THE MATRICIDE.
We have repeatedly said that in times of peace the Araucanos are
exceedingly hospitable. This hospitality, which on the part of
the warriors is cordial and simple, on that of the chiefs becomes
extravagant. Antinahuel was far from being a rude Indian, attached
though he was to the customs of his fathers; and although in his heart
he hated not only the Spaniards, but indiscriminately all belonging to
the white race, the half-civilized education he had received had given
him ideas of comfort completely above Indian habits. Many of the richest
Chilian farmers would have found it impossible to display greater luxury
than he exhibited when his caprice or his interest led him to do so.
On the present occasion, he was not sorry to show strangers that the
Araucanos were not so barbarous as their arrogant neighbours wished it
to be supposed, and that they could, when necessary, rival even them.
At the first glance, Antinahuel had discovered that his guests were not
Spaniards; but, with the circumspection which forms the foundation of
the Indian character, he confined his observations to his own breast. It
was with the kindest air and in the most winning tone of voice that he
pressed them to enter his toldo.
The Frenchmen followed him in, and with a gesture he requested them
to be seated. Peons placed a profusion of cigars and cigarettes upon
the table, near a tasty filigree brasero. In a few minutes other
peons entered with the maté, which they respectfully presented to the
chief and his guests. Then, without the silence being broken--for the
Araucanian laws of hospitality require that no question should be
addressed to strangers until they think proper to speak themselves--each
sipped the herb of Paraguay, while smoking. This preliminary operation
being gone through, Valentine rose.
"I thank you, chief, in the name of myself and my friend, for your
cordial hospitality."
"Hospitality is a duty which every Araucano is jealous to fulfil!"
"But," replied Valentine, "as I have been given to understand that the
chief is about to set out on a journey, I do not wish to detain him."
"I am at the orders of my guests; my journey is not so pressing as not
to admit of being put off for a few hours."
"I thank the chief for his courtesy, but I hope he will soon be at
liberty."
Antinahuel bowed.
"A Spaniard has charged me with a letter for the chief."
"Ah!" the toqui exclaimed, with a singular intonation, and fixing a
piercing look upon the face of the young man.
"Yes," the Frenchman continued; "and that letter I am about to have the
honour of handing to you."
And he put his hand to his breast, to take out the letter.
"Stop!" said the chief, laying his hand upon his arm, as he turned
towards his servants; adding, "leave the room." The three men were left
alone.
"Now you may give me the letter," he continued.
The chief took it, looked carefully at the superscription, turned the
paper in all directions in his hand, and then, with some hesitation,
presented it to the young man.
"Let my brother read it," he said; "the whites are more learned than we
poor Indians: they know everything."
Valentine gave his countenance the most silly expression possible.
"I cannot read this," he said, with well-assumed embarrassment.
"Does my brother then refuse to render me this service?" the chief
pressed him.
"I do not refuse you, chief; only I am prevented doing what you request
by a very simple reason."
"And what is that reason?"
"It is that my companion and I are both Frenchmen."
"Well, and what then?"
"We speak a little Spanish, but we cannot read it."
"Ah!" said the chief, in a tone of doubt; but, after walking about, and
reflecting a minute, he added,--"Hem! that is possible."
He then turned towards the two Frenchmen, who, on their part, were, in
appearance, impassive and indifferent.
"Let my brothers wait an instant," he said; "I know a man in my tribe
who understands the marks which the whites make upon paper: I will go
and order him to translate this letter."
The young men bowed, and the chief left the apartment.
"Why the devil did you refuse to read the letter?" Louis asked.
"In good truth," Valentine replied, "I can scarcely tell you why; but
what you said of the expression of this man's countenance, produced a
certain effect upon me. He inspires me with no confidence, and I am not
anxious to be the depository of secrets which he may some day reclaim in
a disagreeable manner."
"Yes, you are right! We may, some day, congratulate ourselves upon this
circumspection. Hush! I hear footsteps."
And the chief re-entered the room.
"I know the contents of the letter," he said; "if my brothers see the
man who charged them with it, they will inform him that I am setting out
this very day for Valdivia."
"We would, with pleasure, take charge of that message," replied
Valentine; "but we do not know the person who gave us the letter, and it
is more than probable we may never see him again."
The chief darted at them a stolen and deeply suspicious glance.
"Good! Will my brothers remain here, then?"
"It would give us infinite pleasure to pass a few hours in the agreeable
society of the chief, but with us time presses; with his permission, we
will take our leave."
"My brothers are perfectly free; my toldo is open for those who leave
it, as well as for those who enter it."
The young men rose to depart.
"In what direction are my brothers going?"
"We are bound for Concepción."
"Let my brothers go in peace, then! If their course lay towards
Valdivia, I would have offered to journey with them."
"A thousand thanks, chief, for your kind offer; unfortunately we cannot
profit by it, for our road lies in a completely opposite direction."
The three men exchanged a few more words of courtesy, and left the
toldo. The Frenchmen's horses had been brought round; they mounted, and
after having saluted the chief once more, they set off. As soon as they
were out of the village, Louis, turning to Valentine, said,--
"We have not an instant to lose. If we wish to reach Valdivia before
that man, we must make all speed. Who knows whether Don Tadeo may not be
awaiting our arrival impatiently?"
They soon rejoined their friends, who looked for them anxiously, and all
four set off at full speed in the direction of Valdivia, without being
able to explain to themselves why they used such diligence. Antinahuel
accompanied his guests a few paces out of his toldo. When he had taken
leave of them, he followed them with his eyes as far as he could see
them, and when they disappeared at the extremity of the village, he
returned thoughtfully and slowly to his toldo, saying to himself,--
"It is evident to me that these men are deceiving me; their refusal to
read the letter was nothing but a pretext. What can be their object? Can
they be enemies? I will watch them!"
When he arrived in front of his toldo, he found his mosotones mounted,
and awaiting his orders.
"I must set out at once," he said; "I shall learn all yonder, and,
perhaps," he added, in a voice so low that he could hardly hear it
himself, "perhaps I shall find _her_ again. If Doña Maria breaks her
promise, and does not give her up to me, woe, woe be to her!"
He raised his head, and saw his mother standing before him. "What do you
want, woman?" he asked, harshly; "this is not your place!"
"My place is near you when you are suffering, my son," she mildly
replied.
"I suffering! You are mad, mother! age has turned your brain! Go back
into the toldo, and, during my absence, keep a good watch over all that
belongs to me."
"Are you, then, really going, my son?"
"This moment," he said, and sprang into his saddle.
"Where are you going?" she asked, and seized his horse's bridle.
"What is that to you?" he replied, with an ugly glance.
"Beware! my son; you are entering on a bad course. Guérubu, the spirit
of evil, is master of your heart."
"I am the best and sole judge of my actions."
"You shall not go!" she exclaimed, as she placed herself resolutely in
front of his horse.
The Indians collected round the speakers looked on with mute terror at
this scene; they were too well acquainted with the violent and imperious
character of Antinahuel not to dread something fatal, if his mother
persisted in endeavouring to prevent his departure.
The brows of the chief lowered--his eyes gleamed like lightning--and it
was not without a great effort that he mastered the passion boiling in
his breast.
"I will go!" he said, in a loud voice, and trembling with rage; "I will
go, if I trample you beneath my horse's hoofs!"
The woman clung convulsively to the saddle, and looked her son in the
face.
"Do so," she cried; "for, by the soul of your father, who now hunts in
the blessed prairies with Pillian, I swear I will not stir, even if you
pass over my body!"
The face of the Indian became horribly contracted; he cast around a
glance which made the hearts of the bravest tremble with fear.
"Woman! woman!" he shouted, grinding his teeth with rage; "get out of my
way, or I shall crush you like a reed!"
"I will not stir, I tell you!" she repeated, with wild energy.
"Take care! take care!" he said again; "I shall forget you are my
mother!"
"I will not stir!"
A nervous tremor shook the limbs of the chief, who had now attained the
highest paroxysm of fury.
"If you will have it so," he cried, in a husky, but loud voice, "your
blood be upon your own head!"
And he dug the spurs into the sides of his horse, which plunged with
pain, and then sprung forward like an arrow, dragging along the poor
woman, whose body was soon but one huge wound. A cry of horror burst
from the quivering lips of the terrified Indians. After a few minutes
of this senseless course, during which she had left fragments of her
flesh on every sharp point of the road, the strength of the Indian woman
abandoned her; she left her hold of the bridle, and sank dying.
"Oh!" she said, in a faint voice, and following, with a look dimmed by
agony, her son, as he was borne away like a whirlwind, "my unhappy son!
my unhappy----"
She raised her eyes towards heaven, clasped her mangled hands, as if to
offer up a last prayer, and fell back.
She died pitying the matricide, and pardoning him. The women of the
tribe took up the body respectfully, and carried it, weeping, into the
toldo. At the sight of the corpse, an old Indian shook his head several
times, murmuring in a prophetic tone,--
"Antinahuel has killed his mother! Pillian will avenge her!"
And all bowed down their heads sorrowfully: this atrocious crime made
them dread horrible misfortunes in the future.