Chapter Nineteen.
A Wooden-Legged Lothario.
For some time the Dictator remained in his seat lighting cigarrito after cigarrito, and puffing away at them furiously. The look of light frivolity had forsaken his face, which was now overcast with gloom.
At this time, as said, he wielded supreme unlimited power over the Mexican people—even to life and death. For although he might not recklessly or openly decree this, he could bring it about secretly—by means which, if rumour spoke true, he had more than once made use of. Indeed, there stood against his name more than one well-confirmed record of assassination.
Thought of this may have had something to do with the cloud that had come over his features; though not for any qualms of conscience for the murders he may have committed or hired others to commit. More likely a fear that he himself might some day meet a similar fate; like all despots he dreaded the steel of the assassin. By his corrupt administration, he had encouraged bravoism till it had become a dangerous element in the social life of his country—almost an institution—and it was but natural he should fear the bravo’s blade turned against himself.
Another apprehension may at this time have been troubling him. Although to all appearance secure in the dictatorial chair, with a likelihood of his soon converting it into a real throne, he had his misgivings about this security. By imprisonments, executions, banishments, and confiscations, he had done all in his power to annihilate the Liberal party. But though crushed and feeble now, its strength was but in abeyance, its spirit still lived, and might again successfully assert itself. No man knew this better than he himself; and no better teacher could he have had than his own life’s history, with its alternating chapters of triumph and defeat. Even then there was report of a pronunciamento in one of the northern cities of the Republic—the State, by a polite euphemism, being still so designated. Only a faint “gritto” it was, but with a tone that resembled the rumbling of distant thunder, which might yet be heard louder and nearer.
Little, however, of matters either revolutionary or political was he thinking now. The subject uppermost in his mind was that latent on his lips—woman. Not in a general way, but with thoughts specially bent upon one of them, or both, with whose names he had just been making free. As his soliloquy told, a certain “Condesa” had first place in his reflections, she being no other than the Condesa Almonté. In his wicked way he had made love to this young lady, as to many others; but, unlike as with many others, he had met repulse. Firm, though without indignation, his advances not yet having gone so far, nor been so bold, as to call for this. He had only commenced skirmishing with her; a preliminary stroke of his tactics being that invitation to ride in the State carriage extended to Doña Luisita Valverde, while withheld from the Countess—an astute manoeuvre on his part, and, as he supposed, likely to serve him. In short, the old sinner was playing the old game of “piques.” Nor did he think himself so ancient as to despair of winning at it. In such contests he had too often come off victorious, and success might attend upon him still. Vain was he of his personal appearance, and in his earlier days not without some show of reason. In his youth Santa Anna would claim to be called, if not handsome, a fairly good-looking man. Though a native Mexican, a Vera-cruzano, he was of pure Spanish race and good blood—the boasted sangre-azul. His features were well formed, oval, and slightly aquiline, his complexion dark, yet clear, his hair and moustaches black, lustrous, and profuse. But for a sinister cast in his eyes, not always observable, his countenance would have been pleasing enough. As it was he prided himself upon it even now that he was well up in years, and his hair becoming silvered. As for the moustaches, black pomatum kept them to their original colour.
One thing soured him, even more than advancing age—his wooden leg. ’Tis said he could never contemplate that without an expression of pain coming over his features, as though there was gout in the leg itself giving him a twinge. And many the time—nay, hundreds of times—did he curse Prince de Joinville. For it was in defending Vera Cruz against the French, commanded by the latter, he had received the wound, which rendered amputation of the limb necessary. In a way he ought to have blessed the Prince, and been grateful for the losing of it rather than otherwise. Afterwards the mishap stood him in good stead; at election times when he was candidate for the Chief Magistracy of the State. Then he was proud to parade the artificial limb; and did so to some purpose. It was, indeed, an important element in his popularity, and more than once proved an effective aid to his reinstatement. With a grim look, however, he regarded it now. For though it had helped him politically, he was not thinking of politics, and in what he was thinking about he knew it an obstruction. A woman to love a man with a wooden leg! And such a woman as Ysabel Almonté! Not that he put it to himself in that way; far from it. He had still too good an opinion, if not of his personal appearance, at least of his powers otherwise, and he even then felt confident of success. For he had just succeeded in removing another obstacle which seemed likely to be more in his way than the wooden leg. He had but late come to know of it; but as soon as knowing, had taken measures to avert the danger dreaded—by causing the imprisonment of a man. For it was a man he feared, or suspected, as his competitor for the affections of the Condesa. It had cost him no small trouble to effect this individual’s arrest, or rather capture. He was one of the proscribed, and in hiding; though heard of now and then as being at the head of a band of salteadore—believed to have turned highwayman.
But he had been taken at length, and was at that moment in the gaol of the Acordada; which Santa Anna well knew, having himself ordered his incarceration there, and given other instructions regarding him to the gaol-governor, who was one of his creatures.
After sitting for some time, as he stretched out his hand, and held the end of his paper cigar to the red coals burning in a brazero on the table before him, the frown upon his features changed to a demoniac smile. Possibly from the knowledge that this man was now in his power. Sure was he of this; but what would he not have given to be as sure of her being so too!
Whether his reflections were sweet or bitter, or which predominated, he was not permitted longer to indulge in them. The door again opening—after a tap asking permission to enter—showed the same aide-de-camp. And on a similar errand as before, differing only in that now he placed two cards on the table instead of one; the cards themselves being somewhat dissimilar to that he had already brought in.
And with altogether a different air did Santa Anna take them up for examination. He was enough interested at seeing by their size and shape that those now desiring an audience of him were ladies. But on reading the names, his interest rose to agitation, such as the aide-de-camp never before had seen him exhibit, and which so much astonished the young officer that he stood staring wonderingly, if not rudely, at the grand dignitary, his chief. His behaviour, however, was not noticed, the Dictator’s eyes being all upon the cards. Only for an instant though. If he gave ready reception to his late visitor, still readier did he seem desirous of according it to those now seeking speech with him.
“Conduct the ladies in,” was his almost instantaneous command, as quickly retracted. For soon as spoken he countermanded it; seemingly from some afterthought which, as a codicil, had suddenly occurred to him. Then followed a chapter of instructions to the aide-de-camp, confidential, and to the effect that the ladies were not to be immediately introduced. He was to keep them in conversation in the ante-chamber outside, till he should hear the bell.
Judging by his looks as he went out the young subaltern was more than satisfied with the delay thus enjoined upon him. It was aught but a disagreeable duty; for, whether acquainted with the ladies who were in waiting, or not, he must have seen that both were bewitchingly beautiful—one being Luisa Valverde, the other Ysabel Almonté.