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 _onces_[1] 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?"
[1] £850 sterling.