Gaspar Ruiz

  VI

  "I KNEW those people by sight," General Santierra would tell his guestsat the dining-table. "I mean the people with whom Gaspar Ruiz foundshelter. The father was an old Spaniard, a man of property, ruined bythe revolution. His estates, his house in town, his money, everythinghe had in the world had been confiscated by proclamation, for he wasa bitter foe of our independence. From a position of great dignity andinfluence on the Viceroy's Council he became of less importance than hisown negro slaves made free by our glorious revolution. He had not eventhe means to flee the country, as other Spaniards had managed to do. Itmay be that, wandering ruined and houseless, and burdened with nothingbut his life, which was left to him by the clemency of the ProvisionalGovernment, he had simply walked under that broken roof of old tiles. Itwas a lonely spot. There did not seem to be even a dog belonging tothe place. But though the roof had holes, as if a cannonball or two haddropped through it, the wooden shutters were thick and tight-closed allthe time.

  "My way took me frequently along the path in front of that miserablerancho. I rode from the fort to the town almost every evening, to sighat the window of a lady I was in love with, then. When one is young,you understand.... She was a good patriot, you may be sure. Caballeros,credit me or not, political feeling ran so high in those days that Ido not believe I could have been fascinated by the charms of a woman ofRoyalist opinions...."

  Murmurs of amused incredulity all round the table interrupted theGeneral; and while they lasted he stroked his white beard gravely.

  "Senores," he protested, "a Royalist was a monster to our overwroughtfeelings. I am telling you this in order not to be suspected of theslightest tenderness towards that old Royalist's daughter. Moreover,as you know, my affections were engaged elsewhere. But I could not helpnoticing her on rare occasions when with the front door open she stoodin the porch.

  "You must know that this old Royalist was as crazy as a man can be. Hispolitical misfortunes, his total downfall and ruin, had disordered hismind. To show his contempt for what we patriots could do, he affected tolaugh at his imprisonment, at the confiscation of his lands, theburning of his houses, and the misery to which he and his womenfolk werereduced. This habit of laughing had grown upon him, so that he wouldbegin to laugh and shout directly he caught sight of any stranger. Thatwas the form of his madness.

  "I, of course, disregarded the noise of that madman with that feeling ofsuperiority the success of our cause inspired in us Americans. I supposeI really despised him because he was an old Castilian, a Spaniard born,and a Royalist. Those were certainly no reasons to scorn a man; but forcenturies Spaniards born had shown their contempt of us Americans, menas well descended as themselves, simply because we were what theycalled colonists. We had been kept in abasement and made to feel ourinferiority in social intercourse. And now it was our turn. It was salefor us patriots to display the same sentiments; and I being a youngpatriot, son of a patriot, despised that old Spaniard, and despisinghim I naturally disregarded his abuse, though it was annoying to myfeelings. Others perhaps would not have been so forbearing.

  "He would begin with a great yell--'I see a patriot. Another of them!'long before I came abreast of the house. The tone of his senselessrevilings, mingled with bursts of laughter, was sometimes piercinglyshrill and sometimes grave. It was all very mad; but I felt it incumbentupon my dignity to check my horse to a walk without even glancingtowards the house, as if that man's abusive clamour in the porch wereless than the barking of a cur. I rode by, preserving an expression ofhaughty indifference on my face.

  "It was no doubt very dignified; but I should have done better if Ihad kept my eyes open. A military man in war time should never considerhimself off duty; and especially so if the war is a revolutionary war,when the enemy is not at the door, but within your very house. At suchtimes the heat of passionate convictions, passing into hatred, removesthe restraints of honour and humanity from many men and of delicacy andfear from some women. These last, when once they throw off the timidityand reserve of their sex, become by the vivacity of their intelligenceand the violence of their merciless resentment more dangerous than somany armed giants."

  The General's voice rose, but his big hand stroked his white beard twicewith an effect of venerable calmness. "Si, senores! Women are ready torise to the heights of devotion unattainable by us men, or to sink intothe depths of abasement which amazes our masculine prejudices. I amspeaking now of exceptional women, you understand..."

  Here one of the guests observed that he had never met a woman yet whowas not capable of turning out quite exceptional under circumstancesthat would engage her feelings strongly. "That sort of superiority inrecklessness they have over us," he concluded, "makes of them the moreinteresting half of mankind."

  The General, who bore the interruption with gravity, nodded courteousassent. "Si. Si. Under circumstances.... Precisely. They can do aninfinite deal of mischief sometimes in quite unexpected ways. For whocould have imagined that a young girl, daughter of a ruined Royalistwhose life itself was held only by the contempt of his enemies, wouldhave had the power to bring death and devastation upon two flourishingprovinces and cause serious anxiety to the leaders of the revolutionin the very hour of its success!" He paused to let the wonder of itpenetrate our minds.

  "Death and devastation," somebody murmured in surprise: "how shocking!"

  The old General gave a glance in the direction of the murmur and wenton. "Yes. That is, war--calamity. But the means by which she obtainedthe power to work this havoc on our southern frontier seem to me, whohave seen her and spoken to her, still more shocking. That particularthing left on my mind a dreadful amazement which the further experienceof life, of more than fifty years, has done nothing to diminish." Helooked round as if to make sure of our attention, and, in a changedvoice: "I am, as you know, a republican, son of a Liberator," hedeclared. "My incomparable mother, God rest her soul, was a Frenchwoman,the daughter of an ardent republican. As a boy I fought for liberty;I've always believed in the equality of men; and as to theirbrotherhood, that, to my mind, is even more certain. Look at the fierceanimosity they display in their differences. And what in the world doyou know that is more bitterly fierce than brothers' quarrels?"

  All absence of cynicism checked an inclination to smile at this view ofhuman brotherhood. On the contrary, there was in the tone the melancholynatural to a man profoundly humane at heart who from duty, fromconviction and from necessity, had played his part in scenes of ruthlessviolence.

  The General had seen much of fratricidal strife. "Certainly. There is nodoubt of their brotherhood," he insisted. "All men are brothers, andas such know almost too much of each other. But "--and here in theold patriarchal head, white as silver, the black eyes humorouslytwinkled--"if we are all brothers, all the women are not our sisters."

  One of the younger guests was heard murmuring his satisfaction at thefact. But the General continued, with deliberate earnestness: "They areso different! The tale of a king who took a beggar-maid for a partner ofhis throne may be pretty enough as we men look upon ourselves and uponlove. But that a young girl, famous for her haughty beauty and, onlya short time before, the admired of all at the balls in the Viceroy'spalace, should take by the hand a guasso, a common peasant, isintolerable to our sentiment of women and their love. It is madness.Nevertheless it happened. But it must be said that in her case it wasthe madness of hate--not of love."

  After presenting this excuse in a spirit of chivalrous justice, theGeneral remained silent for a time. "I rode past the house every dayalmost," he began again, "and this was what was going on within. But howit was going on no mind of man can conceive. Her desperation musthave been extreme, and Gaspar Ruiz was a docile fellow. He had been anobedient soldier. His strength was like an enormous stone lying on theground, ready to be hurled this way that by the hand that picks it up.

  "It is clear that he would tell his story to the people who gave himthe shelter he needed. And he needed assistance badly. His wound was notdangerous, b
ut his life was forfeited. The old Royalist being wrapped upin his laughing madness, the two women arranged a hiding-place for thewounded man in one of the huts amongst the fruit trees at the back ofthe house. That hovel, an abundance of clear water while the fever wason him, and some words of pity were all they could give. I supposehe had a share of what food there was. And it would be but little; ahandful of roasted corn, perhaps a dish of beans, or a piece of breadwith a few figs. To such misery were those proud and once wealthy peoplereduced."