THE BEGINNING OF THE STRUGGLE.
Ambition is the most terrible and deceptious of all human passions,
in the sense that it completely dries up the heart, and can never be
satisfied.
General Don Sebastian Guerrero was not one of those coldly cruel men,
solely governed by the instinct of art, or whom the smell of blood
intoxicates; but, with the implacable logic of ambitious persons, he
went direct to his object, overthrowing, without regret or remorse, all
the obstacles that barred his way to the object he had sworn to reach,
even if he were compelled to wade in blood up to his knees, and trample
on a pile of corpses. He only regarded men as pawns in the great game
of chess he was playing, and strove to justify himself, and stifle the
warnings of his terrified conscience, by the barbarous axiom employed by
the ambitious in all ages and all countries, that the end justifies the
means.
His secret ambition, which, on a day of pretended frankness, he had
partly revealed in an interview with the Count de Prébois Crancé at
Hermosillo, was not to render himself independent, but simply to be
elected, by means of a well-arranged pronunciamiento, President of the
Mexican Republic.
It was not through hatred that General Guerrero was so obstinately
bent on destroying the count. Ambitious men, who are ever ready to
sacrifice their feelings to the interests of their gloomy machinations,
know neither hatred nor friendship. Hence we must seek elsewhere the
cause of the judicial murder of the count which was so implacably
carried out. The general feared the count, as an adversary who would
constantly thwart him in Sonora, where the first meshes of the net he
wished to throw over Mexico were spun--an adversary ready to oppose the
execution of his plans by claiming the due performance of the articles
of partnership--a performance which, in the probable event of an
insurrection excited by the general, would have become impossible, by
plunging the country for a lengthened period into a state of crisis and
general suspension of trade, which would have been most hostile to the
success of the lofty conceptions of the noble French adventurer.[1]
But the count had scarce fallen on the beach of Guaymas ere the general
recognized the falseness of his calculations, and the fault he had
committed in sacrificing him. In fact, leaving out of the question the
death of his daughter, the only being for whom he retained in some
corner of his heart a little of that fire which heaven illumes in all
parents for their children, he found that he had exchanged a loyal and
cautious adversary for an obstinate enemy--the more formidable because,
caring for nothing, and having no personal ambition, he would sacrifice
everything without hesitation or calculation in behalf of the vengeance
which he had solemnly vowed to obtain by any means, over the still
quivering body of his friend.
This implacable enemy, whom neither seduction nor intimidation could
arrest or even draw back, was Valentine Guillois.
Under these circumstances, the general committed a graver fault than his
first one--a fault which was fated to have incalculable consequences for
him. Being very imperfectly acquainted with Valentine Guillois, unaware
of his inflexible energy of will, and ranking him in his mind with
those wood rangers, the Pariahs of civilization, who have only courage
to fire, in a moment of despair, a shot from behind a tree, but whose
influence was after all insignificant, he despised him.
Valentine was careful not to dissipate, by any imprudent step, his
enemy's mistake, or even arouse his suspicions.
At the time of the Count de Prébois Crancé's first expedition, when
all seemed to smile on him, and his followers already saw the complete
success of their bold undertaking close at hand, Valentine had been
entrusted by his friend with various important operations and difficult
missions to the rich rancheros and hacenderos of the province. Valentine
had performed the duties his friend confided to him with his usual
loyalty and uprightness of mind, and had been so thoroughly appreciated
by the persons with whom chance had brought him into connection, that
all had remained on friendly terms with him and given him unequivocal
proofs of the sincerest friendship, especially upon the death of the
count.
It only depended on the hunter's will to be rich, since he knew an
almost inexhaustible placer; and what the wood ranger would never
have consented to for himself, for the sake of paltry gain, he did
not hesitate to attempt in order to avenge his friend. Followed by
Curumilla, Belhumeur, and Black Elk, and leading a _recua_ of ten mules,
he did what two hundred and fifty men could not have succeeded in doing.
He went through Apacheria, crossed the fearful desert of sand in which
the bones of the hapless companions of the Marquis de Lhorailles were
bleaching, and, after enduring superhuman fatigue and braving terrible
dangers, he at length reached the placer. But this time he did not come
to take an insignificant sum; he wanted to collect a fortune at one
stroke.
The hunter returned with his ten mules laden with gold. He knew that he
was beginning a struggle with a man who was enormously rich, and wished
to conquer him with his own weapons. In the new world, as in the old,
money is the real sinew of war, and Valentine would not imperil the
success of his vengeance.
On returning to Guaymas, he realized his fortune, and found himself,
in a single day, not one of the richest, but _the_ richest private
person in Mexico, although it is a country in which fortunes attain
to a considerable amount. Thus the gold of the placer, which, at an
earlier period, had served to organize the count's expedition, and make
him believe for a moment in the realization of his dreams, was about to
serve in avenging him, after having indirectly caused his death.
Then began between the general and the hunter a secret and unceasing
struggle, the more terrible through its hidden nature; and the general,
struck without knowing whence the blows dealt his ambition came,
struggled vainly, like a lion caught in a snare, while it was impossible
for him to discover the obstinate enemy who hunted him down.
This man, who had hitherto succeeded in everything--who, during the
course of his long and stormy political career, had surmounted the
greatest obstacles and forced his very detractors to admire the luck
that constantly accompanied his wildest and rashest conceptions--
suddenly saw Fortune turn her back on him with such rapidity--we may
even say brutality--that, scarce six weeks after the execution of the
count, he was obliged to resign his office of Military Governor, and
quit, almost like a fugitive, the province of Sonora, where he had so
long reigned as a master, and on which his iron yoke had pressed so
heavily.
This first blow, dealt the general in the midst of his ambitious
aspirations, when he had only just begun to recover from the grief his
daughter's death had caused him, was the more terrible because he did
not know to whom he should attribute his downfall.
Still, he did not long remain in doubt. An hour before his departure
from Hermosillo he received a letter in which he was informed, in the
minutest details, of the oath of vengeance taken against him, and of
the steps taken to obtain his recall. This letter was signed "Valentine
Guillois." The hunter, despising darkness and mystery, tore down the
veil that covered him, and openly challenged his foe by manfully telling
him to be on his guard.
On receiving this threatening declaration of war, the general fell into
an extraordinary passion, the more terrible because it was impotent,
and then, when his mind became calm again, and he began reflecting, he
felt frightened. In truth, the man who stood so boldly before him as an
enemy, must be very powerful and certain of success thus to dare and
defy him.
His departure from Sonora was a disgraceful flight, in which he tried,
by craft and caution, to throw out his enemy; but the meeting at the
Fort of the Chichimèques, a meeting long prepared by the hunter, proved
to him that he was unmasked once again, and conquered by his enemy.
The contemptuous manner in which Valentine dismissed him after his
stormy explanation with him, had internally filled the general with
terror. What sinister projects could the man be meditating, what private
vengeance was he arranging, that, when he held him quivering in his
grasp, he allowed his foe to escape, and refused to kill him, when that
would have been so easy? What torture more terrible than death did he
intend to inflict on him?
The remainder of his journey across the Rocky Mountains, as far as
Mexico, was one protracted agony, during which, suffering from constant
apprehension, and extreme nervous excitement, his diseased imagination
inflicted on him moral torture in the stead of which any physical pain
would have been welcome.
The loss of his daughter's corpse, and above all, the death of his
father's old comrade in arms, the only man in whom he put faith, and who
possessed his entire confidence, destroyed his energy, and for several
days he was so overwhelmed by this double misfortune, that he longed for
death.
His punishment was beginning. But General Guerrero was one of those
powerful athletes who do not allow themselves to be overcome so easily;
they may totter in the struggle, and roll on the sand of the arena,
but they always rise again more terrible and menacing than before. His
revolted pride restored his expiring courage; and since an implacable
warfare was declared against him, he swore that he would fight to the
end, whatever the consequences for him might be.
Moreover, two months had elapsed since his arrival in Mexico, and his
enemy had not revealed his presence by one of those terrible blows which
burst like a clap of thunder above his head. The general gradually
began supposing that the hunter had only wished to force him to abandon
Sonora, and that, in despair of carrying out his plans advantageously
in a city like Mexico, he was prudently keeping aloof, and if he had
not completely renounced his vengeance, circumstances at any rate,
independent of his will, compelled him to defer it.
The general, so soon as he was settled in the capital of Mexico,
organized a large band of highly-paid spies, who had orders to be
constantly on the watch, and inform him of Valentine's arrival in the
city. Thus reassured by the reports of his agents, he continued with
feverish ardour the execution of his dark designs, for he felt convinced
that if he succeeded in attaining his coveted object, the hatred of the
man who pursued him would no longer be dangerous. This was the more
probable, because, so soon as he held the power in his own hands, he
would easily succeed in getting rid of an enemy, whom his position as a
foreigner isolated, and rendered an object of dislike to the populace.
The general lived in a large house in the Calle de Tacuba; it was built
by one of his ancestors, and considered one of the handsomest in the
capital. We will describe in a few words the architecture of Mexico,
for, as all the houses are built on the same pattern, or nearly so, by
knowing one it is easy to form an idea of what the others must be.
The Mexican architecture greatly resembles the Arabic, and as for the
mode of arranging the rooms, it is still entirely in its infancy; but,
since the Proclamation of the Independence, foreign architects have
succeeded, in most of the great towns, in opening side doors in the
suites of rooms, which formerly only communicated with one another, and
hence compelled you to go through a bedroom to enter a dining room, or
pass through a kitchen to reach the drawing room.
The general's house was composed of four buildings, two stories in
height, and with terraced roofs. Two courts separated these buildings,
and an awning stretched over the four sides of the first yard, enabling
visitors to reach the wide stone steps dry footed. At the top of this
flight, a handsome covered gallery, adorned with vases of flowers and
exotic shrubs, led to a vast anteroom, which opened into a splendid
reception hall; after this came a considerable number of apartments,
splendidly furnished in the European style.
The general only inhabited the first floor of his mansion. Although
most of the streets are paved at the present day, and the canals have
entirely disappeared, except in the lower districts of the city, water
is still found a few inches beneath the surface, which produces such
damp, that the ground floor, rendered uninhabitable, is given up to
stores and shops in nearly all the houses. The ground floor of the main
building, looking on the Calle de Tacuba, was, therefore, occupied by
brilliant shops, which rendered the façade of the general's house even
more striking.
The paintings and the ornaments carved on the walls, after the Spanish
fashion, gave it a peculiar, but not unpleasant appearance, which
was completed by the profusion of shrubs that lined the terrace, and
converted it into a hanging garden, like those of Babylon, some sixty
feet above the ground. By-the-bye, these gardens, from which the cupolas
of the churches seem to emerge, give a really fairy-like aspect to the
city, when you survey it in a glowing sunset, from the cathedral towers.
Seven or eight days had elapsed since the events we recorded in our last
chapter. General Guerrero, after a long conversation with Colonel Don
Jaime Lupo, Don Sirven, and two or three others of his most faithful
partizans--a conversation in which the final arrangements were made for
the pronunciamiento which was to be attempted immediately--gave audience
to two of his spies, who assured him that the person, whose movements
they were ordered to watch, had not yet arrived in Mexico.
When the hour for going to the theatre arrived, the general, temporarily
freed from alarm, prepared to be present at an extraordinary performance
to be given, that same night, at the Santa Anna theatre; but at the
moment when he was about to give orders for his carriage to be brought
up, the door of the room, in which he was sitting, opened, and a footman
appeared on the threshold, with a respectful bow.
"What do you want?" the general asked, turning round at the sound.
"Excellency," the valet replied, "a caballero desires a few minutes'
conversation with your excellency."
"At this hour?" the general said, looking at a clock, "it is
impossible;" but, suddenly reflecting, he asked, "anyone you know,
Isidro?"
"No, excellency; it is a caballero whom I have not yet had the honour of
seeing in the house."
"Hum," said the general, shaking his head thoughtfully, "is he a
gentleman?"
"That I can assure your excellency; and he told me that he had a most
important communication to make to you."
In the general's present position, as head of a conspiracy on the point
of breaking out, no detail must be neglected, no communication despised,
so, after reflecting a little, he continued--
"You ought to have told the gentleman that I could not receive him so
late, and that he had better call again tomorrow."
"I told him so, excellency."
"And he insisted?"
"Several times, excellency."
"Well, do you know his name, at least?"
"When I asked the caballero for it, he said it was useless, as you would
not know it; but if you wished to learn it, he would himself tell it to
your excellency."
"What a strange person," the general muttered to himself; "very good,"
he then added aloud, "lead the gentleman to the small mirror room, and I
will be with him immediately."
The footman bowed respectfully.
"Who can the man be, and what is the important matter he has to tell
me?" the general muttered, as he was alone. "Hum, probably some poor
devil mixed up in our conspiracy, who wants a little money. Well, he had
better be careful, for I am not the man to be plundered with impunity,
and so he will find out, if his communication is not serious."
And, throwing on to a chair the plumed hat he held in his hand, he
proceeded to the mirror room.
[1] See "Goldseekers." Same publishers.