Chapter Sixty.
Pleasant Hospitality.
I sat enraptured with my fair hostess; rejoicing at the accident that had thrown me into such pleasant company.
Who was she? Who could she be? An Italian, she had told me at first; and in this language we conversed. But she could also speak a little English, which was soon explained by her telling me that her husband was an Inglese.
“He will be so glad to see you,” she said, “for it is not often he meets any of his own countrymen, as most of the English live further down. Henry will soon be home. It can’t be long now. He only went over to the other estancia—I mean papa’s. I fancy he and brother Luigi are gone ostrich-hunting. But that must be over now, as they don’t chase the birds after midday, on account of the shadows. I am sure he will soon be back. Meanwhile, how are you to be amused? Perhaps you will look at these pictures? They are landscapes of the country here. Some of them are by my husband—some by brother Luigi. Try if you can kill a little time over them while I go look after something for you to eat.”
“Pray don’t think of that. I do not feel in any need of eating.”
“That may be, signore; but then there are the ostrich-hunters. Likely enough Luigi will come along with my husband, and won’t they have an appetite! I must see and have dinner ready for them.”
So saying, my fair hostess glided out of the room; leaving me to an impatience, that had very little to do with the return of the ostrich-hunters.
To “kill time,” as I had been requested, I commenced an inspection of the pictures. There were about a dozen of them, hanging against the walls of the apartment, otherwise but sparely furnished—as might be expected of a country house in a remote province on the Parana. As she had said, they were all scenes of the country, and for this reason to me more interesting. Most of them related to the chase or some act of native industry. There were pictures of jaguar-hunting, flamingo-shooting, running wild horses, and capturing them with bolas or lazo.
I was at first only struck with the remarkable truthfulness of their details—the faithfulness displayed in regard of both scenery and costumes. How like to reality were the gigantic thistles, the ombu-trees, the wide-stretching pampas, the ostriches, the wild horses and other animals, the gauchos and their costumes—in short, everything delineated. This was all evident at a glance. But I was not prepared for what I discovered on closer, examination—that the pictures, at least a large number of them, were paintings of high art—fit for any exhibition in the world! It would have been a surprise to me meeting with such paintings upon the remote plains of the Parana; it was something more, to know that they had been painted there.
Before I had ceased wondering at this unexpected discovery, cheerful voices heard outside caused me to suspend the examination, and walk up to the window. On looking forth, I had before me a real scene similar to the painted ones I had just been scrutinising. Under the shadow of a gigantic ombu-tree, standing near, four horsemen had made halt, and were in the act of dismounting.
I could have no doubt as to who they were—clearly the ostrich-hunters, as a large cock rhea appeared upon the croup of one of the saddles, and a hen-bird on the other. A third spoil of the chase was seen, in the spotted skin of a jaguar, strapped behind one of the horsemen, who still kept his saddle.
Two of the party were gauchos, evidently attendants—the other two as evidently the husband and brother of my fair hostess.
The latter—easily distinguished by his Italian face—seemed undecided about dismounting, as if half inclined to go further; while the Englishman was urging him to stay. Just then the beautiful mistress of the mansion stepped out into the verandah, and gliding on to the gate, added her solicitations, intimating to her brother that there was a stranger in the house. Yielding to these, the young man sprang out of the stirrup, and surrendered the rein to Tommaso, who had come round from the stables, and who, with the gauchos, at once led the horses away.
The two gentlemen having entered, the lady of the house introduced them as her husband and brother. Beyond this, no name was pronounced; and before I could give my own, she had commenced explaining my presence and the nature of the request I had made.
“Most certainly,” exclaimed the Englishman, as soon as he had heard the explanation. “We can lend you a horse, sir, and welcome. But why not stay with us a day or two? Perhaps by that time your own will have recovered sufficiently to carry you on to the end of your journey.”
“It is very kind of you,” I answered, feeling very much inclined to accept the invitation. On second thoughts, however, it occurred to me that the hospitality proffered might be of the character common in South American countries, “mia casa a su disposicion, señor,” a mere expression of courtesy; which I was about declining under some colourable excuses, when a second solicitation from my host—in which he was joined by his young wife—convinced me of its sincerity. I could hold out no longer, and declared my willingness to remain the “day or two.”
I made it three—and of the pleasantest days I ever spent in my life. They were not all passed under the roof of my countryman and his brother-in-law. The latter had a house of his own—an estancia on a larger scale, of which that of my host was only an offshoot. Into this I was also introduced; finding in it another fair hostess, a young South American lady, who had lately become its mistress; as also Luigi’s own father, a venerable Italian gentleman, who was in reality the head of the whole circle. The two establishments were but half a mile apart; and what with passing between one and the other, breakfasting and dining alternately at both—with an ostrich chase at intervals—the time passed so pleasantly I could scarce believe the days to be twenty-four hours in length.
I was rather displeased with Tommaso for having so speedily cured my horse. An odd-looking creature this same Tommaso appeared to me. Had I met him on the mountains of Italy, instead of by the banks of the Parana, I should certainly have taken him for a brigand. Not that the resemblance went beyond mere personal appearance; that picturesqueness we attach, to the Italian bandit. Otherwise, the man looked honest; was certainly cheerful; and, above all, faithfully devoted to the signore and signora, in whose service he lived.
I confess to some chagrin when Tommaso pronounced my steed once more sound. But there was no concealing the fact; and, although still urged, both by host and hostess, to prolong my stay, I felt there should be some limit to such trusting hospitality, and prepared to continue my journey. I was the less loath at leaving these new friends, from an understanding, that on my return towards Rosario I was to take their house on the way. Only on this promise would they consent to my going so soon; and I need scarce say that the prospect of renewing such a pleasant intercourse rendered it less painful to take my departure.