GENERAL TACON'S JUDGMENT.
Pleasant Company--The Cigar Girl of Havana--A Tobacconist's Shop in
Cuba--A Romance of Real Life--Spanish Justice abroad.
My health being now perfectly established, I signify my intention of
returning to my companion and duties in town. As my military friend, Don
Manuel, must also depart--his leave of absence having expired--I accept
his invitation to share the boat which is to convey him to Santiago, and
bid adieu to Don Benigno and his family, who contemplate remaining at
the sea-side for some days longer.
Don Manuel is excellent company, and, although an officer in the Spanish
service, his views of politics are exceedingly liberal. During the
homeward passage, the officer entertains me with various stories
illustrative of Cuban administration. He tells me that since the Pearl
of the Antilles has adorned the Spanish crown, the island of Cuba has
always been governed by a captain-general, a mighty personage, invested
with much the same power and authority as that of a monarch in some
countries, and, like a king, could not possibly do anything that was
wrong.
'The Cubans,' says he, 'have seldom had reason to be grateful to Spain
for the rulers she has appointed over them, because these have been
usually selected rather on the score of influence than capacity or
merit. There is, however, on record at least one captain-general whose
name is held in esteem by the Cuban people, on account of the good he
effected during his short reign in Havana. Captain-General Tacon
established some degree of safety for the inhabitants by introducing new
laws, and by severely punishing certain social offences which his
predecessors had rather overlooked, if they did not themselves set the
example. It is said of Tacon that, like Alfred the Great, he promised
the Cubans that they should be able to cast their purses upon the public
pavement, and yet find them there again after many days. Stories are
current in Cuba of the general's singular mode of administering justice,
which in many cases partook of an originality somewhat whimsical of its
kind.'
Don Manuel gives me the most popular story of this sort--that of the
cigar girl of Havana, which I will now repeat to the reader in the
following form:
Miralda Estalez was remarkable alike for the beauty of her person and
the excellence of her tobacco. She kept a cigar-shop in Havana, in the
Calle del Comercio; a narrow street, with a footpath scarcely wider than
an ordinary kerbstone. It was the veriest section of a shop, without a
front of any kind; presenting, from the street side, much the same
appearance as a burnt-out dwelling would exhibit, or a theatrical scene
viewed by an audience. During the hot hours of the day a curtain was
suspended before the shop to ward off the powerful rays of the sun,
under whose influence the delicate goods within might otherwise be
prematurely dried, while the effect would be equally detrimental to
their fair vendor. The easy mode of access, assisted by the narrow
kerbstone, together with many attractions within the shop, tempted many
passers to drop in for a chat and a cigar. There was a little counter,
with little pyramidal heaps of cigarette packets and cigars, of the
genuine Havana brand, distributed upon it. Affixed to a wall at the back
was a glass show-case, fitted with shelves like a book-case, and laden
with bundles of the precious leaves, placed like volumes side by side,
and bound in bright yellow ribbon. Although Miralda was visited from
morning till night by every kind of male, black and brown, as well as
white, nothing was ever said against the virtue of the young
tobacconist.
Like the cigars she sold, Miralda was of 'calidad superior;' and, in the
same manner, age had rather improved her quality than otherwise, for it
had ripened her into a charming full-grown woman of sixteen tropical
summers. Some merit was due to Miralda for the respectable life she led;
for, besides the temptations to which she was daily and hourly
subjected, she was quite alone in the world, her parents, brothers, and
sisters being dead. Miralda naturally found many admirers among her
numerous customers; she, however, made no distinction with them, but had
a bright smile and a kind word for all who favoured her with their
praises and their patronage. One alone, perhaps, held a place nearer her
heart than all others. This was Don Pedro Mantanez, a young boatman
employed in the harbour near the Morro Castle. Pedro was of good white
parentage, though one would not have judged so from the colour of his
skin, which, from long exposure to the sun and the weather, had turned
a pale coffee colour. Pedro loved Miralda fondly, and she was by no
means indifferent to the handsome Creole. But the pretty tobacconist was
in no hurry to wear the matrimonial chains. The business, like herself,
was far from old-established, and she thought in her capacity of a
married woman the attractions of her shop would diminish by at least
one-half, while her patrons would disappear in the same ratio. Miralda
once made her lover a promise that she would marry him as soon as he
should have won a prize in the lottery; for, with his savings, this
would enable Pedro to have a share in her business as well as in her
happiness. So, once a month, Pedro invested a doubloon in
lottery-tickets; but, as he never succeeded in winning a prize, he
failed to wed the pretty tobacconist. Still, the young boatman continued
to drop anchor at the cigar-shop as often as his spare time would allow;
and as the fond couple always conducted themselves with the strictest
propriety, their engagement remained a secret.
Now Pedro Mantanez had a rival, and, to a certain extent, a formidable
one. The Count Almante was a noble of Spanish birth, and an officer by
profession. He was one of those fortunate gentlemen who, from no
inherent talent or acquired ability, had been sent from the
mother-country to enrich himself in her prosperous colony. Besides his
wealth, which report described as ill-gotten, he gloried in the
reputation of being a gay cavalier in Havana, and a great favourite with
the Creole ladies. It was his boast that no girl beneath him in station
had been yet known to reject any offer he might propose; and he would
sometimes lay wagers with his associates that the lady whom he had
newly honoured with his admiration would, at a given time, stand entered
in his book of amours as a fresh conquest. To achieve a particular
object, the count would never allow anything, human or otherwise, to
stand in his path; and by reason of his wealth, his nobility, and his
influence with the authorities, his crimes were numerous and his
punishments few, if any.
It happened that the last senorita who had taken Count Almante's fancy
was Miralda Estalez. The count spent many hours and many pesetas at the
pretty tobacconist's counter, where, we may be sure, he used his most
persuasive language to attain his very improper purpose. Accustomed to
have pretty things poured into her ears by a variety of admirers,
Miralda regarded the count's addresses with indifference; and, while
behaving with her wonted amiability of manner, gave him neither
encouragement nor motive for pressing his suit. One evening the count
lingered at the cigar-shop longer than custom allows, and, under the
pretence of purchasing and smoking more cigars, remained until the
neighbouring shops were closed and the streets were deserted. Alone with
the girl, and insured against intruders, Count Almante ventured to
disclose his unworthy passion. Amongst other things, he said:
'If you will love me and live with me, I will give you as many golden
onzas as you require, and I will place at your disposal another and a
better shop in the suburbs of the Cerro, where you can carry on your
business as before.'
The Cerro was situated near the count's palace. Miralda said nothing in
reply; but, looking the count steadily in the face, gave him the name of
another shop where, she informed him, he would obtain better cigars
than those she sold.
Heedless of the significance of her remark, which he attributed to
shyness, Almante rose from where he had been seated, and, approaching
the girl, endeavoured to place his arm round her waist. Ever guarded
against the casualties of insult, Miralda retreated a step, and at the
same moment drawing a small dagger from the folds of her dress, warned
the count not to touch her. Baulked in his design, Almante withdrew,
assuring the girl with a smile that he did but jest; but as he left the
shop he bit his lip and clenched his fist with evident disappointment.
When Pedro heard of what had happened, his indignation was great, and he
resolved to take summary vengeance; but Miralda begged him not to be
precipitate, as she had now no fear of further molestation from the
count; and as days elapsed, and Almante had not resumed his visits, it
seemed apparent that he had taken Miralda's advice, and transferred his
custom elsewhere.
One evening, as Miralda was about to close her shop for the night, a
party of soldiers halted before her door. The commanding officer
entered, and, without a word, presented to the astonished tobacconist a
warrant for her arrest. Knowing that it was useless to disobey any
officer in the employ of the captain-general, Miralda signified her
readiness to accompany the military escort, who, accordingly, placed her
in their midst, and conducted her through the streets in the direction
of the prison. But instead of halting here, the party continued their
march until they had reached the confines of the city. Miralda's
courage now deserted her, and, with tears in her eyes, she appealed to
the officer in command.
'Por la Virgen Santisima!' she exclaimed, 'let me know where I am being
taken to.'
'You will learn when you get there. Our orders strictly forbid us to
make any explanation,' was the only reply she obtained.
Miralda was not long in learning the worst. Very shortly, her escort
halted before Count Almante's castle in the neighbourhood of the Cerro,
and, having entered the court-yard of that building, the fair captive
was conducted tremblingly into a chamber elegantly fitted up for her
reception. After waiting here a few minutes in painful suspense, an
inner door was thrown open, and Count Almante stood before her. The
scene which then followed may be better imagined than described. We may
be sure that the count used every effort in order to prevail upon his
prisoner, but without success. Miralda's invariable response was a gleam
of her dagger, which never left her hand from the first moment of
entering the odious building. Finding that mild measures would not win
the pretty tobacconist, the count, as is usual under such circumstances
with persons of his nature, threatened her with violence; and he would,
doubtless, have carried out his threat, if Miralda had not anticipated
him by promising to relent and to become his if her persecutor would
allow her one short week to reconsider her determination. Deceived by
the girl's assumed manner, Almante acceded to her desire and agreed to
wait. Miralda, however, felt assured that before long her lover would
discover her whereabouts, and by some means effect her release. She was
not disappointed. Miralda's sudden disappearance was soon made known to
Pedro Mantanez, who, confident that his beloved had fallen into the
count's clutches, determined to obtain access to Almante's palace. For
this purpose he assumed the dress of a monk; and, his face being unknown
at the castle, he easily obtained an entry, and afterwards an interview
with Miralda herself. The girl's surprise and joy at beholding her lover
were unbounded. In his strong embrace, she became oblivious of her
sorrows, confident that the young boatman would now conduct her speedily
into a harbour of refuge. She was not mistaken. Pedro sought and
obtained an audience with General Tacon. The general was, as usual,
immersed in public affairs; but, being gifted with the enviable faculty
of hearing, talking, and writing at the same moment, merely glanced at
his applicant, and desired him to tell his story. Pedro did as he was
desired, and when he had concluded, Tacon, without raising his eyes from
the papers with which he appeared intently engaged, made the following
inquiry:
'Is Miralda Estalez your sister?'
'No, su excelencia, she is not,' replied Pedro.
'Your wife, perhaps?' suggested the general.
'She is my betrothed!'
General Tacon motioned the young man to approach, and then directing a
look to him which seemed to read him through, held up a crucifix, and
bade him swear to the truth of all that he had stated. Pedro knelt, and
taking the cross in both hands, kissed it, and made the oath required of
him. When he had done so, the general pointed to an apartment, where he
desired Pedro to wait until he was summoned. Aware of the brief and
severe manner in which General Tacon dealt with all social questions,
Pedro Mantanez left the august presence in doubt whether his judge would
decide for or against his case. His suspense was not of long duration.
In an hour or so, one of the governor's guards entered, ushering in
Count Almante and his captive lady. The general received the new-comers
in the same manner as he had received the young boatman. In a tone of
apparent indifference, he addressed the count as follows:
'If I am not mistaken, you have abused your authority by effecting the
abduction of this girl?'
'I confess I have done so,' replied the count, in a tone intended to
match that of his superior; 'but,' he continued, with a conciliatory
smile, 'I think that the affair is of such a nature that it need not
occupy the attention of your excellency.'
'Well, perhaps not,' said his judge, still busy over the documents
before him.
'I simply wish to learn from you, upon your word of honour, whether any
violence has been used towards the girl.'
'None whatever, upon my honour,' replied Almante, 'and I am happy in
believing that none will be required!'
'Is the girl already yours, then?'
'Not at present,' said the count, with a supercilious smirk, 'but she
has promised to become mine very shortly.'
'Is this true?' inquired the captain-general, for the first time raising
his eyes, and turning to Miralda, who replied:
'My promise was made only with a view to save myself from threatened
violence.'
'Do you say this upon your oath?'
'Upon my oath I do!'
The general now ordered Pedro Mantanez to appear, and then carefully
interrogated the lovers upon their engagement. Whilst doing so he wrote
a dispatch and handed it to one of his guards. When the latter had
departed, Tacon sent a messenger in quest of a priest and a lawyer. When
these arrived, the general commanded the priest to perform the ceremony
of marriage between Miralda Estalez and Count Almante and bade the
lawyer prepare the necessary documents for the same purpose.
The count, who had already expressed his vexation at what promised to be
an attempt to deprive him of his new favorite by allying her with the
boatman, was horrified when he heard what the governor's mandate really
was. His indignation was extreme, and he endeavoured to show how
preposterous such an alliance would be, by reminding the general of his
noble birth and honorable calling. Pedro was equally disappointed at
being thus dispossessed of his betrothed and appealed to Tacon's
generosity and sense of right. Miralda remained speechless with
astonishment, but with the most perfect reliance in the wisdom of her
judge. Meanwhile, in spite of all remonstrances, the marriage was
formally solemnised, and Miralda Estalez and Count Almante were man and
wife. The unhappy bridegroom was then requested to return to his palace
in the Cerro, while his bride and her late lover were desired to remain.
Upwards of an hour had passed since the count's departure, and nothing
further transpired. The governor had resumed his business affairs, and
appeared, as before, utterly unconscious of all present. He was however
shortly interrupted by the appearance of the guard whom he had
despatched with his missive.
'Is my order executed?' inquired the general, looking up for a moment
only.
'Si, mi general, it is,' replied the guard. 'Nine bullets were fired at
the count as he rode round the corner of the street mentioned in your
dispatch.'
Tacon then ordered that the marriage and death of Count Almante should
receive all publicity, and that legal steps should be taken for the
purpose of showing that the property and name of the defunct were
inherited by his disconsolate widow. When the general's commands had
been fulfilled, and a decent period after the count's demise had
transpired, it need scarcely be added that Pedro Mantanez married the
countess, with whom he lived happily ever after.
'Rather a barbarous way of administering justice,' I remark, at the
conclusion of Don Manuel's story. 'In my country,' I add, 'such an act
as that which General Tacon committed would be called murder.'
'It is not looked upon in that light here,' says the officer. 'You must
remember that the count had been already guilty of many crimes worthy
the punishment of death, and as there had been no means of bringing him
to justice, justice improved the occasion which his last offence
presented, and, as it were, came to him!'