by Lily Tuck
In less than the allotted eight months, most of the colonists had died from heat prostration and starvation. Unfortunately for the remaining, hardier survivors, a worse fate awaited them at the hands and teeth of the savage Guaycurús. Too late, advised of their gruesome end, Monsieur Cochelet, the French envoy, sent Franco several indignant letters on behalf of his government and on behalf of Napoleon III; Franco ignored the letters.
9 OCTOBER 1856
I have hardly seen Franco all week, when I enquired I was told he had to spend time at the quinta with his father. By now I know Franco well enough to know that something else besides his father is the matter, although rumor has it that President Lopez is ill. Except for his family, President Lopez refuses to see anyone or go out into society. However he still manages to keep complete rule over the country and he alone is the supreme judge of every single crime and misdemeanor, no matter how petty. A shocking example of this occurred only a few days ago, when a gentleman who is an acquaintance of mine applied for a passport to go to Buenos Ayres and because something to do with the payment for the stamps was not to his liking he got angry and tore up the passport; the poor man was immediately arrested on President Lopez’s orders and, without a trial or any sort of hearing, he was shot! To make matters worse, when Franco and I finally had supper together last evening and I described the terrible fate of this poor man, Franco did not appear in the least interested. “Chéri, don’t you care about justice being done?” I asked as gently as I could. Instead of replying, Franco shouted at me: “Justice! What do you know about justice? And why do you care about this man? Was he your lover?” Then, without finishing his food, Franco stood up and left. I went to the window in time to hear Franco yell to his servant, then yell to his horse and gallop off. But this morning, early, to my great surprise, I woke up to find Franco standing next to my bed. He did not apologize and without a word he handed me a box that contained a necklace of aquamarines—the stones are the size of robins’ eggs and the color he claimed matched my eyes! (I did not argue with him but I have always maintained that my eyes are not blue but gray.) “What’s this?” I asked. Franco only shrugged and smiled. “It’s not my birthday,” I told him. “Put it on,” he answered. The necklace also serves to confirm my suspicion that Franco must be the one to have a lover. A mistress he keeps in a house in Asunción. However the necklace is beautiful and I shall wear it with pleasure!
Franco took to calling his son Pancho and spent many hours playing with him. In their favorite game Franco got down on his hands and knees on the floor and Pancho climbed on his back and rode him. Pancho wrapped his fat little legs around Franco’s sides and kicked his father in the ribs with his heels to make him crawl faster. Sometimes Pancho carried a little whip with which he hit Franco and then Franco would shake his head and neigh and rise up on his knees as if rearing while Pancho hung on to his father’s neck and screamed half in fear. Hearing the commotion, Ella would come into the room and try to caution Franco, “Not so rough, chéri,” or “Careful, chéri, you might hurt him,” but Franco always waved Ella away as, laughing, he once more circled the room on his hands and knees, his little son clinging to his back like a monkey.
“Profesor, would you like something to drink?” Forcing herself to be attentive, Inocencia asked. Inocencia called Dr. Eberhardt Profesor.
Inocencia had to shout, “Tea? Profesor?”
Dr. Eberhardt was old and deaf, Dr. Eberhardt was also absentminded. According to Inocencia, if she was not there to remind him, he would forget completely that it was teatime.
“Perhaps, I can bring you a little dulce, Profesor?” Inocencia had to yell.
Dr. Eberhardt had arrived in Paraguay years ago—how many years exactly he had forgotten—to work with Monsieur Aimé Bonpland in Corrientes. However, the two naturalists had disagreed. The disagreement occurred over a plant—Dr. Eberhardt could still recall exactly what the plant looked like, with its two sets of three leaves, its small thorns along the stem, its pink flower—that Monsieur Bonpland insisted was part of the mimosa family while Dr. Eberhardt claimed the plant was clover. Young and stubborn, the two men had come to blows over the specimen, and Dr. Eberhardt had left Corrientes with a split lip. Soon after, his interest had shifted from plants to birds. Twice a week now, he spent the afternoon inside Inocencia’s aviary. He sat at a small table while parrots of different sizes and colors—green, red, blue, yellow—flapped all around him. The parrots were tame and unafraid—also, their wings were clipped and they could not fly. Several parrots were perched on Dr. Eberhardt’s shoulders; one parrot—always the same little mean green one—flew straight to the top of his bald head and stayed there. Another parrot, by far the largest bird in the aviary and Dr. Eberhardt’s favorite, a hyacinth macaw whose brilliant blue feathers never ceased to amaze and delight him, clung to the back of his chair and talked to him: kráa! kráa!, as still another parrot mimicked his mistress and, at intervals, screamed: Tea? Profesor, tea? All afternoon Dr. Eberhardt sat quietly; carefully and patiently he examined and classified each of Inocencia’s birds, neatly filling page after page in his notebook:
Psittacus passerinus—green; blue tail-coverts in male; blue wing-spot five inches long; blue under-wings; short tail.
Psittacus virescens—green; yellow wing-spot; longish tail.
Psittacus mitratus—green; orange-red on the top of head and forehead; blue under-wings, and blue tip to tail; shortish tail. The female has not the head red.
Psittacus cotoro—green; dirty gray forehead and breast; bluish wing-quills; long tail, bluish near tip.
Psittacus aureus—green; black head; dark black-blue wing-spot and quill ends; tail long, black beneath, bluish above; scarlet thighs, bluish breast.
When Inocencia brought him the plate of dulce and set it down next to his elbow, he was so absorbed in his work that he did not notice. Squawking and beating their wings, several parrots—including the mean one, who temporarily left his perch on top of Dr. Eberhardt’s head—vied with one another and grabbed the dulce from the plate and ate it.
Psittacus menstruus—green; head mottled with dark inky-blue; the edges of the feathers so tinted; breast inky-blue; under tail-coverts bright crimson.
Psittacus militaris—green; forehead with orange-red spots; head inky bluish-green, shading off to green; dull red patch on belly; wing-quills and upper of tail blue; lower mandible very deep.
Often Ella rode Mathilde out alone. At the slightest pressure from Ella’s knees, the mare broke into a smooth canter; if Ella applied a little more pressure, her canter quickened into a gallop. Likewise a light tug on the reins made the mare turn or stop so quickly that if Ella’s seat had not been so secure she might have fallen off. And Ella was not afraid: the country farmers recognized her. If ever she needed anything, Ella only had to stop at a house and call out, “Ave Maria,” and invariably someone in the house called back, “Sin pecado” to which Ella answered, “Por siempre” and she was invited in, “Adelante, Señora.” Always she was given a glass of orange juice and a cigar; Ella drank the orange juice and, not to appear rude, she took the cigar but did not smoke it. Back on the mare, either she threw the cigar in the bushes or she put it in the pocket of her riding jacket to give later to Rosaria. Then, off at a trot, Ella urged Mathilde, faster, “Let us go, my darling.” Faster and faster they galloped through fields so green and vast there was no longer any need to dream of Ireland.
In addition to being a good dancer, Franco was musical and he had a good ear. He spoke fluent Spanish, French, English and Guaraní. Ella spoke fluent French, English and near fluent Spanish; she was learning Guaraní. But Guaraní was a difficult language and Ella had a hard time wrapping her tongue around the strange-sounding syllables and vowels. She was learning to speak in simple sentences to Rosaria and to her servants and, in turn, to understand, but the more complicated sentences eluded her. When, in bed, one night, Franco, in his passion, said to her, “Nde pûgwéûghpe capüpécha, ndepópe rosa potric
ha” Ella had to coax him to say it again later—more slowly. The moment had passed, Franco was less inclined to repeat himself. “Nde pûgwéûghpe capüpécha, ndepópe rosa potricha.” Still Ella did not understand that Franco had said, “I am under your feet like the grass, and in your hand like a rose.”
Six
OBISPO CUE
Ella’s second child, Corinna Adelaida, named after Ella’s sister and mother both, died five months after she was born. Rosaria found her lying on her stomach in the crib in exactly the same position she had left her the night before. Always a healthy and lively baby, Corinna Adelaida had showed no sign of illness or distress or why all of a sudden she had stopped breathing. Grief-stricken and in shock, Ella rocked Corinna Adelaida back and forth in her arms and tried in vain to bring her back to life.
“My lovely girl. My little beauty,” Ella repeated through her tears as she stroked the baby’s head. Already, Corinna Adelaida had a full head of dark curly hair.
When Franco tried to comfort Ella by taking her in his arms and promising her another child, Ella shook herself free of him and held the baby more tightly to her chest. It was only after night had fallen and after rigor mortis had set in that Ella finally consented to give the dead baby up.
Wearing a lace cap and a long white frock to which Ella attached lace wings—Rosaria had made the cap and wings—Corinna Adelaida was buried in the cemetery at La Recoleta. Lines from Coleridge’s verse—one line was misquoted, and the engraver, unfamiliar with English, incised made it beossom instead of bade it blossom—were engraved on her tombstone:
Ere sin could blight or sorrow fade
Death came with friendly care
The lovely bird to Heaven conveyed
And made it beossom there.
Constructed according to her own design, Obispo Cue, Ella’s pink palace, was one of the few buildings in Paraguay to have two stories—Town Hall was another—and the first to be made out of marble, instead of the usual mud brick. It was built by Alonzo Taylor, an English stonemason from Chelsea. During the entire building period, which lasted longer than it should have, Alonzo Taylor always spoke highly of Ella—Ella, he claimed, was gracious and polite. Even when the work on the pink palace was slow and seemed to be endlessly delayed by the weather or, more often, by the workers’ ineptitude, she never lost her temper at him. She always addressed him politely and began her sentences to him with: “Mr. Taylor, if you would be so kind as to…”
Alonzo Taylor had signed up to serve Franco for three years and to teach the native Paraguayans his trade. He was a tall, affable man and he considered himself lucky to be in Paraguay, the pay was good and the work not too demanding. Already he had built himself a house, with a fireplace and a chimney, and as soon as he was completely settled he was planning to bring his wife and two daughters over from England to join him. Meanwhile, he and the other Englishmen—there were a large number of foreigners in Franco’s employ: engineers, doctors, mapmakers, soldiers, chemists, shipyard workers and, like Alonzo, stonemasons—got together in the evenings, to drink caña, the local liquor, dance, sing and flirt with the girls. Dolores was the name of the girl Alonzo liked in particular. Dolores was of mixed blood—Spanish and Guaraní; she was nearly as tall as Alonzo. She was lively and she sang songs to him in both languages:
Tovena Tupa~tachepytyvo~
Una noche tiia nos conocimos ha’e
mi hag~ua che py’arasy,
junto al agua azul de Ypakarai
ymaiteguivema an~andu
Tu cantabas triste por el camino
heta ara nachmongevei
Viejas melodias en guarani.
But best of all, in Alonzo’s view, Dolores did not squeeze her eyes shut and look disgusted—the way Alonzo’s English wife did—when Alonzo put himself inside her mouth.
26 JANUARY 1858
I crave oranges. I eat at least half a dozen a day! The Paraguayan orange most resembles the Seville orange in taste, it is small and slightly acidic and it neither cloys the palate nor sets one’s teeth on edge, which is particularly welcome in this climate and in my condition! (Dr. Kennedy says that the juice is antiseptic, antibilious and hemostatic—my word, all those excellent things!) I should speak to the gardener about planting some at Obispo Cue—didn’t the new chemist, Dr. Mora, tell Franco that orange trees have considerable tolerance to adverse conditions, to drought or to too much moisture, and that they adapt to a wide range of soils? I have not yet told Franco that I am pregnant again and he has not noticed. I still go riding every day although Dr. Kennedy says not to. My chief complaint is of another sort entirely—the lack of female companionship. Madame Cochelet, Mrs. Washburn and the other diplomats’ wives think themselves superior and snub me. Arrogant bitches! As for Inocencia and Rafaela, the less said about those two fat, ignorant women the better! Last night I dreamt that my little Corinna Adelaida, looking so pretty dressed in her lace cap and white dress, stretched out her little arms to me, but when I leaned down to pick her up, she was gone. My little angel! And poor Marie—I think of her as well. Thank God for the colonel!
Colonel Enrique von Wisner de Morgenstern was a Hungarian engineer and Carlos Antonio Lopez’s military advisor. He claimed to be fifty but he was older (he dyed his hair, beard and moustache a light brown). He made no secret of the fact that he had been forced to flee the court in Budapest because of a scandal and although the scandal he alluded to—the death threat of a cuckold husband vowing revenge—was in fact sexual, Colonel von Wisner, everyone knew, preferred young men. The colonel was elegant, well educated and clever; he fenced, he danced, he played chess; he was not a threat to Franco. He became friendly with Ella.
“Be patient, Madame,” Colonel von Wisner advised her about her lack of friends.
“Will you teach me how to fence?” Ella answered.
“His house on the corner of the Market Plaza seems quite spacious and is painted yellow according to the current style. The drawing room furniture would be perfect in Paris. Lopez has gilded furniture, silk curtains, chiffoniers and cabinets of exquisite workmanship inlaid with ivory, mirrors in Florentine frames, paintings of distinction, rare bronzes and porcelains. His is the residence of a well-traveled man with a taste for good living…” was how Héctor Varela, a journalist from Buenos Ayres and a frequent contributor to the Paraguayan newspaper, El Semanario, described Franco’s house. The house—Varela was probably unaware of this—was directly connected to Obispo Cue by a road built especially; at a gallop, Franco could be with Ella in twenty minutes.
But while his father ruled the country, Franco was discreet. He stayed clear of family gossip and social scandals. With his brothers, Venancio and Benigno, he was neutral and businesslike; with Inocencia and Rafaela, his sisters, he was distant and polite. Regularly on Sundays, he dined with his mother and father at their quinta; they discussed the harvest of yerba and tobacco, the breeding of cattle. Despite Franco’s stylish European clothes, his embroidered linen shirts, his hand-tooled leather boots with the heavy silver spurs, he went out of his way—he got off his horse, shook hands, traded jokes—to show that he was one of the people. The Guaraní people, not the rich, superior Spanish people; and Ella’s name never came up.
Instead the names on everyone’s tongue in Asunción, that year, were those of Carlos and Fernando Saguier, two handsome and wealthy brothers of Spanish descent who were part of the small aristocracy in Paraguay, which did not include the Lopez family but whom they of course knew—Carlos, the older brother, had gone to France with Franco. Rafaela and Inocencia also could not stop talking about them.
“Carlos and Fernando sent their millions to Argentina,” Inocencia said. The sisters were eating again.
“To a bank in Buenos Ayres,” Rafaela added, reaching for more sopa paraguaya.
It was true that in order to secure their considerable fortune, which was based on an export business licensed to sell yerba and other local products abroad, Carlos and Fernando made huge deposits to a bank in
Buenos Ayres; in addition, when the Brazilian Navigation Company, which operated the steamship line between Montevideo and Matto Grosso, offered Carlos and Fernando a contract to supply the boats that stopped to refuel with coal at Asunción, they sought and got the approval of President Lopez (a Paraguayan citizen could not enter into a contract with a foreigner without government permission); then the two brothers went a step further. In secret they negotiated with an Englishman named William Atherton and sold him their business assets in Paraguay; next, wasting no time, they applied for passports and left the country.
“Carlos and Fernando said they wanted to go to Buenos Ayres to dance at the carnival. Liars! Traitors!” Her mouth full of food, Inocencia spat out.
Once Carlos and Fernando were gone, William Atherton had announced that he was the new owner of their properties. Immediately Franco, acting on behalf of his father, had him arrested and put in prison. William Atherton appealed to the British Consulate; outraged, the foreigners in Paraguay complained to President Lopez directly. The president was unwell, he did not want to be disturbed by scheming businessmen, and his son, Franco, was more than ready to teach the haughty Spaniards a lesson. “I don’t give a damn if that fool William Atherton rots in jail,” Franco was supposed to have shouted to an aide. “As for Carlos and Fernando, if ever they dare show their arrogant faces in this country—”