Kitabı oku: «Patrañas», sayfa 17
“As he spoke the shouting crowd led him up to me; but before I could take the wreath to crown him, he placed himself modestly before me on his knees, and thus spoke: —
“‘Lady, I seek one favour, though I be a stranger, and have no claim to your regard, yet I have the boldness to prefer my request, having no greater desire than to live and die in your service. Let me then have your permission to try another fall with Mareguano; ay, and another and another, even to a hundred, till he is satisfied of my superiority; for here striving in your presence, I know I am certain to come off with greater and greater glory in every trial.’
“And I, who cared little about the matter, carelessly granted what he asked.
“On the instant the two darted off to meet each other: then came a prolonged struggle, fought out with desperate resolve; now lithely bending, now strained to their utmost height, they wrestled for a long space, grasping each other in such iron fashion that it would seem they scarce could breathe; at last the stranger youth ended the contest by seizing Mareguano round the body, then lifting him high in the air, and flinging him headlong on the ground.
“No sooner had he accomplished the feat than the assembled people, delighted at this exhibition of manly strength, bore him along in triumph to receive his reward at my hand.
“When I looked at him, kneeling before me again, flushed with success, praised and applauded by all around, yet waiting for my word, as if he prized it more than all the rest, I felt a new emotion take possession of me, I perceived an interest in him which I had never experienced for any of the others, and it was with difficulty I could command myself sufficiently to conceal what I felt. However, I rose with all the dignity I could summon, placed the crown on his brow, and announced that the prize I held for the next contest was a ring ornamented with a fine emerald, and that it was for the winner in the race immediately to follow. I could not help saying it in such a way as to betray I expected it would be on him I should have to confer it. Nor was I mistaken.
“The competitors, forty in number, were ranged in a long row, panting with anxiety to start. The signal scarcely given, the whole forty set off as one man, and so swiftly that their feet scarcely seemed to touch the sand; but Crepino (such was the name of the young stranger) pursued the sport with so much ardour that he distanced the very wind, and touched the red Palio112 before the others were near it. But I, when he was brought back to me, was more troubled than before; so that when I handed him the ring, I gave him as it were my liberty enclosed in it. And he no sooner had received the ring than, holding it still before me, said, —
“‘Señora, I pray you accept it of me; for though it be but little to offer to you, yet it is offered with entire devotion, and the favour you will confer on me in accepting it will be so great, that it will make me rich, and shall so strengthen and animate me, that there will thenceforth be no undertaking so arduous that I shall not be able to accomplish it; and so you will have added the bravest heart and the stoutest arm to the Araucanian band.’
“I could not but accept what was so gracefully proffered; and now, the games being concluded, the meeting was broken up, and I had to return home with my father.
“For three weeks I concealed what I felt, that I might not appear to change too suddenly from what had been a life-long resolve. But I could not overcome the desire to see him again. When next my father, therefore, urged me to make my choice among the young Caciques, I told him that I had resolved to attend to his bidding, and that my choice had fallen on Crepino, who was of honourable name, brave, well-mannered, and well-grown.
“My father was all rejoiced at this announcement, and, kissing me on the forehead, he confirmed my choice; he told me how on Crepino of all the others his own heart yearned, and how Crepino himself had sued for me, and yet had urged him in no way to overrule my will.
“With joyful haste the nuptial ceremonies were performed over us, and all was mirth and gladness. That was but one short month ago, and to-day your people have slain him who was all my joy; and all our hopes of happiness are poured out like water on the ground. What comfort is there for so great misery! There is nothing left to hope for now, since earth contains no good which could be measured against such a grief!
“Now, therefore, let me seek my lord, and bury him; for it is not meet that his dear body should fall a prey to voracious beasts and birds.”
Don Ercilla was so much moved by her recital that he no longer doubted her, but helped her to search for Crepino’s body. When the morning dawned they found it, stark and cold, and disfigured by a cannon-ball. Tegualda’s agony revived when she came in sight of his shattered form. She threw herself on him, placed her heart on his heart, and her lips on his, that so she might perchance yet call back the life; and then she struck her face, and tore her long dark hair, and pressed her fingers tightly round her throat, and threw herself again upon the ground, not knowing what she did for very grief. Don Ercilla looked on compassionating, knowing it was but distressing her to interfere till the first violence of her agony was past. Then, at peril of treachery towards him, alone in their midst, he bade her make a signal to call her people, and ordered them to bear away Crepino’s body in decent order.
Then he composed her mantle round her, and, supporting her, gently led her along behind it till they reached the sierra where her own people dwelt, and then he delivered her over to her father’s keeping.
III
FITON’S CAVE
During the course of the war an exploring party of Spaniards had been sent to bring a report of the chances of success to an expedition for recovering the coast-line of the Araucanian province. Time passed on, and the party failing to return, great anxiety was felt as to their fate by the Christians; at last some of the bravest volunteered to go and look after them in various directions, and as great caution was necessary, it was agreed the volunteers should go out separately, travelling by night, and keeping themselves concealed by day. It was a perilous enterprize, and Don Alonzo de Ercilla, who was always foremost at any brave deed, was the first to offer himself; and he gives us the following account of an adventure that befell him.
He was making his way through a wild brake, helped by the scanty light of the moon, when he found himself on the edge of a steep descent leading to a vast plain; a narrow path cut the steep, down which a tall, lank native of great age was threading his way. His back was bowed, he was so feeble that he trembled as he walked, and his legs were so fleshless that they looked like dry roots of trees. Don Ercilla advanced to offer his assistance down the rugged descent, and thought at the same time to gather some information of his missing friends, or as to the best means of tracing them. No sooner, however, was the old man conscious of his approach, than, darting into another path at a sharp angle with the first, he turned and fled up the steep side faster than a hunted deer. Don Ercilla spurred his horse, and thought to overtake him easily, but in a moment he was out of sight, neither was it possible for a stranger to find his way so as to proceed with any rapidity over the overgrown crag. Giving up the pursuit, he came at last to the bottom of the declivity, where the stream Rauco flowed turbulently, its course being closed in by sharp rocks on both sides; but a little way down it, on the near bank, was a grove of shady trees, and under them an antelope grazing. The sight reminded him he had once dreamt that this meeting an antelope should be a sign of something important to befall him, so, rejoicing at the incident, he made his way up to the gentle beast.
The antelope had been feeding undisturbed by the sound of the rushing torrent, but no sooner became conscious of a man’s presence than, leaving the verdant pasture, she struck wildly into a steep and narrow path, dashing through briar and jungle and close-grown trees; wherever she led, however, Don Ercilla followed, though he had need to spur his horse hard to keep up with her. At last she brought him in sight of a poor little hut, piled up at the foot of an ancient oak. At the sound of their hasty steps an old man came out, to whom, panting, the antelope approached as for protection. The old man tenderly stroked her reeking sides, and then, addressing Don Ercilla, asked him what fate or misadventure had brought him to his remote retreat, which strangers’ steps had never yet found out. “If,” he said, “you have had the misfortune to get separated from your company, you will find welcome here, and all that my humble roof can offer to restore strength; and fear nothing from your enemies while you are under my protection.”
Finding him so affable and pleasant, Don Ercilla gave him his confidence, and not only told him his errand, but also opened to him a wish he had long harboured of visiting the cave of Fiton, the great Araucanian Wizard. The kind old man, without waiting so much as to answer him, took his hand, and at once leaving his seat set out to lead him. It was the season of early summer, and, as the sun was by this time well risen, they picked their way through the shadiest paths. As they went along, the old man spoke thus: —
“My lands were in Araucania. I am called Guaticolo the Unhappy, who, in my robust years, was a valiant fighting man, and in office predecessor to Colócolo. Seven several times have I led our people on to victory on the battle-field, and a thousand times have my now hairless temples been girt with the tokens of success. But as in this life no state is permanent, so fortune was inconstant to me also. After success came defeat; after honour, shame. At Aynavillo I had the misfortune to be loser in a wagered contest, on which my position had been set. Finding myself burdened with a dishonoured life, I could devise no better end to it than to bury myself in this retreat, where, for twenty years, no mortal foot has tracked me; and by strange help it is, I ween, that you have been brought so far; who am I, therefore, to resist the direction you have received from above? How intractable soever Fiton may be, I will urge the claims of relationship, as he is my uncle, and thus induce him to admit you.
“He dwells in the heart of a bleak mountain where the glad sun never penetrates, and whence the foot of man is shut out. But his wisdom and power are so great that he can by his one word perform any of nature’s operations. In the blazing heat and dazzling light of noonday he can cover the heavens with the darkness of night. When the sky is one even blue, without assistance of wind or clouds, he can draw rain from a barren heaven. He can arrest the course of the bounding rivers, and of the birds in the midst of their flight. The burnt-up grasses of August at his word raise their withered blades, and resume their verdant hues; the tides of the sea obey his voice, and forget the commands of the moon. And, much more than all this, he can tell the destinies of men, and foresee the fate of nations. It would be impossible for words of mine to overstate his mighty and irresistible power.”
While he had been speaking they had passed through a long tract of forest, where the trees grew so thickly, and were so encumbered with brushwood, that Don Ercilla was obliged to tie his horse up and proceed on foot. At last they reached a low opening in a rock, through which was a long dark passage, where they could hardly walk upright, and at the end of it a door garnished all round with heads of wild beasts. Guaticolo opened the door, and led Don Ercilla by the hand into a spacious vault, in the centre of which burnt a strange and perpetual light; in the walls of the cave were cut many stone shelves, on which were ranged jars of ointments, essences, and herbs. There were preserved the far-piercing eyes of the lynx and that of the venomous basilisk; red gore of angry men, and foam from the mouth of rabid dogs; parts of the wing of the harpy, the venom of the amphisbena, and the tail of the treacherous asp, which gives death wrapt up in a pleasant dream; mould off a truncated head unworthy of burial, and the tongue of the horrid hemorreo, whose puncture can never be staunched, but whosoever it wounds must bleed to death. In a huge transparent vase was a griffin’s heart, pierced through with an arrow, and the ashes of an eastern phoenix. Stings of serpents, and tails of scorpions, and whatsoever is deadly and venomous in nature.
While Don Ercilla was engaged in examining this strange repertory, a hidden door gave entrance to a lean old man, whom he at once recognized for him who had run away from him with such exceeding rapidity, who said, —
“It is no little boldness in you, so young, to have dared to come thus unbidden to my presence, and to pursue me in my occult habitation, where it is not permitted to foot of man to tread; nevertheless, as I know all things, I know that in your heart you mean no harm, therefore I allow you to live, and will now listen to your intent.”
Then Guaticolo took upon himself to explain his errand for him in a long speech, in which he commenced by lauding the wizard’s influence, then detailed Don Ercilla’s fame, and finally told him of his dream, in which he had learnt that he might gain from Fiton supernatural information of the fate of the contest in which his Spanish brethren in arms were at the time engaged with the Turks in Europe.
Fiton, in great good humour with Guaticolo’s dexterously-administered flattery, took Don Ercilla by the hand, and led him through the secret door by which he had himself entered. It opened into a very different apartment from the other. No mortal tongue could describe its beauty and costliness; the floor was paved with crystal tiles all lustrous with cunning radiance, while the roof was studded with brilliant stones, so that the whole place sparkled with dazzling splendour. Supported on pillars of shining gold a hundred statues of heroes were ranged round the room, so life-like in design that a deaf man might have thought they spoke. On the broad medallions behind were pictured forth the valiant deeds of each, displaying the designer’s acquaintance with the history of all nations.
In the midst of the spacious hall, which measured half a mile every way, swung a globe of light, balanced in the air by supernatural power.
When Don Ercilla had spent some time examining all these wonders, Fiton came to him, and, with his wand pointing to the globe of light, explained to him that it contained an epitome of the world, and had cost him forty years of labour; but contained the representation of all that was happening, or ever would happen, in any part or time of the world. “And,” he added, “as it seems you are a poet, whose business it is to chronicle the great deeds of the fighting men of your country, and you have already celebrated their achievements by land, I will now show you what they are doing at sea.”
Then he touched the bright globe with his wand, and Don Ercilla saw it represented the world with all its parts delineated, and all the people on it seen as clearly as he might have seen his own face in a mirror.
Then Fiton pointed to the Mediterranean sea, and conducted his eyes to that part of it which washes113 the Ausonian shore, and he saw it was all covered with galleys bearing the devices of the Pope, and Philip II., and the Venetian Republic; and from the port of Lepanto there came out to meet them the galleys of the Crescent. Then with a hoarse and terrible voice, Fiton invoked the infernal powers, crying, “O terrible Can-Cerberus, Charon, weary boatman, yellow Orcus, and irresistible Pluto! O chilly Styx, O lake Avernus, O seething waters of Acheron, Lethe, Cocytus, and ruddy Phlegethon! O Furies who with relentless cruelty torment the souls of the lost, and Gorgons, whose hair of wriggling snakes the shades tremble as they behold! compelled by my all-powerful word, afford to this earth-born youth a clear vision of the work now accomplishing in the waters of Lepanto.” As he spoke he frantically waved his wand.
Then behold, the waters of the sea boiled over, and the sterile north-east wind rounding the white sails, the rival fleets were tossed in sudden motion, the gallant Spanish vessels bearing down proudly on the Pagan galleys. Mighty warriors were there, whose names and deeds of fame were borne in characters of flame around their brows; many, whom he had known as companions of his own in childhood, now bronzed with the hardships of many a bold campaign. Suddenly the signal of the fight resounded, and then the Christian hosts, following the sign of their redemption, poured down with resistless ardour on their Pagan foes. With breathless interest Don Ercilla watched the fortunes of his friends, shouted to them – so present was the scene – to bear them bravely, nor waver in their courage. For hours the fight raged, and many a brave servant of Christ fell deadly wounded into the deep waves, and tinged the blue waters with his generous blood. Don Ercilla wept and exulted by turns, as, one after another, he saw dear friends lost to him for ever in this life, and yet the Christian arms prevailing inch by inch, till at last, successful and triumphant, they swept the encroaching Turk from the face of the sea, inflicting an irreparable wound on his power, and setting a bound to his aggressions which he might not pass.
MATANZAS
Matanzas is at the present day one of the most populous and important towns of the island of Cuba: second to Havannah, it goes on ever increasing in commercial activity; it has a railroad and a well-sheltered harbour, and is surrounded by an extent of sugar and coffee cultivation which promises, with a never-failing supply of exports, to maintain and constantly increase its prosperity.
Nevertheless Matanzas has an ugly name; for, though euphonious enough to our ears, its meaning is neither more nor less than “Slaughterings,” and the ugly name is connected with an ugly history, and, it would seem, an inseparable association of ugliness in every detail. Its situation is flat and unpicturesque; the buildings – unlike, and indeed in strong contrast with the beautiful outlines which, imitating those prevalent in Spain at the time of her greatest colonial eminence, were spread by her all over the new world – are mean and bare, and, while too solidly built of stone to offer any hope that the venerable-making hand of time will ever clothe them with any even adventitious interest, they are yet altogether deficient in a grand or imposing character.
The following story of the circumstances of its origin may be taken to account for the absence of those softening influences of family life and home traditions, which in the other colonies reproduced many of the most beautiful features of the old country.
There once lived, in a village of Castille, a man who thought only of enjoying himself, and who spent all his money without taking any account of how much he had got left for the future; so that at last a day came when he had nothing at all left, and not a bite of any thing but his nails. When he came home without a maravedi, his wife and children dinned him so for food that they drove him distracted; and he borrowed a rope of a neighbour, and went to an olive-tree to hang himself.
He had hardly fastened the rope to the tree, when a little sprite appeared, sitting astride on one of its branches, who called out to him, “What are you going to do? You, a Christian, going to hang yourself like Judas! Give up such an idea; here, take this purse, which is never empty, and go home.”
So Perrico (that was the name of our man) caught at the purse to see if such good fortune could be true, and drew out one duro114 after another without stopping, like words out of a woman’s mouth. When he saw that the store was so bountiful, he untied the rope and coiled it up, and made the best of his way home. But passing by the way a tavern where he had been accustomed to take refreshment, he could not resist the temptation of turning in; nor, when he was in, the temptation of ordering the best drinks and viands, till at last he took more than was good for him, and passed the night under the table, drunk, and as insensible as the dead in the churchyard.
The host, who had observed that he payed for every thing he ordered, duro after duro out of his little purse, and that there was always a duro left, determined to possess himself of the treasure, and so told his wife to make another exactly like it, and then changed it against the magic purse in Perrico’s pocket.
In the morning Perrico woke, and suspecting nothing, ran home to his wife as joyous as a holiday.
“No more hunger! no more misery!” he cried; “here’s money enough to last our lives – here’s enough for every one; come, come all and be merry!”
Then he pulled out his purse, and flung the one duro in it on the table, but when he expected to find another, it continued empty; then he turned it inside out, and threw it up in the air, and flung it on the floor. But no more duros appeared. And his wife, thinking it all a trick, grew more provoked than before, and rated him with an angrier voice than ever.
Perrico, now quite desperate, took up his rope again, and returned to his olive-tree. No sooner had he tied the rope to the branch than the goblin appeared, and reproached him as before.
“But what am I to do?” pleaded Perrico; “I’ve nothing to eat.”
“You ought to find work,” answered the goblin; “nevertheless I’ll give you another chance. Take this table-cloth, and with it you’ll never want for a meal; for whenever you spread it, you’ll find a meal ready cooked, upon it.” So saying, he disappeared.
Perrico took the cloth, and spread it out in the shade of the olive-tree, and immediately it was covered with dishes of choice food, and wine, and fruits, and flowers; so he made the best meal he had ever eaten in his life, folded his table-cloth, and started for home.
Meantime it had got late, and as he passed the tavern, the idea of a comfortable bed seemed more inviting than a long walk, so he turned in and went to bed.
The host, who had made such a fortunate prize out of him the day before, suspected sagaciously that he might have brought some other wonderful gift along with him this time; so while he was sound asleep he turned over his things, and finding the new table-cloth, easily guessed this was what he was searching for, and so replaced it with another like it, and carried Perrico’s off.
In the morning Perrico woke, and, suspecting nothing, ran home to his wife as joyous as a holiday.
“Come wife, come children!” he exclaimed, “no more hunger! no more misery! here’s food to last our lives.”
And with that he spread the table-cloth out on the table; to his chagrin, however, instead of eatables, it was only covered with ugly patches.
Then followed an outcry such as never had been heard before; mother and children set upon him without mercy, and glad enough he was to escape from them, his rope safely tucked under his arm.
Once more he secured the rope, and once more the goblin appeared. “Christian!” he exclaimed, “where is your patience?”
“All beaten out of me by my wife’s blows,” replied Perrico.
“That’s no excuse,” said the sprite; “nevertheless I’ll help you once more. Here’s a stick for you – take this, and when you’re armed with it no one will venture to interfere with you.”
Perrico caught at the stick, and walked home with as much importance as a beadle bearing his mace; and when the children came clamouring round him, as they had seen their mother do, he only said, “At them! good stick!” and the stick flew out of his hand, and sent them all running helter-skelter. Then his wife came to the defence of her children, and Perrico had only to say, “At her! good stick!” and the stick soon disposed of her also.
But the neighbours, hearing her cries, sent for the Alcalde and his Aguaciles, who prepared to take him; but Perrico cried once more, “At them! good stick!” and straightway the stick sent them all flying in every direction.
Then they sent an express messenger to the king, to tell him how his officers were being treated, and he sent a regiment of grenadiers. But Perrico had one remedy against all: “At them! good stick!” he cried, and in a trice the stick belaboured away, leaving one with a broken arm, another with his eye knocked out, the colonel sprawling in the dust, and every musket or side-arm rendered totally unfit for use, till the soldiers, thinking Lucifer had been let loose among them, were glad to get away as fast as their legs would carry them.
So Perrico was left alone, and was glad to rest after all the excitement, but took care when he went to sleep to hide his stick in his breast, that it might not be taken from him.
When he woke in the morning he found his hands and feet manacled, and an officer of justice standing over him, reading aloud the sentence of death which had been passed upon him. Perrico said nothing, but as soon as they loosened his bonds on the scaffold he took out his stick, and crying, “At them! good stick!” soon delivered himself of executioners, guards, gaolers, and all who stood in his way.
“Leave the fellow alone!” cried the king, “or all my subjects will be killed – only let’s get rid of him.” So to bribe him to go he promised him a large tract of land in America, and shipped him off to the island of Cuba. Here he founded a town; but his stick did so much execution on the inhabitants, that people gave it the name of Matanzas.
