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Periodical Series and the Online Distributed Proofreading
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THE PEARL OF LIMA.
BY ANNE T. WILBUR.
_Graham's American Monthly Magazine of Literature, Art, and Fashion
(1844-1858)_; Apr 1853; VOL. XLII., No. 4; APS pg. 422
THE PEARL OF LIMA.
A STORY OF TRUE LOVE.
TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH OF M. JULES VERNE.
BY ANNE T. WILBUR.
Transcriber's Note:
Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note.
Inconsistent hyphenation and spellings have been standardised,
whilst variant and unique spellings remain as printed. For the
reader's ease, although not present in the original text, a brief
table of contents has been included below:
I. THE PLAZA-MAYOR.
II. EVENING IN THE STREETS OF LIMA.
III. THE JEW EVERY WHERE A JEW.
IV. A SPANISH GRANDEE.
V. THE HATRED OF THE INDIANS.
VI. THE BETROTHAL.
VII. ALL INTERESTS AT STAKE.
VIII. CONQUERORS AND CONQUERED.
IX. THE CATARACTS OF THE MADEIRA.
CHAPTER I.
THE PLAZA-MAYOR.
The sun had disappeared behind the snowy peaks of the Cordilleras; but
the beautiful Peruvian sky long retains, through the transparent veil of
night, the reflection of his rays; the atmosphere is impregnated with a
refreshing coolness, which in these burning latitudes affords freedom of
breath; it is the hour in which one can live a European life, and seek
without on the verandas some cooling gentle zephyr; it seems as if a
metallic roof was then interposed between the sun and the earth, which,
retaining the heat and suffering only the light to pass, offers beneath
its shelter a reparative repose.
This much desired hour had at last sounded from the clock of the
cathedral. While the earliest stars were rising above the horizon, the
numerous promenaders were traversing the streets of Lima, wrapped in
their light mantles, and conversing gravely on the most trivial affairs.
There was a great movement of the populace on the Plaza-Mayor, that
forum of the ancient city of kings; artisans were profiting by the
coolness to quit their daily labors; they circulated actively among the
crowd, crying their various merchandise; the ladies of Lima, carefully
enveloped in the mantillas which mask their countenances, with the
exception of the right eye, darted stealthy glances on the surrounding
masses; they undulated through the groups of smokers, like foam at the
will of the waves; other señoras, in ball costume, _coiffed_ only with
their abundant hair or some natural flowers, passed in large calêches,
throwing on the _caballeros_ nonchalant regards.
But these glances were not bestowed indiscriminately upon the young
cavaliers; the thoughts of the noble ladies could rest only on
aristocratic heights. The Indians passed without lifting their eyes upon
them, knowing themselves to be beneath their notice; betraying by no
gesture or word, the bitter envy of their hearts. They contrasted
strongly with the half-breeds, or mestizoes, who, repulsed like the
former, vented their indignation in cries and protestations.
The proud descendants of Pizarro marched with heads high, as in the
times when their ancestors founded the city of kings; their traditional
scorn rested alike on the Indians whom they had conquered, and the
mestizoes, born of their relations with the natives of the New World.
The Indians, on the contrary, were constantly struggling to break their
chains, and cherished alike aversion toward the conquerors of the
ancient empire of the Incas and their haughty and insolent descendants.
But the mestizoes, Spanish in their contempt for the Indians, and Indian
in their hatred which they had vowed against the Spaniards, burned with
both these vivid and impassioned sentiments.
A group of these young people stood near the pretty fountain in the
centre of the Plaza-Mayor. Clad in their _poncho_, a piece of cloth or
cotton in the form of a parallelogram, with an opening in the middle to
give passage to the head, in large pantaloons, striped with a thousand
colors, _coiffed_ with broad-brimmed hats of Guayaquil straw, they were
talking, declaiming, gesticulating.
"You are right, André," said a very obsequious young man, whom they
called Milleflores.
This was the friend, the parasite of André Certa, a young mestizo of
swarthy complexion, whose thin beard gave a singular appearance to his
countenance.
André Certa, the son of a rich merchant killed in the last _émeute_ of
the conspirator Lafuente, had inherited a large fortune; this he freely
scattered among his friends, whose humble salutations he demanded in
exchange for handfuls of gold.
"Of what use are these changes in government, these eternal
_pronunciamentos_ which disturb Peru to gratify private ambition?"
resumed André, in a loud voice; "what is it to me whether Gambarra or
Santa Cruz rule, if there is no equality."
"Well said," exclaimed Milleflores, who, under the most republican
government, could never have been the equal of a man of sense.
"How is it," resumed André Certa, "that I, the son of a merchant, can
ride only in a calêche drawn by mules? Have not my ships brought wealth
and prosperity to the country? Is not the aristocracy of piasters worth
all the titles of Spain?"
"It is a shame!" resumed the young mestizo. "There is Don Fernand, who
passes in his carriage drawn by two horses! Don Fernand d'Aiquillo! He
has scarcely property enough to feed his coachman and horses, and he
must come to parade himself proudly about the square. And, hold! here is
another! the Marquis Don Vegal!"
A magnificent carriage, drawn by four fine horses, at that moment
entered the Plaza-Mayor; its only occupant was a man of proud mien,
mingled with sadness; he gazed, without seeming to see them, on the
multitude assembled to breathe the coolness of the evening. This man was
the Marquis Don Vegal, knight of Alcantara, of Malta, and of Charles
III. He had a right to appear in this pompous equipage; the viceroy and
the archbishop could alone take precedence of him; but this great
nobleman came here from ennui and not from ostentation; his thoughts
were not depicted on his countenance, they were concentrated beneath his
bent brow; he received no impression from exterior objects, on which he
bestowed not a look, and heard not the envious reflections of the
mestizoes, when his four horses made their way through the crowd.
"I hate that man," said André Certa.
"You will not hate him long."
"I know it! All these nobles are displaying the last splendors of their
luxury; I can tell where their silver and their family jewels go."
"You have not your entrée with the Jew Samuel for nothing."
"Certainly not! On his account-books are inscribed aristocratic
creditors; in his strong-box are piled the wrecks of great fortunes; and
in the day when the Spaniards shall be as ragged as their Cæsar de
Bazan, we will have fine sport."
"Yes, we will have fine sport, dear André, mounted on your millions, on
a golden pedestal! And you are about to double your fortune! When are
you to marry the beautiful young daughter of old Samuel, a Limanienne to
the end of her nails, with nothing Jewish about her but her name of
Sarah?"
"In a month," replied André Certa, proudly, "there will be no fortune in
Peru which can compete with mine."
"But why," asked some one, "do you not espouse some Spanish girl of high
descent?"
"I despise these people as much as I hate them."
André Certa concealed the fact of his having been repulsed by several
noble families, into which he had sought to introduce himself.
His interlocutor still wore an expression of doubt, and the brow of the
mestizo had contracted, when the latter was rudely elbowed by a man of
tall stature, whose gray hairs proclaimed him to be at least fifty,
while the muscular force of his firmly knit limbs seemed undiminished by
age.
This man was clad in a brown vest, through which appeared a coarse shirt
with a broad collar; his short breeches, striped with green, were
fastened by red garters to stockings of clay-color; on his feet were
sandals made of _ojotas_, ox-hide prepared for this purpose; beneath his
high-pointed hat gleamed large ear-rings. His complexion was dark. After
having jostled André Certa, he looked at him fixedly, but with no
particular expression.
"Miserable Indian!" exclaimed the mestizo, raising his hand upon him.
His companions restrained him. Milleflores, whose face was pale with
terror, exclaimed:
"André! André! take care."
"A vile slave! to presume to elbow me!"
"It is a madman! it is the _Sambo_!"
The _Sambo_, as the name indicated, was an Indian of the mountains; he
continued to fix his eyes on the mestizo, whom he had intentionally
jostled. The latter, whose anger was unbounded, had seized a poignard at
his girdle, and was about to have rushed on the impassable aggressor,
when a guttural cry, like that of the _cilguero_, (a kind of linnet of
Peru,) re-echoed in the midst of the tumult of promenaders, and the
Sambo disappeared.
"Brutal and cowardly!" exclaimed André.
"Control yourself," said Milleflores, softly. "Let us leave the
Plaza-Mayor; the Limanienne ladies are too haughty here."
As he said these words, the brave Milleflores looked cautiously around
to see whether he was not within reach of the foot or arm of some Indian
in the neighborhood.
"In an hour, I must be at the house of Jew Samuel," said André.
"In an hour! we have time to pass to the _Calle del Peligro_; you can
offer some oranges or ananas to the charming _tapadas_ who promenade
there. Shall we go, gentlemen?"
The group directed their steps toward the extremity of the square, and
began to descend the street of Danger, where Milleflores hoped his good
looks would be appreciated; but it was nightfall, and the young
Limaniennes merited better than ever their name of _tapadas_ (hidden),
for they drew their mantles more closely over their countenances.
The Plaza-Mayor was all alive; the cries and the tumult were redoubled;
the guards on horseback, stationed before the central portico of the
viceroy's palace, situated on the north side of the square, could
scarcely maintain their position amid the shifting crowd; there were
merchants for all customers and customers for all merchants. The
greatest variety of trades seemed to be congregated there, and from the
_Portal de Escribanos_ to the _Portal de Botoneros_, there was one
immense display of articles of every kind, the Plaza-Mayor serving at
once as promenade, bazaar, market and fair. The ground-floor of the
viceroy's palace is occupied by shops; along the first story runs an
immense gallery where the crowd can promenade on days of public
rejoicing; on the east side of the square rises the cathedral, with its
steeples and light balustrades, proudly adorning its two towers; the
basement story of the edifice being ten feet high, and containing
warehouses full of the products of tropical climates.
In the centre of this square is situated the beautiful fountain,
constructed in 1653, by the orders of the viceroy, the Comte de
Salvatierra. From the top of the pillar, which rises in the middle of
the fountain and is surmounted with a statue of Fame, the water falls in
sheets, and is discharged into a basin beneath through the mouths of
lions. It is here that the water-carriers (_aguadores_) load their mules
with barrels, attach a bell to a hoop, and mount behind their liquid
merchandise.
This square is therefore noisy from morning till evening, and when the
stars of night rise above the snowy summits of the Cordilleras, the
tumult of the _élite_ of Lima equals the matinal hubbub of the
merchants.
Nevertheless, when the _oracion_ (evening _angelus_) sounds from the
bell of the cathedral, all this noise suddenly ceases; to the clamor of
pleasure succeeds the murmur of prayer; the women pause in their walk
and put their hands on their rosaries, invoking the Virgin Mary. Then,
not a merchant dares sell his merchandise, not a customer thinks of
buying, and this square, so recently animated, seems to have become a
vast solitude.
While the Limanians paused and knelt at the sound of the _angelus_, a
young girl, carefully surrounded by her discreet mantle, sought to pass
through the praying multitude; she was followed by a mestizo woman, a
sort of duenna, who watched every glance and step. The duenna, as if she
had not understood the warning bell, continued her way through the
devout populace: to the general surprise succeeded harsh epithets. The
young girl would have stopped, but the duenna kept on.
"Do you see that daughter of Satan?" said some one near her.
"Who is that _balarina_--that impious dancer?"
"It is one of the Carcaman women." (A reproachful name bestowed upon
Europeans.)
The young girl at last stopped, blushing and confused.
Suddenly a _gaucho_, a merchant of mules, seized her by the shoulder,
and would have compelled her to kneel; but he had scarcely laid his hand
upon her when a vigorous arm rudely felled him to the ground. This
scene, rapid as lightning, was followed by a moment of confusion.
"Save yourself, miss," said a gentle and respectful voice in the ear of
the young girl.
The latter turned, pale with terror, and saw a young Indian of tall
stature, who, with his arms tranquilly folded, was awaiting with firm
foot the attack of his adversary.
"We are lost!" exclaimed the duenna; "_niña, niña_, let us go, for the
love of God!" and she seized the arm of the young girl, who disappeared,
while the crowd rose and dispersed.
The _gaucho_ had risen, bruised with his fall, and thinking it not
prudent to seek revenge, rejoined his mules, muttering threats.