The Purple Land: Chapter 17

Chapter 17

With a horse to travel on, and my arm so much better that the sling
supporting it was worn rather for ornament than use, there was nothing
except that promise not to run away immediately to detain me longer
in the pleasant retreat of the Casa Blanca; nothing, that is, had I
been a man of gutta-percha or cast-iron; being only a creature of
clay--very impressionable clay as it happened--I could not persuade
myself that I was quite well enough to start on that long ride over
a disturbed country. Besides, my absence from Montevideo had already
lasted so long that a few days more could not make much difference one
way or the other; thus it came to pass that I still stayed on, enjoying
the society of my new friends, while every day, every hour in fact,
I felt less able to endure the thought of tearing myself away from
Dolores.

Much of my time was spent in the pleasant orchard adjoining the house.
Here, growing in picturesque irregularity, were fifty or sixty old
peach, nectarine, apricot, plum, and cherry trees, their boles double
the thickness of a man's thigh; they had never been disfigured by the
pruner's knife or saw, and their enormous size and rough bark, overgrown
with grey lichen, gave them an appearance of great antiquity. All about
the ground, tangled together in a pretty confusion, flourished many
of those dear familiar Old World garden flowers that spring up round
the white man's dwelling in all temperate regions of the earth. Here
were immemorial wallflowers, stocks and marigolds, tall hollyhock, gay
poppy, brilliant bachelor's button; also, half hid amongst the grass,
pansy and forget-me-not. The larkspur, red, white, and blue, flaunted
everywhere; and here, too, was the unforgotten sweet-william, looking
bright and velvety as of yore, yet, in spite of its brightness and
stiff, green collar, still wearing the old shame-faced expression, as
if it felt a little ashamed of its own pretty name. These flowers were
not cultivated, but grew spontaneously from the seed they shed year
by year on the ground, the gardener doing nothing for them beyond
keeping the weeds down and bestowing a little water in hot weather.
The solstitial heats being now over, during which European garden
flowers cease to bloom for a season, they were again in gayest livery
to welcome the long second spring of autumn, lasting from February to
May. At the farther end of this wilderness of flowers and fruit trees
was an aloe hedge, covering a width of twenty to thirty yards with its
enormous, disorderly, stave-like leaves. This hedge was like a strip
of wild nature placed alongside of a plot of man's improved nature;
and here, like snakes hunted from the open, the weeds and wildings
which were not permitted to mix with the flowers had taken refuge.
Protected by that rude bastion of spikes, the hemlock opened feathery
clusters of dark leaves and whitish umbels wherever it could reach up
to the sunshine. There also grew the nightshade, with other solanaceous
weeds, bearing little clusters of green and purple berries, wild oats,
fox-tail grass, and nettles. The hedge gave them shelter, but no
moisture, so that all these weeds and grasses had a somewhat forlorn
and starved appearance, climbing up with long stringy stems among the
powerful aloes. The hedge was also rich in animal life. There dwelt
mice, cavies, and elusive little lizards; crickets sang all day long
under it, while in every open space the green _epeiras_ spread
their geometric webs. Being rich in spiders, it was a favourite
hunting-ground of those insect desperadoes, the mason-wasps, that flew
about loudly buzzing in their splendid gold and scarlet uniform. There
were also many little shy birds here, and my favourite was the wren,
for in its appearance and its scolding, jerky, gesticulating ways it
is precisely like our house-wren, though it has a richer and more
powerful song than the English bird. On the other side of the hedge
was the _potrero_, or paddock, where a milch-cow with two or three
horses were kept. The manservant, whose name was Nepomucino, presided
over orchard and paddock, also to some extent over the entire
establishment. Nepomucino was a pure negro, a little old round-headed,
blear-eyed man, about five feet four in height, the short lumpy wool
on his head quite grey; slow in speech and movements, his old black
or chocolate-coloured fingers all crooked, stiff-jointed, and pointing
spontaneously in different directions. I have never seen anything in
the human subject to equal the dignity of Nepomucino, the profound
gravity of his bearing and expression forcibly reminding one of an
owl. Apparently he had come to look upon himself as the sole head and
master of the establishment, and the sense of responsibility had more
than steadied him. The negrine propensity to frequent explosions of
inconsequent laughter was not, of course, to be expected in such a
sober-minded person; but he was, I think, a little too sedate for a
black, for, although his face would shine on warm days like polished
ebony, it did not smile. Everyone in the house conspired to keep up
the fiction of Nepomucino's importance; they had, in fact, conspired
so long and so well, that it had very nearly ceased to be a fiction.
Everybody addressed him with grave respect. Not a syllable of his long
name was ever omitted--what the consequences of calling him Nepo, or
Cino, or Cinito, the affectionate diminutive, would have been I am
unable to say, since I never had the courage to try the experiment.
It often amused me to hear Do�a Mercedes calling to him from the house,
and throwing the whole emphasis on the last syllable in a long, piercing
crescendo: "Ne--po--mu--ci--no--o." Sometimes, when I sat in the
orchard, he would come, and, placing himself before me, discourse
gravely about things in general, clipping his words and substituting
r for l in the negro fashion, which made it hard for me to repress a
smile. After winding up with a few appropriate moral reflections he
would finish with the remark: "For though I am black on the surface,
se�or, my heart is white"; and then he would impressively lay one of
his old crooked fingers on the part where the physiological curiosity
was supposed to be. He did not like being told to perform menial
offices, preferring to anticipate all requests of that kind and do
whatever was necessary by stealth. Sometimes I would forget this
peculiarity of the old black, and tell him that I wanted him to polish
my boots. He would ignore the request altogether, and talk for a few
minutes of political matters, or on the uncertainty of all things
mundane, and by and by, glancing at my boots, would remark incidentally
that they required polishing, offering somewhat ostentatiously to have
them done for me. Nothing would make him admit that he did these things
himself. Once I tried to amuse Dolores by mimicking his speech to her,
but quickly she silenced me, saying that she loved Nepomucino too well
to allow even her best friend to laugh at him. He had been born when
blacks were slaves in the service of her family, had carried her in
his arms when she was an infant, and had seen all the male members of
the house of Zelaya swept away in the wars of Reds and Whites; but in
the days of their adversity his faithful, dog-like affection had never
failed them. It was beautiful to see her manner towards him. If she
wanted a rose for her hair or dress she would not pluck it herself or
allow me to get it for her, but Nepomucino must be asked to get it.
Then every day she would find time to sit down in the garden by his
side to tell him all the news of the village and of the country at
large, discuss the position of affairs with him, and ask his advice
about everything in the house.

Indoors or out I generally had Dolores for a companion, and I could
certainly not have had a more charming one. The civil war--though the
little splutter on the Y� scarcely deserved that name yet--was her
unfailing theme. She was never weary of singing her hero Santa Coloma's
praises--his dauntless courage and patience in defeat; his strange
romantic adventures; the innumerable disguises and stratagems he had
resorted to when going about in his own country, where a price was set
on his head; ever labouring to infuse fresh valour into his beaten,
disheartened followers. That the governing party had any right to be
in power, or possessed any virtue of any kind, or were, in fact,
anything but an incubus and a curse to the Banda Orient�l, she would
not for one moment admit. To her mind her country always appeared like
Andromeda bound on her rock and left weeping and desolate to be a prey
to the abhorred Colorado monster; while ever to the deliverance of
this lovely being came her glorious Perseus, swift as the winds of
heaven, the lightnings of terrible vengeance flashing from his eyes,
the might of the immortals in his strong right arm. Often she tried
to persuade me to join this romantic adventurer, and it was hard, very
hard, to resist her eloquent appeals, and perhaps it grew harder every
day as the influence of her passionate beauty strengthened itself upon
my heart. Invariably I took refuge in the argument that I was a
foreigner, that I loved my country with an ardour equal to hers, and
that by taking arms in the Banda Orient�l I should at once divest
myself of all an Englishman's rights and privileges. She scarcely had
patience to listen to this argument, it seemed so trivial to her, and
when she demanded other better reasons I had none to offer. I dare not
quote to her the words of sulky Achilles:

The distant Trojans never injured me, for that argument would have
sounded even weaker to her than the former one. She had never read
Homer in any language, of course, but she wouldhave quickly made me
tell her about Achilles, and when the end came, with miserable Hector
dragged thrice round the walls of besieged Troy--Montevideo was called
Modern Troy, she knew--then she would have turned my argument against
me and bidden me go and serve the Uruguayan President as Achilles
served Hector. Seeing me silent, she would turn indignantly away only
for a moment, however; the bright smile would quickly return, and she
would exclaim, "No, no, Richard, I shall not forget my promise, though
I sometimes think you try to make me do so."

It was noon: the house was quiet, for Do�a Mercedes had retired after
breakfast to take her unfailing siesta, leaving us to our conversation.
In that spacious, cool room where I had first reposed in the house,
I was lying on the sofa smoking a cigarette. Dolores, seating herself
near me with her guitar, said, "Now let me play and sing you to sleep
with something very soft." But the more she played and sang the further
was I from un-needed slumber.

"What, not sleeping yet, Richard!" she would say, with a little laugh
after each song.

"Not yet, Dolores," I would reply, pretending to get drowsy. "But my
eyes are getting heavy now. One more song will send me to the region
of dreams. Sing me that sweet favourite---

_Desde aquel doloroso momento_."

At length, finding that my sleepiness was all pretence, she refused
to sing any more, and presently we drifted once more into the old
subject.

"Ah, yes," she replied to that argument about my nationality, which
was my only shield, "I have always been taught to believe foreigners
a cold, practical, calculating kind of people--so different from us.
You never seemed to me like a foreigner; ah, Richard, why will you
make me remember that you are not one of us! Tell me, dear friend, if
a beautiful woman cried out to you to deliver her from some great
misfortune or danger, would you stop to ask her nationality before
going to her rescue?"

"No, Dolores; you know that if you, for instance, were in distress or
danger I would fly to your side and risk my life to save you."

"I believe you, Richard. But tell me, is it less noble to help a
suffering people cruelly oppressed by wicked men who have succeeded
by crimes and treachery and foreign aid in climbing into power? Will
you tell me that no Englishman has drawn a sword in a cause like that?
Oh, friend, is not my mother-country more beautiful and worthy to be
helped than any woman? Has not God given her spiritual eyes that shed
tears and look for comfort; lips sweeter than any woman's lips, that
cry bitterly every day for deliverance? Can you look on the blue skies
above you and walk on the green grass where the white and purple flowers
smile up at you and be deaf and blind to her beauty and to her great
need? Oh, no, no, it is impossible!"

"Ah, if you were a man, Dolores, what a flame you would kindle in the
hearts of your countrymen!"

"Yes, if I were a man!" she exclaimed, starting to her feet; "then I
should serve my country not with words only; then I would strike and
bleed for her--how willingly! Being only a weak woman, I would give
my heart's blood to win one arm to aid in the sacred cause."

She stood before me with flashing eyes, her face glowing with
enthusiasm; then I also rose to my feet and took her hands in mine,
for I was intoxicated with her loveliness and almost ready to throw
all restraints to the winds.

"Dolores," I said, "are not your words extravagant? Shall I test their
sincerity? Tell me, would you give even as much as one kiss with your
sweet lips to win a strong arm for your country?"

She turned crimson and cast her eyes down; then, quickly recovering
herself, answered:

"What do your words mean? Speak plainly, Richard."

"I cannot speak plainer, Dolores. Forgive me if I have offended once
more. Your beauty and grace and eloquence have made me forget myself."

Her hands were moist and trembling in mine, still she did not withdraw
them. "No, I am not offended," she returned in a strangely low tone.
"Put me to the test, Richard. Do you wish me to understand clearly
that for such a favour as that you would join us?"

"I cannot say," I replied, still endeavouring to be prudent, though
my heart was on fire and my words when I spoke seemed to choke me.
"But, Dolores, if you would shed your blood to win one strong arm,
will you think it too much to bestow the favour I spoke of in the hope
of winning an arm?"

She was silent. Then, drawing her closer, I touched her lips with mine.
But who was ever satisfied with that one touch on the lips for which
the heart has craved? It was like contact with a strange, celestial
fire that instantly kindled my love to madness. Again and yet again
I kissed her; I pressed her lips till they were dry and burned like
fire, then kissed cheek, forehead, hair, and, casting my arms about
her strained her to my breast in a long, passionate embrace; then the
violence of the paroxysm was over, and with a pang I released her. She
trembled: her face was whiter than alabaster, and, covering it with
her hands, she sank down on the sofa. I sat down beside her and drew
her head down on my breast, but we remained silent, only our hearts
were beating very fast. Presently she disengaged herself, and, without
bestowing one glance on me, rose and left the room.

Before long I began to blame myself bitterly for this imprudent
outburst. I dared not hope to continue longer on the old familiar
footing. So high-spirited and sensitive a woman as Dolores would not
easily be brought to forget or forgive my conduct. She had not repelled
me, she had even tacitly consented to that one first kiss, and was
therefore partly to blame herself; but her extreme pallor, her silence,
and cold manner had plainly shown me that I had wounded her. My passion
had overcome me, and I felt that I had compromised myself. For that
one first kiss I had all but promised to do a certain thing, and not
to do it now seemed very dishonourable, much as I shrank from joining
the Blanco rebels. I had proposed the thing myself; she had silently
consented to the stipulation. I had taken my kiss and much more, and,
having now had my delirious, evanescent joy, I could not endure the
thought of meanly skulking off without paying the price.

I went out full of trouble and paced up and down in the orchard for
two or three hours, hoping that Dolores might come to me there, but
I saw no more of her that day. At dinner Do�a Mercedes was excessively
affable, showing clearly that she was not in her daughter's confidence.
She informed me, simple soul! that Dolores was suffering from a grievous
headache caused by taking a glass of claret at breakfast after eating
a slice of water-melon, an imprudence against which she did not omit
to caution me.

Lying awake that night--for the thought that I had pained and offended
Dolores made it impossible for me to sleep--I resolved to join Santa
Coloma immediately. That act alone would salve my conscience, and I
only hoped that it would serve to win back the friendship and esteem
of the woman I had learned to love so well. I had no sooner determined
on taking this step than I began to see so many advantages in it that
it seemed strange I had not taken it before; but we lose half our
opportunities in life through too much caution. A few more days of
adventure, all the pleasanter for being spiced with danger, and I would
be once more in Montevideo with a host of great and grateful friends
to start me in some career in the country. Yes, I said to myself,
becoming enthusiastic, once this oppressive, scandalous, and besotted
Colorado party is swept with bullet and steel out of the country, as
of course it will be, I shall go to Santa Coloma to lay down my sword,
resuming by that act my own nationality, and as sole reward of my
chivalrous conduct in aiding the rebellion, ask for his interest in
getting me placed say, at the head of some large _estancia_ in
the interior. There, possibly on one of his own establishments, I shall
be in my element and happy, hunting ostriches, eating _carne con
cuero_, possessing a _tropilla_ of twenty cream-coloured horses
for my private use, and building up a modest fortune out of hides,
horns, tallow, and other native products. At break of day I rose and
saddled my horse; then, finding the dignified Nepomucino, who was the
early bird (blackbird) of the establishment, told him to inform his
mistress that I was going to spend the day with General Santa Coloma.
After taking a _mat�_ from the old fellow, I mounted and galloped
out of the village of Molino.

Arrived at the camp, which had been moved to a distance of four or
five miles from El Molino, I found Santa Coloma just ready to mount
his horse to start on an expedition to a small town eight or nine
leagues distant. He at once asked me to go with him, and remarked that
he was very much pleased, though not surprised, at my having changed
my mind about joining him. We did not return till late in the evening,
and the whole of the following day was spent in monotonous cavalry
exercises. I then went to the General and requested permission to visit
the Casa Blanca to bid adieu to my friends there. He informed me that
he intended going to El Molino the next morning himself and would take
me with him. The first thing he did on our arrival at the village was
to send me to the principal storekeeper in the place, a man who had
faith in the Blanco leader, and was rapidly disposing of a large stock
of goods at a splendid profit, receiving in payment sundry slips of
paper signed by Santa Coloma. This good fellow, who mixed politics
with business, provided me with a complete and much-needed outfit,
which included a broadcloth suit of clothes, soft brown hat rather
broad in the brim, long riding-boots, and _poncho_. Going back
to the official building or headquarters in the plaza, I received my
sword, which did not harmonise very well with the civilian costume I
wore; but I was no worse off in this respect than forty-nine out of
every fifty men in our little army.

In the afternoon we went together to see the ladies, and the General
had a very hearty welcome from both of them, as I also had from Do�a
Mercedes, while Dolores received me with the utmost indifference,
expressing no pleasure or surprise at seeing me wearing a sword in the
cause which she had professed to have so much at heart. This was a
sore disappointment, and I was also nettled at her treatment of me.
After dinner, over which we sat talking some time, the General left
us, telling me before doing so to join him in the plaza at five o'clock
next morning. I then tried to get an opportunity of speaking to Dolores
alone, but she studiously avoided me, and in the evening there were
several visitors, ladies from the town with three or four officers
from the camp, and dancing and singing were kept up till towards
midnight. Finding that I could not speak to her, and anxious about my
appointment at five in the morning, I at length retired sorrowful and
baffled to my apartment. Without undressing I threw myself on my bed,
and, being very much fatigued with so much riding about, I soon fell
asleep. When I woke, the brilliant light of the moon, shining in at
open window and door, made me fancy it was already daylight, and I
quickly sprang up. I had no means of telling the time, except by going
into the large living-room, where there was an old eight-day clock.
Making my way thither, I was amazed to see, on entering it, Dolores
in her white dress sitting beside the open window in a dejected
attitude. She started and rose up when I entered, the extreme pallor
of her face heightened by contrast with her long, raven-black hair
hanging unbound on her shoulders.

"Dolores, do I find you here at this hour?" I exclaimed.

"Yes," she returned coldly, sitting down again. "Do you think it very
strange, Richard?"

"Pardon me for disturbing you," I said; "I came here to find out the
time from your clock."

"It is two o'clock. Is that all you came for? Did you imagine I could
retire to sleep without first knowing what your motive was in returning
to this house? Have you then forgotten everything?"

I came to her and sat down by the window before speaking. "No, Dolores,"
I said; "had I forgotten, you would not have seen me here enlisted in
a cause which I looked on only as your cause."

"Ah, then you have honoured the Casa Blanca with this visit not to
speak to me--that you considered unnecessary--but merely to exhibit
yourself wearing a sword!"

I was stung by the extreme bitterness of her tone. "You are unjust to
me," I said. "Since that fatal moment when my passion overcame me I
have not ceased thinking of you, grieving that I had offended you. No,
I did not come to exhibit my sword, which is not worn for ornament;
I came only to speak to you, Dolores, and you purposely avoided me."

"Not without reason," she retorted quickly. "Did I not sit quietly by
you after you had acted in that way towards me, waiting for you to
speak--to explain, and you were silent? Well, se�or, I am here now,
waiting again."

"This, then, is what I have to say," I replied. "After what passed I
considered myself bound in honour to join your cause, Dolores. What
more can I say except to implore your forgiveness? Believe me, dear
friend, in that moment of passion I forgot everything--forgot that
I--forgot that your hand was already given to another."

"Given to another? What do you mean, Richard? Who told you that?"

"General Santa Coloma."

"The General? What right has he to occupy himself with my affairs?
This is a matter that concerns myself only, and it is presumption on
his part to interfere in it."

"Do you speak in that tone of your hero, Dolores? Remember that he
only warned me of my danger out of pure friendship. But his warning
was thrown away; my unhappy passion, the sight of your loveliness,
your own incautious words, were too much for my heart."

She dropped her face on her hands and remained silent.

"I have suffered for my fault, and must suffer more. Will you not say
you forgive me, Dolores?" I said, offering my hand.

She took it, but continued silent.

"Say, dearest friend, that you forgive me, that we part friends."

"Oh, Richard, must we part then?" she murmured.

"Yes--now, Dolores; for, before you are up, I must be on horseback and
on my way to join the troops. The march to Montevideo will probably
commence almost immediately."

"Oh, I cannot bear it!" she suddenly exclaimed, taking my hands in
both hers. "Let me open my heart to you now. Forgive me, Richard, for
being so angry with you, but I did not know the General had said such
a thing. Believe me, he imagines more than he knows. When you took me
in your arms and held me against your breast it was a revelation to
me. I cannot love or give my hand to any other man. You are everything
in the world to me now, Richard; must you leave me to mingle in this
cruel civil strife in which all my dearest friends and relations have
perished."

She had had her revelation; I now had mine, and it was an exceedingly
bitter one. I trembled at the thought of confessing my secret to her,
now when she had so unmistakably responded to the passion I had insanely
revealed.

Suddenly she raised her dark, luminous eyes to mine, anger and shame
struggling for mastery on her pale face.

"Speak, Richard!" she exclaimed. "Your silence at this moment is an
insult to me."

"For God's sake, have mercy on me, Dolores," I said. "I am not free--I
have a wife."

For some moments she sat staring fixedly at me, then, flinging my hand
from her, covered her face. Presently she uncovered it again, for shame
was overcome and cast out by anger. She rose and stood up before me,
her face very white.

"You have a wife--a wife whose existence you concealed from me till
this moment!" she said. "Now you ask for mercy when your secret has
been wrung from you! Married, and you have dared to take me in your
arms, to excuse yourself afterwards with the plea of passion!
Passion--do you know what it means, traitor? Ah, no; a breast like
yours cannot know any great or generous emotion. Would you have dared
show your face to me again had you been capable of shame even? And you
judged my heart as shallow as your own, and, after treating me in that
way, thought to win my forgiveness, and admiration even, by parading
before me with a sword! Leave me, I can feel nothing but contempt for
you. Go; you are a disgrace to the cause you have espoused!"

I had sat utterly crushed and humiliated, not daring even to raise my
sight to her face, for I felt that my own unspeakable weakness and
folly had brought this tempest upon me! But there is a limit to
patience, even in the most submissive mood; and when that was
overpassed, then my anger blazed out all the more hotly for the
penitential meekness I had preserved during the whole interview. Her
words from the first had fallen like whip-cuts, making me writhe with
the pain they inflicted; but that last taunt stung me beyond endurance.
I, an Englishman, to be told that I was a disgrace to the Blanco cause,
which I had joined, in spite of my better judgment, purely out of my
romantic devotion to this very woman! I too was now upon my feet, and
there face to face we stood for some moments, silent and trembling.
At length I found my speech.

"This," I cried, "from the woman who was ready yesterday to shed her
heart's blood to win one strong arm for her country? I have renounced
everything, allied myself with abhorred robbers and cut-throats, only
to learn that her one desire is everything to her, her divine, beautiful
country nothing. I wish that a man had spoken those words to me,
Dolores, so that I might have put this sword you speak of to one good
use before breaking it and flinging it from me like the vile thing it
is! Would to God the earth would open and swallow up this land for
ever, though I sank down into hell with it for the detestable crime
of taking part in its pirate wars!"

She stood perfectly still, gazing at me with widely dilated eyes, a
new expression coming into her face; then when I paused for her to
speak, expecting only a fresh outburst of scorn and bitterness, a
strange, sorrowful smile flitted over her lips, and, coming close to
me, she placed her hand on my shoulder.

"Oh," she said, "what a strength of passion you are capable of! Forgive
me, Richard, for I have forgiven you. Ah, we were made for each other,
and it can never, never be."

She dropped her head dejectedly on my shoulder. My anger vanished atthose
sad words; love only remained--love mingled with profoundest
compassion and remorse for the pain I had inflicted. Supporting her
with my arm, I tenderly stroked her dark hair, and, stooping, pressed
my lips against it.

"Do you love me so much, Dolores," I said, "enough even to forgive the
cruel, bitter words I have just spoken? Oh, I was mad--mad to say such
things to you, and shall repent it all my life long! How cruelly have
I wounded you with my love and my anger! Tell me, dearest Dolores, can
you forgive me?"

"Yes, Richard; everything. Is there any word you can speak, any deed
you can do, and I not forgive it? Does your wife love you like that--can
you love her as you love me? How cruel destiny is to us! Ah, my beloved
country, I was ready to shed my blood for you--just to win one strong
arm to fight for you, but I did not dream that this would be the
sacrifice required of me. Look, it will soon be time for you to go--we
cannot sleep now, Richard. Sit down here with me, and let us spend
this last hour together with my hand in yours, for we shall never,
never, never meet again."

And so, sitting there hand in hand, we waited for the dawn, speaking
many sad and tender words to one another; and at last, when we parted,
I held her once more unresisting to my breast, thinking, as she did,
that our separation would be an eternal one.

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