The portraits in our drawing-room — The Dictator Rosas who was like an Englishman — The strange face of his wife, Encarnacion — The traitor1 Urquiza — The Minister of War, his peacocks, and his son — Home again from the city — The War deprives us of our playmate — Natalia, our shepherd’s wife — Her son, Medardo — The Alcalde our grand old man — Battle of Monte Caseros — The defeated army — Demands for fresh horses — In peril2 — My father’s shining defects — His pleasure in a thunder storm — A childlike trust in his fellow-men — Soldiers turn upon their officer — A refugee given up and murdered — Our Alcalde again — On cutting throats — Ferocity and cynicism — Native blood-lust and its effect on a boy’s mind — Feeling about Rosas — A bird poem or tale — Vain search for lost poem and story of its authorship — The Dictator’s daughter — Time, the old god.
At the end of the last chapter, when describing my one sight of the famous jester, Don Eusebio, in his glory, attended by a body-guard with drawn3 swords who were ready to cut down any one of the spectators who failed to remove his hat or laughed at the show, I said it was on the eve of the fall of the President of the Republic, or Dictator, “the Tyrant4,” as he was called by his adversaries5 when they didn’t call him the “Nero of South America” or the “Tiger of Palermo” — this being the name of a park on the north side of Buenos Ayres where Rosas lived in a white stuccoed house called his palace.
At that time the portrait, in colours, of the great man occupied the post of honour above the mantelpiece in our sala, or drawing-room — the picture of a man with fine clear-cut regular features, light reddish-brown hair and side-whiskers, and blue eyes; he was sometimes called “Englishman” on account of his regular features and blonde complexion6. That picture of a stern handsome face, with flags and cannon7 and olive-branch — the arms of the republic — in its heavy gold frame, was one of the principal ornaments9 of the room, and my father was proud of it, since he was, for reasons to be stated by and by, a great admirer of Rosas, an out-and-out Rosista, as the loyal ones were called. This portrait was flanked by two others; one of Dona Encarnacion, the wife, long dead, of Rosas; a handsome, proud-looking young woman with a vast amount of black hair piled up on her head in a fantastic fashion, surmounted10 by a large tortoiseshell comb. I remember that as small children we used to look with a queer, almost uncanny sort of feeling at this face under its pile of black hair, because it was handsome but not sweet nor gentle, and because she was dead and had died long ago; yet it was like the picture of one alive when we looked at it, and those black unloving eyes gazed straight back into ours. Why did those eyes, unless they moved, which they didn’t, always look back into ours no matter in what part of the room we stood? — a perpetual puzzle to our childish uninformed brains.
On the other side was the repellent, truculent11 countenance12 of the Captain–General Urquiza, who was the Dictator’s right-hand man, a ferocious13 cut-throat if ever there was one, who had upheld his authority for many years in the rebellious14 upper provinces, but who had just now raised the standard of revolt against him and in a little while, with the aid of a Brazilian army, would succeed in overthrowing16 him.
The central portrait inspired us with a kind of awe17 and reverential feeling, since even as small children we were made to know that he was the greatest man in the republic, that he had unlimited18 power over all men’s lives and fortunes and was terrible in his anger against evil-doers, especially those who rebelled against his authority.
Two more portraits of the famous men of the republic of that date adorned19 the same wall. Next to Urquiza was General Oribe, commander of the army sent by Rosas against Montevideo, which maintained the siege of that city for the space of ten years. On the other side, next to Dona Encarnacion, was the portrait of the Minister of War, a face which had no attraction for us children, as it was not coloured like that of the Dictator, nor had any romance or mystery in it like that of his dead wife; yet it served to bring all these pictured people into our actual world — to make us realize that they were the counterfeit20 presentments of real men and women. For it happened that this same Minister of War was in a way a neighbour of ours, as he owned an estancia, which he sometimes visited, about three leagues from us, on that part of the plain to the east of our place which I have described in a former chapter as being covered with a dense21 growth of the bluish-grey wild artichoke, the cardo de Castilla, as it is called in the vernacular22. Like most of the estancia houses of that day it was a long low building of brick with thatched roof, surrounded by an enclosed quinta, or plantation23, with rows of century-old Lombardy poplars conspicuous24 at a great distance, and many old acacia, peach, quince, and cherry trees. It was a cattle and horse-breeding establishment, but the beasts were of less account to the owner than his peacocks, a fowl25 for which he had so great a predilection26 that he could not have too many of them; he was always buying more peacocks to send out to the estate, and they multiplied until the whole place swarmed27 with them. And he wanted them all for himself, so that it was forbidden to sell or give even an egg away. The place was in the charge of a major-domo, a good-natured fellow, and when he discovered that we liked peacocks’ feathers for decorative28 purposes in the house, he made it a custom to send us each year at the moulting-time large bundles, whole armfuls, of feathers.
Another curious thing in the estancia was a large room set apart for the display of trophies29 sent from Buenos Ayres by the Minister’s eldest30 son. I have already given an account of a favourite pastime of the young gentlemen of the capital — that of giving battle to the night-watchmen and wresting31 their staffs and lanterns from them. Our Minister’s heir was a leader in this sport, and from time to time sent consignments32 of his trophies to the country place, where the walls of the room were covered with staffs and festoons of lanterns.
Once or twice as a small boy I had the privilege of meeting this young gentleman and looked at him with an intense curiosity which has served to keep his image in my mind till now. His figure was slender and graceful33, his features good, and he had a rather long Spanish face; his eyes were grey-blue, and his hair and moustache a reddish golden-brown. It was a handsome face, but with a curiously34 repelling35, impatient, reckless, almost devilish expression.
I was at home again, back in the plantation among my beloved birds, glad to escape from the noisy dusty city into the sweet green silences, with the great green plain glittering with the false water of the mirage36 spreading around our shady oasis37, and the fact that war, which for the short period of my own little life and for many long years before I was born, had not visited our province, thanks to Rosas the Tyrant, the man of blood and iron, had now come to us did not make the sunshine less sweet and pleasant to behold38. Our elders, it is true, showed anxious faces, but they were often anxious about matters which did not affect us children, and therefore didn’t matter. But by and by even we little ones were made to realize that there was a trouble in the land which touched us too, since it deprived us of the companionship of the native boy who was our particular friend and guardian39 during our early horseback rambles40 on the plain. This boy, Medardo, or Dardo, was the fifteen-years-old son — illegitimate of course — of the native woman our English shepherd had made his wife. Why he had done so was a perpetual mystery and marvel41 to every one on account of her person and temper. The very thought of this poor Natalia, or Dona Nata as she was called, long dead and turned to dust in that far pampa, troubles my spirit even now and gives me the uncomfortable feeling that in putting her portrait on this paper I am doing a mean thing.
She was an excessively lean creature, careless, and even dirty in her person, with slippers42 but no stockings on her feet, an old dirty gown of a coarse blue cotton stuff and a large coloured cotton handkerchief or piece of calico wound turban-wise about her head. She was of a yellowish parchment colour, the skin tight-drawn over the small bony aquiline43 features, and it would have seemed like the face of a corpse44 or mummy but for the deeply-sunken jet-black eyes burning with a troubled fire in their sockets46. There was a tremor47 and strangely pathetic note in her thin high-pitched voice, as of a woman speaking with effort between half-suppressed sobs48, or like the mournful cry of some wild bird of the marshes49. Voice and face were true indications of her anxious mind. She was in a perpetual state of worry over some trifling50 matter, and when a real trouble came, as when our flock “got mixed” with a neighbour’s flock and four or five thousand sheep had to be parted, sheep by sheep, according to their ear-marks, or when her husband came home drunk and tumbled off his horse at the door instead of dismounting in the usual manner, she would be almost out of her mind and wring51 her hands and shriek52 and cry out that such conduct would not be endured by his long-suffering master, and they would no longer have a roof over their heads!
Poor anxious-minded Nata, who moved us both to pity and repulsion, it was impossible not to admire her efforts to keep her stolid53 inarticulate husband in the right path and her intense wild animal-like love of her children — the three dirty-faced English-looking offspring of her strange marriage, and Dardo, her firstborn, the son of the wind. He, too, was an interesting person; small or short for his years, he was thick and had a curiously solid mature appearance, with a round head, wide open, startlingly bright eyes, and aquiline features which gave him a resemblance to a sparrow-hawk. He was mature in mind, too, and had all the horse lore54 of the seasoned gaucho55, and at the same time he was like a child in his love of fun and play, and wanted nothing better than to serve us as a perpetual playmate. But he had his work, which was to look after the flock when the shepherd’s services were required elsewhere; an easy task for him on his horse, especially in summer when for long hours the sheep would stand motionless on the plain. Dardo, who was teaching us to swim, would then invite us to go to the river — to one of two streams within half an hour’s ride from home, where there were good bathing-pools! but always before starting he would have to go and ask his mother’s consent. Mounting my pony56 I would follow him to the puesto or shepherd’s ranche, only to be denied permission: “No, you are not to go to-day: you must not think of such a thing. I forbid you to take the boys to the river this day!”
Then Dardo, turning his horse’s head, would exclaim, “Oh, caram-bam-bam-ba!” And she, seeing him going, would rush out after us, shrieking57, “Don’t caram-bam-bam-ba me! You are not to go to the river this day — I forbid it! I know if you go to the river this day there will be a terrible calamity58! Listen to me, Dardo, rebel, devil that you are, you shall not go bathing to-day!” And the cries would continue until, breaking into a gallop59, we would quickly be out of earshot. Then Dardo would say, “Now we’ll go back to the house for the others and go to the river. You see, she made me kneel before the crucifix and promise never to take you to bathe without asking her consent. And that’s all I’ve got to do; I never promised to obey her commands, so it’s all right.”
These pleasant adventures with Dardo on the plain were suddenly put a stop to by the war. One morning a number of persons on foot and on horseback were seen coming to us over the green plain from the shepherd’s ranche, and as they drew nearer we recognized our old Alcalde on his horse as the leader of the procession, and behind him walked Dona Nata, holding her son by the hand; then followed others on foot, and behind them all rode four old gauchos60, the Alcalde’s henchmen, wearing their swords.
What matter of tremendous importance had brought this crowd to our house? The Alcalde, Don Amaro Avalos, was not only the representative of the “authorities” in our parts — police officer, petty magistrate61 of sorts, and several other things besides — but a grand old man in himself, and he looms62 large in memory among the old gaucho patriarchs in our neighbourhood. He was a big man, about six feet high, exceedingly dignified63 in manner, his long hair and beard of a silvery whiteness; he wore the gaucho costume with a great profusion64 of silver ornaments, including ponderous65 silver spurs weighing about four pounds, and heavy silver whip-handle. As a rule he rode on a big black horse which admirably suited his figure and the scarlet66 colour and silver of his costume.
On arrival Don Amaro was conducted to the drawing-room, followed by all the others; and when all were seated, including the four old gauchos wearing swords, the Alcalde addressed my parents and informed them of the object of the visit. He had received an imperative67 order from his superiors, he said, to take at once and send to headquarters twelve more young men as recruits for the army from his small section of the district. Now most of the young men had already been taken, or had disappeared from the neighbourhood in order to avoid service, and to make up this last twelve he had even to take boys of the age of this one, and Medardo would have to go. But this woman would not have her boy taken, and after spending many words in trying to convince her that she must submit he had at last, to satisfy her, consented to accompany her to her master’s house to discuss the matter again in her master and mistress’s presence.
It was a long speech, pronounced with great dignity; then, almost before it finished, the distracted mother jumped up and threw herself on her knees before my parents, and in her wild tremulous voice began crying to them, imploring68 them to have compassion69 on her and help her to save her boy from such a dreadful destiny. What would he be, she cried, a boy of his tender years dragged from his home, from his mother’s care, and thrown among a crowd of old hardened soldiers, and of evil-minded men — murderers, robbers, and criminals of all descriptions drawn from all the prisons of the land to serve in the army!
It was dreadful to see her on her knees wringing70 her hands, and to listen to her wild lamentable71 cries; and again and again while the matter was being discussed between the old Alcalde and my parents, she would break out and plead with such passion and despair in her voice and words, that all the people in the room were affected72 to tears. She was like some wild animal trying to save her offspring from the hunters. Never, exclaimed my mother, when the struggle was over, had she passed so painful, so terrible, an hour! And the struggle had all been in vain, and Dardo was taken from us.
One morning, some weeks later, the dull roar from distant big guns came to our ears, and we were told that a great battle was being fought, that Rosas himself was at the head of his army — a poor little force of 25,000 men got together in hot haste to oppose a mixed Argentine and Brazilian force of about 40,000 men commanded by the traitor Urquiza. During several hours of that anxious day the dull, heavy sound of firing continued and was like distant thunder: then in the evening came the tidings of the overthrow15 of the defending army, and of the march of the enemy on Buenos Ayres city! On the following day, from dawn to dark, we were in the midst of an incessant73 stream of the defeated men, flying to the south, in small parties of two or three to half a dozen men, with some larger bands, all in their scarlet uniforms and armed with lances and carbines and broadswords, many of the bands driving large numbers of horses before them.
My father was warned by the neighbours that we were in great danger, since these men were now lawless and would not hesitate to plunder74 and kill in their retreat, and that all riding-horses would certainly be seized by them. As a precaution he had the horses driven in and concealed75 in the plantation, and that was all he would do. “Oh no,” he said, with a laugh, “they won’t hurt us,” and so we were all out and about all day with the front gate and all doors and windows standing76 open. From time to time a band on tired horses rode to the gate and, without dismounting, shouted a demand for fresh horses. In every case he went out and talked to them, always with a smiling, pleasant face, and after assuring them that he had no horses for them they slowly and reluctantly took their departure.
About three o’clock in the afternoon, the hottest hour of the day, a troop of ten men rode up at a gallop, raising a great cloud of dust, and coming in at the gate drew rein77 before the verandah. My father as usual went out to meet them, whereupon they demanded fresh horses in loud menacing voices.
Indoors we were all gathered in the large sitting-room78, waiting the upshot in a state of intense anxiety, for no preparations had been made and no means of defence existed in the event of a sudden attack on the house. We watched the proceedings79 from the interior, which was too much in shadow for our dangerous visitors to see that they were only women and children there and one man, a visitor, who had withdrawn80 to the further end of the room and sat leaning back in an easy chair, trembling and white as a corpse, with a naked sword in his hand. He explained to us afterwards, when the danger was all over, that fortunately he was an excellent swordsman, and that having found the weapon in the room, he had resolved to give a good account of the ten ruffians if they had made a rush to get in.
My father replied to these men as he had done to the others, assuring them that he had no horses to give them. Meanwhile we who were indoors all noticed that one of the ten men was an officer, a beardless young man of about twenty-one or two, with a singularly engaging face. He took no part in the proceedings, but sat silent on his horse, watching the others with a peculiar81 expression, half contemptuous and half anxious, on his countenance. And he alone was unarmed, a circumstance which struck us as very strange. The others were all old veterans, aged83" target="_blank">middle-aged82 and oldish men with grizzled beards, all in scarlet jacket and scarlet chiripa and a scarlet cap of the quaint84 form then worn, shaped like a boat turned upside down, with a horn-like peak in front, and beneath the peak a brass85 plate on which was the number of the regiment86.
The men appeared surprised at the refusal of horses, and stated plainly that they would not accept it; at which my father shook his head and smiled. One of the men then asked for water to quench87 his thirst. Some one in the house then took out a large jug88 of cold water, and my father taking it handed it up to the man; he drank, then passed the jug on to the other thirsty ones, and after going its rounds the jug was handed back and the demand for fresh horses renewed in menacing tones. There was some water left in the jug, and my father began pouring it out in a thin stream, making little circles and figures on the dry dusty ground, then once more shook his head and smiled very pleasantly on them. Then one of the men, fixing his eyes on my father’s face, bent89 forward and suddenly struck his hand violently on the hilt of his broadsword and, rattling90 the weapon, half drew it from its sheath. This nerve-trying experiment was a complete failure, its only effect being to make my father smile up at the man even more pleasantly than before, as if the little practical joke had greatly amused him.
The strange thing was that my father was not playing a part — that it was his nature to act in just that way. It is a curious thing to say of any person that his highest or most shining qualities were nothing but defects, since, apart from these same singular qualities, he was just an ordinary person with nothing to distinguish him from his neighbours, excepting perhaps that he was not anxious to get rich and was more neighbourly or more brotherly towards his fellows than most men. The sense of danger, the instinct of self-preservation supposed to be universal, was not in him, and there were occasions when this extraordinary defect produced the keenest distress91 in my mother. In hot summers we were subject to thunderstorms of an amazing violence, and at such times, when thunder and lightning were nearest together and most terrifying to everybody else, he would stand out of doors gazing calmly up at the sky as if the blinding flashes and world-shaking thunder-crashes had some soothing92 effect, like music, on his mind. One day, just before noon, it was reported by one of the men that the saddle-horses could not be found, and my father, with his spy-glass in his hand, went out and ran up the wooden stairs to the mirador or look-out constructed at the top of the big barn-like building used for storing wool. The mirador was so high that standing on it one was able to see even over the tops of the tall plantation trees, and to protect the looker-out there was a high wooden railing round it, and against this the tall flag-staff was fastened. When my father went up to the look-out a terribly violent thunderstorm was just bursting on us. The dazzling, almost continuous lightning appeared to be not only in the black cloud over the house but all round us, and crash quickly followed crash, making the doors and windows rattle93 in their frames, while there high above us in the very midst of the awful tumult94 stood my father calm as ever. Not satisfied that he was high enough on the floor of the look-out he had got up on the topmost rail, and standing on it, with his back against the tall pole, he surveyed the open plain all round through his spy-glass in search of the lost horses. I remember that indoors my mother with white terror-stricken face stood gazing out at him, and that the whole house was in a state of terror, expecting every moment to see him struck by lightning and hurled95 down to the earth below.
A second and in its results a more disastrous96 shining quality was a childlike trust in the absolute good faith of every person with whom he came into business relations. Things being what they are this inevitably97 led to his ruin.
To return to our unwelcome visitors. On this occasion my father’s perfectly98 cool smiling demeanour, resulting from his foolhardiness, served him and the house well: it deceived them, for they could not believe that he would have acted in that way if they had not been watched by men with rifles in their hands from the interior who would open fire on the least hostile movement on their part.
Suddenly the scowling99 spokesman of the troop, with a shouted “Vamos!” turned his horse’s head and, followed by all the others, rode out and broke into a gallop. We too then hurried out, and from the screen of poplar and black acacia trees growing at the side of the moat, watched their movements, and saw, when they had got away a few hundred yards from the gate, the young unarmed officer break away from them and start off at the greatest speed he could get out of his horse. The others quickly gave chase and at length disappeared from sight in the direction of the Alcalde’s or local petty magistrate’s house, about a mile and a half away. It was a long low thatched ranch8 without trees, and could not be seen from our house as it stood behind a marshy100 lake overgrown with all bulrushes.
While we were straining our eyes to see the result of the chase, and after the hunted man and his pursuers had vanished from sight among the herds101 of cattle and horses grazing on the plain, the tragedy was being carried out in exceedingly painful circumstances. The young officer, whose home was more than a day’s journey from our district, had visited the neighbourhood on a former occasion and remembered that he had relations in it; and when he broke away from the men, divining that it was their intention to murder him, he made for the old Alcalde’s house. He succeeded in keeping ahead of his pursuers until he arrived at the gate, and throwing himself from his horse and rushing into the house, and finding the old Alcalde surrounded by the women of the house, addressed him as uncle and claimed his protection. The Alcalde was not, strictly102 speaking, his uncle but was his mother’s first cousin. It was an awful moment: the nine armed ruffians were already standing outside, shouting to the owner of the place to give them up their prisoner, and threatening to burn down the house and kill all the inmates103 if he refused. The old Alcalde stood in the middle of the room, surrounded by a crowd of women and children, his own two handsome daughters, aged about twenty and twenty-two respectively, among them, fainting with terror and crying for him to save them, while the young officer on his knees implored104 him for the sake of his mother’s memory, and of the Mother of God and of all he held sacred, to refuse to give him up to be slaughtered105.
The old man was not equal to the situation: he trembled and sobbed106 with anguish107, and at last faltered108 out that he could not protect him — that he must save his own daughters and the wives and children of his neighbours who had sought refuge in his house. The men outside, hearing how the argument was going, came to the door, and finally seizing the young man by the arm led him out and made him mount his horse again and ride with them. They rode back the way they had gone for half a mile towards our house, then pulled him off his horse and cut his throat.
On the following day a mulatto boy who looked after the flock and went on errands for the Alcalde, came to me and said that if I would mount my pony and go with him he would show me something. It was not seldom this same little fellow came to me to offer to show me something, and it usually turned out to be a bird’s nest, an object which keenly interested us both. I gladly mounted my pony and followed. The broken army had ceased passing our way by now, and it was peaceful and safe once more on the great plain. We rode about a mile, and he then pulled up his horse and pointed109 to the turf at our feet, where I saw a great stain of blood on the short dry grass. Here, he told me, was where they had cut the young officer’s throat: the body had been taken by the Alcalde to his house, where it had been lying since the evening before, and it would be taken for burial next day to our nearest village, about eight miles distant.
The murder was the talk of the place for some days, chiefly on account of the painful facts of the case — that the old Alcalde, who was respected and even loved by every one, should have failed in so pitiful a way to make any attempt at saving his young relation. But the mere110 fact that the soldiers had cut the throat of their officer surprised no one; it was a common thing in the case of a defeat in those days for the men to turn upon and murder their officers. Nor was throat-cutting a mere custom or convention: to the old soldier it was the only satisfactory way of finishing off your adversary111, or prisoner of war, or your officer who had been your tyrant, on the day of defeat. Their feeling was similar to that of the man who is inspired by the hunting instinct in its primitive112 form, as described by Richard Jefferies. To kill the creatures with bullets at a distance was no satisfaction to him: he must with his own hands drive the shaft113 into the quivering flesh — he must feel its quivering and see the blood gush114 up beneath his hand. One smiles at a vision of the gentle Richard Jefferies slaughtering115 wild cattle in the palaeolithic way, but that feeling and desire which he describes with such passion in his Story of My Heart, that survival of the past, is not uncommon116 in the hearts of hunters, and if we were ever to drop out of our civilization I fancy we should return rather joyfully117 to the primitive method. And so in those dark times in the Argentine Republic when, during half a century of civil strife118 which followed on casting off the Spanish “yoke,” as it was called, the people of the plains had developed an amazing ferocity, they loved to kill a man not with a bullet but in a manner to make them know and feel that they were really and truly killing119.
As a child those dreadful deeds did not impress me, since I did not witness them myself, and after looking at that stain of blood on the grass the subject faded out of my mind. But as time went on and I heard more about this painful subject I began to realize what it meant. The full horror of it came only a few years later, when I was big enough to go about to the native houses and among the gauchos in their gatherings120, at cattle-partings and brandings, races, and on other occasions. I listened to the conversation of groups of men whose lives had been mostly spent in the army, as a rule in guerilla warfare121, and the talk turned with surprising frequency to the subject of cutting throats. Not to waste powder on prisoners was an unwritten law of the Argentine army at that period, and the veteran gaucho clever with the knife took delight in obeying it. It always came as a relief, I heard them say, to have as victim a young man with a good neck after an experience of tough, scraggy old throats: with a person of that sort they were in no hurry to finish the business; it was performed in a leisurely122, loving way. Darwin, writing in praise of the gaucho in his Voyage of a Naturalist123, says that if a gaucho cuts your throat he does it like a gentleman: even as a small boy I knew better — that he did his business rather like a hellish creature revelling124 in his cruelty. He would listen to all his captive could say to soften125 his heart — all his heartrending prayers and pleadings; and would reply: “Ah, friend,” — or little friend, or brother — “your words pierce me to the heart and I would gladly spare you for the sake of that poor mother of yours who fed you with her milk, and for your own sake too, since in this short time I have conceived a great friendship towards you; but your beautiful neck is your undoing126, for how could I possibly deny myself the pleasure of cutting such a throat — so shapely, so smooth and soft and so white! Think of the sight of warm red blood gushing127 from that white column!” And so on, with wavings of the steel blade before the captive’s eyes, until the end.
When I heard them relate such things — and I am quoting their very words, remembered all these years only too well — laughingly, gloating over such memories, such a loathing128 and hatred129 possessed130 me that ever afterwards the very sight of these men was enough to produce a sensation of nausea131, just as when in the dog days one inadvertently rides too near the putrid132 carcass of some large beast on the plain.
As I have said, all this feeling about throat-cutting and the power to realize and visualize133 it, came to me by degrees long after the sight of a blood-stain on the turf near our home; and in like manner the significance of the tyrant’s fall and the mighty134 changes it brought about in the land only came to me long after the event. People were in perpetual conflict about the character of the great man. He was abhorred135 by many, perhaps by most; others were on his side even for years after he had vanished from their ken45, and among these were most of the English residents of the country, my father among them. Quite naturally I followed my father and came to believe that all the bloodshed during a quarter of a century, all the crimes and cruelties practised by Rosas, were not like the crimes committed by a private person, but were all for the good of the country, with the result that in Buenos Ayres and throughout our province there had been a long period of peace and prosperity, and that all this ended with his fall and was succeeded by years of fresh revolutionary outbreaks and bloodshed and anarchy136. Another thing about Rosas which made me ready to fall in with my father’s high opinion of him was the number of stories about him which appealed to my childish imagination. Many of these related to his adventures when he would disguise himself as a person of humble137 status and prowl about the city by night, especially in the squalid quarters, where he would make the acquaintance of the very poor in their hovels. Most of these stories were probably inventions and need not be told here; but there was one which I must say something about because it is a bird story and greatly excited my boyish interest.
I was often asked by our gaucho neighbours when I talked with them about birds — and they all knew that that subject interested me above all others — if I had ever heard el canto138, or el cuento del Bien-te-veo. That is to say, the ballad139 or tale of the Bien-te-veo — a species of tyrant-bird quite common in the country, with a brown back and sulphur-yellow under parts, a crest140 on its head, and face barred with black and white. It is a little larger than our butcher-bird and, like it, is partly rapacious141 in its habits. The barred face and long kingfisher-like beak142 give it a peculiarly knowing or cunning look, and the effect is heightened by the long trisyllabic call constantly uttered by the bird, from which it derives143 its name of Bien-te-veo, which means I-can-see-you. He is always letting you know that he is there, that he has got his eye on you, so that you had better be careful about your actions.
The Bien-te-veo, I need hardly say, was one of my feathered favourites, and I begged my gaucho friends to tell me this cuento, but although I met scores of men who had heard it, not one remembered it: they could only say that it was very long — very few persons could remember such a long story; and I further gathered that it was a sort of history of the bird’s life and his adventures among the other birds; that the Bien-te-veo was always doing clever naughty things and getting into trouble, but invariably escaping the penalty. From all I could hear it was a tale of the Reynard the Fox order, or like the tales told by the gauchos of the armadillo and how that quaint little beast always managed to fool his fellow-animals, especially the fox, who regarded himself as the cleverest of all the beasts and who looked on his honest, dull-witted neighbour the armadillo as a born fool. Old gauchos used to tell me that twenty or more years ago one often met with a reciter of ballads144 who could relate the whole story of the Bien-te-veo. Good reciters were common enough in my time: at dances it was always possible to find one or two to amuse the company with long poems and ballads in the intervals145 of dancing, and first and last I questioned many who had this talent, but failed to find one who knew the famous bird-ballad, and in the end I gave up the quest.
The story invariably told was that a man convicted of some serious crime and condemned146 to suffer the last penalty, and left, as the custom then was, for long months in the gaol147 in Buenos Ayres, amused himself by composing the story of the Bien-te-veo, and thinking well of it he made a present of the manuscript to the gaoler in acknowledgment of some kindness he had received from that person. The condemned man had no money and no friends to interest themselves on his behalf; but it was not the custom at that time to execute a criminal as soon as he was condemned. The prison authorities preferred to wait until there were a dozen or so to execute; these would then be taken out, ranged against a wall of the prison, opposite a file of soldiers with muskets148 in their hands, and shot, the soldiers after the first discharge reloading their weapons and going up to the fallen men to finish off those who were still kicking. This was the prospect149 our prisoner had to look forward to. Meanwhile his ballad was being circulated and read with immense delight by various persons in authority, and one of these who was privileged to approach the Dictator, thinking it would afford him a little amusement, took the ballad and read it to him. Rosas was so pleased with it that he pardoned the condemned man and ordered his liberation.
All this, I conjectured150, must have happened at least twenty years before I was born. I also concluded that the ballad had never been printed, otherwise I would most probably have found it; but some copies in writing had evidently been made and it had become a favourite composition with the reciters at festive151 gatherings, but had now gone out and was hopelessly lost.
These, as I have already intimated, were but the little things that touched a child’s fancy; there was another romantic circumstance in the life of Rosas which appealed to everybody, adult as well as child.
He was the father of Dona Manuela, known by the affectionate diminutive152, Manuelita, throughout the land, and loved and admired by all, even by her father’s enemies, for her compassionate153 disposition154. Perhaps she was the one being in the world for whom he, a widower155 and lonely man, cherished a great tenderness. It is certain that her power over him was very great and that many lives that would have been taken for State reasons were saved by her interposition. It was a beautiful and fearful part that she, a girl, was called on to play on that dreadful stage; and very naturally it was said that she, who was the very spirit of mercy incarnate156, could not have acted as the loving, devoted157 daughter to one who was the monster of cruelty his enemies proclaimed him to be.
Here, in conclusion to this chapter, I had intended to introduce a few sober reflections on the character of Rosas — certainly the greatest and most interesting of all the South America Caudillos, or leaders, who rose to absolute power during the long stormy period that followed on the war of independence — reflections which came to me later, in my teens, when I began to think for myself and form my own judgments159. This I now perceive would be a mistake, if not an impertinence, since I have not the temper of mind for such exercises and should give too much importance to certain singular acts on the Dictator’s part which others would perhaps regard as political errors, or due to sudden fits of passion or petulance160 rather than as crimes. And some of his acts are inexplicable161, as for instance the public execution in the interests of religion and morality of a charming young lady of good family and her lover, the handsome young priest who had captivated the town with his eloquence162. Why he did it will remain a puzzle for ever. There were many other acts which to foreigners and to those born in later times might seem the result of insanity163, but which were really the outcome of a peculiar, sardonic164, and somewhat primitive sense of humour on his part which appeals powerfully to the men of the plains, the gauchos, among whom Rosas lived from boyhood, when he ran away from his father’s house, and by whose aid he eventually rose to supreme165 power.
All these things do not much affect the question of Rosas as a ruler and his place in history. Time, the old god, says the poet, invests all things with honour, and makes them white. The poet-prophet is not to be taken literally166, but his words so undoubtedly167 contain a tremendous truth. And here, then, one may let the question rest. If after half a century, and more, the old god is still sitting, chin on hand, revolving168 this question, it would be as well to give him, say, another fifty years to make up his mind and pronounce a final judgment158.
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1
traitor
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| n.叛徒，卖国贼 | |
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peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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tyrant
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| n.暴君，专制的君主，残暴的人 | |
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adversaries
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| n.对手，敌手( adversary的名词复数 ) | |
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complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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cannon
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| n.大炮，火炮；飞机上的机关炮 | |
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ranch
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| n.大牧场，大农场 | |
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ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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surmounted
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| 战胜( surmount的过去式和过去分词 )； 克服（困难）； 居于…之上； 在…顶上 | |
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truculent
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| adj.野蛮的，粗野的 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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ferocious
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| adj.凶猛的，残暴的，极度的，十分强烈的 | |
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rebellious
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| adj.造反的，反抗的，难控制的 | |
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overthrow
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| v.推翻，打倒，颠覆；n.推翻，瓦解，颠覆 | |
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overthrowing
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| v.打倒，推翻( overthrow的现在分词 )；使终止 | |
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awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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unlimited
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| adj.无限的，不受控制的，无条件的 | |
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adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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counterfeit
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| vt.伪造，仿造；adj.伪造的，假冒的 | |
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dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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vernacular
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| adj.地方的，用地方语写成的；n.白话；行话；本国语；动植物的俗名 | |
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plantation
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| n.种植园，大农场 | |
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conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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fowl
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| n.家禽，鸡，禽肉 | |
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predilection
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| n.偏好 | |
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swarmed
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| 密集( swarm的过去式和过去分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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decorative
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| adj.装饰的，可作装饰的 | |
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29
trophies
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| n.（为竞赛获胜者颁发的）奖品( trophy的名词复数 )；奖杯；（尤指狩猎或战争中获得的）纪念品；（用于比赛或赛跑名称）奖 | |
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eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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wresting
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| 动词wrest的现在进行式 | |
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consignments
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| n.托付货物( consignment的名词复数 )；托卖货物；寄售；托运 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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repelling
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| v.击退( repel的现在分词 )；使厌恶；排斥；推开 | |
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mirage
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| n.海市蜃楼，幻景 | |
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oasis
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| n.（沙漠中的）绿洲，宜人的地方 | |
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behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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rambles
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| （无目的地）漫游( ramble的第三人称单数 )； （喻）漫谈； 扯淡； 长篇大论 | |
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marvel
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| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
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slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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aquiline
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| adj.钩状的，鹰的 | |
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44
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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45
ken
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| n.视野，知识领域 | |
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46
sockets
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| n.套接字，使应用程序能够读写与收发通讯协定(protocol)与资料的程序( Socket的名词复数 )；孔( socket的名词复数 )；（电器上的）插口；托座；凹穴 | |
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tremor
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| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
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48
sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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marshes
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| n.沼泽，湿地( marsh的名词复数 ) | |
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50
trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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51
wring
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| n.扭绞；v.拧，绞出，扭 | |
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52
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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53
stolid
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| adj.无动于衷的，感情麻木的 | |
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54
lore
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| n.传说；学问，经验，知识 | |
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55
gaucho
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| n. 牧人 | |
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56
pony
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| adj.小型的；n.小马 | |
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57
shrieking
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| v.尖叫( shriek的现在分词 ) | |
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58
calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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59
gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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gauchos
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| n.南美牧人( gaucho的名词复数 ) | |
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magistrate
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| n.地方行政官，地方法官，治安官 | |
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looms
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| n.织布机( loom的名词复数 )v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的第三人称单数 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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profusion
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| n.挥霍；丰富 | |
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ponderous
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| adj.沉重的，笨重的，(文章)冗长的 | |
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scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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imperative
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| n.命令，需要；规则；祈使语气；adj.强制的；紧急的 | |
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imploring
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| 恳求的，哀求的 | |
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compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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wringing
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| 淋湿的，湿透的 | |
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lamentable
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| adj.令人惋惜的，悔恨的 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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incessant
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| adj.不停的，连续的 | |
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plunder
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| vt.劫掠财物，掠夺；n.劫掠物，赃物；劫掠 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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rein
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| n.疆绳，统治，支配；vt.以僵绳控制，统治 | |
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sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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quench
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| vt.熄灭，扑灭；压制 | |
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jug
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| n.(有柄，小口，可盛水等的)大壶，罐，盂 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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disastrous
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| adj.灾难性的，造成灾害的；极坏的，很糟的 | |
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inevitably
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| adv.不可避免地；必然发生地 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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99
scowling
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| 怒视，生气地皱眉( scowl的现在分词 ) | |
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100
marshy
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| adj.沼泽的 | |
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101
herds
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| 兽群( herd的名词复数 )； 牧群； 人群； 群众 | |
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102
strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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103
inmates
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| n.囚犯( inmate的名词复数 ) | |
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104
implored
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| 恳求或乞求（某人）( implore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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slaughtered
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| v.屠杀，杀戮，屠宰( slaughter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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106
sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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107
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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108
faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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109
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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111
adversary
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| adj.敌手，对手 | |
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112
primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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113
shaft
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| n.(工具的)柄，杆状物 | |
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114
gush
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| v.喷，涌；滔滔不绝(说话)；n.喷，涌流；迸发 | |
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115
slaughtering
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| v.屠杀，杀戮，屠宰( slaughter的现在分词 ) | |
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uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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117
joyfully
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| adv. 喜悦地, 高兴地 | |
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118
strife
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| n.争吵，冲突，倾轧，竞争 | |
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119
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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gatherings
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| 聚集( gathering的名词复数 )； 收集； 采集； 搜集 | |
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121
warfare
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| n.战争(状态)；斗争；冲突 | |
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122
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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123
naturalist
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| n.博物学家(尤指直接观察动植物者) | |
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124
revelling
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| v.作乐( revel的现在分词 )；狂欢；着迷；陶醉 | |
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125
soften
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| v.(使)变柔软；(使)变柔和 | |
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126
undoing
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| n.毁灭的原因，祸根；破坏，毁灭 | |
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127
gushing
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| adj.迸出的；涌出的；喷出的；过分热情的v.喷，涌( gush的现在分词 )；滔滔不绝地说话 | |
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128
loathing
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| n.厌恶，憎恨v.憎恨，厌恶( loathe的现在分词)；极不喜欢 | |
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129
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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nausea
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| n.作呕，恶心；极端的憎恶(或厌恶) | |
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putrid
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| adj.腐臭的；有毒的；已腐烂的；卑劣的 | |
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visualize
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| vt.使看得见，使具体化，想象，设想 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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135
abhorred
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| v.憎恶( abhor的过去式和过去分词 )；（厌恶地）回避；拒绝；淘汰 | |
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anarchy
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| n.无政府状态；社会秩序混乱，无秩序 | |
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humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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canto
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| n.长篇诗的章 | |
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139
ballad
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| n.歌谣，民谣，流行爱情歌曲 | |
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crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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rapacious
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| adj.贪婪的，强夺的 | |
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142
beak
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| n.鸟嘴，茶壶嘴，钩形鼻 | |
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derives
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| v.得到( derive的第三人称单数 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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144
ballads
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| 民歌，民谣，特别指叙述故事的歌( ballad的名词复数 )； 讴 | |
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145
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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146
condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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147
gaol
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| n.(jail)监狱；(不加冠词)监禁；vt.使…坐牢 | |
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148
muskets
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| n.火枪，（尤指）滑膛枪( musket的名词复数 ) | |
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149
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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150
conjectured
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| 推测，猜测，猜想( conjecture的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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151
festive
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| adj.欢宴的，节日的 | |
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152
diminutive
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| adj.小巧可爱的，小的 | |
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153
compassionate
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| adj.有同情心的，表示同情的 | |
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154
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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155
widower
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| n.鳏夫 | |
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156
incarnate
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| adj.化身的，人体化的，肉色的 | |
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157
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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159
judgments
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| 判断( judgment的名词复数 )； 鉴定； 评价； 审判 | |
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160
petulance
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| n.发脾气，生气，易怒，暴躁，性急 | |
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161
inexplicable
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| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
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162
eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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163
insanity
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| n.疯狂，精神错乱；极端的愚蠢，荒唐 | |
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164
sardonic
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| adj.嘲笑的，冷笑的，讥讽的 | |
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165
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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166
literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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167
undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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168
revolving
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| adj.旋转的，轮转式的；循环的v.（使）旋转( revolve的现在分词 )；细想 | |
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