Confessions Of Con Cregan, the Irish Gil Blas

The Jew wished the Patriarchs to witness his oath of secrecy; and though each of us was well aware that the other was lying, somehow we seemed satisfied by the exchange of our false coinage. I suppose we acted on the same principle as the thieves who could not keep their hands out of each other’s pockets, although they knew well there was nothing there.

Whatever the Jew’s suspicion of the means by which I had become possessed of such wealth, he prudently thought that he might reap more profit by falling in with my plans than by needlessly scrutinizing my character; and, so far, he judged wisely.

The contract for the carriage I completed on the spot, and having engaged the servants and ordered their liveries, – plain suits of brown, with gold tags, aiguilettes, – I gave directions for my own wearing apparel, in a style of costly magnificence that confirmed me in the title of “Alteza,” given by all who came in contact with me. These occupations occupied the entire morning, and it was only late in the afternoon that I had spare time to recreate myself by a walk in the garden of the inn before dinner, – a promenade which, I am free to own, was heightened in its enjoyment by the rich rustling sounds of my heavy silk robe-dè-chambre, and the soft, downy tread of my velvet slippers on the smooth turf. It was a delicious moment! the very birds seemed to sing a little paean of rejoicing at my good luck; the flowers put forth their sweetest odors as I passed; and I felt myself in ecstasy with the whole creation, and in particular with that segment of it called Con Cregan. And there be folk in this world would call this egotism and vanity; ay, and by worse names too! As if it was not the very purest philanthropy – as if my self-content did not spring from the calm assurance that the goods of fortune were bestowed in the right direction, and that the goddess whom men call “fickle” was in reality a most discriminating deity!

There are no two things in creation less alike than a rich man and a poor one! Not only do all their thoughts, feelings, and affections run in opposite channels, but their judgments are different; and from the habit of presenting particular aspects to the world, they come at last to conform to the impressions conceived of them by the public. The eccentricities of wealth are exalted into fashions, – the peculiarities of poverty are degraded to downright vices.

“Oh, glorious metal!” exclaimed I, as I walked along, “that smooths the roughest road of life, that makes the toughest venison savory, and renders the rudest associates civil and compliant, what insolence and contumely had I not met with here, in this poor ‘Posada,’ had I only been what my humble dress and mean exterior denoted; and now, what is there that I cannot exact, what demands can I make, and hear that they are impossible!”

“His Excellency’s dinner is served,” said the host, as he advanced, with many a low and obsequious salutation, to announce my dinner.

I suppose that the cookery of the “Mono” was not of the very highest order, and that if presented before me now, it would meet but sorry acceptance from my more educated palate; but at the time I speak of, it seemed actually delicious. There appeared to arise faint odors, of savory import, from dishes whose garlic would now almost suffocate me, and I luxuriated in the flavor of wine, every glass of which would, at this day, have put my teeth on edge. If my enjoyment was great, however, I took care not to let it appear too palpable; on the contrary, I criticised and condemned with all the fastidiousness of a spoiled nature, and only condescended to taste anything on the perpetual assurance of the host that “though very different from what his Excellency was used to, it was exactly to the taste of the late ‘Gobernador.’”

I felt all the swelling importance of wealth within me as I beheld the cringing lacqueys and the obsequious host, who never dared to carry himself erect in my presence; the very meats seemed to send up an incense to my nostrils. The gentle wind that shook the orange-blossoms seemed made to bear its odors to my senses; all Nature appeared tributary to my enjoyment. And only to think of it! all this adulation was for poor Con Cregan, the convict’s son; the houseless street-runner of Dublin; the cabin-boy of the yacht; the flunkey at Quebec; the penniless wanderer in Texas; the wag of the “Noria,” in Mexico. What a revulsion, and how sudden and unexpected!

It now became a matter of deep consideration within me how I should support this unlooked-for change of condition, without betraying too palpably what the French would call my “antecedents.” As to my “relatives,” – forgive the poor pun, – they gave me little trouble. I had often remarked in life that vulgar wealth never exhibits itself in a more absurd and odious light than when indulging in pleasures of which the sole enjoyment is the amount of the cost. The upstart rich man may sit in a gallery of pictures where Titian, Velasquez, and Vandyck have given him a company whose very countenances seem to despise him, while he thinks of nothing save the price. If he listen to Malibran, the only sense awakened is the cost of her engagement; and hence that stolid apathy, the lustreless gaze, the unrelieved weariness, he exhibits in society, where it is the metal of the “mind” is clinking, and not the metal of the “mint.” To a certain extent I did not incur great danger on this head: Nature had done me some kind services, the chief of which was, she had made me an Irishman!

There may seem – alas! there is too great cause that there should seem – something paradoxical in this boast, now, when sorrow and suffering are so much our portion; but I speak only of the individuality which, above every other I have seen or heard of, invests a man with a spirit to enjoy whatever is agreeable in life. Now, this same gift is a great safeguard against the vulgarity of purse-pride, since the man who launches forth upon the open sea of pleasure is rarely occupied by thoughts of self.

As for me, I felt a kind of gluttony for every delight that gold can purchase. What palaces I would inhabit; what equipages I would drive; what magnificent fêtes I would give; what inimitable little dinners, where beauty, wit, and genius alone should be gathered together; what music should I possess in “my private band;” what exotics in my conservatory; and how I should dispense these fascinations; what happiness would I diffuse in the circle in which I moved, and what a circle would that be! It was to this precise point my buoyant fancy had brought me, as the second flask of champagne, iced almost to a crystal, had warmed me into a glow of imaginative enthusiasm. I fancied myself in a gilded saloon, where, amid the glare of a thousand wax-lights, a brilliant company were assembled. I thought that at each opening of the folding-door a servant announced some name, illustrious from position or great in reputation, and that around me, as I stood, a group was gathered of all that was distinguished in the world of fashion or celebrity. “Your Royal Highness has made this the proudest day of my life,” said I, rising, and bowing reverentially before a faded old arm-chair. “May I offer your Eminence a seat,” continued I to a red sofa-cushion I mistook for a cardinal. “Your Excellency is most heartily welcome,” said I to an empty decanter. And so did I convert every adjunct of the chamber into some distinguished personage, even, to my fast expiring lamp, which, with a glimmering flame and a nauseous odor, was gradually dying away, and which I actually addressed as a great ambassador!

After this, I conclude that I must have imagined myself in the East, – possibly taking a cup of sherbet with the Sultan, or a chibouk with the Khan of Tammerkabund; for when I became conscious once more, I found myself upon the hearthrug, where I had been enjoying a delicious sleep for some hours.

“Would his Excellency desire to see his chamber?” asked the landlord, as, with a branch of candles, he stood in the doorway.

I waved my hand in sign of assent, and followed him.

CHAPTER XXVII. GUAJUAQUALLA

There are few things in this world gold cannot buy: but one among their number assuredly is – “a happy dream.” Now, although I went to sleep in a great bed with damask hangings and a gilt crown upon it, my pillow fringed with deep lace, my coverlet of satin edged with gold, I dreamed the whole night through of strifes, combats, and encounters. At one time my enemy would be an Indian; at another, a half-breed; now, a negro; now, a jaguar or a rattlesnake: but with whom, or whatever the struggle, it was always for money! Nothing else seemed to have any hold upon my thoughts. Wealth, and wealth alone, appeared the guiding principle of my being; and, as the penalty, I was now to learn the ceaseless anxieties, the torturing dreads, this passion begets.

With daylight, however, I awoke, and the bright sun, streaming in, brought the glorious reality of my happy lot before me, and reminded me of the various duties my high state imposed. My first care was to ascertain the amount and security of my riches; and I resolved to proceed regularly and in the most business-like manner in the matter. To this end I ordered my carriage, and proceeded to pay my visit to the banker, Don Xafire.

I had devised and demolished full fifty ingenious narratives of myself when I drove into the courtyard where the banker resided, and found myself actually without one single satisfactory account of who I was, whence I came, and by what means I became possessed of the formidable papers I carried. “Let circumstances pilot the event” was my old maxim; and, so saying, I entered.

The rattling tramp of my six mules, the cracking of whips, and the crash of the wheels, brought many a head to the windows of the old jail-like palace when my carriage drove up to the door, and the two outriders stood in “a salute” at each side while I descended. “Sua Eccelenza El Condé de Cregano” resounded through the arched hall and passages, as an old servant in a tawdry suit of threadbare livery led the way to Don Xafire’s private apartment.

After a brief wait in a large but meagrely furnished chamber, an old man – or a middle-aged one, with a look of age – entered, and, with a profusion of ceremonial, in which he assured me that his house, his wife, his oxen, his mules, his asses, and in fact everything “that was his,” stood at my disposal, asked to what fortunate event he owed the honor of my visit.

“I am the representative, Señhor Xafire,” said I, “of the great house of Cregan and Company, of which doubtless you have heard, whose ships walk the waters of the icy seas, and lay at anchor amid the perfumes of the spice islands, and whose traffic unites two hemispheres.”

“May they always be prosperous!” said the polite Spaniard, bowing.

“They have hitherto enjoyed that blessing,” responded I, almost thankfully. “Even as the youngest member of the firm, I have nothing to complain of on the score of prosperity.” I smiled, took forth a most gorgeous snuff-box, all glittering with brilliants, and, presenting it to the Spaniard, laid it carelessly on the table. After a brief pause, to let the splendor settle down into his heart, I proceeded to inform him that in the course of commercial transactions a vast number of bills, receipts for deposits and other securities, had fallen into our hands, upon many of which we had advanced large sums, seeing that they bore the name of that most respectable house, the Bank of Don Xafire, of Guajuaqualla. “These would,” I added, “have been dispersed through the various channels of trade, had it not been the wish of my partners to open distinct relations with your house, and consequently they have retained the papers until a favorable occasion presented itself of personally making the proposition. This happy opportunity has arisen by our recent purchase of the great gold mines of the ‘Arguareche’ for seventy millions of piastres, of which you may have read in the ‘Faros de la Habanas.’”

He bowed a humble negative; and I went on to state that, our mining operations requiring co-operation and assistance, we desired to open relations with the great house of Don Xafire, whose good fame was well established on the ‘Change of Liverpool.

“You spoke of paper securities and such like, Señhor; may I ask of what nature they are?”

“You shall see them, Don Xafire,” said I, opening a very magnificent pocket-book, and presenting first a receipt, dated forty-eight years back, for the sum of twelve thousand piastres in silver, and four bags, weighing two hundred and eighty pounds of gold dust, from the hands of Menelaus Crick, of the mines of Hajoras, near Guajuaqualla. The Spaniard’s dark cheek trembled, and a faint tinge of sickly yellow seemed to replace the dusky olive of his tint, as he said, “This is but waste paper, Señhor, and I trust your excellent house has advanced nothing on its credit.”

“On the contrary, Señhor Banquiero,” responded I, “we have given the full sum, being much advised thereto by competent counsel.”

The battle was now opened, and the combat begun.

It is needless I should weary my reader by recapitulating the tissue of inventions in which, as in a garment, I wrapped myself. I saw quickly that if I was a rogue, so was my antagonist, and that for every stratagem I possessed, he was equally ready with another. At last, pushed hard by his evasions, equivocations, and subterfuges, I was driven to utter a shadowy kind of menace, in which I artfully contrived to mix the name of the General Santa Anna, – a word, in those days, of more than talismanic power.

“And this reminds me,” said I, “that one of my suite who lost his way, and was taken prisoner in the Rocky Mountains, committed to my charge a letter, in which I fancy the General is interested.” This was a random shot, but it struck the bull’s-eye through the very centre. The Señhora Dias’s letter was enclosed in an envelope, in which a few words only were written; but these, few as they were, were sufficient to create considerable emotion in Don Xafire, who retired into a window to read and re-read them.

Another shot, thought I, and he’s disabled! “It is needless, then, Don Xafire, to prolong an interview which promises so little. I will therefore take my leave; my next communication will reach you through the General Santa Anna.”

“May I not crave a little time for consideration, Señhor?” said he, humbly. “These are weighty considerations; there may be other demands still heavier in store for us of the same kind.”

“You are right, Señhor; there are other and still heavier claims, as you very properly opine. Some of them I have here with me; others are in the hands of our house; but all shall be forthcoming, I assure you.”

“What may be the gross amount, Señhor?” said the banker, trying, but very ineffectually, to look at his ease.

“Without pretending to minute accuracy, I should guess the sum at something like seven hundred thousand piastres, – this, exclusive of certain claims for compensation usual in cases of inquiry. You understand me, I believe.” The last menace was a shot in the very centre of his magazine, and so the little usurer felt it, as he fidgeted among his papers and concealed his face from me.

“Come, Señhor Xafire,” said I, with the air of a man who means to deal mercifully, and not to crush the victim in his power, “I will be moderate with you. These bills and receipts shall be all placed in your hands on payment of the sums due, without any demand for interest whatever. We will not speak of the other claims at all. The transaction shall be strictly in honor between us, and nothing shall ever transpire to your disadvantage regarding it. Is this enough?”

The struggle in the banker’s mind was a difficult one; but after several hours passed in going over the papers, after much discussion, and some altercation, I gained the day; and when I arose to take my leave, it was with my pocket-book stuffed full of bills on Pernambuco, Mexico, Santa Cruz, and the Havannah, with letters of credit, bonds, and other securities; the whole amounting to four hundred thousand piastres. The remaining sum of three hundred thousand, I had agreed to leave in Don Xafire’s hands at reasonable interest. In fact, I was but too happy in the possession of so much to think twice about what became of the remainder.

I presented my friend Xafire with my ruby brooch, as a souvenir, – not, indeed, that he needed anything to remind him of our acquaintance; and we parted with all the regrets of brothers about to separate.

“You will stay some days with us here, I hope?” said he, as he conducted me to my carriage.

“I intend a short visit to some of the old ‘Placers’ in your neighborhood,” replied I, “after which I mean to return here;” and so, with a last embrace, we parted.

My next care was to pay a visit to Don Estaban, for I was burning with anxiety to see Donna Maria once more, and to open my campaign as a rich suitor for her hand. The day chosen for this expedition seemed a fortunate one, for the road, which led through a succession of vineyards, was thronged with townspeople and peasants in gay holiday dresses, all wending their way in the same direction with ourselves. I asked the reason, and heard that it was the fête of the Virgin de los Dolores, whose chapel was on the estate of Don Estaban. I bethought me of the time when I had planned a pilgrimage to that same shrine, – little suspecting that I was to make it in my carriage, with six mules and two outriders!

In less than an hour’s drive we came in sight of Don Estaban’s villa, built on the side of a richly wooded mountain, and certainly not betraying any signs of the reduced fortune of which I had heard. A series of gardens, all terraced in the mountain, lay in front, among which fountains were playing and jets d’eau springing. A small lake spread its calm surface beneath, reflecting the whole scene as in a mirror, with its feathery palm-trees and blossoming mimosas, beneath whose shade hundreds of visitors were loitering or sitting, while the tinkling sounds of guitar and mandolin broke the stillness.

It was a strange and curious sight; for while pleasure seemed to hold unbounded sway on every side, the procession of priests in rich vestments, the smoke of censers, the red robes of acolytes, mingled with the throng, and the deep chanting of the liturgies was blended with the laughter of children and the merry sounds of light-hearted joy. “I have come in the very nick of time,” thought I, “to complete this scene of festivity;” and finding that my carriage could only advance slowly along the crowded avenue, I descended, and proceeded on foot, merely attended by two lacqueys to make way for me in front.

A lively controversy ran among the spectators at each side of me, of which I was evidently the subject, some averring that I was there as a portion of the pageant, an integral feature in the procession; others, with equal discrimination, insisting that my presence was a polite attention on the part of Our Lady de “Los Dolores,” who had sent an illustrious personage to grace the festival as her representative. On one point all were agreed, – that my appearance amongst them was a favor which a whole life of devotion to me could not repay; and so rapidly was this impression propagated that it sped up the long approach through various groups and knots of people, and actually reached the villa itself long before my august person arrived at the outer court.

Never was dignity – at least such dignity as mine – intrusted to better hands than those of my “Caçadores.” They swaggered along, pushing back the crowds on each side as though it were a profanation to press too closely upon me. They flourished their great gold-headed canes as if they would smash the skulls of those whose eager curiosity outstepped the reverence due to me; and when at length we reached the gates of the court-yard, they announced my name with a grandeur and pomp of utterance that, I own it frankly, actually appalled myself! I had not, however, much time given me for such weaknesses, as, directly in front of the villa, at a table spread beneath an awning of blue silk, sat a goodly company, whose splendor of dress and profusion of jewellery bespoke them the great guests of the occasion. The host – it was easy to detect him by the elevated seat he occupied – rose as I came forward, and, with a humility I never can praise too highly, assured me that if any choice were permitted him in the matter, he would prefer dying on the spot, now that his worldly honors could never exceed the triumph of that day; that all the happiness of the festivity was as gloom and darkness to his soul, compared to the brilliancy my presence diffused; and not only was everything he owned mine from that moment forth, but, he ardently hoped he might have a long line of grandchildren and great-grandchildren to be my slaves in succeeding generations.

While the worthy man poured forth these “truths” in all the flourish of his purest Castilian, and while I listened to them with the condescending urbanity with which a sovereign may be presumed to hear the strains of some national melody in their praise, as pleasant, though somewhat stale, another individual was added to the group, whose cunning features evinced nothing either of the host’s reverence or of my grandeur. This was Fra Miguel, the Friar, who, in a costume of extraordinary simplicity, stood staring fixedly at me.

“Il Condé de Cregauo!” repeated Don Estaban. “I have surely heard the name before. Your highness is doubtless a grandee of Spain?”

“Of the first class!” said I, with a slight cough; for the confounded Friar never took his eyes off me.

“And we have met before, Señhor Condé,” said he, with a most equivocal stress upon the last words. “How pleasant for me to thank the Condé for what I believed I owed to the mere wayfarer.” These words he uttered in a whisper close to my own ear.

“Better that, than ungratefully desert a benefactor!” said I, in the same low tone; then, turning to Don Estaban, who stood amazed at our dramatic asides, I told him pretty much what I had already related to the banker at Guajuaqualla; only adding that during an excursion which it was my caprice to make alone and unaccompanied, I had been able to render a slight service to his fair daughter, Donna Maria de Los Dolores, and that I could not pass the neighborhood without inquiring after her health, and craving permission to kiss her hand.

“Is this the Señhor Cregan of the ‘Rio del Crocodielo ‘?” cried Don Estaban, in rapture.

“The same whom we left in safe keeping with our Brothers of Mercy, at Bexar!” exclaimed the Friar, in affected amazement.

“The very same, Fra Miguel, whom you humanely consigned to the Lazaretto of Bexar, – an establishment which has as little relation to ‘mercy’ as need be; the same who, having resumed the rank and station that belong to him, can afford to forget your cold-hearted desertion.”

“San Joachim of Ulloa knows if I did not pay for masses for your soul’s repose!” exclaimed he.

“A very little care of me in this world,” said I, “had been to the full as agreeable as all your solicitations for me in the next; and as for San Joachim,” added I, “no witness can be received as evidence who will not appear in court.”

“It is a pleasure to see your Excellency in the perfect enjoyment of your faculties,” said the Fra, with a deceitful smile; but I paid little attention to his sneer, and turned willingly to Don Estaban, whose grateful acknowledgments were beyond all bounds. He vowed that he owed his daughter’s life to my heroism, and that he and she, and all that were theirs, were mine.

“Very gratifying tidings these,” thought I, “for a man who only asks for an ‘instalment of his debt,’ and will be satisfied with the lady.”

“Maria shall tell you so herself,” added Don Estaban, in a perfect paroxysm of grateful emotion. “Don Lopez y Cuesta y Goloso can never forget your noble conduct.” Not caring much how retentive the memory of the aforesaid hidalgo might prove, – whom I at once set down as an uncle or a godfather, – I hastened after the host to where his daughter sat at the table. I had but time to see that she was dressed in black, with a profusion of diamonds scattered, not only through her hair, but over her dress, when she arose, and, ere I could prevent it, fell at my feet and covered my hands with kisses, calling me her “Salvador,” in a voice of the wildest enthusiasm, – an emotion which seemed most electrically to seize upon the whole company; for I was now laid hold of by every limb, and hugged, kissed, and embraced by a score of people, the large majority of whom, I grieve to say, were the very hardest specimens of what is called the softer sex.