CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.
A PARTING GLANCE AT PUEBLA.
From that hour I felt that Puebla was no place for me. Any _metier_ butthat of the singed moth. I determined thenceforth to shun the candlethat had cruelly scorched, and might only scorch me more.
Attractive as was the light that had lured me, I resolved never more tolet my eyes look upon it. It had proved too resplendent. It would notbe with my own will, if I should ever again see _Dolores_ Villa-Senor.
How easy thus to talk--thus to resolve--during the first throes of awounded vanity--when the spirit is strengthened by its discomfiture.But ah! how difficult to maintain the determination! Hercules had nosuch task.
I endeavoured to fortify myself with reflection: by conjuring up everythought that might restore my indifference, or enable me to forget her.
It was all to no purpose. Such memories could only be chastened bytime.
They were not universally painful. It was something to think that I hadinterested, even in the slightest degree, one so grand, so famed, soincomparable; and there were moments when the remembrance soothed me.It was but a poor recompense for the sacrifice I had made, and thesuffering I endured.
In vain I invoked my pride--my vanity, if you prefer so to call it. Itno longer availed me. Crushed in the encounter, it made one lastspasmodic attempt, and then sank under a sense of humiliation.
Untrue what I had been told by other tongues. They must have been sheerflatterers, those friends who had called me _handsome_. Compared withFrancisco Moreno, I was as Satyr to Hyperion. So must Dolores havethought? At times, reflecting thus, I could not help feeling vengeful,and dwelling on schemes of retaliation,--of which both were the object.By good fortune none appeared feasible, or even possible. I washelpless as Chatelar, when the sated queen no longer looked lovinglyupon him.
There was no hope except in absence--that grand balsam of the brokenheart. I knew it by a past experience. Fortune favoured me with thechance of trying it the second time; and soon. Three days after thatsweet encounter in the Cathedral--and the bitter one in the Alameda--ourbugles summoned us to get ready; and, on the fourth, we commenced movingtowards the capital of Mexico.
The counsel I had received from my sage comrade, along with theexcitement of opening a new chapter in our campaign, gave temporaryrelief to my wounded spirit. An untrodden track was before us--newfields of fame--to end in that long anticipated, much talked-of,pleasure: a revel in the "Halls of the Moctezumas!"
To me the prospect had but little attraction: and even this was gone,before we had passed the _Piedmont_ of the Cordillera that overlooks theclassic town of Cholula.
On entering the "Black Forest," whose trees were to screen it from mysight, I turned to take a parting look at the City of the Angels.
The chances were nearly equal I might never see it again. We were aboutto enter a valley close as that of Cabool; and from which retreat wouldbe even more difficult. Our troops, all told, mustered scarce tenthousand; while the _trained_ regiments of our enemy were of themselvesthree times the number. Besides, we were about to penetrate a capitalcity--the very heart's core of an ancient nation. Would it not rouseour adversaries to a gigantic effort--a throe sufficient to overwhelmus?
So supposed many of my comrades.
For myself I had no reflections about the future--either of itsconquests or defeats.
My thoughts were with my eyes--wandering over the vast _vega_--restingon the spires of a city, where I had experienced one of the sweetestsensations of my life.
Alas! it had proved a deception, and I had no pleasure in recalling it.On the contrary, I looked back upon the place with a cold pain at myheart, and a consciousness, that I had there sacrificed some of itswarmest affections without an iota of return!
I remained for some minutes on the edge of the _Bosque Negra_--the_ancillae_ of the long-leaved pines sweeping the crown of my forage cap.Under my eyes, as on a chart, was spread the fertile plain of Puebla,with the city projected in clear outline. Besides the Cathedral, many aspire could I distinguish, and that "public walk" where I had sufferedsuch humiliation. My eyes traced the lines of the streets--runningparallel, as in all Spanish-American cities--and sought that of theCalle del Obispo.
I fancied that I could distinguish it; and along with the fancy a scoreof souvenirs came sweeping over my soul.
They were not pleasant--not one of them. Though all bright below--turrets rising gaily against the turquoise sky--domes that sparkledsilver-like in the sun--Orizava snow-white in the distance--around meupon the mountain side all seemed dark as death!
It was not the _lava_ that laced the slope, nor the sombre foliage ofthe pine-trees, under whose shade I was standing.
The shadow came from within--from the cloud covering my soul.
It was not dread of the Black Forest behind me--the terror ofstage-coach travellers--nor apprehension of the fate that might beawaiting me in the capital of the Moctezumas, yet to be conquered.
It could not be worse than that, which had befallen me in the City ofthe Angels!