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Narrative And Miscellaneous Papers, Vol. I.

T >> Thomas De Quincey >> Narrative And Miscellaneous Papers, Vol. I.




One reporter of Mr. De Ferrer's narrative forgets his usual generosity,
when he says that the Senora's gift of her daughter to the Alferez was
not quite so disinterested as it seemed to be. Certainly it was not so
disinterested as European ignorance might fancy it: but it was quite as
much so as it ought to have been, in balancing the interests of a
child. Very true it is--that, being a genuine Spaniard, who was still
a rare creature in so vast a world as Peru, being a Spartan amongst
Helots, an Englishman amongst Savages, an Alferez would in those days
have been a natural noble. His alliance created honor for his wife and
for his descendants. Something, therefore, the cornet would add to the
family consideration. But, instead of selfishness, it argued just
regard for her daughter's interest to build upon this, as some sort of
equipoise to the wealth which her daughter would bring.

Spaniard, however, as he was, our Alferez on reaching Tucuman found no
Spaniards to mix with, but instead twelve Portuguese.

Catalina remembered the Spanish proverb--'Subtract from a Spaniard all
his good qualities, and the remainder makes a pretty fair Portuguese;'
but, as there was nobody else to gamble with, she entered freely into
their society. Very soon she suspected that there was foul play: all
modes of doctoring dice had been made familiar to _her_ by the
experience of camps. She watched; and, by the time she had lost her
final coin, she was satisfied that she had been plundered. In her first
anger she would have been glad to switch the whole dozen across the
eyes; but, as twelve to one were too great odds, she determined on
limiting her vengeance to the immediate culprit. Him she followed into
the street; and coming near enough to distinguish his profile reflected
on a wall, she continued to keep him in view from a short distance. The
light-hearted young cavalier whistled, as he went, an old Portuguese
ballad of romance; and in a quarter of an hour came up to an house, the
front door of which he began to open with a pass-key. This operation
was the signal for Catalina that the hour of vengeance had struck; and,
stepping hastily up, she tapped the Portuguese on the shoulder, saying
--'Senor, you are a robber!' The Portuguese turned coolly round, and,
seeing his gaming antagonist, replied--'Possibly, Sir; but I have no
particular fancy for being told so,' at the same time drawing his
sword. Catalina had not designed to take any advantage; and the
touching him on the shoulder, with the interchange of speeches, and the
known character of Kate, sufficiently imply it. But it is too probable
in such cases, that the party whose intention has been regularly
settled from the first, will, and must have an advantage unconsciously
over a man so abruptly thrown on his defence. However this might be,
they had not fought a minute before Catalina passed her sword through
her opponent's body; and without a groan or a sigh, the Portuguese
cavalier fell dead at his own door. Kate searched the street with her
ears, and (as far as the indistinctness of night allowed) with her
eyes. All was profoundly silent; and she was satisfied that no human
figure was in motion. What should be done with the body? A glance at
the door of the house settled _that_: Fernando had himself opened
it at the very moment when he received the summons to turn round. She
dragged the corpse in, therefore, to the foot of the staircase, put the
key by the dead man's side, and then issuing softly into the street,
drew the door close with as little noise as possible. Catalina again
paused to listen and to watch, went home to the hospitable Senora's
house, retired to bed, fell asleep, and early the next morning was
awakened by the Corregidor and four alguazils.

The lawlessness of all that followed strikingly exposes the frightful
state of criminal justice at that time, wherever Spanish law prevailed.
No evidence appeared to connect Catalina in any way with the death of
Fernando Acosta. The Portuguese gamblers, besides that perhaps they
thought lightly of such an accident, might have reasons of their own
for drawing off public attention from their pursuits in Tucuman: not
one of these men came forward openly; else the circumstances at the
gaming table, and the departure of Catalina so closely on the heels of
her opponent, would have suggested reasonable grounds for detaining her
until some further light should be obtained. As it was, her
imprisonment rested upon no colorable ground whatever, unless the
magistrate had received some anonymous information, which, however, he
never alleged. One comfort there was, meantime, in Spanish injustice:
it did not loiter. Full gallop it went over the ground: one week often
sufficed for informations--for trial--for execution; and the only bad
consequence was, that a second or a third week sometimes exposed the
disagreeable fact that everything had been 'premature;' a solemn
sacrifice had been made to offended justice, in which all was right
except as to the victim; it was the wrong man; and _that_ gave
extra trouble; for then all was to do over again, another man to be
executed, and, possibly, still to be caught.

Justice moved at her usual Spanish rate in the present case. Kate was
obliged to rise instantly; not suffered to speak to anybody in the
house, though, in going out, a door opened, and she saw the young Juana
looking out with saddest Indian expression. In one day the trial was
all finished. Catalina said (which was true) that she hardly knew
Acosta; and that people of her rank were used to attack their enemies
face to face, not by murderous surprises. The magistrates were
impressed with Catalina's answers (yet answered to _what_?) Things
were beginning to look well, when all was suddenly upset by two
witnesses, whom the reader (who is a sort of accomplice after the fact,
having been privately let into the truths of the case, and having
concealed his knowledge), will know at once to be false witnesses, but
whom the old Spanish buzwigs doated on as models of all that could be
looked for in the best. Both were very ill-looking fellows, as it was
their duty to be. And the first deposed as follows:--That through his
quarter of Tucuman, the fact was notorious of Acosta's wife being the
object of a criminal pursuit on the part of the Alferez (Catalina):
that, _doubtless_, the injured husband had surprised the prisoner,
which, of course, had led to the murder, to the staircase, to the key--
to everything, in short, that could be wished; no--stop! what am I
saying?--to everything that ought to be abominated. Finally--for he had
now settled the main question--that he had a friend who would take up
the case where he himself, from short-sightedness, was obliged to lay
it down.' This friend, the Pythias of this short-sighted Damon started
up in a frenzy of virtue at this summons, and, rushing to the front of
the alguazils, said, 'That since his friend had proved sufficiently the
fact of the Alferez having been lurking in the house, and having
murdered a man, all that rested upon _him_ to show was, how that
murderer got out of the house; which he could do satisfactorily; for
there was a balcony running along the windows on the second floor, one
of which windows he himself, lurking in a corner of the street, saw the
Alferez throw up, and from the said balcony take a flying leap into the
said street.' Evidence like this was conclusive; no defence was
listened to, nor indeed had the prisoner any to produce. The Alferez
could deny neither the staircase nor the balcony: the street is there
to this day, like the bricks in Jack Cade's Chimney, testifying all
that may be required; and, as to our friend who saw the leap, there he
was; nobody could deny _him_. The prisoner might indeed have
suggested that she never heard of Acosta's wife, nor had the existence
of such a wife been ripened even into a suspicion. But the bench were
satisfied; chopping logic was of no use; and sentence was pronounced--
that on the eighth day from the day of arrest, the Alferez should be
executed in the public square.

It was not amongst the weaknesses of Catalina--who had so often
inflicted death, and, by her own journal, thought so lightly of
inflicting it (if not under cowardly advantages)--to shrink from facing
death in her own person. Many incidents in her career show the coolness
and even gaiety with which, in any case where death was apparently
inevitable, she would have gone to meet it. But in this case she
_had_ a temptation for escaping it, which was probably in her
power. She had only to reveal the secret of her sex, and the ridiculous
witnesses, beyond whose testimony there was nothing at all against her,
must at once be covered with derision. Catalina had some liking for
fun; and a main inducement to this course was, that it would enable her
to say to the judges, 'Now you see what old fools you've made of
yourselves; every woman and child in Peru will soon be laughing at
you.' I must acknowledge my own weakness; this last temptation I could
_not_ have withstood; flesh is weak, and fun is strong. But
Catalina _did_. On consideration she fancied, that although the
particular motive for murdering Acosta would be dismissed with
laughter, still this might not clear her of the murder, which on some
_other_ motive she might have committed. But supposing that she
were cleared altogether, what most of all she feared was, that the
publication of her sex would throw a reflex light upon many past
transactions in her life--would instantly find its way to Spain--and
would probably soon bring her within the tender attentions of the
Inquisition. She kept firm to the resolution of not saving her life by
this discovery. And so far as her fate lay in her own hands, she would
(as the reader will perceive from a little incident at the scaffold)
have perished to a certainty. But even at this point, how strange a
case! A woman _falsely_ accused of an act which she really
_did_ commit! And falsely accused of a true offence upon a motive
that was impossible!

As the sun set upon the seventh day, when the hours were numbered for
the prisoner, there filed into her cell four persons in religious
habits. They came on the charitable mission of preparing the poor
convict for death. Catalina, however, watching all things narrowly,
remarked something earnest and significant in the eye of the leader, as
of one who had some secret communication to make. She contrived to
clasp this man's hands, as if in the energy of internal struggles, and
_he_ contrived to slip into hers the very smallest of billets from
poor Juana. It contained, for indeed it _could_ contain, only
these three words--'Do not confess. J.' This one caution, so simple and
so brief, was a talisman. It did not refer to any confession of the
crime; _that_ would have been assuming what Juana was neither
entitled nor disposed to assume, but, in the technical sense of the
Church, to the act of devotional confession. Catalina found a single
moment for a glance at it--understood the whole--resolutely refused to
confess, as a person unsettled in her religious opinions, that needed
spiritual instructions, and the four monks withdrew to make their
report. The principal judge, upon hearing of the prisoner's
impenitence, granted another day. At the end of _that_, no change
having occurred either in the prisoner's mind, or in the circumstances,
he issued his warrant for the execution. Accordingly, as the sun went
down, the sad procession formed within the prison. Into the great
square of Tucuman it moved, where the scaffold had been built, and the
whole city had assembled for the spectacle. Catalina steadily ascended
the ladder of the scaffold; even then she resolved not to benefit by
revealing her sex; even then it was that she expressed her scorn for
the lubberly executioner's mode of tying a knot; did it herself in a
'ship-shape,' orthodox manner; received in return the enthusiastic
plaudits of the crowd, and so far ran the risk of precipitating her
fate; for the timid magistrates, fearing a rescue from the impetuous
mob, angrily ordered the executioner to finish the scene. The clatter
of a galloping horse, however, at this instant forced them to pause.
The crowd opened a road for the agitated horseman, who was the bearer
of an order from the President of La Plata to suspend the execution
until two prisoners could be examined. The whole was the work of the
Senora and her daughter. The elder lady, having gathered informations
against the witnesses, had pursued them to La Plata. There, by her
influence with the Governor, they were arrested; recognised as old
malefactors; and in their terror had partly confessed their perjury.
Catalina was removed to La Plata; solemnly acquitted; and, by the
advice of the President, for the present the connection with the
Senora's family was postponed indefinitely.

Now was the last adventure approaching that ever Catalina should see in
the new world. Some fine sights she may yet see in Europe, but nothing
after this (_which she has recorded_) in America. Europe, if it
had ever heard of her name (which very shortly it _shall_), Kings,
Pope, Cardinals, if they were but aware of her existence (which in six
months they _shall_ be), would thirst for an introduction to our
Catalina. You hardly thought now, reader, that she was such a great
person, or anybody's pet but yours and mine. Bless you, Sir, she would
scorn to look at _us_. I tell you, royalties are languishing to
see her, or soon _will_ be. But how can this come to pass, if she
is to continue in her present obscurity? Certainly it cannot without
some great _peripetteia_ or vertiginous whirl of fortune; which,
therefore, you shall now behold taking place in one turn of her next
adventure. _That_ shall let in a light, _that_ shall throw
back a Claude Lorraine gleam over all the past, able to make Kings,
that would have cared not for her under Peruvian daylight, come to
glorify her setting beams.

The Senora--and, observe, whatever kindness she does to Catalina speaks
secretly from two hearts, her own and Juana's--had, by the advice of
Mr. President Mendonia, given sufficient money for Catalina's
travelling expenses. So far well. But Mr. M. chose to add a little
codicil to this bequest of the Senora's, never suggested by her or by
her daughter. 'Pray,' said this inquisitive President, who surely might
have found business enough in La Plata, 'Pray, Senor Pietro Diaz, did
you ever live at Concepcion? And were you ever acquainted there with
Senor Miguel de Erauso? That man, Sir, was my friend.' What a pity that
on this occasion Catalina could not venture to be candid! What a
capital speech it would have made to say--'_Friend_ were you? I
think you could hardly be _that_, with seven hundred miles between
you. But that man was _my_ friend also; and, secondly, my brother.
True it is I killed him. But if you happen to know that this was by
pure mistake in the dark, what an old rogue you must be to throw
_that_ in my teeth, which is the affliction of my life!' Again,
however, as so often in the same circumstances, Catalina thought that
it would cause more ruin than it could heal to be candid; and, indeed,
if she were really _P. Diaz, Esq. _, how came she to be brother to
the late Mr. Erauso? On consideration, also, if she could not tell
_all_, merely to have professed a fraternal connection which never
was avowed by either whilst living together, would not have brightened
the reputation of Catalina, which too surely required a scouring.
Still, from my kindness for poor Kate, I feel uncharitably towards the
president for advising Senor Pietro 'to travel for his health.' What
had _he_ to do with people's health? However, Mr. Peter, as he had
pocketed the Senora's money, thought it right to pocket also the advice
that accompanied its payment. That he might be in a condition to do so,
he went off to buy a horse. He was in luck to-day. For beside money and
advice, he obtained, at a low rate, a horse both beautiful and
serviceable for a journey. To Paz it was, a city of prosperous name,
that the cornet first moved. But Paz did not fulfil the promise of its
name. For it laid the grounds of a feud that drove our Kate out of
America.

Her first adventure was a bagatelle, and fitter for a jest-book than a
history; yet it proved no jest either, since it led to the tragedy that
followed. Riding into Paz, our gallant standard-bearer and her bonny
black horse drew all eyes, _comme de raison_, upon their separate
charms. This was inevitable amongst the indolent population of a
Spanish town; and Kate was used to it. But, having recently had a
little too much of the public attention, she felt nervous on remarking
two soldiers eyeing the handsome horse and the handsome rider, with an
attention that seemed too solemn for mere _aesthetics_. However,
Kate was not the kind of person to let anything dwell on her spirits,
especially if it took the shape of impudence; and, whistling gaily, she
was riding forward--when, who should cross her path but the Alcalde!
Ah! Alcalde, you see a person now that has a mission against you,
though quite unknown to herself. He looked so sternly, that Kate asked
if his worship had any commands. 'These men,' said the Alcalde, 'these
two soldiers, say that this horse is stolen.' To one who had so
narrowly and so lately escaped the balcony witness and his friend, it
was really no laughing matter to hear of new affidavits in preparation.
Kate was nervous, but never disconcerted. In a moment she had twitched
off a saddle-cloth on which she sat; and throwing it over the horse's
head, so as to cover up all between the ears and the mouth, she
replied, 'that she had bought and paid for the horse at La Plata. But
now, your worship, if this horse has really been stolen from these men,
they must know well of which eye it is blind; for it _can_ be only
in the right eye or the left.' One of the soldiers cried out instantly,
that it was the left eye; but the other said, 'No, no, you forget, it's
the right.' Kate maliciously called attention to this little schism.
But the men said, 'Ah, _that_ was nothing--they were hurried; but
now, on recollecting themselves, they were agreed that it was the left
eye.' Did they stand to that? 'Oh yes, positive they were, left eye,
left.'

Upon which our Kate, twitching off the horse-cloth, said gaily to the
magistrate, 'Now, Sir, please to observe that this horse has nothing
the matter with either eye.' And in fact it _was_ so. Then his
worship ordered his alguazils to apprehend the two witnesses, who
posted off to bread and water, with other reversionary advantages,
whilst Kate rode in quest of the best dinner that Paz could furnish.

This Alcalde's acquaintance, however, was not destined to drop here.
Something had appeared in the young _caballero's_ bearing, which
made it painful to have addressed him with harshness, or for a moment
to have entertained such a charge against such a person. He despatched
his cousin, therefore, Don Antonio Calderon, to offer his apologies,
and at the same time to request that the stranger, whose rank and
quality he regretted not to have known, would do him the honor to come
and dine with him. This explanation, and the fact that Don Antonio had
already proclaimed his own position as cousin to the magistrate and
nephew to the Bishop of Cuzco, obliged Catalina to say, after thanking
the gentlemen for their obliging attentions, 'I myself hold the rank of
Alferez in the service of his Catholic Majesty. I am a native of
Biscay, and I am now repairing to Cuzco on private business.' 'To
Cuzco!' exclaimed Don Antonio, 'how very fortunate! My cousin is a
Basque like you; and, like you, he starts for Cuzco to-morrow morning;
so that, if it is agreeable to you, Senor Alferez, we will travel
together.' It was settled that they should. To travel--amongst 'balcony
witnesses,' and anglers for 'blind horses'--not merely with a just man,
but with the very abstract idea and riding allegory of justice, was too
delightful to the storm-wearied cornet; and he cheerfully accompanied
Don Antonio to the house of the magistrate, called Don Pedro de
Chavarria. Distinguished was his reception; the Alcalde personally
renewed his regrets for the ridiculous scene of the two scampish
oculists, and presented him to his wife, a splendid Andalusian beauty,
to whom he had been married about a year.

This lady there is a reason for describing; and the French reporter of
Catalina's memoirs dwells upon the theme. She united, he says, the
sweetness of the German lady with the energy of the Arabian, a
combination hard to judge of. As to her feet, he adds, I say nothing;
for she had scarcely any at all. '_Je ne parle point de ses pieds,
elle n'en avait presque pas_.' 'Poor lady!' says a compassionate
rustic: 'no feet! What a shocking thing that so fine a woman should
have been so sadly mutilated!' Oh, my dear rustic, you're quite in the
wrong box. The Frenchman means this as the very highest compliment.
Beautiful, however, she must have been; and a Cinderella, I hope, not a
Cinderellula, considering that she had the inimitable walk and step of
the Andalusians, which cannot be accomplished without something of a
proportionate basis to stand upon.

The reason which there is (as I have said) for describing this lady,
arises out of her relation to the tragic events which followed. She, by
her criminal levity, was the cause of all. And I must here warn the
moralizing blunderer of two errors that he is too likely to make: 1st,
That he is invited to read some extract from a licentious amour, as if
for its own interest; 2d, Or on account of Donna Catalina's memoirs,
with a view to relieve their too martial character. I have the pleasure
to assure him of his being so utterly in the darkness of error, that
any possible change he can make in his opinions, right or left, must be
for the better: he cannot stir, but he will mend, which is a delightful
thought for the moral and blundering mind. As to the first point, what
little glimpse he obtains of a licentious amour is, as a court of
justice will sometimes show him such a glimpse, simply to make
intelligible the subsequent facts which depend upon it. Secondly, As to
the conceit, that Catalina wished to embellish her memoirs, understand
that no such practice then existed; certainly not in Spanish
literature. Her memoirs are electrifying by their facts; else, in the
manner of telling these facts, they are systematically dry.

Don Antonio Calderon was a handsome, accomplished cavalier. And in the
course of dinner, Catalina was led to judge, from the behavior to each
other of this gentleman and the lady, the Alcalde's beautiful wife,
that they had an improper understanding. This also she inferred from
the furtive language of their eyes. Her wonder was, that the Alcalde
should be so blind; though upon that point she saw reason in a day or
two to change her opinion. Some people see everything by affecting to
see nothing. The whole affair, however, was nothing at all to
_her_, and she would have dismissed it from her thoughts
altogether, but for what happened on the journey.

From the miserable roads, eight hours a day of travelling was found
quite enough for man and beast; the product of which eight hours was
from ten to twelve leagues. On the last day but one of the journey, the
travelling party, which was precisely the original dinner party,
reached a little town ten leagues short of Cuzco. The Corregidor of
this place was a friend of the Alcalde; and through _his_
influence the party obtained better accommodations than those which
they had usually had in a hovel calling itself a _venta_, or in
the sheltered corner of a barn. The Alcalde was to sleep at the
Corregidor's house; the two young cavaliers, Calderon and our Kate, had
sleeping rooms at the public _locanda_; but for the lady was
reserved a little pleasure-house in an enclosed garden. This was a
plaything of a house; but the season being summer, and the house
surrounded with tropical flowers, the lady preferred it (in spite of
its loneliness) to the damp mansion of the official grandee, who, in
her humble opinion, was quite as fusty as his mansion, and his mansion
not much less so than himself.

After dining gaily together at the _locanda_, and possibly taking a
'rise' out of his worship the Corregidor, as a repeating echo of Don
Quixote, (then growing popular in Spanish America,) the young man who
was no young officer, and the young officer who was no young man,
lounged down together to the little pavilion in the flower-garden, with
the purpose of paying their respects to the presiding belle. They were
graciously received, and had the honor of meeting there his Mustiness
the Alcalde, and his Fustiness the Corregidor; whose conversation was
surely improving, but not equally brilliant. How they got on under the
weight of two such muffs, has been a mystery for two centuries. But
they _did_ to a certainty, for the party did not break up till eleven.
_Tea and turn out_ you could not call it; for there was the _turn out_
in rigor, but not the _tea_. One thing, however, Catalina by mere
accident had an opportunity of observing, and observed with pain. The
two official gentlemen had gone down the steps into the garden.
Catalina, having forgot her hat, went back into the little vestibule to
look for it. There stood the lady and Don Antonio, exchanging a few
final words (they _were_ final) and a few final signs. Amongst the last
Kate observed distinctly this, and distinctly she understood it. First
drawing Calderon's attention to the gesture, as one of significant
pantomime, by raising her forefinger, the lady snuffed out one of the
candles. The young man answered it by a look of intelligence, and all
three passed down the steps together. The lady was disposed to take the
cool air, and accompanied them to the garden-gate; but, in passing
down the walk, Catalina noticed a second ill-omened sign that all was
not right. Two glaring eyes she distinguished amongst the shrubs for a
moment, and a rustling immediately after. 'What's that?' said the lady,
and Don Antonio answered carelessly, 'A bird flying out of the bushes.'

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