Another terrace was ascended; and before us stood the house--a massive
structure of quadrangular shape only one story in height, but surmounted
by an _azotea_ with a parapet running around it.
It was placed upon a platform of limited extent; backed by a precipitous
slope, of which the platform was the base; and flanked by two cliffs
that scarped off in the opposite direction--downward.
What might be called the gables of the dwelling were flush with the
flanking cliffs; but between its rear and the ascending slope was an
inclosed space--forming a _corral_, or courtyard.
Its _facade_ lay towards the smooth space in front; that declined gently
from the walls, like the glacis of a fortification.
A better site for defence could scarcely have been chosen. No foe could
advance by either flank; and an attacking party from the front would be
exposed while crossing the open ground. The place might be more
successfully assailed from the rear--by an enemy coming over the top of
the sierra.
The idea of defence could not have been entertained. On the Indian
frontier, yes; but in the valley of Mexico--tranquil since the time of
Moctezuma--there had been no fighting. The structure could have nothing
to do with the revolutionary era. It was too ancient for that.
It was difficult to understand why such a dwelling had been erected in
such a place. It could not be an agricultural establishment: there was
no arable land within reach. Nor yet a _hacienda de ganados_: since
there was no pasture upon the pine-covered slopes that surrounded it.
Had it been built by the monks? Perhaps by some eccentric recluse, who
had chosen the site, for the purpose of contemplating civilisation,
without being disturbed by it?
These thoughts were things of an after-time; when, upon an excursion of
curiosity, I made myself better acquainted with the topography of the
place.
All that I saw then--as we were making our stealthy approach--was a
block of dark mason work, with a still darker disc in the centre
indicating the entrance door; and on each side of this a large window,
from which a stream of light was escaping.
The ground in front had the look of a ruined garden--overgrown with rank
grass, and here and there some clumps of shrubbery run wild.
Among these we made our approach--taking care to keep clear of the two
bands of yellow light diverging from the windows. Both were mere
apertures without glass; defended, as in all Mexican houses, by strong
iron bars rising vertically from the sill.
There was neither blind nor curtain, to obstruct the passage of the
light outward, or the view inward.
After a few seconds spent in skulking across the lawn, we succeeded in
placing ourselves within good viewing distance of one of the windows.
Inside we could see a table set with the paraphernalia of a feast. It
appeared a rude piece of furniture; as did also the chairs that stood
around it. So, also, were the plates, dishes, and drinking vessels that
covered it: though in these we could perceive a grotesque commingling of
the cheap and costly.
Common earthenware _ollas_, and carved bowls of calabash, stood side by
side with goblets of silver, and bottles, whose tapering necks told of
claret and champagne!
Tall wax candles, that looked as if they had been moulded for the
service of the Church, were suspended in chandeliers of the _pitahaya_
cactus, or held in cleft sticks--themselves stuck into the interstices
of the slab table!
Only the drink had been as yet brought upon the board; though the meats
could be scented from the _cocina_; while several brown-skinned,
leathern-clad, "muchachos" were moving to and fro, with a hurried
_empressement_ that showed they were setting the supper.
It was evident that the two windows were in different apartments; the
one opposite us being the _sala de comida_, or dining-room.
It was the _sala grande_, or drawing-room, I most desired to look into.
Not to listen to the music, or become a spectator to the dancing. Both
had ceased some time before; and in their place we could now hear only a
single voice--that of a man, who seemed to be speaking in a tone
measured and solemn!
It required some strategy to get into position for looking through the
second window. But it was worth the effort.
From the grand preparations in the dining-room, there should be
corresponding company in the drawing-room? Was its quality alike
heterogeneous?
As yet we could not tell. A ruined pile, that had once been a sort of
portico, extended between the two windows--overshadowing the doorway.
It hindered us from obtaining a view of the second.
We had been kneeling among rhododendrons--a clump of which grew near the
dining-room window. There were none in front of the drawing-room; but
instead, an enormous aloe--the _maguey_ of Mexico. Once to rearward of
it, and screened by its broad blades, we should be in an excellent place
for observation.
The question was how to get there, without being ourselves observed.
The ground between the rhododendrons and the "pulque plant" was a smooth
piece of turf, without shrub or tree. On this the two bands of light--
widening as they went out from the windows--became commingled.
To have crossed from one side to the other would have been to expose
ourselves under a light, clear almost as day.
We did not so much fear being seen by those within the _sala grande_.
Their preoccupation--sport, or whatever was going on--would hinder them
from looking forth.
But while crouching among the "rose trees" we had noticed that the great
gate was open; and in the faint light that fell straggling across the
_saguan_--a little brighter in the _patio_ behind--we could see the
dark-skinned domestics flitting to and fro with the supper dishes--like
spectres engaged in the preparation of some infernal feast!
Some of these standing in the _saguan_, or loitering by the outside
entrance, might observe us while crossing?
We dared not risk it. The exposure would be too great. Should we
attempt to cross there would be scarce a chance to escape detection.
There was only one other course: to steal back down the lawn, cross over
through the fainter light, and return along the edge of the other cliff.
What a pity we had not taken this route at first!
I was loth to lose the time, but there was no help for it. To have
saved it, by going direct, might have resulted in the loss of our lives;
or, at all events, in disaster to our expedition.
Ten minutes more, and we stood behind the _maguey_.
Parting its spinous leaves, and passing in between them, we obtained the
desired standpoint.
As I have said, the music had ceased, as also the conversation and
laughter. All three had been hushed for some time--having come to a
stop while we were skulking among the rhododendrons.
We supposed at first, that supper had been announced to the company in
the _sala grande_, and we might soon see them in the _sala de comida_.
Although the preparations did not appear complete, we should have stayed
to await the going in of the guests--but for what we heard from the
other apartment.
The sounds of merriment, abruptly brought to an end, had been succeeded
by the solitary voice. It was that of a man, who appeared to speak in
slow measured tones--as if addressing himself to an audience.
We could hear him all the time we were changing place; and his harangue
was still going on, as we came into cover among the fronds of the pulque
plant.
The first glance through these explained everything--why the music had
ceased, and the laughter been restrained.
Inside the sala a ceremony was progressing, that, under the
circumstances, might well be termed solemn. It was the ceremonial of a
marriage!
A monk, whose robe of bluish grey proclaimed him of the order of San
Francisco, was standing near the middle of the floor. I mention him
first, as he was the first to come under my eye.
He held a book in his hand; and was reading from it the ritual of
marriage--according to the Romish Church.
My eyes did not dwell upon him for a single second. They went in search
of the bride, and bridegroom.
A little shifting among the leaves brought me face to face with the
latter. Imagine my astonishment on beholding Francisco Moreno!
It was scarcely increased when I obtained a view of the bride. A
presentiment--sad, almost stifling--had prepared me for seeing Dolores
Villa-Senor. It was she!
I could not see her face. She was standing with her back towards the
window. Besides, a white scarf, thrown loosely over her crown, and
draping down to her waist, hindered even a side view of it.
There could be no doubt about its being Dolores. There was no mistaking
that magnificent form--even when seen _en detras_. She it was, standing
at the altar!
A wide space separated the bridegroom from the bride. I could not tell
who, or what, was between. It appeared a little odd; but I supposed it
might be the fashion of the country.
Behind _him_ were other figures--all men--all in costumes that
proclaimed a peculiar calling. They were _brigands_. Francisco only
differed from the rest in being more splendidly attired. But then he
was their chief!
I had been puzzled--a little pained--by some speeches he had let fall
during our intercourse in the City of the Angels. How gentle had been
his reproaches, and tolerant his condemnation, of Carrasco! As a rival,
not as a robber, he had shown indignation against the _ci-devant_
captain of Santa Anna!
What I now saw explained all. Don Eusebio had spoken only of
probabilities, when he said that Moreno might be a bandit. Had he known
the real truth regarding this aspirant to his daughter's hand, he might
have been excused for his design to shut her up in a convent.
The bride was willing; there could be no doubt of it. I remembered what
the stage-driver had told me, of her tripping off so lightly among the
trees, her present behaviour confirmed it. Even in that solemn hour, I
fancied that she was gay. I could not see the face; but there was a
free, _nonchalant_ carriage of the head, and a coy vibration of the
scarf that covered it, very different from the staid, drooping attitude
that denotes compulsion. On the contrary, she appeared contented--
trembling only with joy!
It would be vain to attempt a description of my own feelings. For the
time, a statue set among the shrubbery could not have been more
motionless than I. I stood rigid as the fronds of the aloe around me,--
my gaze steadfastly fixed upon the spectacle passing inside. I began to
fancy it a dream!
But, no! There was the bride and the bridegroom; and the monk, in dull
monotone still reciting from his book!
And now I could hear the promise to "love, honour, and cherish," and the
responsive vow to "love, honour, and obey"--all after the formula of the
Catholic faith.
Oh! it was no dream, but a hellish, heart-rending reality!
The woman who had won my heart--whom for six months I had been vainly
endeavouring to forget--was before my eyes, surrounded by a band of
brigands--not their captive, but the bride of their chief--freely
consenting to the sacrifice!
"_Otra cosa de Mexico_!"