With a horse to travel on, and my arm so much better that the sling
supporting it was worn rather for ornament than use, there was nothing
except that promise not to run away immediately to detain me longer in
the pleasant retreat of the Casa Blanca; nothing, that is, had I been
a man of gutta-percha or cast-iron; being only a creature of clay--very
impressionable clay as it happened--I could not persuade myself that
I was quite well enough to start on that long ride over a disturbed
country. Besides, my absence from Montevideo had already lasted so
long that a few days more could not make much difference one way or the
other; thus it came to pass that I still stayed on, enjoying the society
of my new friends, while every day, every hour in fact, I felt less able
to endure the thought of tearing myself away from Dolores.
Much of my time was spent in the pleasant orchard adjoining the house.
Here, growing in picturesque irregularity, were fifty or sixty old
peach, nectarine, apricot, plum, and cherry trees, their boles double
the thickness of a man's thigh; they had never been disfigured by the
pruner's knife or saw, and their enormous size and rough bark, overgrown
with grey lichen, gave them an appearance of great antiquity. All about
the ground, tangled together in a pretty confusion, flourished many of
those dear familiar Old World garden flowers that spring up round the
white man's dwelling in all temperate regions of the earth. Here were
immemorial wallflowers, stocks and marigolds, tall hollyhock, gay poppy,
brilliant bachelor's button; also, half hid amongst the grass, pansy and
forget-me-not. The larkspur, red, white, and blue, flaunted everywhere;
and here, too, was the unforgotten sweet-william, looking bright and
velvety as of yore, yet, in spite of its brightness and stiff, green
collar, still wearing the old shame-faced expression, as if it felt
a little ashamed of its own pretty name. These flowers were not
cultivated, but grew spontaneously from the seed they shed year by year
on the ground, the gardener doing nothing for them beyond keeping the
weeds down and bestowing a little water in hot weather. The solstitial
heats being now over, during which European garden flowers cease to
bloom for a season, they were again in gayest livery to welcome the long
second spring of autumn, lasting from February to May. At the farther
end of this wilderness of flowers and fruit trees was an aloe
hedge, covering a width of twenty to thirty yards with its enormous,
disorderly, stave-like leaves. This hedge was like a strip of wild
nature placed alongside of a plot of man's improved nature; and here,
like snakes hunted from the open, the weeds and wildings which were not
permitted to mix with the flowers had taken refuge. Protected by that
rude bastion of spikes, the hemlock opened feathery clusters of dark
leaves and whitish umbels wherever it could reach up to the sunshine.
There also grew the nightshade, with other solanaceous weeds, bearing
little clusters of green and purple berries, wild oats, fox-tail grass,
and nettles. The hedge gave them shelter, but no moisture, so that all
these weeds and grasses had a somewhat forlorn and starved appearance,
climbing up with long stringy stems among the powerful aloes. The hedge
was also rich in animal life. There dwelt mice, cavies, and elusive
little lizards; crickets sang all day long under it, while in every open
space the green _epeiras_ spread their geometric webs. Being rich in
spiders, it was a favourite hunting-ground of those insect desperadoes,
the mason-wasps, that flew about loudly buzzing in their splendid gold
and scarlet uniform. There were also many little shy birds here, and my
favourite was the wren, for in its appearance and its scolding, jerky,
gesticulating ways it is precisely like our house-wren, though it has a
richer and more powerful song than the English bird. On the other side
of the hedge was the _potrero_, or paddock, where a milch-cow with two
or three horses were kept. The manservant, whose name was Nepomucino,
presided over orchard and paddock, also to some extent over the entire
establishment. Nepomucino was a pure negro, a little old round-headed,
blear-eyed man, about five feet four in height, the short lumpy wool
on his head quite grey; slow in speech and movements, his old black
or chocolate-coloured fingers all crooked, stiff-jointed, and pointing
spontaneously in different directions. I have never seen anything in the
human subject to equal the dignity of Nepomucino, the profound gravity
of his bearing and expression forcibly reminding one of an owl.
Apparently he had come to look upon himself as the sole head and master
of the establishment, and the sense of responsibility had more
than steadied him. The negrine propensity to frequent explosions of
inconsequent laughter was not, of course, to be expected in such a
sober-minded person; but he was, I think, a little too sedate for a
black, for, although his face would shine on warm days like polished
ebony, it did not smile. Everyone in the house conspired to keep up the
fiction of Nepomucino's importance; they had, in fact, conspired so long
and so well, that it had very nearly ceased to be a fiction. Everybody
addressed him with grave respect. Not a syllable of his long name was
ever omitted--what the consequences of calling him Nepo, or Cino, or
Cinito, the affectionate diminutive, would have been I am unable to say,
since I never had the courage to try the experiment. It often amused me
to hear Doña Mercedes calling to him from the house, and throwing the
whole emphasis on the last syllable in a long, piercing crescendo:
“Ne--po--mu--ci--no--o.” Sometimes, when I sat in the orchard, he would
come, and, placing himself before me, discourse gravely about things
in general, clipping his words and substituting r for l in the negro
fashion, which made it hard for me to repress a smile. After winding
up with a few appropriate moral reflections he would finish with the
remark: “For though I am black on the surface, señor, my heart is
white”; and then he would impressively lay one of his old crooked
fingers on the part where the physiological curiosity was supposed to
be. He did not like being told to perform menial offices, preferring to
anticipate all requests of that kind and do whatever was necessary by
stealth. Sometimes I would forget this peculiarity of the old black,
and tell him that I wanted him to polish my boots. He would ignore the
request altogether, and talk for a few minutes of political matters, or
on the uncertainty of all things mundane, and by and by, glancing at my
boots, would remark incidentally that they required polishing, offering
somewhat ostentatiously to have them done for me. Nothing would make him
admit that he did these things himself. Once I tried to amuse Dolores
by mimicking his speech to her, but quickly she silenced me, saying that
she loved Nepomucino too well to allow even her best friend to laugh
at him. He had been born when blacks were slaves in the service of her
family, had carried her in his arms when she was an infant, and had seen
all the male members of the house of Zelaya swept away in the wars
of Reds and Whites; but in the days of their adversity his faithful,
dog-like affection had never failed them. It was beautiful to see her
manner towards him. If she wanted a rose for her hair or dress she would
not pluck it herself or allow me to get it for her, but Nepomucino must
be asked to get it. Then every day she would find time to sit down in
the garden by his side to tell him all the news of the village and of
the country at large, discuss the position of affairs with him, and ask
his advice about everything in the house.
Indoors or out I generally had Dolores for a companion, and I could
certainly not have had a more charming one. The civil war--though the
little splutter on the Yí scarcely deserved that name yet--was her
unfailing theme. She was never weary of singing her hero Santa Coloma's
praises--his dauntless courage and patience in defeat; his strange
romantic adventures; the innumerable disguises and stratagems he had
resorted to when going about in his own country, where a price was set
on his head; ever labouring to infuse fresh valour into his beaten,
disheartened followers. That the governing party had any right to be in
power, or possessed any virtue of any kind, or were, in fact, anything
but an incubus and a curse to the Banda Orientál, she would not for one
moment admit. To her mind her country always appeared like Andromeda
bound on her rock and left weeping and desolate to be a prey to the
abhorred Colorado monster; while ever to the deliverance of this lovely
being came her glorious Perseus, swift as the winds of heaven, the
lightnings of terrible vengeance flashing from his eyes, the might of
the immortals in his strong right arm. Often she tried to persuade me to
join this romantic adventurer, and it was hard, very hard, to resist her
eloquent appeals, and perhaps it grew harder every day as the influence
of her passionate beauty strengthened itself upon my heart. Invariably
I took refuge in the argument that I was a foreigner, that I loved my
country with an ardour equal to hers, and that by taking arms in the
Banda Orientál I should at once divest myself of all an Englishman's
rights and privileges. She scarcely had patience to listen to this
argument, it seemed so trivial to her, and when she demanded other
better reasons I had none to offer. I dare not quote to her the words of
sulky Achilles:
The distant Trojans never injured me, for that argument would have
sounded even weaker to her than the former one. She had never read Homer
in any language, of course, but she wouldhave quickly made me tell her
about Achilles, and when the end came, with miserable Hector dragged
thrice round the walls of besieged Troy--Montevideo was called Modern
Troy, she knew--then she would have turned my argument against me
and bidden me go and serve the Uruguayan President as Achilles served
Hector. Seeing me silent, she would turn indignantly away only for a
moment, however; the bright smile would quickly return, and she would
exclaim, “No, no, Richard, I shall not forget my promise, though I
sometimes think you try to make me do so.”
It was noon: the house was quiet, for Doña Mercedes had retired after
breakfast to take her unfailing siesta, leaving us to our conversation.
In that spacious, cool room where I had first reposed in the house, I
was lying on the sofa smoking a cigarette. Dolores, seating herself near
me with her guitar, said, “Now let me play and sing you to sleep with
something very soft.” But the more she played and sang the further was I
from un-needed slumber.
“What, not sleeping yet, Richard!” she would say, with a little laugh
after each song.
“Not yet, Dolores,” I would reply, pretending to get drowsy. “But my
eyes are getting heavy now. One more song will send me to the region of
dreams. Sing me that sweet favourite---
_Desde aquel doloroso momento_.”
At length, finding that my sleepiness was all pretence, she refused to
sing any more, and presently we drifted once more into the old subject.
“Ah, yes,” she replied to that argument about my nationality, which was
my only shield, “I have always been taught to believe foreigners a cold,
practical, calculating kind of people--so different from us. You
never seemed to me like a foreigner; ah, Richard, why will you make
me remember that you are not one of us! Tell me, dear friend, if
a beautiful woman cried out to you to deliver her from some great
misfortune or danger, would you stop to ask her nationality before going
to her rescue?”
“No, Dolores; you know that if you, for instance, were in distress or
danger I would fly to your side and risk my life to save you.”
“I believe you, Richard. But tell me, is it less noble to help a
suffering people cruelly oppressed by wicked men who have succeeded by
crimes and treachery and foreign aid in climbing into power? Will you
tell me that no Englishman has drawn a sword in a cause like that? Oh,
friend, is not my mother-country more beautiful and worthy to be helped
than any woman? Has not God given her spiritual eyes that shed tears and
look for comfort; lips sweeter than any woman's lips, that cry bitterly
every day for deliverance? Can you look on the blue skies above you and
walk on the green grass where the white and purple flowers smile up at
you and be deaf and blind to her beauty and to her great need? Oh, no,
no, it is impossible!”
“Ah, if you were a man, Dolores, what a flame you would kindle in the
hearts of your countrymen!”
“Yes, if I were a man!” she exclaimed, starting to her feet; “then I
should serve my country not with words only; then I would strike and
bleed for her--how willingly! Being only a weak woman, I would give my
heart's blood to win one arm to aid in the sacred cause.”
She stood before me with flashing eyes, her face glowing with
enthusiasm; then I also rose to my feet and took her hands in mine,
for I was intoxicated with her loveliness and almost ready to throw all
restraints to the winds.
“Dolores,” I said, “are not your words extravagant? Shall I test their
sincerity? Tell me, would you give even as much as one kiss with your
sweet lips to win a strong arm for your country?”
She turned crimson and cast her eyes down; then, quickly recovering
herself, answered:
“What do your words mean? Speak plainly, Richard.”
“I cannot speak plainer, Dolores. Forgive me if I have offended once
more. Your beauty and grace and eloquence have made me forget myself.”
Her hands were moist and trembling in mine, still she did not withdraw
them. “No, I am not offended,” she returned in a strangely low tone.
“Put me to the test, Richard. Do you wish me to understand clearly that
for such a favour as that you would join us?”
“I cannot say,” I replied, still endeavouring to be prudent, though my
heart was on fire and my words when I spoke seemed to choke me. “But,
Dolores, if you would shed your blood to win one strong arm, will you
think it too much to bestow the favour I spoke of in the hope of winning
an arm?”
She was silent. Then, drawing her closer, I touched her lips with mine.
But who was ever satisfied with that one touch on the lips for which
the heart has craved? It was like contact with a strange, celestial fire
that instantly kindled my love to madness. Again and yet again I kissed
her; I pressed her lips till they were dry and burned like fire, then
kissed cheek, forehead, hair, and, casting my arms about her strained
her to my breast in a long, passionate embrace; then the violence of
the paroxysm was over, and with a pang I released her. She trembled:
her face was whiter than alabaster, and, covering it with her hands, she
sank down on the sofa. I sat down beside her and drew her head down on
my breast, but we remained silent, only our hearts were beating very
fast. Presently she disengaged herself, and, without bestowing one
glance on me, rose and left the room.
Before long I began to blame myself bitterly for this imprudent
outburst. I dared not hope to continue longer on the old familiar
footing. So high-spirited and sensitive a woman as Dolores would not
easily be brought to forget or forgive my conduct. She had not repelled
me, she had even tacitly consented to that one first kiss, and was
therefore partly to blame herself; but her extreme pallor, her silence,
and cold manner had plainly shown me that I had wounded her. My passion
had overcome me, and I felt that I had compromised myself. For that one
first kiss I had all but promised to do a certain thing, and not to
do it now seemed very dishonourable, much as I shrank from joining
the Blanco rebels. I had proposed the thing myself; she had silently
consented to the stipulation. I had taken my kiss and much more, and,
having now had my delirious, evanescent joy, I could not endure the
thought of meanly skulking off without paying the price.
I went out full of trouble and paced up and down in the orchard for two
or three hours, hoping that Dolores might come to me there, but I saw no
more of her that day. At dinner Doña Mercedes was excessively affable,
showing clearly that she was not in her daughter's confidence. She
informed me, simple soul! that Dolores was suffering from a grievous
headache caused by taking a glass of claret at breakfast after eating
a slice of water-melon, an imprudence against which she did not omit to
caution me.
Lying awake that night--for the thought that I had pained and offended
Dolores made it impossible for me to sleep--I resolved to join Santa
Coloma immediately. That act alone would salve my conscience, and I only
hoped that it would serve to win back the friendship and esteem of
the woman I had learned to love so well. I had no sooner determined on
taking this step than I began to see so many advantages in it that
it seemed strange I had not taken it before; but we lose half our
opportunities in life through too much caution. A few more days of
adventure, all the pleasanter for being spiced with danger, and I would
be once more in Montevideo with a host of great and grateful friends to
start me in some career in the country. Yes, I said to myself, becoming
enthusiastic, once this oppressive, scandalous, and besotted Colorado
party is swept with bullet and steel out of the country, as of course
it will be, I shall go to Santa Coloma to lay down my sword, resuming by
that act my own nationality, and as sole reward of my chivalrous conduct
in aiding the rebellion, ask for his interest in getting me placed say,
at the head of some large _estancia_ in the interior. There, possibly
on one of his own establishments, I shall be in my element and happy,
hunting ostriches, eating _carne con cuero_, possessing a _tropilla_
of twenty cream-coloured horses for my private use, and building up a
modest fortune out of hides, horns, tallow, and other native products.
At break of day I rose and saddled my horse; then, finding the dignified
Nepomucino, who was the early bird (blackbird) of the establishment,
told him to inform his mistress that I was going to spend the day with
General Santa Coloma. After taking a _maté_ from the old fellow, I
mounted and galloped out of the village of Molino.
Arrived at the camp, which had been moved to a distance of four or five
miles from El Molino, I found Santa Coloma just ready to mount his horse
to start on an expedition to a small town eight or nine leagues distant.
He at once asked me to go with him, and remarked that he was very
much pleased, though not surprised, at my having changed my mind about
joining him. We did not return till late in the evening, and the whole
of the following day was spent in monotonous cavalry exercises. I then
went to the General and requested permission to visit the Casa Blanca to
bid adieu to my friends there. He informed me that he intended going to
El Molino the next morning himself and would take me with him. The
first thing he did on our arrival at the village was to send me to the
principal storekeeper in the place, a man who had faith in the Blanco
leader, and was rapidly disposing of a large stock of goods at a
splendid profit, receiving in payment sundry slips of paper signed
by Santa Coloma. This good fellow, who mixed politics with business,
provided me with a complete and much-needed outfit, which included a
broadcloth suit of clothes, soft brown hat rather broad in the brim,
long riding-boots, and _poncho_. Going back to the official building or
headquarters in the plaza, I received my sword, which did not harmonise
very well with the civilian costume I wore; but I was no worse off in
this respect than forty-nine out of every fifty men in our little army.
In the afternoon we went together to see the ladies, and the General
had a very hearty welcome from both of them, as I also had from Doña
Mercedes, while Dolores received me with the utmost indifference,
expressing no pleasure or surprise at seeing me wearing a sword in the
cause which she had professed to have so much at heart. This was a sore
disappointment, and I was also nettled at her treatment of me. After
dinner, over which we sat talking some time, the General left us,
telling me before doing so to join him in the plaza at five o'clock
next morning. I then tried to get an opportunity of speaking to Dolores
alone, but she studiously avoided me, and in the evening there were
several visitors, ladies from the town with three or four officers from
the camp, and dancing and singing were kept up till towards midnight.
Finding that I could not speak to her, and anxious about my appointment
at five in the morning, I at length retired sorrowful and baffled to my
apartment. Without undressing I threw myself on my bed, and, being very
much fatigued with so much riding about, I soon fell asleep. When I
woke, the brilliant light of the moon, shining in at open window and
door, made me fancy it was already daylight, and I quickly sprang up.
I had no means of telling the time, except by going into the large
living-room, where there was an old eight-day clock. Making my way
thither, I was amazed to see, on entering it, Dolores in her white dress
sitting beside the open window in a dejected attitude. She started and
rose up when I entered, the extreme pallor of her face heightened
by contrast with her long, raven-black hair hanging unbound on her
shoulders.
“Dolores, do I find you here at this hour?” I exclaimed.
“Yes,” she returned coldly, sitting down again. “Do you think it very
strange, Richard?”
“Pardon me for disturbing you,” I said; “I came here to find out the
time from your clock.”
“It is two o'clock. Is that all you came for? Did you imagine I could
retire to sleep without first knowing what your motive was in returning
to this house? Have you then forgotten everything?”
I came to her and sat down by the window before speaking. “No, Dolores,”
I said; “had I forgotten, you would not have seen me here enlisted in a
cause which I looked on only as your cause.”
“Ah, then you have honoured the Casa Blanca with this visit not to speak
to me--that you considered unnecessary--but merely to exhibit yourself
wearing a sword!”
I was stung by the extreme bitterness of her tone. “You are unjust to
me,” I said. “Since that fatal moment when my passion overcame me I have
not ceased thinking of you, grieving that I had offended you. No, I did
not come to exhibit my sword, which is not worn for ornament; I came
only to speak to you, Dolores, and you purposely avoided me.”
“Not without reason,” she retorted quickly. “Did I not sit quietly
by you after you had acted in that way towards me, waiting for you to
speak--to explain, and you were silent? Well, señor, I am here now,
waiting again.”
“This, then, is what I have to say,” I replied. “After what passed I
considered myself bound in honour to join your cause, Dolores. What more
can I say except to implore your forgiveness? Believe me, dear friend,
in that moment of passion I forgot everything--forgot that I--forgot
that your hand was already given to another.”
“Given to another? What do you mean, Richard? Who told you that?”
“General Santa Coloma.”
“The General? What right has he to occupy himself with my affairs? This
is a matter that concerns myself only, and it is presumption on his part
to interfere in it.”
“Do you speak in that tone of your hero, Dolores? Remember that he
only warned me of my danger out of pure friendship. But his warning was
thrown away; my unhappy passion, the sight of your loveliness, your own
incautious words, were too much for my heart.”
She dropped her face on her hands and remained silent.
“I have suffered for my fault, and must suffer more. Will you not say
you forgive me, Dolores?” I said, offering my hand.
She took it, but continued silent.
“Say, dearest friend, that you forgive me, that we part friends.”
“Oh, Richard, must we part then?” she murmured.
“Yes--now, Dolores; for, before you are up, I must be on horseback and
on my way to join the troops. The march to Montevideo will probably
commence almost immediately.”
“Oh, I cannot bear it!” she suddenly exclaimed, taking my hands in both
hers. “Let me open my heart to you now. Forgive me, Richard, for being
so angry with you, but I did not know the General had said such a thing.
Believe me, he imagines more than he knows. When you took me in your
arms and held me against your breast it was a revelation to me. I cannot
love or give my hand to any other man. You are everything in the world
to me now, Richard; must you leave me to mingle in this cruel civil
strife in which all my dearest friends and relations have perished.”
She had had her revelation; I now had mine, and it was an exceedingly
bitter one. I trembled at the thought of confessing my secret to her,
now when she had so unmistakably responded to the passion I had insanely
revealed.
Suddenly she raised her dark, luminous eyes to mine, anger and shame
struggling for mastery on her pale face.
“Speak, Richard!” she exclaimed. “Your silence at this moment is an
insult to me.”
“For God's sake, have mercy on me, Dolores,” I said. “I am not free--I
have a wife.”
For some moments she sat staring fixedly at me, then, flinging my hand
from her, covered her face. Presently she uncovered it again, for shame
was overcome and cast out by anger. She rose and stood up before me, her
face very white.
“You have a wife--a wife whose existence you concealed from me till
this moment!” she said. “Now you ask for mercy when your secret has been
wrung from you! Married, and you have dared to take me in your arms,
to excuse yourself afterwards with the plea of passion! Passion--do you
know what it means, traitor? Ah, no; a breast like yours cannot know
any great or generous emotion. Would you have dared show your face to
me again had you been capable of shame even? And you judged my heart as
shallow as your own, and, after treating me in that way, thought to win
my forgiveness, and admiration even, by parading before me with a
sword! Leave me, I can feel nothing but contempt for you. Go; you are a
disgrace to the cause you have espoused!”
I had sat utterly crushed and humiliated, not daring even to raise my
sight to her face, for I felt that my own unspeakable weakness and folly
had brought this tempest upon me! But there is a limit to patience, even
in the most submissive mood; and when that was overpassed, then my
anger blazed out all the more hotly for the penitential meekness I
had preserved during the whole interview. Her words from the first had
fallen like whip-cuts, making me writhe with the pain they inflicted;
but that last taunt stung me beyond endurance. I, an Englishman, to be
told that I was a disgrace to the Blanco cause, which I had joined, in
spite of my better judgment, purely out of my romantic devotion to this
very woman! I too was now upon my feet, and there face to face we stood
for some moments, silent and trembling. At length I found my speech.
“This,” I cried, “from the woman who was ready yesterday to shed her
heart's blood to win one strong arm for her country? I have renounced
everything, allied myself with abhorred robbers and cut-throats, only
to learn that her one desire is everything to her, her divine, beautiful
country nothing. I wish that a man had spoken those words to me,
Dolores, so that I might have put this sword you speak of to one good
use before breaking it and flinging it from me like the vile thing it
is! Would to God the earth would open and swallow up this land for ever,
though I sank down into hell with it for the detestable crime of taking
part in its pirate wars!”
She stood perfectly still, gazing at me with widely dilated eyes, a new
expression coming into her face; then when I paused for her to speak,
expecting only a fresh outburst of scorn and bitterness, a strange,
sorrowful smile flitted over her lips, and, coming close to me, she
placed her hand on my shoulder.
“Oh,” she said, “what a strength of passion you are capable of! Forgive
me, Richard, for I have forgiven you. Ah, we were made for each other,
and it can never, never be.”
She dropped her head dejectedly on my shoulder. My anger vanished
atthose sad words; love only remained--love mingled with profoundest
compassion and remorse for the pain I had inflicted. Supporting her with
my arm, I tenderly stroked her dark hair, and, stooping, pressed my lips
against it.
“Do you love me so much, Dolores,” I said, “enough even to forgive the
cruel, bitter words I have just spoken? Oh, I was mad--mad to say such
things to you, and shall repent it all my life long! How cruelly have I
wounded you with my love and my anger! Tell me, dearest Dolores, can you
forgive me?”
“Yes, Richard; everything. Is there any word you can speak, any deed you
can do, and I not forgive it? Does your wife love you like that--can
you love her as you love me? How cruel destiny is to us! Ah, my beloved
country, I was ready to shed my blood for you--just to win one strong
arm to fight for you, but I did not dream that this would be the
sacrifice required of me. Look, it will soon be time for you to go--we
cannot sleep now, Richard. Sit down here with me, and let us spend this
last hour together with my hand in yours, for we shall never, never,
never meet again.”
And so, sitting there hand in hand, we waited for the dawn, speaking
many sad and tender words to one another; and at last, when we parted, I
held her once more unresisting to my breast, thinking, as she did, that
our separation would be an eternal one.