Confessions Of Con Cregan, the Irish Gil Blas

One member of the company maintained a look of cold distrust towards me, the very opposite of all this cordiality. This was Don Lopez, who did not need this air of dislike to appear to my eyes the ugliest mortal I had ever beheld. He was exceedingly short of stature, but of an immense breadth; and yet, even with this, his head was far too big for his body. A huge spherical mass, party-colored with habits of debauch, looked like a terrestrial globe, of which the mouth represented the equator. His attempts at embellishment had even made him more horrible; for he wore a great wig, with long curls flowing upon his shoulders, and his immense moustachios were curled into a series of circles, like a ram’s horn. His nose had been divided across the middle by what seemed the slash of a cutlass, the cicatrix remaining of an angry red color, amid the florid hue of the countenance.

The expression of these benign features did not disgrace their symmetry. It was a cross between a scowl and a sneer; the eyes and brow performed the former, the mouth assuming the latter function.

Blushing with shame and trembling with emotion, Maria led me towards him, and, in accents I can never forget, told how I had rescued her in the passage of the Crocodile River. The wretch scowled more darkly than before, as he listened, and when she ended, he muttered something between his bloated lips that sounded marvellously like “Picaro!”

“Your godfather scarcely seems so grateful as one might expect, Señhora,” said I.

“Muerte de Dios!” he burst out, “I am her husband.”

Whether it was the simple fact so palpably brought forward, the manner of its announcement, or the terrible curse that involuntarily fell from my lips, I know not, but Donna Maria fell down in a swoon. Fainting, among foreigners, I have often found, is regarded next door to actually dying; and so it was here. A scene of terror and dismay burst forth that soon converted the festivity into an uproar of wild confusion. Every one screamed for aid, and dashed water in his neighbor’s face. The few who retained any presence of mind filled out large bumpers of wine, and drank them off. Meanwhile, Donna Maria was sufficiently recovered to be conducted into the house, whither she was followed by her “marido,” Don Lopez, whose last look as he passed me was one of insulting defiance.

The cause of order having triumphed, as the newspapers say, I was led to one side by Don Estaban, who in a few words told me that Don Lopez was a special envoy from the Court of Madrid, come out to arrange some disputed question of a debt between the two countries; that he was a Grandee d’Espana, a Golden Fleece, and I don’t know what besides; his title of Donna Maria’s husband being more than enough to swallow up every other consideration with me. The ceremony had been performed that very morning. It was the wedding breakfast I had thrown into such confusion and dismay.

Don Estaban, in his triumphal narrative of his daughter’s great elevation in rank, of the proud place she would occupy in the proud court of the Escurial, her wealth, her splendor, and her dignity, could not repress the fatherly sorrow he felt at such a disproportioned union; nor could he say anything of his son-in-law but what concerned his immense fortune. “Had it been you, Señhor Condé,” cried he, throwing himself into my arms, – “you, young, handsome, and well-born as you are, I had been happy.”

“Is it too late, Don Estaban?” said I, passionately. “I have wealth that does not yield to Don Lopez, and Maria is not – at least, she was not – indifferent regarding me.”

“Oh, it is too late, far too late!” cried the father, wringing his hands.

“Let me speak with Maria herself. Let me also speak with this Don Lopez. I may be able to make him understand reason, however dull his comprehension.”

“This cannot be, Señhor Caballero,” said another voice. It was Fra Miguel, who, having heard all that passed, now joined the colloquy. “Nothing short of a dispensation from the Holy See could annul the marriage, and Don Lopez is not likely to ask for one.”

“I will not suffer it,” cried I, in desperation. “I would rather carry her away by force than permit such a desecration.”

“Hush! for the love of the Virgin, Señhor,” cried Don Estaban. “Don Lopez is captain of the Alguazils of the Guard, and a Grand Inquisitor.”

“What signifies that in Mexico?” said I, boldly.

“More than you think for, Señhor,” whispered Fra Miguel. “We have not ceased to be good Catholics, although we are no longer subjects of Old Spain.” There was an air of cool menace in the way these words were spoken that made me feel very ill at ease. I soon rallied, however, and, drawing the Friar to one side, said, “How many crowns will buy a candelabrum worthy of your chapel?”

He looked at me fixedly for a few seconds, and his shrewd features assumed a character of almost comic cunning. “The Virgin de los Dolores is too simple for such luxuries, Señhor Condé,” said he, with a sly drollery.

“Would she not condescend to wear a few gems in her petticoat?” asked I, with the easy assurance of one not to be balked.

“She has no pleasure in such vanities,” said the Fra, with an hypocritical casting down of his eyes.

“Would she not accept of an embroidered handkerchief,” said I, “to dry her tears? I have known one of this pattern to possess the most extraordinary powers of consolation;” and as I spoke I drew forth a bank-note of some amount, and gently drew it across his knuckles.

A slight tremor shook his frame, and a short, convulsive motion was perceptible in the hand I had “galvanized;” but in an instant, with his habitual calm smile and mellow voice, he said, “Your piety will bring a blessing upon you, Señhor, but our poor shrine is unused to such princely donations.”

“Confound the old hypocrite,” muttered I to myself; “what is he at? – Fra Miguel,” said I, assuming the business-like manner of a man who could not afford to lose time, “the Virgin may be, and doubtless is, all that you say of her; but there must needs be many excellent and devout men here, yourself doubtless among the number, who see numberless objects of charity, for whom their hearts bleed in vain. Take this, and remember that he who gave it, only asks as a return your prayers and good wishes.”

The Friar deposited the present in some inscrutable fold of his loose garment, and then, drawing himself proudly up, said, “Well, now what is it?”

“Am I too late?” asked I, with the same purpose-like tone.

“Of course you are; the ceremony is finished, the contracts are signed and witnessed. In an hour they will be away on their road to the Havannah.”

“You have no consolation to offer me, – no hope?”

“None of an earthly character,” said he, with a half-closed eye.

“Confound your hypocrisy!” cried I, in a rage.

“Don’t be profane,” said he, calmly. “What I have said is true. Heaven will some day take Don Lopez, – he is too good for this wicked world; and then, who knows what may happen?”

This was but sorry comfort, waiting for the bride to become a widow; but, alas, I had no better! Besides it had cost me a heavy sum to obtain, and accordingly I prized it the more highly.

If my anxieties were acute, apparently Don Lopez’s mind was not in a state of perfect serenity. He stormed and raved at everybody and everything. He saw, or, what was pretty much the same thing, he fancied he saw, a plot in the whole business, and swore he would bring the vengeance of the Holy Office upon everybody concerned in it. In this blessed frame of mind the departure of the newly wedded pair took place in spite of all my entreaties; Don Lopez drove away with his young bride, – the last I beheld of her was a white hand waving a handkerchief from the window of the carriage. I looked, and – she was gone!

If some were kind-hearted enough to pity me, the large majority of the company felt very differently, and bore anything but friendly feelings to one who had marred the festivities and cut short – Heaven could only tell by what number of days – the eating, dancing, singing, and merriment.

The old ladies were peculiarly severe in their comments, averring that no well-bred man would have thought of interfering with a marriage. It was quite time enough to talk of his passion when the others were six or eight months married!

Of the younger ladies, a few condoled with me, praised my heroism and my constancy, and threw out sly hints that when I tried my luck next, fortune might possibly be more generous to me. Don Estaban himself appeared to sympathize sincerely with my sorrow, and evinced the warmest sense of gratitude for the past. Even the Fra tried a little good-nature; but it sat ill upon him, and it was easy to see that he entertained a great mistrust of me.

From the brief experience of what I suffered in these few days, I am decidedly of opinion that rich men are far more impatient under reverses and disappointments than poor ones! It was a marvellous change for one like me, whose earlier years, it is unnecessary to remind the reader, were not passed in the lap of that comfortable wet nurse called “affluence;” and yet with all this brilliant present and still more fascinating future, at the very first instance of an opposition to my will, I grew sad, dispirited, and morose. I should have been very angry with myself for my ingratitude, but that I set it all down to the score of love; and so I went about the house, visiting each room where Donna Maria used to sit, reading her books, gazing at her picture, and feeding my mind with a hundred fancies which the next moment of thought told me were now impossible.

Don Estaban, whose grief for the loss of his daughter was in a manner divided with mine, would not suffer me to leave him; and although the place itself served to keep open the wound of my regret, and the Fra’s presence was anything but conciliatory, I passed several days at the villa.

It would have been the greatest relief to me could I have persuaded myself to be candid with Don Estaban, and told him frankly the true story of my life. I felt that all the consolations which he offered me were of no avail, simply because I had misled him! The ingenious tissue of fiction in which I enveloped myself was a web so thin that it tore whenever I stirred, and my whole time was spent, as it were, in darning, patching, and piecing the frail garment with which I covered my nakedness.

A dozen times every day I jumped up, determined to reveal my humble history; but as regularly did a sentiment of false shame hold me back, and a dread of old Fra Miguel’s malicious leer, should he hear the story. Another, and a strange feeling, too, influenced me. My imaginary rank, birth, and station had, from the mere force of repetition, grown to be a portion of myself. I had played the part with such applause before the world that I could not find in my heart to retire behind the scenes and resume the humble dress of my real condition.

By way of distracting my gloomy thoughts, I made little excursions in the surrounding country, in one of which I contrived to revisit the “placer,” and carry away all the treasure which I had left behind me. This was much more considerable than I had at first believed, the gems being of a size and beauty far beyond any I had ever seen before; while the gold, in actual coined money, amounted to a large sum.

Affecting to have changed my original intention of investing a great capital in the mines of Mexico, and resolved instead to return to Europe, I consulted Don Estaban as to the safest hands in which to deposit my money. He named a certain wealthy firm at the Havannah, and gave me a letter of introduction to them, requesting for me all the attention in their power to bestow; and so we parted.

It was with sincere sorrow I shook his hand for the last time; his cordiality was free-hearted and affectionate; and I carry with me, to this hour, the memory of his wise counsels and honest precepts, as treasures, not the least costly, I brought away with me from the New World.

I arrived safely at the Havannah, travelling in princely state with two carriages and a great baggage-wagon guarded by four mounted “carabinieros” who had taken a solemn oath at the shrine of a certain Saint Magalano to eat any bandits who should molest us, – a feat of digestion which I was not sorry their devotion was spared.

The bankers to whom Don Estaban’s letters introduced me were most profuse in their offers of attention, and treated me with all the civilities reserved for the most favored client. I only accepted, however, one invitation to dinner, to meet the great official dignitaries of the place, and the use of their box each evening at the opera, affecting to make delicacy of health the reason of not frequenting society, – a pretext I had often remarked in use among people of wealth and distinction, among whose privileges there is that of being sick without suffering.

There was a French packet-ship to sail for Malaga in about ten days after my arrival; and as I knew that Don Lopez intended to leave that port for Europe, I quietly waited in the Havannah, determined to be his fellow-traveller. In preparing for this voyage, every thought of my mind was occupied, resolved to outdo the old Spaniard in luxury and magnificence. I ordered the most costly clothes, I engaged the most accomplished servants, I bespoke everything which could make the tediousness of the sea less irksome, even to the services of a distinguished performer on the guitar, who was about to visit Europe, and engaged to begin his journey under such distinguished patronage as that of the Condé de Cregano.

What wonderful speculations did I revel in as I pictured to myself Don Lopez’s ineffectual rage, and his fair wife’s satisfaction, when I should first make my appearance on deck, – an appearance which I artfully devised should not take place until we were some days at sea! What agonies of jealousy should I not inflict upon the old Castilian! what delicate flatteries should I not offer up to the Donna! I had laid in a store of moss-rose plants, to present her with a fresh bouquet every morning; and then I would serenade her each night beneath the very window of her cabin. So perfectly had I arranged all these details to my own satisfaction that the voyage began to appear a mere pleasure excursion, every portion of whose enjoyment originated with me, and all whose blanks and disappointments owed their paternity to Don Lopez; so that, following up these self-created convictions in my usual sanguine manner, I firmly persuaded myself that the worthy husband would either go mad or jump overboard before we landed at Malaga. Let not the reader fall into the error of supposing that hatred to Don Lopez was uppermost in my thoughts, – far from it; I wished him in heaven every hour of the twenty-four, and would willingly have devoted one-half of my fortune to make a saint of him in the next world, rather than make a martyr in this.

I was walking one evening in my banker’s garden, chatting pleasantly on indifferent topics, when, on ascending a little eminence, we came in view of the sea. It was a calm and lovely evening, a very light land breeze was just rippling the waters of the bay, fringing the blue with white, when we saw the graceful spars of a small sloop of war emerge from beneath the shadow of the tall cliffs and stand out to sea.

“The ‘Moschetta,’” said he, “has got a fair wind, and will be out of sight of land by daybreak.”

“Whither is she bound?” asked I, carelessly.

“For Cadiz,” said he; “she came into port only this morning, and is already off again.”

“With despatches, perhaps?” I remarked, with the same tone of indifference.

“No, Señhor; she came to convey Don Lopez y Geloso, the Spanish ambassador, back to Madrid.”

“And is he on board of her now?” screamed I, in a perfect paroxysm of terror. “Is she too?”

“He embarked about an hour ago, with his bride and suite,” said the astonished banker, who evidently was not quite sure of his guest’s sanity.

Overwhelmed by these tidings, which gave at once the death-blow to all my plans, I could not speak, but sat down upon a seat, my gaze fixed upon the vessel which carried all my dearest hopes.

“You probably desired to see his Excellency before he sailed?” said the banker, timidly, after waiting a long time in the expectation that I would speak.

“Most anxiously did I desire it,” said I, shrouding my sorrow under an affectation of important state solicitude.

“What a misfortune,” exclaimed he, “that you should have missed him! In all likelihood, had you seen him, he would have agreed to our terms.”

“You are right,” said I, shaking my head sententiously, and neither guessing nor caring what he alluded to.

“So that he would have accepted the guarantee,” exclaimed the banker, with increased excitement.

“He would have accepted the guarantee,” echoed I, without the remotest idea of what the words could mean.

“Oh, Madré de Dios, what an unhappy mischance is this! Is it yet too late? Alas! the breeze is freshening, – the sloop is already sinking beyond the horizon; to overtake her would be impossible! And you say that the guarantee would have been accepted?”

“You may rely upon it,” said I, the more confidently as I saw that the ship was far beyond the chance of pursuit.

“What a benefactor to this country you might have been, Señhor, had you done us this service!” cried the banker, with enthusiasm.

“Well, it is too late to think of it now,” said I, rather captiously; for I began to be worried with the mystification.

“Of course, for the present it is too late; but when you arrive in Europe, Señhor Condé, when you are once more in the land where your natural influence holds sway, may we entertain the hope that you will regard our case with the same favorable eyes?”

“Yes, yes,” said I, with impatience, “if I see no reason to change my opinions.”

“Upon the subject of the original loan there can be no doubt, Señhor Condé.”

“Perhaps not,” said I; “but these are questions I must decline entering upon. You will yourself perceive that any discussion of them would be inconvenient and indiscreet.”

The diplomatic reserve of this answer checked the warmth of his importunity, and he bashfully withdrew, leaving me to the undisturbed consideration of my own thoughts.

I sat till it was already near midnight, gazing on the sea, my eyes still turned to the track by which the vessel had disappeared, and at last rose to retire, when, to my amazement, I perceived my friend the banker, accompanied by another person, approaching towards me.

“Señhor Condé,” said he, in a mysterious whisper, “this is his Excellency the Governor;” and with these words, uttered in all the reverence of awe, he retired, leaving me face to face with a tall, dignified-looking personage, whose figure was concealed in the folds of a great cloak.

In all the formal politeness of his rank and country, the Governor begged I would be seated, and took his place beside me. He explained how the banker, one of the richest and most respected men in the Havannah, had informed him of my gracious intentions respecting them, and the sad mishap by which my mediation was foiled. He entered at length into the question of the debt, and all its financial difficulties, – which, even had they been far less intricate and complicated, would have puzzled a head which never had the bump arithmetical. How he himself saw his way through the labyrinth, I know not; but had the sum been a moderate one, I vow I would rather have paid it myself than investigate it any farther, such an inextricable mass of complications, doubles, and difficulties did it involve.

“Thus, you perceive,” said he, at the close of a formidable sum of figures, “that these eighteen millions made no part of the old loan, but were, in fact, the first deposit of what is called the ‘Cuba debt;’ not that it ever should have had that name, which more properly belonged to the original Poyais three-and-a-half – You understand me?”

“Perfectly; proceed.”

“That being the case, our liability is reduced to the sum of twenty-seven millions on the old four-and-a-quarters.”

“Clearly so.”

“Now we approach the difficult part of the matter,” said he, “and I must entreat your most marked attention; for here lies the point which has hitherto proved the stumbling-block in the way of every negotiation.”

I promised the strictest attention, and kept my word till I found myself in a maze of figures where compound interest and decimal fractions danced a reel together, whose evolutions would have driven Mr. Babbage distracted; while the Governor, now grown “warm in the harness,” kept exclaiming at every instant, “Do you see how the ‘Ladrones’ want to cheat us here? Do you perceive what the Picaros intend by that?”

If I could not follow his arithmetic, I could at least sympathize in his enthusiasm; and I praised the honor of the Mexicans, while I denounced “the cause of roguery” over the face of the globe, to his heart’s content.

“You are satisfied about the original debt, Señhor Condé?” at last said he, after a “four-mile heat” of explanation.

“Most thoroughly,” said I, bowing.

“You’d not wish for anything farther on that head?”

“Not a syllable.”

“And as to the Cuba instalment, you see the way in which the first scrip became entangled in the Chihuahua ‘fives,’ don’t you?”

“Plain as my hand before me.”

“Then, of course, you acknowledge our right to the reserve fund?”

“I don’t see how it can be disputed,” said I.

“And yet that is precisely what the Madrid Government contest!”

“What injustice!” exclaimed I.

“Evident as it is to your enlightened understanding, Señhor Condé, you are, nevertheless, the first man I have ever found to take the right view of this transaction. It is a real pleasure to discuss a state question with a great man.”

Hereupon we both burst forth into an animated duet of compliments, in which, I am bound to confess, the Governor was the victor.

“And now, Señhor Condé,” said he, after a long volley of panegyric, “may we reckon upon your support in this affair?”

“You must understand, first of all, Excellenza,” replied I, “that I am not in any way an official personage. I am,” – here I smiled with a most fascinating air of mock humility, – “I am, so to speak, a humble – a very humble – individual, of unpretending rank and small fortune.”

“Ah, Señhor Condé,” sighed the Governor, for he had heard of my ingots from the banker.

“Being as I say,” resumed I, “my influence is naturally small. If I am listened to in a matter of political importance, I owe the courtesy rather to the memory of my family’s services than to any insignificant merits I may possess. The cause of justice is, however, never weak, no matter how humble the means of him who asserts it. Such as I am, rely upon me.”

We embraced here, and the Governor shed a few official tears at the thought of so soon separating from one he regarded as more than his brother.

“We feel, Señhor Condé,” said he, “how inadequate any recognition of ours must be for services such as yours. We are a young country and a Republic; honors we have none to bestow, – wealth is already your own; we have nothing to offer, therefore, but our gratitude.”

“Be it so,” thought I; “the burden will not increase my luggage.”

“This box will remind you, however, of an interview, and recall one who deems this the happiest, as it is the proudest, hour of his life;” here he presented me with a splendid gold snuff-box containing a miniature of the President, surrounded by enormous diamonds.

Resolving not to be outdone in generosity, and at least not to be guilty of dishonesty before my own conscience, I insisted upon the Governor’s acceptance of my watch, – a very costly repeater, studded with precious stones.

“The arms of my family – the Cregans are Irish – will bring me to your recollection,” said I, pointing to a very magnificent heraldic display on the timepiece, wherein figured the ancient crown of Ireland over a shield, in one compartment of which was an “eye winking,” the motto being the Gaelic word “Nabocklish,” signifying “Maybe not,” ironically.

I will not dwell upon the other particulars of an interview which lasted till nigh morning. It will be sufficient to mention that I was presented with letters of introduction and recommendation to the Mexican Ministers at Paris and Madrid, instructing them to show me every attention, and desiring them to extend to me their entire confidence, particularly to furnish me with introductions to any official personages with whom I desired to be acquainted. This was all that I wanted; for I was immensely rich, and only needed permission to pass the door of the “great world,” to mingle in that society for which my heart yearned and longed unceasingly.