THE PEARL OF LIMA.
A STORY OF TRUE LOVE.
TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH OF M. JULES VERNE.
BY ANNE T. WILBUR.
Transcriber's Note:
Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note.
Inconsistent hyphenation and spellings have been standardised,
whilst variant and unique spellings remain as printed. For the
reader's ease, although not present in the original text, a brief
table of contents has been included below:
I. THE PLAZA-MAYOR.
II. EVENING IN THE STREETS OF LIMA.
III. THE JEW EVERY WHERE A JEW.
IV. A SPANISH GRANDEE.
V. THE HATRED OF THE INDIANS.
VI. THE BETROTHAL.
VII. ALL INTERESTS AT STAKE.
VIII. CONQUERORS AND CONQUERED.
IX. THE CATARACTS OF THE MADEIRA.
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CHAPTER I.
THE PLAZA-MAYOR.
The sun had disappeared behind the snowy peaks of the Cordilleras; but
the beautiful Peruvian sky long retains, through the transparent veil of
night, the reflection of his rays; the atmosphere is impregnated with a
refreshing coolness, which in these burning latitudes affords freedom of
breath; it is the hour in which one can live a European life, and seek
without on the verandas some cooling gentle zephyr; it seems as if a
metallic roof was then interposed between the sun and the earth, which,
retaining the heat and suffering only the light to pass, offers beneath
its shelter a reparative repose.
This much desired hour had at last sounded from the clock of the
cathedral. While the earliest stars were rising above the horizon, the
numerous promenaders were traversing the streets of Lima, wrapped in
their light mantles, and conversing gravely on the most trivial affairs.
There was a great movement of the populace on the Plaza-Mayor, that
forum of the ancient city of kings; artisans were profiting by the
coolness to quit their daily labors; they circulated actively among the
crowd, crying their various merchandise; the ladies of Lima, carefully
enveloped in the mantillas which mask their countenances, with the
exception of the right eye, darted stealthy glances on the surrounding
masses; they undulated through the groups of smokers, like foam at the
will of the waves; other señoras, in ball costume, -coiffed- only with
their abundant hair or some natural flowers, passed in large calêches,
throwing on the -caballeros- nonchalant regards.
But these glances were not bestowed indiscriminately upon the young
cavaliers; the thoughts of the noble ladies could rest only on
aristocratic heights. The Indians passed without lifting their eyes upon
them, knowing themselves to be beneath their notice; betraying by no
gesture or word, the bitter envy of their hearts. They contrasted
strongly with the half-breeds, or mestizoes, who, repulsed like the
former, vented their indignation in cries and protestations.
The proud descendants of Pizarro marched with heads high, as in the
times when their ancestors founded the city of kings; their traditional
scorn rested alike on the Indians whom they had conquered, and the
mestizoes, born of their relations with the natives of the New World.
The Indians, on the contrary, were constantly struggling to break their
chains, and cherished alike aversion toward the conquerors of the
ancient empire of the Incas and their haughty and insolent descendants.
But the mestizoes, Spanish in their contempt for the Indians, and Indian
in their hatred which they had vowed against the Spaniards, burned with
both these vivid and impassioned sentiments.
A group of these young people stood near the pretty fountain in the
centre of the Plaza-Mayor. Clad in their -poncho-, a piece of cloth or
cotton in the form of a parallelogram, with an opening in the middle to
give passage to the head, in large pantaloons, striped with a thousand
colors, -coiffed- with broad-brimmed hats of Guayaquil straw, they were
talking, declaiming, gesticulating.
"You are right, André," said a very obsequious young man, whom they
called Milleflores.
This was the friend, the parasite of André Certa, a young mestizo of
swarthy complexion, whose thin beard gave a singular appearance to his
countenance.
André Certa, the son of a rich merchant killed in the last -émeute- of
the conspirator Lafuente, had inherited a large fortune; this he freely
scattered among his friends, whose humble salutations he demanded in
exchange for handfuls of gold.
"Of what use are these changes in government, these eternal
-pronunciamentos- which disturb Peru to gratify private ambition?"
resumed André, in a loud voice; "what is it to me whether Gambarra or
Santa Cruz rule, if there is no equality."
"Well said," exclaimed Milleflores, who, under the most republican
government, could never have been the equal of a man of sense.
"How is it," resumed André Certa, "that I, the son of a merchant, can
ride only in a calêche drawn by mules? Have not my ships brought wealth
and prosperity to the country? Is not the aristocracy of piasters worth
all the titles of Spain?"
"It is a shame!" resumed the young mestizo. "There is Don Fernand, who
passes in his carriage drawn by two horses! Don Fernand d'Aiquillo! He
has scarcely property enough to feed his coachman and horses, and he
must come to parade himself proudly about the square. And, hold! here is
another! the Marquis Don Vegal!"
A magnificent carriage, drawn by four fine horses, at that moment
entered the Plaza-Mayor; its only occupant was a man of proud mien,
mingled with sadness; he gazed, without seeming to see them, on the
multitude assembled to breathe the coolness of the evening. This man was
the Marquis Don Vegal, knight of Alcantara, of Malta, and of Charles
III. He had a right to appear in this pompous equipage; the viceroy and
the archbishop could alone take precedence of him; but this great
nobleman came here from ennui and not from ostentation; his thoughts
were not depicted on his countenance, they were concentrated beneath his
bent brow; he received no impression from exterior objects, on which he
bestowed not a look, and heard not the envious reflections of the
mestizoes, when his four horses made their way through the crowd.
"I hate that man," said André Certa.
"You will not hate him long."
"I know it! All these nobles are displaying the last splendors of their
luxury; I can tell where their silver and their family jewels go."
"You have not your entrée with the Jew Samuel for nothing."
"Certainly not! On his account-books are inscribed aristocratic
creditors; in his strong-box are piled the wrecks of great fortunes; and
in the day when the Spaniards shall be as ragged as their Cæsar de
Bazan, we will have fine sport."
"Yes, we will have fine sport, dear André, mounted on your millions, on
a golden pedestal! And you are about to double your fortune! When are
you to marry the beautiful young daughter of old Samuel, a Limanienne to
the end of her nails, with nothing Jewish about her but her name of
Sarah?"
"In a month," replied André Certa, proudly, "there will be no fortune in
Peru which can compete with mine."
"But why," asked some one, "do you not espouse some Spanish girl of high
descent?"
"I despise these people as much as I hate them."
André Certa concealed the fact of his having been repulsed by several
noble families, into which he had sought to introduce himself.
His interlocutor still wore an expression of doubt, and the brow of the
mestizo had contracted, when the latter was rudely elbowed by a man of
tall stature, whose gray hairs proclaimed him to be at least fifty,
while the muscular force of his firmly knit limbs seemed undiminished by
age.
This man was clad in a brown vest, through which appeared a coarse shirt
with a broad collar; his short breeches, striped with green, were
fastened by red garters to stockings of clay-color; on his feet were
sandals made of -ojotas-, ox-hide prepared for this purpose; beneath his
high-pointed hat gleamed large ear-rings. His complexion was dark. After
having jostled André Certa, he looked at him fixedly, but with no
particular expression.
"Miserable Indian!" exclaimed the mestizo, raising his hand upon him.
His companions restrained him. Milleflores, whose face was pale with
terror, exclaimed:
"André! André! take care."
"A vile slave! to presume to elbow me!"
"It is a madman! it is the -Sambo-!"
The -Sambo-, as the name indicated, was an Indian of the mountains; he
continued to fix his eyes on the mestizo, whom he had intentionally
jostled. The latter, whose anger was unbounded, had seized a poignard at
his girdle, and was about to have rushed on the impassable aggressor,
when a guttural cry, like that of the -cilguero-, (a kind of linnet of
Peru,) re-echoed in the midst of the tumult of promenaders, and the
Sambo disappeared.
"Brutal and cowardly!" exclaimed André.
"Control yourself," said Milleflores, softly. "Let us leave the
Plaza-Mayor; the Limanienne ladies are too haughty here."
As he said these words, the brave Milleflores looked cautiously around
to see whether he was not within reach of the foot or arm of some Indian
in the neighborhood.
"In an hour, I must be at the house of Jew Samuel," said André.
"In an hour! we have time to pass to the -Calle del Peligro-; you can
offer some oranges or ananas to the charming -tapadas- who promenade
there. Shall we go, gentlemen?"
The group directed their steps toward the extremity of the square, and
began to descend the street of Danger, where Milleflores hoped his good
looks would be appreciated; but it was nightfall, and the young
Limaniennes merited better than ever their name of -tapadas- (hidden),
for they drew their mantles more closely over their countenances.
The Plaza-Mayor was all alive; the cries and the tumult were redoubled;
the guards on horseback, stationed before the central portico of the
viceroy's palace, situated on the north side of the square, could
scarcely maintain their position amid the shifting crowd; there were
merchants for all customers and customers for all merchants. The
greatest variety of trades seemed to be congregated there, and from the
-Portal de Escribanos- to the -Portal de Botoneros-, there was one
immense display of articles of every kind, the Plaza-Mayor serving at
once as promenade, bazaar, market and fair. The ground-floor of the
viceroy's palace is occupied by shops; along the first story runs an
immense gallery where the crowd can promenade on days of public
rejoicing; on the east side of the square rises the cathedral, with its
steeples and light balustrades, proudly adorning its two towers; the
basement story of the edifice being ten feet high, and containing
warehouses full of the products of tropical climates.
In the centre of this square is situated the beautiful fountain,
constructed in 1653, by the orders of the viceroy, the Comte de
Salvatierra. From the top of the pillar, which rises in the middle of
the fountain and is surmounted with a statue of Fame, the water falls in
sheets, and is discharged into a basin beneath through the mouths of
lions. It is here that the water-carriers (-aguadores-) load their mules
with barrels, attach a bell to a hoop, and mount behind their liquid
merchandise.
This square is therefore noisy from morning till evening, and when the
stars of night rise above the snowy summits of the Cordilleras, the
tumult of the -élite- of Lima equals the matinal hubbub of the
merchants.
Nevertheless, when the -oracion- (evening -angelus-) sounds from the
bell of the cathedral, all this noise suddenly ceases; to the clamor of
pleasure succeeds the murmur of prayer; the women pause in their walk
and put their hands on their rosaries, invoking the Virgin Mary. Then,
not a merchant dares sell his merchandise, not a customer thinks of
buying, and this square, so recently animated, seems to have become a
vast solitude.
While the Limanians paused and knelt at the sound of the -angelus-, a
young girl, carefully surrounded by her discreet mantle, sought to pass
through the praying multitude; she was followed by a mestizo woman, a
sort of duenna, who watched every glance and step. The duenna, as if she
had not understood the warning bell, continued her way through the
devout populace: to the general surprise succeeded harsh epithets. The
young girl would have stopped, but the duenna kept on.
"Do you see that daughter of Satan?" said some one near her.
"Who is that -balarina---that impious dancer?"
"It is one of the Carcaman women." (A reproachful name bestowed upon
Europeans.)
The young girl at last stopped, blushing and confused.
Suddenly a -gaucho-, a merchant of mules, seized her by the shoulder,
and would have compelled her to kneel; but he had scarcely laid his hand
upon her when a vigorous arm rudely felled him to the ground. This
scene, rapid as lightning, was followed by a moment of confusion.
"Save yourself, miss," said a gentle and respectful voice in the ear of
the young girl.
The latter turned, pale with terror, and saw a young Indian of tall
stature, who, with his arms tranquilly folded, was awaiting with firm
foot the attack of his adversary.
"We are lost!" exclaimed the duenna; "-niña, niña-, let us go, for the
love of God!" and she seized the arm of the young girl, who disappeared,
while the crowd rose and dispersed.
The -gaucho- had risen, bruised with his fall, and thinking it not
prudent to seek revenge, rejoined his mules, muttering threats.
CHAPTER II.
EVENING IN THE STREETS OF LIMA.
Night had succeeded, almost without intervening twilight, the glare of
day. The two women quickened their pace, for it was late; the young
girl, still under the influence of strong emotion, maintained silence,
while the duenna murmured some mysterious paternosters--they walked
rapidly through one of the sloping streets leading from the Plaza-Mayor.
This place is situated more than four hundred feet above the level of
the sea, and about a hundred and fifty rods from the bridge thrown over
the river Rimac, which forms the diameter of the city of Lima, arranged
in a semicircle.
The city of Lima lies in the valley of the Rimac, nine leagues from its
mouth; at the north and east commence the first undulations of ground
which form a part of the great chain of the Andes: the valley of
Lungaucho, formed by the mountains of San Cristoval and the Amancaës,
which rise behind Lima, terminates in its suburbs. The city lies on one
bank of the river; the other is occupied by the suburb of San Lazaro,
and is united to the city by a bridge of five arches, the upper piers of
which are triangular to break the force of the current; while the lower
ones present to the promenaders circular benches, on which the
fashionables may lounge during the summer evenings, and where they can
contemplate a pretty cascade.
The city is two miles long from east to west, and only a mile and a
quarter wide from the bridge to the walls; the latter, twelve feet in
height, ten feet thick at their base, are built of -adobes-, a kind of
brick dried in the sun, and made of potter's clay mingled with a great
quantity of chopped straw: these walls are calculated to resist
earthquakes; the enclosure, pierced with seven gates and three posterns,
terminates at its south-east extremity by the little citadel of Santa
Caterina.
Such is the ancient city of kings, founded in 1534 by Pizarro, on the
day of Epiphany; it has been and is still the theatre of constantly
renewed revolutions. Lima, situated three miles from the sea, was
formerly the principal storehouse of America on the Pacific Ocean,
thanks to its Port of Callao, built in 1779, in a singular manner. An
old vessel, filled with stones, sand, and rubbish of all sorts, was
wrecked on the shore; piles of the mangrove-tree, brought from Guayaquil
and impervious to water, were driven around this as a centre, which
became the immovable base on which rose the mole of Callao.
The climate, milder and more temperate than that of Carthagena or Bahia,
situated on the opposite side of America, makes Lima one of the most
agreeable cities of the New World: the wind has two directions from
which it never varies; either it blows from the south-east, and becomes
cool by crossing the Pacific Ocean; or it comes from the south-west,
impregnated with the mild atmosphere of the forests and the freshness
which it has derived from the icy summits of the Cordilleras.
The nights beneath tropical latitudes are very beautiful and very clear;
they mysteriously prepare that beneficent dew which fertilizes a soil
exposed to the rays of a cloudless sky--so the inhabitants of Lima
prolong their nocturnal conversations and receptions; household labors
are quietly finished in the dwellings refreshed by the shadows, and the
streets are soon deserted; scarcely is some -pulperia- still haunted by
the drinkers of -chica- or -quarapo-.
These, the young girl, whom we have seen, carefully avoided; crossing in
the middle of the numerous squares scattered about the city, she
arrived, without interruption, at the bridge of the Rimac, listening to
catch the slightest sound--which her emotion exaggerated, and hearing
only the bells of a train of mules conducted by its -arriero-, or the
joyous -stribillo- of some Indian.
This young girl was called Sarah, and was returning to the house of the
Jew Samuel, her father; she was clad in a -saya- of satin--a kind of
petticoat of a dark color, plaited in elastic folds, and very narrow at
the bottom, which compelled her to take short steps, and gave her that
graceful delicacy peculiar to the Limanienne ladies; this petticoat,
ornamented with lace and flowers, was in part covered with a silk
mantle, which was raised above the head and enveloped it like a hood;
stockings of exquisite fineness and little satin shoes peeped out
beneath the graceful -saya-; bracelets of great value encircled the arms
of the young girl, whose rich toilet was of exquisite taste, and her
whole person redolent of that charm so well expressed by the Spanish
word -donaire-.
Milleflores might well say to André Certa that his betrothed had nothing
of the Jewess but the name, for she was a faithful specimen of those
admirable señoras whose beauty is above all praise.
The duenna, an old Jewess, whose countenance was expressive of avarice
and cupidity, was a devoted servant of Samuel, who paid her liberally.
At the moment when these two women entered the suburb of San Lazaro, a
man, clad in the robe of a monk, and with his head covered with a cowl,
passed near them and looked at them attentively. This man, of tall
stature, possessed a countenance expressive of gentleness and
benevolence; it was Padre Joachim de Camarones; he threw a glance of
intelligence on Sarah, who immediately looked at her follower.
The latter was still grumbling, muttering and whining, which prevented
her seeing any thing; the young girl turned toward the good father and
made a graceful sign with her hand.
"Well, señora," said the old woman, sharply, "is it not enough to have
been insulted by these Christians, that you should stop to look at a
priest?"
Sarah did not reply.
"Shall we see you one day, with rosary in hand, engaged in the
ceremonies of the church?"
The ceremonies of the church---las funciones de iglesia---are the great
business of the Limanian ladies.
"You make strange suppositions," replied the young girl, blushing.
"Strange as your conduct! What would my master Samuel say, if he knew
what had taken place this evening?"
"Am I to blame because a brutal muleteer chose to address me?"
"I understand, señora," said the old woman, shaking her head, "and will
not speak of the -gaucho-."
"Then the young man did wrong in defending me from the abuse of the
populace?"
"Is it the first time the Indian has thrown himself in your way?"
The countenance of the young girl was fortunately sheltered by her
mantle, for the darkness would not have sufficed to conceal her emotion
from the inquisitive glance of the duenna.
"But let us leave the Indian where he is," resumed the old woman, "it is
not my business to watch him. What I complain of is, that in order not
to disturb these Christians, you wished to remain among them! Had you
not some desire to kneel with them? Ah, señora, your father would soon
dismiss me if I were guilty of such apostasy."
But the young girl no longer heard; the remark of the old woman on the
subject of the young Indian had inspired her with sweeter thoughts; it
seemed to her that the intervention of this young man was providential;
and she turned several times to see if he had not followed her in the
shadow. Sarah had in her heart a certain natural confidence which became
her wonderfully; she felt herself to be the child of these warm
latitudes, which the sun decorates with surprising vegetation; proud as
a Spaniard, if she had fixed her regards on this man, it was because he
had stood proudly in the presence of her pride, and had not begged a
glance as a reward of his protection.
In imagining that the Indian was near her, Sarah was not mistaken;
Martin Paz, after having come to the assistance of the young girl,
wished to ensure her safe retreat; so when the promenaders had
dispersed, he followed her, without being perceived by her, but without
concealing himself; the darkness alone favoring his pursuit.
This Martin Paz was a handsome young man, wearing with unparalleled
nobility the national costume of the Indian of the mountains; from his
broad-brimmed straw hat escaped fine black hair, whose curls harmonized
with the bronze of his manly face. His eyes shone with infinite
sweetness, like the transparent atmosphere of starry nights; his
well-formed nose surmounted a pretty mouth, unlike that of most of his
race. He was one of the noblest descendants of Manco-Capac, and his
veins were full of that ardent blood which leads men to the
accomplishment of lofty deeds.
He was proudly draped in his -poncho- of brilliant colors; at his girdle
hung one of those Malay poignards, so terrible in a practiced hand, for
they seem to be riveted to the arm which strikes. In North America, on
the shores of Lake Ontario, Martin Paz would have been a great chief
among those wandering tribes which have fought with the English so many
heroic combats.
Martin Paz knew that Sarah was the daughter of the wealthy Samuel; he
knew her to be the most charming woman in Lima; he knew her to be
betrothed to the opulent mestizo André Certa; he knew that by her birth,
her position and her wealth she was beyond the reach of his heart; but
he forgot all these impossibilities in his all-absorbing passion. It
seemed to him that this beautiful young girl belonged to him, as the
llama to the Peruvian forests, as the eagle to the depths of immensity.
Plunged in his reflections, Martin Paz hastened his steps to see the
-saya- of the young girl sweep the threshold of the paternal dwelling;
and Sarah herself, half-opening then her mantilla, cast on him a
bewildering glance of gratitude.
He was quickly joined by two Indians of the species of -zambos-,
pillagers and robbers, who walked beside him.
"Martin Paz," said one of them to him, "you ought this very evening to
meet our brethren in the mountains."
"I shall be there," coldly replied the other.
"The schooner -Annonciation- has appeared in sight from Callao, tacked
for a few moments, then, protected by the point, rapidly disappeared.
She will undoubtedly approach the land near the mouth of the Rimac, and
our bark canoes must be there to relieve her of her merchandise. We
shall need your presence."
"You are losing time by your observations. Martin Paz knows his duty and
he will do it."
"It is in the name of the Sambo that we speak to you here."
"It is in my own name that I speak to you."
"Do you not fear that he will find your presence in the suburb of San
Lazaro at this hour unaccountable?"
"I am where my fancy and my will have brought me."
"Before the house of the Jew?"
"Those of my brethren who are disposed to find fault can meet me
to-night in the mountain."
The eyes of the three men sparkled, and this was all. The -zambos-
regained the bank of the Rimac, and the sound of their footsteps died
away in the darkness.
Martin Paz had hastily approached the house of the Jew. This house, like
all those of Lima, had but two stories; the ground floor, built of
bricks, was surmounted with walls formed of canes tied together and
covered with plaster; all this part of the building, constructed to
resist earthquakes, imitated, by a skillful painting, the bricks of the
lower story; the square roof, called -asoetas-, was covered with
flowers, and formed a terrace full of perfumes and pretty points of
view.
A vast gate, placed between two pavilions, gave access to a court; but
as usual, these pavilions had no window opening upon the street.
The clock of the parish church was striking eleven when Martin Paz
stopped before the dwelling of Sarah. Profound silence reigned around; a
flickering light within proved that the saloon of the Jew Samuel was
still occupied.
Why does the Indian stand motionless before these silent walls? The cool
atmosphere woos him with its transparency and its perfumes; the radiant
stars send down upon the sleeping earth rays of diaphanous mildness; the
white constellations illumine the darkness with their enchanting light;
his heart believes in those sympathetic communications which brave time
and distance.
A white form appears upon the terrace amid the flowers to which night
has only left a vague outline, without diminishing their delicious
perfumes; the dahlias mingle with the mentzelias, with the helianthus,
and, beneath the occidental breeze, form a waving basket which surrounds
Sarah, the young and beautiful Jewess.
Martin Paz involuntarily raises his hands and clasps them with
adoration. Suddenly the white form sinks down, as if terrified.
Martin Paz turns, and finds himself face to face with André Certa.
"Since when do the Indians pass their nights in contemplation?"
André Certa spoke angrily.
"Since the Indians have trodden the soil of their ancestors."
"Have they no longer, on the mountain side, some -yaravis- to chant,
some -boleros- to dance with the girls of their caste?"
"The -cholos-," replied the Indian, in a high voice, "bestow their
devotion where it is merited; the Indians love according to their
hearts."
André Certa became pale with anger; he advanced a step toward his
immovable rival.
"Wretch! will you quit this place?"
"Rather quit it yourself," shouted Martin Paz; and two poignards gleamed
in the two right hands of the adversaries; they were of equal stature,
they seemed of equal strength, and the lightnings of their eyes were
reflected in the steel of their arms.
André Certa rapidly raised his arm, which he dropped still more quickly.
But his poignard had encountered the Malay poignard of the Indian; at
the fire which flashed from this shock, André saw the arm of Martin Paz
suspended over his head, and immediately rolled on the earth, his arm
pierced through.
"Help, help!" he exclaimed.
The door of the Jew's house opened at his cries. Some mestizoes ran from
a neighboring house; some pursued the Indian, who fled rapidly; others
raised the wounded man. He had swooned.
"Who is this man?" said one of them. "If he is a sailor, take him to the
hospital of Spiritu Santo; if an Indian, to the hospital of Santa Anna."
An old man advanced toward the wounded youth; he had scarcely looked
upon him when he exclaimed:
"Let the poor young man be carried into my house. This is a strange
mischance."
This man was the Jew Samuel; he had just recognized the betrothed of his
daughter.
Martin Paz, thanks to the darkness and the rapidity of his flight, may
hope to escape his pursuers; he has risked his life; an Indian assassin
of a mestizo! If he can gain the open country he is safe, but he knows
that the gates of the city are closed at eleven o'clock in the evening,
not to be re-opened till four in the morning.
He reaches at last the stone bridge which he had already crossed. The
Indians, and some soldiers who had joined them, pursue him closely; he
springs upon the bridge. Unfortunately a patrol appears at the opposite
extremity; Martin Paz can neither advance nor retrace his steps; without
hesitation he clears the parapet and leaps into the rapid current which
breaks against the corners of the stones.
The pursuers spring upon the banks below the bridge to seize the swimmer
at his landing.
But it is in vain; Martin Paz does not re-appear.
CHAPTER III.
THE JEW EVERY WHERE A JEW.
André Certa, once introduced into the house of Samuel, and laid in a bed
hastily prepared, recovered his senses and pressed the hand of the old
Jew. The physician, summoned by one of the domestics, was promptly in
attendance. The wound appeared to be a slight one; the shoulder of the
mestizo had been pierced in such a manner that the steel had only glided
among the flesh. In a few days, André Certa might be once more upon his
feet.
When Samuel was left alone with André, the latter said to him:
"You would do well to wall up the gate which leads to your terrace,
Master Samuel."
"What fear you, André?"
"I fear lest Sarah should present herself there to the contemplation of
the Indians. It was not a robber who attacked me; it was a rival, from
whom I have escaped but by miracle!"
"By the holy tables, it is a task to bring up young girls!" exclaimed
the Jew. "But you are mistaken, señor," he resumed, "Sarah will be a
dutiful spouse. I spare no pains that she may do you honor."
André Certa half raised himself on his elbow.
"Master Samuel, there is one thing which you do not enough remember,
that I pay you for the hand of Sarah a hundred thousand piasters."
"Señor," replied the Jew, with a miserly chuckle, "I remember it so
well, that I am ready now to exchange this receipt for the money."
As he said this, Samuel drew from his pocket-book a paper which André
Certa repulsed with his hand.
"The bargain is not complete until Sarah has become my wife, and she
will never be such if her hand is to be disputed by such an adversary.
You know, Master Samuel, what is my object; in espousing Sarah, I wish
to be the equal of this nobility which casts such scornful glances upon
us."
"And you will, señor, for you see the proudest grandees of Spain throng
our saloons, around the pearl of Lima."
"Where has Sarah been this evening?"
"To the Israelitish temple, with old Ammon."
"Why should Sarah attend your religious rites?"
"I am a Jew, señor," replied Samuel proudly, "and would Sarah be my
daughter if she did not fulfill the duties of my religion?"
The old Jew remained sad and silent for several minutes. His bent brow
rested on one of his withered hands. His face usually bronze, was now
almost pale; beneath a brown cap appeared locks of an indescribable
color. He was clad in a sort of great-coat fastened around the waist.
This old man trafficked every where and in every thing; he might have
been a descendant of the Judas who sold his Master for thirty pieces of
silver. He had been a resident of Lima ten years; his taste and his
economy had led him to choose his dwelling at the extremity of the
suburb of San Lazaro, and from thence he entered into various
speculations to make money. By degrees, Samuel assumed a luxury uncommon
in misers; his house was sumptuously furnished; his numerous domestics,
his splendid equipages betokened immense revenues. Sarah was then eight
years of age. Already graceful and charming, she pleased all, and was
the idol of the Jew. All her inclinations were unhesitatingly gratified.
Always elegantly dressed, she attracted the eyes of the most fastidious,
of which her father seemed strangely careless. It will readily be
understood how the mestizo, André Certa, became enamored of the
beautiful Jewess. What would have appeared inexplicable to the public,
was the hundred thousand piasters, the price of her hand; but this
bargain was secret. And besides, Samuel trafficked in sentiments as in
native productions. A banker, usurer, merchant, ship-owner, he had the
talent to do business with everybody. The schooner -Annonciation-, which
was hovering about the mouth of the Rimac, belonged to the Jew Samuel.
Amid this life of business and speculation this man fulfilled the duties
of his religion with scrupulous punctuality; his daughter had been
carefully instructed in the Israelitish faith and practices.
So, when the mestizo had manifested his displeasure on this subject, the
old man remained mute and pensive, and André Certa broke the silence,
saying:
"Do you forget that the motive for which I espouse Sarah will compel her
to become a convert to Catholicism? It is not my fault," added the
mestizo; "but in spite of you, in spite of me, in spite of herself, it
will be so."
"You are right," said the Jew sadly; "but, by the Bible, Sarah shall be
a Jewess as long as she is my daughter."
At this moment the door of the chamber opened, and the major-domo of the
Jew Samuel respectfully entered.
"Is the murderer arrested?" asked the old man.
"We have reason to believe he is dead!"
"Dead!" repeated André, with a joyful exclamation.
"Caught between us and a company of soldiers," replied the major-domo,
"he was obliged to leap over the parapet of the bridge."
"He has thrown himself into the Rimac!" exclaimed André.
"And how do you know that he has not reached the shore?" asked Samuel.
"The melting of the snow has made the current rapid at that spot;
besides, we stationed ourselves on each side of the river, and he did
not re-appear. I have left sentinels who will pass the night in watching
the banks."
"It is well," said the old man; "he has met with a just fate. Did you
recognize him in his flight?"
"Perfectly, sir; it was Martin Paz, the Indian of the mountains."
"Has this man been observing Sarah for some time past?"
"I do not know," replied the servant.
"Summon old Ammon."
The major-domo withdrew.
"These Indians," said the old man, "have secret understandings among
themselves; I must know whether the pursuit of this man dates from a
distant period."
The duenna entered, and remained standing before her master.
"Does my daughter," asked Samuel, "know any thing of what has taken
place this morning?"
"When the cries of your servants awoke me, I ran to the chamber of the
señora, and found her almost motionless and of a mortal paleness."
"Fatality!" said Samuel; "continue," added he, seeing that the mestizo
was apparently asleep.
"To my urgent inquiries as to the cause of her agitation, the señora
would not reply; she retired without accepting my services, and I
withdrew."
"Has this Indian often thrown himself in her way?"
"I do not know, master; nevertheless I have often met him in the streets
of San Lazaro."
"And you have told me nothing of this?"
"He came to her assistance this evening on the Plaza-Mayor," added the
old duenna.
"Her assistance! how?"
The old woman related the scene with downcast head.
"Ah! my daughter wish to kneel among these Christians!" exclaimed the
Jew, angrily; "and I knew nothing of all this! You deserve that I should
dismiss you."
The duenna went out of the room in confusion.
"Do you not see that the marriage should take place soon?" said André
Certa. "I am not asleep, Master Samuel! But I need rest, now, and I will
dream of our espousals."
At these words, the old man slowly retired. Before regaining his room,
he wished to assure himself of the condition of his daughter, and softly
entered the chamber of Sarah.
The young girl was in an agitated slumber, in the midst of the rich silk
drapery around her; a watch-lamp of alabaster, suspended from the
arabesques of the ceiling, shed its soft light upon her beautiful
countenance; the half-open window admitted, through lowered blinds, the
quiet coolness of the air, impregnated with the penetrating perfumes of
the aloes and magnolia; creole luxury was displayed in the thousand
objects of art which good taste and grace had dispersed on richly carved
-étagères-; and, beneath the vague and placid rays of night, it seemed
as if the soul of the child was sporting amid these wonders.
The old man approached the bed of Sarah: he bent over her to listen. The
beautiful Jewess seemed disturbed by sorrowful thoughts, and more than
once the name of Martin Paz escaped her lips.
Samuel regained his chamber, uttering maledictions.
At the first rays of morning, Sarah hastily arose. Liberta, a
full-blooded Indian attached to her service, hastened to her; and, in
pursuance of her orders, saddled a mule for his mistress and a horse for
himself.
Sarah was accustomed to take morning-rides, accompanied by this Indian,
who was entirely devoted to her.
She was clad in a -saya- of a brown color, and a mantle of cashmere with
long tassels; her head was not covered with the usual hood, but
sheltered beneath the broad brim of a straw hat, which left her long
black tresses to float over her shoulders; and to conceal any unusual
pre-occupation, she held between her lips a -cigarette- of perfumed
tobacco.
Liberta, clad like an Indian of the mountains, prepared to accompany his
mistress.
"Liberta," said the young girl to him, "remember to be blind and dumb."
Once in the saddle, Sarah left the city as usual, and began to ride
through the country; she directed her way toward Callao. The port was in
full animation: there had been a conflict during the night between the
revenue-officers and a schooner, whose undecided movements betrayed a
fraudulent speculation. The -Annonciation- seemed to have been awaiting
some suspicious barks near the mouth of the Rimac; but before the latter
could reach her, she had been compelled to flee before the custom-house
boats, which had boldly given her chase.
Various rumors were in circulation respecting the destination of this
vessel--which bore no name on her stern. According to some, this
schooner, laden with Colombian troops, was seeking to seize the
principal vessels of Callao; for Bolivar had it in his heart to revenge
the affront given to the soldiers left by him in Peru, and who had been
driven from it in disgrace.
According to others, the schooner was simply a smuggler of European
goods.
Without troubling herself about these rumors, more or less important,
Sarah, whose ride to the port had been only a pretext, returned toward
Lima, which she reached near the banks of the Rimac.
She ascended them toward the bridge: numbers of soldiers, mestizoes, and
Indians, were stationed at various points on the shore.
Liberta had acquainted the young girl with the events of the night. In
compliance with her orders, he interrogated some Indians leaning over
the parapet, and learned that although Martin Paz had been undoubtedly
drowned, his body had not yet been recovered.
Sarah was pale and almost fainting; it required all her strength of soul
not to abandon herself to her grief.
Among the people wandering on the banks, she remarked an Indian with
ferocious features--the Sambo! He was crouched on the bank, and seemed a
prey to despair.
As Sarah passed near the old mountaineer, she heard these words, full of
gloomy anger:
"Wo! wo! They have killed the son of the Sambo! They have killed my
son!"
The young girl resolutely drew herself up, made a sign to Liberta to
follow her; and this time, without caring whether she was observed or
not, went directly to the church of Santa Anna; left her mule in charge
of the Indian, entered the Catholic temple, and asking for the good
Father Joachim, knelt on the stone steps, praying to Jesus and Mary for
the soul of Martin Paz.
CHAPTER IV.
A SPANISH GRANDEE.
Any other than the Indian, Martin Paz, would have, indeed, perished in
the waters of the Rimac; to escape death, his surprising strength, his
insurmountable will, and especially his sublime coolness, one of the
privileges of the free hordes of the -pampas- of the New World, had all
been found necessary.
Martin knew that his pursuers would concentrate their efforts to seize
him below the bridge; it seemed impossible for him to overcome the
current, and that the Indian must be carried down; but by vigorous
strokes he succeeded in stemming the torrent; he dived repeatedly, and
finding the under-currents less strong, at last ventured to land, and
concealed himself behind a thicket of mangrove-trees.
But what was to become of him? Retreat was perilous; the soldiers might
change their plans and ascend the river; the Indian must then inevitably
be captured; he would lose his life, and, worse yet, Sarah. His decision
was rapidly made; through the narrow streets and deserted squares he
plunged into the heart of the city; but it was important that he should
be supposed dead; he therefore avoided being seen, since his garments,
dripping with water and covered with sea-weed, would have betrayed him.
To avoid the indiscreet glances of some belated inhabitants, Martin Paz
was obliged to pass through one of the widest streets of the city; a
house still brilliantly illuminated presented itself: the -port-cochere-
was open to give passage to the elegant equipages which were issuing
from the court, and conveying to their respective dwellings the nobles
of the Spanish aristocracy.
The Indian adroitly glided into this magnificent dwelling; he could not
remain in the street, where curious -zambos- were thronging around,
attracted by the carriages. The gates of the hotel were soon carefully
closed, and the Indian found flight impossible.
Some lacqueys were going to and fro in the court; Martin Paz rapidly
passed up a rich stairway of cedar-wood, ornamented with valuable
tapestry; the saloons, still illuminated, presented no convenient place
of refuge; he crossed them with the rapidity of lightning, and
disappeared in a room filled with protecting darkness.
The last lustres were quickly extinguished, and the house became
profoundly silent.
The Indian Paz, as a man of energy to whom moments are precious,
hastened to reconnoitre the place, and to find the surest means of
evasion; the windows of this chamber opened on an interior garden;
flight was practicable, and Martin Paz was about to spring from them,
when he heard these words:
"Señor, you have forgotten to take the diamonds which I had left on that
table!"
Martin Paz turned. A man of noble stature and of great pride of
countenance was pointing to a jewel-case.
At this insult Martin Paz laid his hand on his poignard. He approached
the Spaniard, who stood unmoved, and, in a first impulse of indignation,
raised his arm to strike him; but turning his weapon against himself,
said, in a deep tone,
"Señor, if you repeat such words, I will kill myself at your feet."
The Spaniard, astonished, looked at the Indian more attentively, and
through his tangled and dripping locks perceived so lofty a frankness,
that he felt a strange sympathy fill his heart. He went toward the
window, gently closed it, and returned toward the Indian, whose poignard
had fallen to the ground.
"Who are you?" said he to him.
"The Indian, Martin Paz. I am pursued by soldiers for having defended
myself against a mestizo who attacked me, and levelled him to the ground
with a blow from my poignard. This mestizo is the betrothed of a young
girl whom I love. Now, señor, you can deliver me to my enemies, if you
judge it noble and right."
"Sir," replied the Spaniard, gravely, "I depart to-morrow for the Baths
of Chorillos; if you please to accompany me, you will be for the present
safe from pursuit, and will never have reason to complain of the
hospitality of the Marquis Don Vegal."
Martin Paz bent coldly without manifesting any emotion.
"You can rest until morning on this bed," resumed Don Vegal; "no one
here will suspect your retreat. Good-night, señor!"
The Spaniard went out of the room, and left the Indian, moved to tears
by a confidence so generous; he yielded himself entirely to the
protection of the marquis, and without thinking that his slumbers might
be taken advantage of to seize him, slept with peaceful security.
The next day, at sunrise, the marquis gave the last orders for his
departure, and summoned the Jew Samuel to come to him; in the meantime
he attended the morning mass.
This was a custom generally observed by the aristocracy. From its very
foundation Lima had been essentially Catholic. Besides its numerous
churches, it numbered twenty-two convents, seventeen monasteries, and
four -beaterios-, or houses of retreat for females who did not take the
vows. Each of these establishments possessed a chapel, so that there
were at Lima more than a hundred edifices for worship, where eight
hundred secular or regular priests, three hundred -religieuses-,
lay-brothers and sisters, performed the duties of religion.
As Don Vegal entered the church of Santa Anna, he noticed a young girl
kneeling in prayer and in tears. There was so much of grief in her
depression, that the marquis could not look at her without emotion; and
he was preparing to console her by some kind words, when Father Joachim
de Camarones approached him, saying in a low voice:
"Señor Don Vegal, pray do not approach her."
Then he made a sign to Sarah, who followed him to an obscure and
deserted chapel.
Don Vegal directed his steps to the altar and listened to the mass;
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