From that day, each return of twilight's gentle hour saw me in the Calle
del Obispo. The sun was not more certain to set behind the snow-crowned
Cordilleras, than I to traverse the street where dwelt Mercedes
Villa-Senor.
Her name and condition had been easily ascertained. Any stray passenger
encountered in the street could tell, who lived in the grand _casa_ with
the frescoed front.
"Don Eusebio Villa-Senor--_un rico_--with two daughters, _muchachas muy
lindas_!" was the reply of him, to whom I addressed the inquiry.
I was further informed, that Don Eusebio was of Spanish descent, though
a Mexican by birth; that in the veins of his daughters flowed only the
Andalusian blood--the pure _sangre azul_. His was one of the _familias
principales_ of Puebla.
There was nothing in this knowledge to check my incipient admiration of
Don Eusebio's daughter. Quite the contrary.
As I had predicted, I was soon in the vortex of an impetuous passion;
and without ever having spoken to her who inspired it!
There was no chance to hold converse with her. We were permitted no
correspondence with the _familias principales_, beyond the dry
formalities which occasionally occurred in official intercourse. But
this was confined to the men. The senoritas were closely kept within
doors, and as jealously concealed from us as if every house had been a
harem.
My admiration was too earnest to be restrained by such trifling
obstructions; and I succeeded in obtaining an occasional, though
distant, view of her who had so interested me.
My glances--given with all the fervour of a persistent passion--with all
its audacity--could scarce be misconstrued.
I had the vanity to think they were not; and that they were returned
with looks that meant more than kindness.
I was full of hope and joy. My love affair appeared to be progressing
towards a favourable issue; when that change, already recorded, came
over the inhabitants of Puebla--causing them to assume towards us the
attitude of hostility.
It is scarce necessary to say that the new state of things was not to my
individual liking. My twilight saunterings had, of necessity, to be
discontinued; and upon rare occasions, when I found a chance of resuming
them, I no longer saw aught of Mercedes Villa-Senor!
She, too, had no doubt been terrified into that hermitical retirement--
among the senoritas now universal.
Before this terrible time came about, my passion had proceeded too far
to be restrained by any ideas of danger. My hopes had grown in
proportion; and stimulated by these, I lost no opportunity of stealing
out of quarters, and seeking the Calle del Obispo.
I was alike indifferent to danger in the streets, and the standing order
to keep out of them. For a stray glance at her to whom I had
surrendered my sword-knot, I would have given up my commission; and to
obtain the former, almost daily did I risk losing the latter!
It was all to no purpose. Mercedes was no more to be seen.
Uncertainty about her soon became a torture; I could endure it no
longer. I resolved to seek some mode of communication.
How fortunate for lovers that their thoughts can be symbolised upon
paper! I thought so as I indited a letter, and addressed it to the
"Dona Mercedes Villa-Senor."
How to get it conveyed to her, was a more difficult problem.
There were men servants who came and went through the great gateway of
the mansion. Which of them was the one least likely to betray me?
I soon fixed my reflections upon the _cochero_--a tall fellow in
velveteens, whom I had seen taking out the sleek carriage horses. There
was enough of the "picaro" in his countenance, to inspire me with
confidence that he could be _suborned_ for my purpose.
I determined on making trial of him. If a doubloon should prove
sufficient bribe, my letter would be delivered.
In my twilight strolls, often prolonged to a late hour, I had noticed
that this domestic sallied forth: as if, having done his day's duty, he
had permission to spend his evenings at the _pulqueria_. The plan would
be to waylay him, on one of his nocturnal sorties; and this was what I
determined on doing.
On the night of that same day on which I indited the epistle, the
Officer of the Guard chanced to be my particular friend. It was not
chance either: since I had chosen the occasion. I had no difficulty,
therefore, in giving the countersign; and, wrapped in a cloth cloak--
intended less as a protection against the cold than to conceal my
uniform--I proceeded onward upon my errand of intrigue.
I was favoured by the _complexion_ of the night. It was dark as coal
tar--the sky shrouded with a thick stratum of thunder clouds.
It was not yet late enough for the citizens to have forsaken the
streets. There were hundreds of them, strolling to and fro, all natives
of the place--most of them men of the lower classes--with a large
proportion of "leperos."
There was not a soldier to be seen--except here and there the solitary
sentry, whose presence betokened the entrance to some military cuartel.
The troops were all inside--in obedience to the standing order. There
were not even the usual squads of drunken stragglers in uniform. The
fear of assault and assassination was stronger than the propensity for
"raking"--even among regiments whose rank and file was almost entirely
composed of the countrymen of Saint Patrick.
A stranger passing through the place could scarce have suspected that
the city was under American occupation. There was but slight sign of
such control. The Poblanos appeared to have the place to themselves.
They were gay and noisy--some half intoxicated with _pulque_, and
inclined to be quarrelsome. The leperos, no longer in awe of their own
national authorities, were demeaning themselves with a degree of licence
allowed by the abnormal character of the times.
In my progress along the pavement I was several times accosted in a
coarse bantering mariner; not on account of my American uniform--for my
cloak concealed this--but because _I wore a cloak_! I was taken for a
native "aristocrat."
Better that it was so: since the insults were only verbal, and offered
in a spirit of rude badinage. Had my real character been known, they
might have been accompanied by personal violence.
I had not gone far before becoming aware of this; and that I had started
upon a rash, not to say perilous, enterprise.
It was of that nature, however, that I could not give it up; even had I
been threatened with ten times the danger.
I continued on, holding my cloak in such a fashion, that it might not
flap open.
By good luck I had taken the precaution to cover my head with a Mexican
sombrero, instead of the military cap; and as for the gold stripes on my
trowsers, they were but the fashion of the Mexican _majo_.
A walk of twenty minutes brought me into the Calle del Obispo.
Compared with some of the streets, through which I had been passing, it
seemed deserted. Only two or three solitary pedestrians could be seen
traversing it, under the dim light of half a dozen oil lamps set at long
distances apart.
One of these was in front of the Casa Villa-Senor. More than once it
had been my beacon before, and it guided me now.
On the opposite side of the street there was another grand house with a
portico. Under the shadow of this I took my stand, to await the coming
forth of the cochero.