Blackwood\'s Edinburgh Magazine, No. CCCXXXII. by Various

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After all, it is no unreasonable charity to believe, that what was
unworthy and unsound in his character, and probably in his physical
temperament, might, under more auspicious circumstances of condition and
training, have been kept in check till utterly expelled by the force of
his own maturer mind. In weighing his faults against his genius and its
better fruits, it should never be forgotten that when he terminated his
existence he was only seventeen years and nine months old.

"More wounds than nature gave he knew,
While misery's form his fancy drew
In dark ideal hues and horrors not its own."[39]

May we not even dare to hope, then, though he "perished in his pride,"
that he is still a living genius, assoiled of that foul stain of
self-murder, and a chartered spiritualized melody where want and trouble
madden not?

[39] T. Warton's "Suicide."

* * * * *

IGNACIO GUERRA AND EL SANGRADOR;

A TALE OF CIVIL WAR.

On a June evening in the year 1839, four persons were assembled in the
balcony of a pleasant little villa, some half-league from the town of
Logrono in Navarre. The site of the house in question was a narrow
valley, formed by a double range of wood-covered hills, the lower limbs
of a mountain chain that bounded the horizon some miles in rear of the
villa. The house itself was a long, low building, of which the white
stone walls had acquired the mellow tint that time and exposure to the
seasons can alone impart. A solid balcony of carved unpainted oak ran
completely round the house, its breadth preventing the rays of the sun
from entering the rooms on the ground floor, and thereby converting them
into a cool and delightful refuge from the heats of summer. The windows
of the first and only story opened upon this balcony, which, in its
turn, received shelter from a roof of yellow canes, laid side by side,
and fastened by innumerable packthreads, in the same way as Indian
matting. This sort of awning was supported by light wooden pillars,
placed at distances of five or six feet from each other, and
corresponding with the more massive columns that sustained the balcony.
At the foot of these latter, various creeping plants had taken root. A
broad-leafed vine pushed its knotty branches and curled tendrils up to
the very roof of the dwelling, and a passion-flower displayed its
mystical purple blossoms nearly at as great a height; while the small
white stars of the jasmine glittered among its narrow dark-green leaves,
and every passing breeze wafted the scent of the honeysuckle and
clematis through the open windows, in puffs of overpowering fragrance.

About two hundred yards to the right of the house, rose one of the
ranges of hills already mentioned, and on the opposite side the eye
glanced over some of those luxuriant corn-fields which form so important
a part of the riches of the fertile province of Navarre. The ground in
front of the villa was tastefully laid out as a flower garden, and,
midway between two magnificent chestnut trees, a mountain rivulet fell
into a large stone basin, and fed a fountain, from which it was spouted
twenty feet into the air, greatly to the refreshment of the surrounding
pastures.

The party that on the evening in question was enjoying the scent of the
flowers and the song of the nightingales, to which the neighbouring
trees afforded a shelter, consisted, in the first place, of Don Torribio
Olana, a wealthy proprietor of La Rioja, and owner of the country-house
that has been described. He had been long used to pass the hot months of
each year at this pleasant retreat; and it was no small calamity to him
when the civil war that broke out on the death of Ferdinand, rendered it
scarcely safe, in Navarre at least, to live out of musket-shot of a
garrison. Sometimes, however, and in spite of the advice of his friends,
who urged him to greater prudence, the worthy Riojano would mount his
easy-going round-quartered cob, and leave the town for a few hours'
rustication at his _Retiro_. After a time, finding himself unmolested
either by Carlists or by the numerous predatory bands that overran the
country, he took for companions of his excursions his daughter
Gertrudis, and an orphan niece, to whom he supplied the place of a
father. Five years of impunity were taken as a guarantee for future
safety, and Don Torribio now no longer hesitated to pass the night at
his country-house as often as he found it convenient. It was observed,
also, that many of those persons who had at first loudly blamed him for
risking his neck, and that of his daughter and niece, in order to enjoy
a purer atmosphere than could be inhaled in the dusty streets of
Logrono, at length gathered so much courage from his example, as to
accompany him out to the _Retiro_, and eat his excellent dinners, and
empty his cobweb-covered bottles, without allowing their fear of the
Carlists to diminish their thirst or disturb their digestion.

Upon this occasion, however, the only guest was a young and handsome
man, whose sunburnt countenance and military gait bespoke the soldier,
while a double stripe of gold lace on the cuff of his blue frock-coat,
marked his rank as that of lieutenant-colonel. Although not more than
thirty years of age, Don Ignacio Guerra had already attained a grade
which is often the price of as many years' service; but his rapid
promotion was so well justified by his merit and gallantry, that few
were found to complain of a preference which all felt was deserved. Both
by moral and physical qualities, he was admirably suited to the
profession he had embraced. Slender in person, but well knit and
muscular, he possessed extraordinary activity, and a capacity of
enduring great fatigue. Indulgent to those under his command, and
self-denying in all that regarded himself personally, his enthusiasm for
the cause he served was such, that during nearly two years that he had
been the accepted lover of Donna Gertrudis Olana, this was only the
second time he had left his regiment for a few days' visit to his
affianced bride. He had arrived at Logrono the preceding day from a town
lower down the Ebro, where the battalion he commanded was stationed; and
Don Torribio, with whom he was a great favourite, had lost no time in
taking him out to the _Retiro_; nor, perhaps, were the lovers sorry to
leave the noise and bustle of the town for this calm and peaceful
retreat.

It was about an hour after sunset, and Don Torribio sat dozing in an
arm-chair, with his old black dog Moro coiled up at his feet, and his
niece Teresa beside him, busying herself in the arrangement of a bouquet
of choice flowers, while at the other end of the balcony Gertrudis and
her lover were looking out upon the garden. The silence was unbroken,
save by the splashing noise of the fountain as it fell back upon the
water-lilies that covered its basin. The moon was as yet concealed
behind the high ground to the right of the house; but the sky in that
direction was lighted up by its beams, and the outline of every tree and
bush on the summit of the hill was defined and cut out, as it were,
against the clear blue background. Suddenly Gertrudis called her
companion's attention to the neighbouring mountain. "See, Ignacio!"
exclaimed she, "yonder bush on the very highest point of the hill! Could
not one almost fancy it to be a man with a gun in his hand? and that
clump of leaves on the top bough might be the _boina_ of one of those
horrid Carlists?"

While she spoke the officer ran his eye along the ridge of the hill, and
started when he caught sight of the object pointed out by Gertrudis; but
before he could reply to her remark, she was called away by her father.
At that moment the supposed bush made a sudden movement, and the long
bright barrel of a musket glittered in the moonbeams. The next instant
the figure disappeared as suddenly as though it had sunk into the earth.

The Christino colonel remained for a moment gazing on the mountain, and
then, turning away, hastened to accompany his host and the ladies, who
had received a summons to supper. On reaching the foot of the stairs,
however, instead of following them into the supper-room, he passed
through the house-door, which stood open, and, after a moment's halt in
the shade of the lattice portico, sprang forward with a light and
noiseless step, and in three or four bounds found himself under one of
the large chestnut trees that stood on either side the fountain. Keeping
within the black shadow thrown by the branches, he cast a keen and
searching glance over the garden and shrubberies, now partially lighted
up by the moon. Nothing was moving either in the garden, or as far as he
could see into the adjacent country. He was about to return to the
house, when a blow on the back of the head stretched him stunned upon
the ground. In an instant a slip-knot was drawn tight round his wrists,
and his person securely pinioned by a strong cord to the tree under
which he had been standing. A cloth was crammed into his mouth to
prevent his calling out, and the three men who had thus rapidly and
dexterously effected his capture, darted off in the direction of the
house.

Desperate were the efforts made by Don Ignacio to free himself from his
bonds, and his struggles became almost frantic, when the sound of a
scuffle in the house, followed by the piercing shrieks of women, reached
his ears. He succeeded in getting rid of the handkerchief that gagged
him, but the rope with which his arms were bound, and that had
afterwards been twined round his body and the tree, withstood his utmost
efforts. In vain did he throw himself forward with all his strength,
striking his feet furiously against the trunk of the tree, and writhing
his arms till the sharp cord cut into the very sinew. The rope appeared
rather tightened than slackened by his violence. The screams and noise
in the house continued; he was sufficiently near to hear the hoarse
voices and obscene oaths of the banditti--the prayers for mercy of their
victims. At length the shrieks became less frequent and fainter, and at
last they died away entirely.

Two hours had elapsed since Ignacio had been made prisoner, hours that
to him appeared centuries. Exhausted by the violence of his exertions,
and still more by the mental agony he had endured, his head fell forward
on his breast, a cold sweat stood upon his forehead, and had it not been
for the cords that held him up, he would have fallen to the ground. He
was roused from this state of exhaustion and despair by the noise of
approaching footsteps, and by the arrival of a dozen men, three or four
of whom carried torches. They were dressed in the sort of half uniform
worn by the Carlist _volantes_, or irregular troops; round their waists
were leathern belts filled with cartridges, and supporting bayonets and
long knives, in many instances without sheaths. Ignacio observed with a
shudder that several of the ruffians had their hands and weapons stained
with blood.

"Whom have we here?" exclaimed a sallow, evil-visaged fellow, who wore a
pair of tarnished epaulets. "Is this the _negro_ you secured at the
beginning of the affair?"

One of the men nodded assent, and the chief bandit, taking a torch,
passed it before the face of the captive officer.

"_Un militar_!" exclaimed he, observing the uniform button. "Your name
and rank?"

Receiving no reply, he stepped a little on one side, and looked to the
coat-cuff for the usual sign of grade.

"_Teniente coronel_!" cried he on seeing the double stripe.

A man stepped forward, and Ignacio, who knew that death was the best he
had to expect at the hands of these ruffians, and was observing their
proceedings in stern silence, immediately recognized a deserter from his
battalion.

"'Tis the Colonel Ignacio Guerra," said the man; "he commands the first
battalion of the Toledo regiment."

An exclamation of surprise and pleasure burst from the Carlists on
hearing the name of an officer and battalion, well known and justly
dreaded among the adherents of the Pretender. Their leader again threw
the light of the torch on the features of the Christino, and gazed at
him for the space of a minute with an expression of cruel triumph.

"Ha!" exclaimed he, "_el Coronel Guerra! He_ is worth taking to
headquarters."

"We shall have enough to do to get away ourselves, laden as we are,"
said one of the men, pointing to a number of large packages of plunder
lying on the grass hard by. "Who is to take charge of the prisoner? Not
I, for one."

A murmur among the other brigands approved this mutinous speech.

"_Cuatro tiros_," suggested a voice.

"Yes," said the leader, "to bring down the enemy's pickets upon us. They
are not a quarter of a league off. Pedro, lend me your knife. We will
see," he added with a cruel grin, "how the gallant colonel will look
cropped."

A knife-blade glanced for a moment in the torchlight as it was passed
round the head of the Christino officer.

"_Toma! chicos!_" said the savage, as he threw the ears of the unhappy
Ignacio amongst his men. A ferocious laugh from the banditti welcomed
this act of barbarous cruelty.

The leader sheathed the knife twice in his victim's breast before
restoring it to it's owner, and the Carlists, snatching up their booty,
disappeared in the direction of the mountains.

At daybreak the following morning, some peasants going to their labour
in the fields saw the body of the unfortunate officer still fastened to
the tree. They unbound him, and, perceiving some signs of life, carried
him into Logrono, where they gave the alarm. A detachment was
immediately sent out to the Retiro, but it was too late to pursue the
assassins; and all that could be done was to bring in the bodies of Don
Torribio, his daughter, and niece, who were lying dead in the
supper-room. An old groom and two women servants had shared a like fate;
the horses had been taken out of the stable, and the house ransacked of
every thing valuable.

For several weeks Ignacio Guerra remained wavering, as it were, between
life and death. At length he recovered; but his health was so much
impaired, that the surgeons forbade his again encountering the fatigues
of a campaign. Enfeebled in body, heartbroken at the horrible fate of
Gertrudis, and foreseeing the speedy termination of the war, consequent
on the concluded treaty of Bergara, he threw up his commission, and left
Spain to seek forgetfulness of his misfortunes in foreign travel.

In all French towns of any consequence, and in many whose size and
population would almost class them under the denomination of villages,
there is some favourite spot serving as an evening lounge for the
inhabitants, whither, on Sundays and fete-days especially, the belles
and _elegants_ of the place resort, to criticize each other's toilet,
and parade up and down a walk varying from one to two or three hundred
yards in extent.

The ancient city of Toulouse is of course not without its promenade,
although but poor taste has been evinced in its selection; for, while on
one side of the town soft well-trimmed lawns, cool fountains, and
magnificent avenues of elm and plane trees, are abandoned to
nursery-maids and their charges, the rendezvous of the fashionables of
the pleasant capital of Languedoc is a parched and dusty _allee_,
scantily sheltered by trees of recent growth, extending from the canal
to the open square formerly known as the Place d'Angouleme, but since
1830 re-baptized by the name of the revolutionary patriarch General
Lafayette.

It was on a Sunday evening of the month of August 1840, and the Allee
Lafayette was more than usually crowded. After a day of uncommon
sultriness, a fresh breeze had sprung up, and a little before sundown
the fair Toulousaines had deserted their darkened and artificially
cooled rooms, and flocked to the promenade. The walk was thronged with
gaily attired ladies, smirking dandies, and officers in full dress. In
the fields on the further side of the canal, a number of men of the
working-classes, happy in their respite from the toils of the week, were
singing in parts, with all the musical taste and correctness of ear for
which the inhabitants of that part of France are noted; while, on the
broad boulevard that traverses the lower end of the _allee_, a crowd of
recruits whom the conscription had recently called under the colours,
stood gazing in open-mouthed astonishment and infinite delight at some
rudely constructed booths and shows, outside of which, clown and
paillasse were rivalling each other in the broad humour of their lazzi.
Parties of students, easily recognizable by their eccentric and
exaggerated style of dress, and the loud tone of their conversation,
were seated outside the cafes and ice-rooms, or circulating under the
trees, puffing forth clouds of tobacco smoke; and on the road round the
_allee_, open carriages, smart tilburies, and dapper horsemen were
careering.

Among the various groups thronging the promenade was one, which, in Hyde
Park or on the Paris boulevards, would have attracted some notice; but
the persons composing it were of a class too common of late years in the
south of France to draw upon them any attention from the loungers. The
party in question consisted of three men, who, by their bronzed
complexions, ragged mustaches, and sullen, dogged countenances, as well
as their whole air and _tournure_, were easily distinguishable as
belonging to the exiled and disappointed faction of the Spanish
Pretender. Their threadbare costume still exhibited signs of their late
military employment, probably from a lack of means to replace it by any
other garments. The closely buttoned blue frock of one of them still had
upon its shoulders the small lace straps used to support the epaulets,
and another wore for headdress a _boina_, with its large starlike
tassels of silver cord. The third and most remarkable of the party, was
a man in the prime of life and strength, whose countenance bore the
impress of every bad passion. It was one of those faces sometimes seen
in old paintings of monkish inquisitors, on viewing which, one feels
inclined to suspect that the artist has outdone and exaggerated nature.
The expression of the cold, glassy, grey eye, and thin, pale, compressed
lips, was one of unrelenting cruelty; while the coarsely moulded chin
and jaw gave a sensual character to the lower part of the face. The scar
of a sabre-cut extended from the centre of the forehead nearly to the
upper lip, partly dividing the nose, and giving a hideously distorted
and unnatural appearance to that feature. The man's frame was bony and
powerful; the loose sheepskin jacket he wore was thrown open, and
through the imperfectly fastened shirt-front, it might be seen that his
breast was covered with a thick felt of matted hair.

It was the moment of the short twilight that in the south of France
intervenes between day and night. The Carlists had reached the upper end
of the walk, and, turning round, began to descend it again three
abreast, and with the man who has been particularly described in the
centre. On a sudden the latter stopped short, as though petrified where
he stood. His countenance, naturally sallow, became pale as ashes, and,
as if to save himself from falling, he clutched the arm of one of his
companions with a force that made him wince again, while he gazed with
distended eyeballs on a man who had halted within half-a-dozen paces of
the Spaniards. The person whose aspect produced this Medusa-like effect
upon the Carlist was a man about thirty years of age, plainly but
elegantly dressed, and of a prepossessing but somewhat sickly
countenance, the lines of which were now working under the influence of
some violent emotion. The only peculiarity in his appearance was a black
silk band which, passing under his chin, was brought up on both sides of
the head, and fastened on the crown under the hat.

"_Que tienes, Sangrador_? What ails thee, man?" enquired the Carlists of
their terror-stricken companion, addressing him by a _nom-de-guerre_
that he doubtless owed to his bloody deeds or disposition. At that
moment the stranger sprang like a bloodhound into the centre of the
group. In an instant El Sangrador was on the ground, his assailant's
knee upon his breast, and his throat compressed by two nervous hands,
which bade fair to perform the office of a bowstring on the prostrate
man. All this had passed in far less time than is required to narrate
it, and the astonishment of the Carlists at their comrade's terror and
this sudden attack, was such, that, although men of action and energy,
they were for a moment paralysed, and thought not of rescuing their
friend from the iron gripe in which he was held. Already his eyes were
bloodshot, his face purple, and his tongue protruding from his mouth,
when a gendarme came up, and aided by half-a-dozen of those agents who,
in plain clothes, half-spy and half-policeman, are to be found in every
place of public resort in France, succeeded, but not without difficulty,
in rescuing the Carlist from the fierce clutch of his foe, who clung to
him with bull-dog tenacity till they were actually drawn asunder by main
force.

"_Canalla! infame!_" shouted the stranger, as he writhed and struggled
in the hands of his guards. "By yonder villain have all my hopes in life
been blasted--an adored mistress outraged and murdered, myself tortured
and mutilated in cold blood!" And, tearing off the black fillet that
encircled his head, it was seen that his ears had been cut off. A murmur
of horror ran through the crowd which this scene had assembled. "And
shall I not have revenge?" shouted Ignacio (for he it was) in a voice
rendered shrill by furious passion. And by a violent effort he again
nearly succeeded in shaking off the men who held him.

El Sangrador, whose first terror had probably been caused by
astonishment at seeing one whom he firmly believed numbered with the
dead, had now recovered from his alarm.

"_Adios_, Don Ignacio," cried he with a sneer, as he walked away between
two gendarmes, while his enemy was hurried off in another direction.

The following day El Sangrador was sent to a depot of Spanish emigrants
in the interior of France. On his departure, the authorities, who had
made themselves acquainted with the particulars of this dramatic
incident, released Don Ignacio from confinement; but he was informed
that no passport would be given him to quit Toulouse unless it were for
the Spanish frontier.

At the distance of a few leagues from the town of Oleron, and in one of
the wildest parts of the Pyrenees, is a difficult pass, scarcely known,
except to smugglers and izard-hunters whose hazardous avocations make
them acquainted with the most hidden recesses of these rugged and
picturesque mountains. Towards the close of the summer of 1841, this
defile was occasionally traversed by adherents of the Ex-Queen-Regent
Christina, entering Spain secretly and in small parties, to be ready to
take share in the abortive attempt subsequently made to replace the
reins of government in the hands of Ferdinand's widow. Not a few
Carlists also, weary of the monotonous inactive life they were leading
in France, prepared to join the projected insurrection; and, leaving the
towns in which a residence had been assigned them, sought to gain the
Spanish side of the Pyrenees, where they might lie _perdus_ until the
moment for active operation arrived, subsisting in the meanwhile by
brigandage and other lawless means. Owing to the negligence, either
accidental or intentional, of the French authorities, these adventurers
usually found little difficulty in reaching the line of demarcation
between the two frontiers; but it was there their troubles began, and
they had to take the greatest precaution to avoid falling into the hands
of the Spanish _carabineros_ and light troops posted along the frontier.

Among those who intended to take a share in the rebellion, Don Ignacio
Guerra occupied a prominent place. Being well known to the Spanish
Government as a devoted adherent of Christina, it would have been in
vain for him to have attempted entering Spain by one of the ordinary
roads. Repairing to Oleron, therefore, he procured himself a guide, and
one of the small but sure-footed horses of the Pyrenees, and, after a
wearisome march among the mountains, arrived about dusk at a cottage, or
rather hovel, built on a ledge of rock within half-an-hour's walk of the
Spanish frontier. Beyond this spot the road was impracticable for a
horse, and dangerous even for a pedestrian, and Don Ignacio had arranged
to send back his guide and horse and proceed on foot; in which manner,
also, it was easier to avoid falling in with the Spanish troops. The
night was fine, and having had the road minutely explained to him by his
peasant guide, Ignacio had no doubt of finding himself, in a few hours,
at a village where shelter and concealment were prepared for him.
Leaving the horse in a sort of shed that afforded shelter to two or
three pigs, the Christino officer entered the hut, followed by his guide
and by a splendid wolf-dog, an old and faithful companion of his
wanderings. It was some seconds, however, before their eyes got
sufficiently accustomed to the dark and smoky atmosphere of the place,
to distinguish the objects it contained. The smoke came from a fire of
green wood, that was smouldering under an enormous chimney, and over
which a decrepit old woman was frying _talloua_ or maize-meal cake, in
grease of a most suspicious odour. The old lady was so intent on the
preparation of this delicacy, a favourite food of the Pyrenean
mountaineers, that it was with difficulty she could be prevailed upon to
prepare something more substantial for the hungry travellers. Some
smoked goats' flesh and acid wine were at length obtained, and, after a
hasty meal, Ignacio paid his guide and resumed his perilous journey. The
moon had not yet risen--the night was dark--the paths rugged and
difficult, and the troops on the alert; to avoid falling in with an
enemy, or down a precipice, so much care and attention were necessary,
that nearly three hours had elapsed before Ignacio perceived that his
dog had not followed him from the cottage. The animal had gone into the
stable and lain down beside his master's horse, doubtless imagining, by
that sort of half-reasoning instinct which dogs possess, that, as long
as the horse was there, the rider would not be far off.

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