleven o'clock, had not yet made their appearance. The two young ladies, who were in the dining room, pretended to be arranging and dusting the furniture, so as not to go and join Doña Maria, who had been for a long time expecting them in the garden. Though they did not speak, the girls, while arranging, or rather deranging the furniture, had their eyes incessantly fixed on the clock.

"Can you understand, Carmelita," Doña Dolores at length said with a delicious pout, "why my cousin has not yet arrived?"

"It is inconceivable, querida," Doña Carmen at once answered. "I confess that I feel very anxious, for the city is in a disturbed state at this moment, I hear. I only hope nothing unpleasant has happened to the two poor young gentlemen."

"Oh! It would be frightful if any accident were to happen to them!"

"What would become of us alone and unprotected in this house? Had it not been for their assistance, we should have been assassinated before."

"The more so, because we cannot count on Don Jaime, who is always absent."

The young ladies heaved a sigh, looked at each other silently for a moment, and then fell into one another's arms with a burst of tears. They understood each other. It was not for themselves they feared.

"You love him, then?" Doña Dolores at length whispered in her friend's ear.

"Oh, yes," she replied softly. "And you?"

"I too."

The confession was made; they now understood one another, and had nothing further to conceal.

"How long have you loved him?" Doña Carmen continued.

"I do not know, but I fancy that I have always loved him."

"It is the same with me."

Nothing is so sweet and pure as a girl's simple love. It is the soul scarce awake to human sensations, which seeks its lovely angelic wings to fly toward the unknown regions of the ideal.

"And does he love you?" Carmen asked softly.

"Yes, since I love him."

"That is true," she replied, quite convinced.

Love has this adorable thing about it, that it is essentially illogical; were it not so, it would not be love. Suddenly the young ladies rose, and laid their hands on their heart.

"Here he is," said Dolores.

"He is coming," Carmen remarked.

How did they know? The deepest silence prevailed outside. Then, quitting the dining room, they fled to the garden like startled doves. Almost immediately there was a knock at the door. The old servant doubtless recognised the knock, for he at once opened. The Count and his friend entered.

"The ladies?" the Count asked.

"In the huerta, Excellency," the servant answered, as he closed the door after them.

The ladies were seated in an arbour; Doña Maria was embroidering, the young ladies were attentively reading – so attentively, indeed, that, though they suddenly blushed, they did not hear the sound of their visitors' footsteps on the gravel walks, and were greatly surprised on perceiving them.

The gentlemen took off their hats on entering the arbour, and bowed respectfully to the ladies.

"Here you are at last, gentlemen," Doña Maria remarked with a smile; "do you know that we felt very anxious?"

"Oh!" said Doña Carmen with a pout.

"Not so very," Doña Dolores murmured, "these gentlemen have doubtless found an opportunity to amuse themselves elsewhere and took advantage of it."

The Count and Dominique gazed at the young ladies in surprise, for they did not understand.

"Come, come, little mad caps," Doña Maria said gently: "do not torment the poor young men so, you render them quite confused: it is probable that they did not come sooner because they were prevented."

"Oh! These gentlemen are perfectly at liberty to come when they please: " Doña Dolores said disdainfully.

"We should be sorry to feel angry with them for such a trifle," Carmen added with the same tone.

This was the death shot for the young men, and they completely lost countenance. The teasing girls looked at them for a second, and then burst into such a frank and sudden laugh, that the Count and Dominique turned pale with annoyance.

"Viva Dios!" the vaquero exclaimed, stamping his foot angrily, "It is too unkind to punish us thus for a fault we have not committed."

"Don Adolfo detained us against our will!" the Count said.

"You have seen Don Jaime?" Doña Maria asked.

"Yes, Madam, he paid us a visit at eleven o'clock last night."

The young men then took chairs, and a pleasant conversation was carried on. Doña Carmen and Dolores continued to tease them: they were happy at having made them so utterly disconcerted, though in their hearts they felt a grudge because their lovers had not comprehended the feeling that dictated their reproaches. As for the Count and Dominique, they felt happy in being by the side of these lovely and simple girls, they intoxicated themselves with the fire of their glances, listened with ravishment to the sweet music of their voice, without thinking of anything but enjoying as long as possible the easy happiness which they thus procured. The entire afternoon passed in this way with the rapidity of a dream. At nine o'clock they took leave and returned home without exchanging a word.

"Do you feel inclined to sleep?" the Count asked his friend, as soon as they reached their apartments.

"Really, no," the latter answered; "why?"

"Because I should like to talk with you."

"Well, that is capital, for I too want to talk to you."

"Ah," said the Count: "well, if you like, we will talk over a cigar and a glass of punch."

"That will be excellent."

The young men sat down opposite each other and lit their cigars.

"What a charming day we have spent!" the Count said.

"How could it be otherwise," Dominique asked, "with such amiable persons?"

And as if by common accord the young men sighed. The Count suddenly seemed to form a determination.

"Come," he said to his friend, "will you be frank?"

"With you I shall always be so, as you are well aware," Dominique answered.

"Well, listen to me: you are aware that I have only been a few months in Mexico, but what you know only vaguely is the motive that brought me to this country."

"I fancy I was told you had come here with the intention of marrying your cousin, Doña Dolores de la Cruz."

"That is true: but what you do not know is the way in which this marriage was arranged, and the motives that prevent me from breaking it off."

"Ah!" said Dominique.

"I will be brief: know then that while still a child, by the conditions of a family compact I was betrothed to my cousin Doña Dolores, of whose existence even I was ignorant. When I became a man, my parents called on me to fulfil this engagement, which they had made in my name without consulting me. In spite of the very natural repugnance I felt for this strange union with a woman whom I did not know, I was compelled to obey. I quitted with regret the happy careless life I was leading in Paris among my friends, and embarked for Mexico. Don Andrés de la Cruz received me on my arrival with the liveliest joy, overwhelmed me with the most delicate attentions, and introduced me to his daughter, my betrothed. Doña Dolores received me coldly, even more than coldly: evidently she was no more satisfied than myself with the union she was forced to contract with a stranger, and felt hurt at the right her father had thus arrogated of disposing of her hand without consulting her, or even warning her; for Doña Dolores, as I learned afterwards, was perfectly ignorant of the compact concluded between the two branches of our family. As for myself, delighted at the cool reception which I received from the woman. I was destined to marry, I hoped that possibly this union might not be completed. Doña, Dolores is very beautiful, as you are aware."

"Ah, yes," Dominique muttered.

"Her character is charming, her mind cultivated – in a word, she combines all the graces and seductive attractions which make an accomplished woman."

"Oh, yes," Dominique repeated; "all that you are saying is perfectly true."

"Well, I cannot love her, the feeling is stronger than I am; and yet duty – duty forces me to marry her, for Doña Dolores has suddenly become an orphan. She is almost ruined, and surrendered defencelessly to her brother's hatred: betrothed to her against my will, it is true, but very really betrothed, honour orders me to carry out this union, the last wish of her dying father; and yet I love – "

"What do you say?" Dominique exclaimed in a panting voice.

"Forgive me, Dominique; I love Doña Carmen."

"Oh, thanks, Great Heaven!"

"What do you mean?"

"I love too," said Dominique; "you render me very happy, for the woman I love is Doña Dolores!"

The Count offered his hand to Dominique, but the latter threw himself into his arms. They held each other closely embraced for some time, but at last the Count gently liberated himself.

"Let us hope!" he said; and this one word contained the feelings which were boiling in his heart.