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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/38165-8.txt b/38165-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..bd0723b --- /dev/null +++ b/38165-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7131 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Cabin, by +Vicente Blasco Ibáñez and John Garrett Underhill + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Cabin + [La barraca] + +Author: Vicente Blasco Ibáñez + John Garrett Underhill + +Translator: Francis Haffkine Snow + Beatrice M. Mekota + +Release Date: November 29, 2011 [EBook #38165] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CABIN *** + + + + +Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images available at The Internet Archive) + + + + + + + + + +THE CABIN + +[LA BARRACA] + + + + + THE BORZOI + + SPANISH TRANSLATIONS + + + THE CABIN [LA BARRACA] + _By V. Blasco Ibáñez_ + + THE CITY OF THE DISCREET + _By Pío Baroja_ + + MARTIN RIVAS + _By Alberto Blest-Gana_ + + THE THREE-CORNERED HAT + _By Pedro A. de Alarcón_ + + CAESAR OR NOTHING + _By Pío Baroja_ + + + + +THE CABIN + +[LA BARRACA] + +BY +VICENTE BLASCO IBÁÑEZ + +TRANSLATED FROM THE SPANISH BY +FRANCIS HAFFKINE SNOW +AND BEATRICE M. MEKOTA +WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY +JOHN GARRETT UNDERHILL + +[Illustration: colophon] + +NEW YORK +ALFRED A. KNOPF +1919 + +COPYRIGHT, 1917, BY +ALFRED A. KNOPF + +COPYRIGHT, 1919, BY +ALFRED A. KNOPF, INC. + +_Second Printing, February, 1919_ +_Third Printing, February, 1919_ +_Fourth Printing, March, 1919_ +_Fifth Printing, November, 1919_ + +PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA + + + + +INTRODUCTION + + +Señor Blasco Ibáñez has asked me to say a few words by way of +introduction to _The Cabin_ which shall be both simple and true. + +He has watched with conflicting emotions the reception of his words in +this country--pleasure as he has realized the warmth of their welcome +and the general consensus of critical approval, pleasure not unmixed +with other feelings as he has read the notices in which these opinions +have been expressed and the accounts of his career which have +accompanied them. Few writers during the past twenty years have lived so +much in the public eye; the facts of his life are accessible and clear. +Then why invent new ones? "It is necessary," he writes, "to correct all +this, to give an account of my life which shall be accurate and +authentic, and which shall not lead the public into further error." + +Why is the American press entirely ignorant in matters pertaining to +Spain? It is guiltless even of the shadow of learning. Not one editor in +the United States knows anything about the intellectual life of the +peninsula. Why print as information the veriest absurdities? A liberal +use of the word _perhaps_ is not a substitute for good faith with the +reader. Here is one of the great dramatic literatures of the world, +which by common consent is unrivalled except by the English and the +Greek, which today is as vigorous as it ever was in its Golden Age +during the seventeenth century, yet a fastidious and reputable review +published in this city is able to say when the plays of Benavente are +first translated in this country, that it "feels that Jacinto Benavente +has dramatic talent." Dramatic talent!--a man who has revolutionized the +theatre of a race, and whose works are the intellectual pride of tens of +millions of people over two continents? Ignorance ceases to be +ridiculous at a certain point and becomes criminal. The Irishman who +perpetrated this bull should be deported for it. Again, Spain has +produced the greatest novel of all time in _Don Quixote_, she has +originated the modern realistic novel, yet the publications may be +counted upon the fingers of one hand which can command the services of a +reviewer who is able even to name the two leading Spanish novelists of +today, much less to distinguish Pío Baroja from Blasco Ibáñez or Ricardo +León. This condition must cease, or it will become wilful. + +The author of _The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse_ is not a regional +novelist. + +He is not a literary disciple of the late Don Juan Valera. + +He is not a literary anarchist, nor a follower of the Catalan Ferrer. + +He has not reformed Spain. + +He is not associated with a group of novelists or other writers who have +done so. + +Had this desirable end been attained, and attained through the efforts +of a novelist, that novelist would have been Don Benito Pérez Galdós. + +The author of _The Cabin_ cannot in modesty accept of foreigners the +laurels of all the writers of Spain. The Spanish is an ancient, complex, +strongly characteristic civilization, of which he happily is a product. +It is his hope that Americans may become some day better acquainted with +the spirit and rich heritage of a great national literature through his +pages. As his works have long been translated into Russian and have been +familiar for many years in French, perhaps it is not too early to +anticipate the attention of the enterprising American public. + +Unfortunately standards of translation do not exist in this country. +Many believe that there is no such thing as translation, that the +essence of a book cannot be conveyed. The professor seizes his +dictionary, the lady tourist her pen; the ingenious publisher knows that +none is so low that he will not translate--the less the experience, the +more the translator, a maxim in the application of which Blasco Ibáñez +has suffered appalling casualties. When _Sangre y arena_ ("Blood and +Sand") comes from the press as _The Blood of the Arena_, the judicious +pause--this is to thunder on the title page, not in the index--but when +we meet the eunuch of Sónnica transformed into an "old crone," error +passes the bounds of decency and deserves punishment which is +callipygian. Nor are these translations worse than their fellows. + +Blunders of this sort ought no longer to be possible. If American +scholarship is not a sham, this reform, which is imperative, must be +immediate. + +Blasco Ibáñez was born in Valencia, that most typical of the cities of +the eastern littoral along the Mediterranean, known as the Spanish +Levant. The Valencian dialect is directly affiliated with the +neighboring Catalan, and through it with the Provençal rather than with +the Castilian of the interior plateau. In the character of the people +there is a facility which suggests the French, while an oriental element +is distinctly evident, persisting not only from the days of the Moorish +kingdoms, but eloquent of the shipping of the East and the _lingua +franca_ of the inland sea. Blasco Ibáñez is a Levantine touched with a +suggestion of Cyprus, of Alexandria, with an adaptability and mobility +of temperament which have endowed him with a faculty of literary +improvisation which is extraordinary. He has been a novelist, a +controversialist, a politician, a member of the Cortes, a republican, an +orator, a traveller, an expatriate, a ranchman, a duellist, a +journalist. "He writes," says the Argentine Manuel Ugarte, "as freely as +other men talk. This is the secret of the freshness and charm of the +unforgettable pages of _The Cabin_, of the sense of fraternity and +_camaraderie_ which springs up immediately, uniting the author and his +readers. He seems to be telling us a story between cigarettes at the +café table. In these times when mankind is shaking itself free from +stupid snobbery to return to nature and to simple sincerity, this gift +of free and lucid expression is the highest of merits." + +Ibáñez's first stories dealt with the life of the Valencian plain, whose +marvellous fertility has become proverbial: + + "Valencia is paradise; + Wheat today, tomorrow rice." + +Swift with the movement of the born story-teller and the vitality of a +mind which is always at white heat, these tales are remarkable for vivid +descriptive power in which each successive picture conveys an impression +of the subject so intense that it seems plastic. He is a painter of +sunshine, not as it idly falls on the slumberous streets of the +Andalusian cities, but turbulent with the surging of the spirit, welling +up and pressing on. + +In the novel of a more intellectual, introspective feature, he has also +met with rare success, as Mr. Howells has well shown in one of the few +articles upon this author in English which are of value. The vein is +more complex but not less copious, remaining instinct with power. It is +indeed less national, an excursion into the processes of the northern +mind. Ibáñez, however, was never an æsthete; no phase of art could +detain him long. He sailed for Argentina to deliver a series of lectures +on national themes at a time when Anatole France was upholding the +Gallic tradition in that country. Argentine life attracted him and he +became a ranchman on the Pampas, bought an American motor tractor, and +settled down to create the Argentine novel. South America, it must be +confessed, for some reason has been incontinently unproductive of great +novels, nor was Ibáñez to find its atmosphere more propitious than it +had proved to its native sons. Besides, the Spaniards, who are a +religious people, were praying for his return. He took ship as suddenly +as he had arrived and has since resided chiefly at Paris, a city which +has been to him from early youth a second home. + +In the cosmopolitan vortex of the great war capital, he has interpreted +the spirit of the vast world conflict in terms of the imagination with a +breadth and force of appeal such as has been given, perhaps, to no other +man. While Spain has remained neutral, under compulsion of material +conditions which those who best understand her will appreciate at their +true weight, in a single volume Ibáñez has been able to abrogate this +neutrality of the land, and to marshal his people publically where their +heart has always been secretly, in line with the progressive opinion of +the world. + +If in _The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse_ he has rendered his greatest +service to humanity, in _The Cabin_ he has made his chief contribution +to art. It is the most nicely rounded of his stories, the most perfect. +Spanish and Latin-American opinion is here unanimous. Nevertheless, +primarily it is a human document. Rubén Darío, than whom, certainly, +none is better qualified to speak, emphasizes this crusading bias: "The +soul of a gladiator, a robust teller of tales _à la_ Zola is +externalized in _The Cabin_. The creative flood proceeds without +faltering with a rapidity of invention which proclaims the riches of the +source. Books such as this are not written purely for love of art, they +embody profound human aspirations. They are beautiful pages not only, +but generous deeds and apostolic exploits as well." The ambient blends +admirably with the action and the characters to present a picture which +is satisfying and which appeals to the eye as complete. _The Cabin_ is a +rarely visual story, and directly so, affording in this respect an +interesting contrast to the imaginative suggestion of the present-day +Castilian realists. In no other work has the author combined so +effectively the broad swish of his valiant style with the homely, even +crass detail which lends it significance. "A book like this," to quote +Iglesias Hermida, "is written only once in a life-time, and one book +like this is sufficient." + +A favorite anecdote of Blasco Ibáñez is so illuminative that it deserves +to be told in his own words: + +"When I go to the Bull Ring, as I do from time to time with a foreigner, +I enjoy the polychromatic animated spectacle of the crowded +amphitheatre, the theatric entrance of the fighters and the encounters +with the first bull. The second diverts me less, at the third I begin to +yawn, and when the fourth appears, I reach for the book or newspaper +which I have forehandedly brought along in my pocket. And I suspect +that half of the spectators feel very much as I do. + +"A number of years ago a professor in one of the celebrated universities +of the United States came to visit me at Madrid, and I took him, as is +customary, to see a bull-fight. + +"This learned gentleman was also a man of action, a Roosevelt of the +professorial chair; he rode, he boxed, he was devoted to hunting big +game as well as to the exploration of unknown lands. He watched intently +every incident of the fight, knitting his blond eyebrows above his +spectacles--for he was near-sighted--as he did so. Occasionally he +muttered a word of approbation: 'Very good!' 'Truly interesting!' I saw, +however, that some new, original idea was crystallizing in his mind. + +"When we came out, he expressed himself: + +"'Very interesting entertainment, but somewhat monotonous. Would it not +be better to turn the six bulls loose simultaneously and then kill them +all at once? It might shorten the exhibition, but how much more +exciting! It would give those chaps an opportunity to show off their +courage.' + +"I looked upon that Yankee as upon a great sage. He had formulated +definitely the vague dissatisfaction with the bull-fight which had +lurked in my mind ever since, as a boy, I had suffered at the tiresome +spectacle. Yes! Six bulls at one time!" + +In the novel of Blasco Ibáñez, it is always six bulls at one time. + + + + +THE CABIN + +[LA BARRACA] + + + + +THE CABIN + + + + +I + + +The vast plain stretched out under the blue splendour of dawn, a broad +sash of light which appeared in the direction of the sea. + +The last nightingales, tired of animating with their songs this autumn +night, which seemed like spring in the balminess of its atmosphere, +poured forth their final warble, as if the light of dawn wounded them +with its steely reflections. + +Flocks of sparrows arose like crowds of pursued urchins from the +thatched roofs of the farm-houses, and the tops of the trees trembled at +the first assault of these gamins of the air, who stirred up everything +with the flurry of their feathers. + +The sounds which fill the night had gradually died away: the babbling of +the canals, the murmur of the cane-plantations, the bark of the watchful +dog. + +The _huerta_ was awaking, and its yawnings were growing ever noisier. +The crowing of the cock was carried on from farm-house to farm-house; +the bells of the village were answering, with noisy peals, the ringing +of the first mass which floated from the towers of Valencia, blue and +hazy in the distance. From the corrals came a discordant animal-concert; +the whinnying of horses, the lowing of gentle cows, the clucking of +hens, the bleating of lambs, the grunting of pigs, ... all the noisy +awakening of creatures who, upon feeling the first caress of dawn, +permeated with the pungent perfume of vegetation, long to be off and run +about the fields. + +Space became saturated with light; the shadows dissolved as though +swallowed up by the open furrows and the masses of foliage; and in the +hazy mist of dawn, humid and shining rows of mulberry-trees, waving +lines of cane-brake, large square beds of garden vegetables like +enormous green handkerchiefs, and the carefully tilled red earth, became +gradually more and more defined. + +Along the high-road there came creeping rows of moveable black dots, +strung out like files of ants, all marching toward the city. From all +the ends of the _vega_, resounded the creaking of wheels mingled with +idle songs interrupted by shouts urging on the beasts; and from time to +time, like the sonorous heralding of dawn, the air was rent by the +furious braying of the donkey protesting so to speak against the heavy +labour which fell upon him with break of day. + +Along the canals, the glassy sheet of ruddy crystal was disturbed by +noisy plashings and loud beating of wings which silenced the frogs as +the ducks advanced like galleys of ivory, moving their serpentine necks +like fantastic prows. + +The plain was flooded with light, and life penetrated into the interior +of the farm-houses. + +Doors creaked as they opened; under the grape-arbours white figures +could be seen, which upon awakening stretched out, hands clasped behind +their heads, and gazed toward the illumined horizon. + +The stables stood with doors wide-open, vomiting forth a stream of +milch-cows, herds of goats, and the nags of the cart-drivers, all bound +for the city. From behind the screen of dwarfish trees which concealed +the road, came the jingle of cow-bells, while mingling with their gay +notes, there sounded the shrill _arre, aca!_[A] urging on the stubborn +beasts. + +At the doorways of the farm-houses stood those who were city-bound and +those who remained to work in the fields, saluting each other. + +May the Lord give us a good-day! + +Good-day! + +And after this salutation, exchanged with all the gravity of country +folk who carry the blood of Moors in their veins, and who speak the name +of God only with solemn gesture, silence fell again if the passer-by +were one unknown; but if he were an intimate, he was commissioned with +the purchase, in Valencia, of small objects for the house or wife. + +The day had now completely dawned. + +The air was already cleared of the tenuous mist that rose during the +night from the damp fields and the noisy canals. The sun was coming out; +in the ruddy furrows the larks hopped about with the joy of living one +day more, and the mischievous sparrows, alighting at the still-closed +windows, pecked away at the wood, chirping to those within, with the +shrill cry of the vagabond used to living at the expense of others: + +"Up, you lazy drones! Work in the fields so we may eat!" + +Pepeta, wife of Toni, known throughout the neighbourhood as Pimentó, had +just entered their _barraca_. She was a courageous creature, and despite +her pale flesh, wasted white by anaemia while still in full youth, the +most hard working woman in the entire _huerta_.[B] + +At daybreak, she was already returning from market. She had risen at +three, loaded herself with the baskets of garden-truck gathered by Toni +the night before, and groping for the paths while she cursed the vile +existence in which she was worked so hard, had guided herself like a +true daughter of the _huerta_ through the darkness to Valencia. +Meanwhile her husband, that good fellow who was costing her so dearly, +continued to snore in the warm bed-chamber, bundled in the matrimonial +blankets. + +The wholesalers who bought the vegetables were well acquainted with this +woman, who, even before the break of day, was already in the +market-place of Valencia. Seated amid her baskets, she shivered beneath +her thin, thread-bare shawl while she gazed, with an envy of which she +was not aware, at those who were drinking a cup of coffee to combat the +morning chill the better. She hoped with a submissive, animal-like +patience to get the money she had reckoned upon, in her complicated +calculations, in order to maintain Toni and run the house. + +When she had sold her vegetables, she returned home, running all the +way, to save an hour on the road. + +A second time she set forth to ply another trade; after the vegetables +came the milk. And dragging the red cow by the halter, followed along by +the playful calf which clung like an amorous satellite to its tail, +Pepeta returned to the city, carrying a little stick under her arm, and +a measuring-cup of tin with which to serve her customers. + +_La Rocha_, as the cow was called on account of her reddish coat, mooed +gently and trembled under her sackcloth cover as she felt the chill of +morning, while she rolled her humid eyes toward the _barraca_, which +remained behind with its black stable and its heavy air, and thought of +the fragrant straw with the voluptuous desire of sleep that is not +satisfied. + +Meanwhile, Pepeta urged her on with the stick: it was growing late, and +the customers would complain. And the cow and little calf trotted along +the middle of the road of Alboraya, which was muddy and furrowed with +deep ruts. + +Along the sloping banks passed interminable rows of cigarette-girls and +silk-mill workers, each with a hamper on one arm, while the other swung +free. The entire virginity of the _huerta_ went along this way toward +the factories, leaving behind, with the flutter of their skirts, a wake +of harsh, rough chastity. + +The blessing of God was over all the fields. + +The sun rising like an enormous red wafer from behind the trees and +houses which hid the horizon, shot forth blinding needles of gold. The +mountains in the background and the towers of the city took on a rosy +tint; the little clouds which floated in the sky grew red like crimson +silk; the canals and the pools which bordered the road seemed to become +filled with fiery fish; the swishing of the broom, the rattle of china, +and all the sounds of the morning's cleaning came from within the +_barracas_. + +The women squatted by the edges of the pools, with baskets of clothes +for the wash at their sides; dark-grey rabbits came hopping along the +paths with their deceiving smile, showing, in their flight, their +reddish quarters, parted by the stub of a tail; with an eye red and +flaming with anger, the cock mounted the heap of reddish manure with his +peaceful odalisks about him and sent forth the cry of an irritated +sultan. + +Pepeta, oblivious to this awakening of dawn which she witnessed every +day, hurried on her way, her stomach empty, her limbs aching, her poor +clothing drenched with the perspiration characteristic of her pale, thin +blood, which flowed for weeks at a time contrary to the laws of Nature. + +The crowds of labouring people who were entering Valencia filled all the +bridges. Pepeta passed the labourers from the suburbs who had come with +their little breakfast-sacks over their shoulders, and stopped at the +_octroi_ to get her receipt,--a few coins which grieved her soul anew +each day,--then went on through the deserted streets, whose silence was +broken by the cowbells of _La Rocha_, a monotonous pastoral melody, +which caused the drowsy townsman to dream of green pastures and idyllic +scenery. + +Pepeta had customers in all parts of the city. She went her intricate +way through the streets, stopping before the closed doors; it was a blow +on a knocker here, three or more repeated raps there, and ever the +continuation of the strident, high-pitched cry, which it seemed could +not possibly come from a chest so poor and flat: + +_La lleeet!_ + +And the dishevelled, sunken-eyed servant came down in slippers, jug in +hand, to receive the milk; or the aged concierge appeared, still wearing +the mantilla which she had put on to go to mass. + +By eight all the customers had been served. Pepeta was now near the +Fishermen's quarter. + +Here she had business also, and the poor farmer's wife bravely +penetrated the dirty alleys which, at this hour, seemed to be dead. She +always felt at first a certain uneasiness,--the instinctive repugnance +of a delicate stomach: but her spirit, that of a woman who, though ill, +was respectable, succeeded in rising above it, and she went on with a +certain proud satisfaction--the pride of a chaste woman who consoles +herself by remembering that though bent and weakened by her poverty, she +is still superior to others. + +From the closed and silent houses came forth the breath of the cheap, +noisy, shameless rabble mingled with an odour of heated, rotting flesh; +and through the cracks of the doors, there seemed to escape the gasping +and brutal breathing of heavy sleep, after a night of wild-beast +caresses and amorous, drunken desires. + +Pepeta heard some one calling her. At the entrance to a narrow stairway +stood a sturdy girl, making signs to her. She was ugly, without any +other charm than that of youth disappearing already; her eyes were +humid, her hair twisted in a topknot, and her cheeks, still stained by +the rouge of the preceding night, seemed like a caricature of the red +daubs on the face of a clown,--a clown of vice. + +The peasant woman, tightening her lips with a grimace of pride and +disdain, in order that the distance between them might be well-marked, +began to fill a jar which the girl gave her with milk from La Rocha's +udders. The latter, however, did not take her eyes from the farmer's +wife. + +"Pepeta,"--she said, in an indecisive voice, as though she were +uncertain if it were really she. + +Pepeta raised her head; she fixed her eyes for the first time upon the +girl; then she also appeared to be in doubt. + +"Rosario,--is it you?" + +Yes, it was; with sad nods of the head she confirmed it. Pepeta +immediately showed her surprise. She here! A daughter of such honourable +parents! God! What shame! + +The prostitute, through professional habit, tried to receive those +exclamations of the scandalized farmer's wife with a cynical smile and +the sceptical expression of one who has been initiated into the secret +of life, and who believes in nothing; but Pepeta's clear eyes seemed to +shame the girl, and she dropped her head as though she were about to +weep. + +No: she was not bad. She had worked in the factories, she had been a +servant, but finally, her sisters, tired of suffering hunger, had given +her the example. So here she was, sometimes receiving caresses, and +sometimes receiving blows, and here she would stay till she ceased to +live forever. It was natural: any family may end thus where there is no +mother nor father left. The cause of it all was the master of the land; +he was to blame for everything, that Don Salvador, who assuredly must be +burning in hell! Ah, thief! How he had ruined the entire family! + +Pepeta forgot her frigid attitude and cold reserve in order to join in +the girl's indignation. It was the truth, the whole truth! That +avaricious old miser was to blame. The entire _huerta_ knew it! Heaven +save us! How easily a family may be ruined! And poor old Barret had been +so good! If he could only raise his head and see his daughters!... It +was well-known yonder that the poor father had died in Ceuta two years +before; and as for the mother, the poor widow had ended her suffering on +a hospital-bed. + +What changes take place in the world in ten years! Who would have said +to her, and her sisters, who were reigning like queens in their homes at +the time, that they would come to such an end? Oh Lord! Lord! Deliver us +from evil! + +Rosario became animated during this conversation; she seemed rejuvenated +by this friend of her childhood. Her eyes, previously dead, sparkled as +she recalled the past. + +And the _barraca_? And the land? They were still deserted. Truly? That +pleased her;--let them go to smash,--let them go to rack and +ruin,--those sons of the rascally don Salvador. + +That alone seemed to console her: she was very grateful to Pimentó and +to all the others, because they had prevented those people yonder from +coming to work the land which rightfully belonged to the family. And if +any one wished to take possession of it, he knew only too well the +remedy.... Bang! A report from a gun which would blow his head off! + +The girl grew bolder; her eyes gleamed fiercely; within the passive +breast of the prostitute, accustomed to blows, there came to life the +daughter of the _huerta_, who, from very birth, has seen the musket hung +behind the door, and breathed in the smell of gunpowder on feast-days +with delight. + +After speaking of the sad past Rosario, whose curiosity was awakened, +went on inquiring about all the folks at home, and ended by noticing how +badly Pepeta looked. Poor thing! It was perfectly apparent that she was +not happy. Although still young, her eyes, clear, guileless, and timid +as a virgin's, alone revealed her real age. Her body was a mere +skeleton, and her reddish hair, the colour of a tender ear of corn, was +streaked with grey though as yet she had not reached her thirtieth year. + +What kind of a life was Pimentó giving her? Always drunk and averse to +work? She had brought it upon herself, marrying him contrary to every +one's advice. He was a strapping fellow, that was true; every one feared +him in the tavern of Copa on Sunday evenings, when he played cards with +the worst bullies of the _huerta_; but in the house, he was bound to +prove an insufferable husband. Still, after all, men are all alike! +Perhaps she didn't know it! Dogs, all of them, not worth the trouble of +being looked after! Great Heavens! how ill poor Pepeta was looking! + +The loud, deep voice of a virago resounded like a clap of thunder down +the narrow stairway. + +"Elisa! Bring up the milk at once! The gentleman is waiting!" + +Rosario began to laugh as though mad. "I am called Elisa now! You didn't +know that!" + +It was a requirement of her business to change her name, as well as to +speak with an Andalusian accent. And she began to imitate the voice of +the virago upstairs with a species of rough humour. + +But in spite of her mirth, she was in a hurry to get away. She was +afraid of those upstairs. The owner of the rough voice or the gentleman +who wanted the milk might give her some memento of the delay. So she +hurried up after urging Pepeta to stop again some other time to tell her +the news of the _huerta_. + +The monotonous tinkling of the bell of La Rocha continued for more than +an hour through the streets of Valencia; the wilted udders yielded up +their last drop of insipid milk, produced by a miserable diet of +cabbage-leaves and garbage, and Pepeta finally was ready to start back +toward the _barraca_. + +The poor labouring-woman walked along sadly deep in thought. The +encounter had impressed her; she remembered, as though it had just +happened the day before, the terrible tragedy which had swallowed up old +Barret and his entire family. + +Since then, the fields, which his ancestors had tilled for more than a +hundred years, had lain abandoned at the edge of the high road. + +The uninhabited _barraca_ was slowly crumbling to pieces without any +merciful hand to mend the roof or to cast a handful of clay upon the +chinks in the wall. + +Ten years of passing and re-passing had accustomed people to the sight +of this ruin, so they paid no further attention to it. It had been some +time since even Pepeta had looked at it. It now interested only the boys +who, inheriting the hatred of their fathers, trampled down the nettles +of the abandoned fields in order to riddle the deserted house with +rocks, which split great gaps in the closed door, or to fill up the well +under the ancient grape-arbour with earth and stones. + +But this morning Pepeta, under the spell of the recent meeting, not only +looked at the ruin, but stopped at the edge of the highway to see it the +better. + +The fields of old Barret, or rather, of the Jew, Don Salvador, and his +excommunicated heirs, were an oasis of misery and abandonment in the +midst of the _huerta_, so fertile, well-tilled, and smiling. + +Ten years of desolation had hardened the soil, causing all the parasitic +plants, all the nettles which the Lord has created to chasten the +farmer, to spring up out of its sterile depths. A dwarfish forest, +tangled and deformed, spread itself out over those fields in waving +ranks of strange green tones, varied here and there by flowers, +mysterious and rare, of the sort which thrive only amid cemeteries and +ruins. + +Here, in the rank maze of this thicket, fostered by the security of +their retreat, there bred and multiplied all species of loathsome +vermin, which spread out into the neighbouring fields; green lizards +with corrugated loins, enormous beetles with shells of metallic +reflection, spiders with short and hairy legs, and even snakes, which +slid off to the adjoining canals. Here they thrived in the midst of the +beautiful and cultivated plain, forming a separate estate, and devouring +one another. Though they caused some damage to the farmers, the latter +respected them even with a certain veneration, for the seven plagues of +Egypt would have seemed but a trifle to the dwellers of the _huerta_ had +they descended upon those accursed fields. + +The lands of old Barret never had been destined for man, so let the +most loathsome pests nest among them, and the more, the better. + +In the midst of these fields of desolation, which stood out in the +beautiful plain like a soiled patch on a royal robe of green velvet, the +_barraca_ rose up, or one should rather say fell away, its straw roof +bursting open, showing through the gaps, which the rain and wind had +pierced, the worm-eaten framework of wood within. + +The walls, rotted away by the rains, laid bare the clay-adobe. Only some +very light stains revealed the former whitewash; the door was ragged +along the lower edge which rats had gnawed, with wide cracks that ran, +full length, from end to end. The two or three little windows, gaping +wide, hung loosely on one hinge exposed to the mercy of the south-west +winds, ready to fall as soon as the first gust should shake them. + +This ruin hurt the spirit and weighed upon the heart. It seemed as +though phantoms might sally forth from the wretched and abandoned hut as +soon as darkness closed in; that from the interior might come the cries +of the assassinated, rending the night; that all this waste of weeds +might be a shroud to conceal hundreds of tragic corpses from sight. + +Horrible were the visions which were conjured up by the contemplation of +these desolate fields; and their gloomy poverty was sharpened by the +contrast with the surrounding fields, so red and well-cultivated, with +their orderly rows of garden-truck and their little fruit-trees, to +whose leaves the autumn gave a yellowish transparency. + +Even the birds fled from these plains of death, perhaps from fear of the +hideous reptiles which stirred about under the growth of weeds, or +possibly because they scented the vapour of abandonment. + +If anything were seen to flutter over the broken roof of straw, it was +certain to be of funereal plumage with black and treacherous wings, +which as they stirred, cast silence over the joyful flappings and +playful twitterings in the trees, leaving the _huerta_ deathly still, as +though no sparrows chirped within a half-league roundabout. + +Pepeta was about to continue on her way toward her farm-house, which +peered whitely among the trees some distance across the fields; but she +had to stand still at the steep edge of the highroad in order to permit +the passing of a loaded wagon, which seemed to be coming from the city, +and which advanced with violent lurches. + +At the sight of it, her feminine curiosity was aroused. + +It was the poor cart of a farmer drawn by an old and bony nag, which was +being helped over the deep ruts by a tall man, who marched alongside the +horse, encouraging him with shouts and the cracking of a whip. + +He was dressed like a labourer; but his manner of wearing the +handkerchief knotted around the head, his corduroy trousers, and other +details of his costume, indicated that he was not from the _huerta_, +where personal adornment had gradually been corrupted by the fashions of +the city. He was a farmer from some distant _pueblo_; he had come, +perhaps, from the very centre of the province. + +Heaped high upon the cart, forming a pyramid which mounted higher even +than the side-poles, was piled a jumble of domestic objects. This was +the migration of an entire family. Thin mattresses, straw-beds, filled +with rustling leaves of corn, rush-seats, frying-pans, kettles, plates, +baskets, green bed-slats: all were heaped upon the wagon, dirty, worn, +and miserable, speaking of hunger, of desperate flight, as if disgrace +stalked behind the family, treading at its heels. And on top of this +disordered mass were three children, embracing each other as they looked +out across the fields with wide-open eyes, like explorers visiting a +country for the first time. + +Treading close at the heels of the wagon, watching vigilantly to see +that nothing might fall, trudged a woman with a slender girl, who +appeared to be her daughter. At the other side of the nag, aiding him +whenever the cart stuck in a rut, stalked a boy of some eleven years. +His grave exterior was that of a child accustomed to struggle with +misery. He was already a man at an age when others were still playing. A +little dog, dirty and panting, brought up the rear. + +Pepeta, leaning on the flank of her cow, and possessed with growing +curiosity, watched them pass on. Where could these poor people be going? + +This road, running into the fork of Alboraya, did not lead anywhere; it +was lost in the distance as though exhausted by the innumerable +forkings of its lanes and paths, which gave entrance to the various +_barracas_. + +But her curiosity had an unexpected gratification. Holy Virgin! The +wagon turned away from the road, crossed the tumbledown little bridge +made of tree-trunks and sod which gave access to the accursed fields, +and went on through the meadows of old Barret, crushing the hitherto +respected growth of weeds beneath its wheels. + +The family followed behind, manifesting by gestures and confused words, +the impression which this miserable poverty and decay were making upon +them, but all the while going directly in a straight line toward the +ruined _barraca_ like those who are taking possession of their own. + +Pepeta did not stop to see more; she fairly flew toward her own home. In +order to arrive the sooner, she abandoned the cow and little calf, who +tranquilly pursued their way like animals who have a good, safe stable +and are not worried about the course of human affairs. + +Pimentó was lazily smoking, as he lay stretched out at the side of his +_barraca_ with his gaze fixed upon three little sticks smeared with +bird-lime, which shone in the sun, and about which some birds were +fluttering,--the occupation of a gentleman. + +When he saw his wife arrive with astonished eyes and her weak chest +panting, Pimentó changed his position in order to listen the better, at +the same time warning her not to come near the little sticks. + +What was up now? Had the cow been stolen from her? + +Pepeta, between weariness and emotion, was scarcely able to utter two +consecutive words. + +The lands of Barret, ... an entire family, ... were going to work; they +were going to live in the ruined _barraca_,--she had seen it herself! + +Pimentó, a hunter with bird-lime, an enemy of labour, and the terror of +the entire community, was no longer able to preserve his composure, the +impressive gravity of a great lord, before such unexpected news. + +_Cordons!_ + +And with one bound, he raised his heavy, muscular frame from the ground, +and set out on a run without awaiting further explanations. + +His wife watched him as he hurried across the fields until he reached a +cane-brake adjoining the accursed land. Here he knelt down, threw +himself face forward, crawling upon his belly as he spied through the +cane-brake like a Bedouin in ambush. After a few minutes, he began to +run again, and was soon lost to sight amid the labyrinth of paths, each +of which led off to a different _barraca_, to a field where bending +figures wielded large steel hoes, which glittered as the light struck +upon them. + +The _huerta_ lay smiling and rustling, filled with whisperings and with +light, drowsy under the cascade of gold reflected from the morning sun. + +But soon there came, from the distance, the mingled sound of cries and +halloes. The news passed on from field to field. With loud shouts, with +a trembling of alarm, of surprise, of indignation, it ran on through all +the plain as though centuries had not elapsed, and the report were being +spread that an Algerian galley was about to land upon the beach, seeking +a cargo of white flesh. + + + + +II + + +At harvest time, when old Barret gazed at the various plots into which +his fields were divided, he was unable to restrain a feeling of pride. +As he gazed upon the tall wheat, the cabbage-heads with their hearts of +fleecy lace, the melons showing their green backs on a level with the +earth, the pimentoes and tomatoes, half-hidden by their foliage, he +praised the goodness of the earth as well as the efforts of all his +ancestors for working these fields better than the rest of the _huerta_. + +All the blood of his forefathers was here. Five or six generations of +Barrets had passed their lives working this same soil. They had turned +it over and over, taking care that its vital nourishment should not +decrease, combing and caressing it with ploughshare and hoe; there was +not one of these fields which had not been watered by the sweat and +blood of the family. + +The farmer loved his wife dearly, and even forgave her the folly of +having given him four daughters and no son, to help him in his work. Not +that he loved his daughters any the less, angels sent from God who +passed the day singing and sewing at the door of their farm-house, and +who sometimes went out into the fields in order to give their poor +father a little rest. But the supreme passion of old Barret, the love of +all his loves, was the land upon which the silent and monotonous history +of his family had unrolled. + +Many years ago, many indeed, in those days when old Tomba, an aged man +now nearly blind, who took care of the poor herd of a butcher at +Alboraya, went roaming about in the band of The Friar,[C] shooting at +the French, these lands had belonged to the monks of San Miguel de los +Reyes. + +They were good, stout gentlemen, sleek and voluble, who were not in a +hurry to collect their rentals, and appeared to be satisfied if when +they passed the cabin of an evening, the grand-mother, who was a +generous soul, would treat them to deep cups of chocolate, and the first +fruits of the season. Before, long before, the owner of all this land +had been a great lord, who upon dying, had unloaded both his sins and +his estates upon the bosom of the community. Now, alas! they belonged to +Don Salvador, a little, dried-up old man of Valencia, who so tormented +old Barret, that he even dreamed of him at night. + +The poor farmer kept his trouble hidden from his family. He was a +courageous man of clean habits. If he went to the tavern of Copa for a +while on Sundays, when all the people of the neighbourhood were gathered +there together, it was in order to watch the card-players, to laugh +heartily at the absurdities and brutalities of Pimentó, and the other +strapping young fellows who played "cock o' the walk" about the +_huerta_; but never did he approach a counter to buy a glass; he always +kept his sash-purse tight around the waist, and if he drank at all, it +was only when one of the winners was treating all the crowd. + +Averse to discussing his difficulties, he always seemed to be smiling, +good-natured and calm, with the blue cap which had won for him his +nickname,[D] pulled well down over his ears. + +He worked from daylight until dusk. While the rest of the _huerta_ still +slept, he tilled his fields in the uncertain light of dawn, but more and +more convinced, all the time, that he could not go on working them +alone. + +It was too great a burden for one man. If he only had a son! When he +sought aid, he took on servants who robbed him, worked but little, and +whom he discharged when he surprised them asleep in the stable during +the sunny hours. + +Obsessed with his respect for his ancestors, he would rather have died +in his fields, overcome by fatigue, than rent a single acre to strange +hands. And since he could not manage all the work alone, half of his +fertile land remained fallow and unproductive, while he tried to +maintain his family and pay off his landlord by the cultivation of the +other half. + +A silent struggle was this, desperate and obstinate, to earn enough for +the necessities of life and overcome the ebbing of his vitality. + +He now had only one wish. It was that his little girls should not know; +that no one should give them an inkling of the worries and troubles +which harassed their father; that the sacred joy of this household, the +joy enlivened at all hours by the songs and laughter of the four +sisters, who had been born in four successive years, should not be +broken. + +And they, in the meantime, had already begun to attract the attention of +the young swains of the _huerta_, when they went to the merrymakings of +the village in their new and showy silk handkerchiefs and their rustling +ironed skirts. And while they were getting up at dawn and slipping off +barefooted in their chemises in order to look down, through the cracks +of the little windows, at the suitors who were singing the _albaes_,[E] +or who wooed them with thrummings of the guitar, poor old Barret, trying +harder and harder to balance his accounts, drew out ounce by ounce the +handful of gold which his father had amassed for him farthing by +farthing, and tried in vain to appease Don Salvador, the old miser who +never had enough, and who, not content with squeezing him, kept talking +of the bad times, the scandalous increase in taxes, and the need of +raising his rent. + +Barret could not possibly have had a worse landlord. He bore a +detestable reputation throughout the entire _huerta_, since there was +hardly a district where he did not own property. Every evening he passed +over the roads, visiting his tenants, wrapped up even in springtime in +his old cloak, shabby and looking like a beggar, while maledictions and +hostile gestures followed after him. It was the tenacity of avarice +which desired to be in contact with its property at all hours; the +persistency of the usurer, who has pending accounts to settle. + +The dogs howled from a distance when they saw him, as though Death +itself were approaching; the children looked after him with frowning +faces; men hid themselves in order to avoid painful excuses, and the +women came to meet him at the door of the cabin with their eyes upon the +ground and the lie ready to entreat him to be patient, while they +answered his blustering threats with tears. + +Pimentó who, as the public bully, interested himself in the misfortunes +of his neighbours, and who was the knight-errant of the _huerta_, +muttered something through his teeth which sounded like the promise of a +thrashing, with a cooling-off later in a canal. But the very victims of +the miser held him back, telling him of the influence of Don Salvador, +warning him that he was a man who spent his mornings in court and had +powerful friends. With such, the poor are always losers. + +Of all his tenants, the best was Barret, who at the cost of great effort +owed him nothing at all. And the old miser, even while pointing him out +as a model to the other tenants, carried his cruelty toward him to the +utmost extreme. Aroused by the very meekness of the farmer he showed +himself more exacting, and was evidently pleased to find a man upon whom +he could vent without fear all his instincts of robbery and oppression. + +Finally he raised the rent of the land. Barret protested, even wept as +he recited to him the merits of the family who had worked the skin from +their hands in order to make these fields the best of the _huerta_. But +Don Salvador was inflexible. Were they the best? Then he ought to pay +more. And Barret paid the increase; he would give up his last drop of +blood before he would abandon those fields which little by little were +taking his very life. + +At last he had no money left to tide him over. He could count only upon +the produce from the fields. And completely alone, poor Barret +concealed the real situation from his family. He forced himself to smile +when his wife and daughters begged him not to work so hard, and he kept +on like a veritable madman. + +He did not sleep; it seemed to him that his garden-truck was growing +less quickly than that of his neighbours; he made up his mind that he, +and he alone, should cultivate all the land; he worked at night, groping +in the darkness; the slightest threatening cloud would make him tremble, +and be fairly beside himself with fear; and finally, honourable and good +as he was, he even took advantage of the carelessness of his neighbours +and robbed them of their share of water for the irrigation. + +But if his family were blind, the neighbouring farmers understood his +situation and pitied him for his meekness. He was a big, good-natured +fellow, who did not know how to put on a bold front before the repellent +miser, who was slowly draining him dry. + +And this was true. The poor fellow, exhausted by his feverish existence +and mad labour, became a mere skeleton of skin and bones, bent over like +an octogenarian, with sunken eyes. That characteristic cap, which had +given him his nickname, no longer remained settled upon his ears, but as +he grew leaner, drooped toward his shoulders, like the funereal +extinguisher of his existence. + +But the worst of it was that this insufferable excess of fatigue only +served to pay half of what the insatiable monster demanded. The +consequences of his mad labours were not slow in coming. Barret's nag, a +long-suffering animal, the companion of all his frantic toil, tired of +working both day and night, of drawing the cart with loads of +garden-truck to the market at Valencia, and of being hitched to the +plough without time to breathe or to cool off, decided to die rather +than to attempt the slightest rebellion against his poor master. + +Then indeed the poor farmer saw himself lost! He gazed with desperation +at his fields which he could no longer cultivate; the rows of fresh +garden-truck which the people in the city devoured indifferently without +suspecting the anxiety the produce had caused the poor farmer, in the +constant battle with his poverty and with the land. + +But Providence, which never abandons the poor, spoke to him through the +mouth of Don Salvador. Not vainly do they say that God often derives +good from evil. + +The insufferable miser, the voracious usurer, offered his assistance +with touching and paternal kindness on hearing of Barret's misfortune. +How much did he need to buy another beast? Fifty dollars? Then here he +was, ready to aid him, and to show him how unjust was the hatred of +those who despised and spoke ill of him. + +And he loaned money to Barret, although with the insignificant detail of +demanding that he place his signature (since business is business), at +the foot of a certain paper in which he mentioned interest, the +accumulation of interest, and security for the debt, listing to cover +this last detail, the furniture, the implements, all that the farmer +possessed on his farm, including the animals of the corral. + +Barret, encouraged by the possession of a new and vigorous young horse, +returned to his work with more spirit, to kill himself again over those +lands which were crushing him, and which seemed to grow in proportion as +his efforts diminished until they enveloped him like a red shroud. + +All that his fields produced was eaten by his family, and the handful of +copper which he made by his sales in the market of Valencia was soon +scattered; he could never eke out enough to satisfy the avarice of Don +Salvador. + +The anguish of old Barret over his struggle to pay his debt and his +failure to do so aroused in him a certain instinct of rebellion which +caused all sorts of confused ideas of justice to surge through his crude +reasoning. Why were not the fields his own? All his ancestors had spent +their lives upon these lands; they were sprinkled with the sweat of his +family; if it were not for them, the Barrets, these lands would be as +depopulated as the sands of the seashore. And now this inhuman old man, +who was the master here, though he did not know how to pick up a hoe and +had never bent his back in toil in his whole life, was putting the +screws on him and crushing him with all his "reminders." Christ! How the +affairs of men are ordered! + +But these revolts were only momentary; the resigned submission of the +labourer returned to him; with his traditional and superstitious respect +for property. He must work and be honest. + +And the poor man, who considered that failure to pay one's obligation +was the greatest of all dishonours, returned to his work, growing ever +weaker and thinner, and feeling within himself the gradual sagging of +his vitality. Convinced that he would not be able to drag out the +situation much longer, he was yet indignant at the mere possibility of +abandoning a handful of the lands of his forefathers. + +When Christmas came, he was able to pay Don Salvador only a small part +of the half-year's rent that fell due; Saint John's day arrived, and he +had not a _centime_; his wife was sick; he had even sold their wedding +jewelry in order to meet expenses; ... the ancient pendant earrings, and +the collar of pearls, which were the family treasure, and the future +possession of which had given rise to discussions among the four +daughters. + +The avaricious old miser proved himself to be inflexible. No, Barret, +this could not continue. Since he was kind-hearted (however unwilling +people were to believe it), he would not permit the farmer to kill +himself in his determination to cultivate more land than his efforts +were equal to. No, he would not consent to it; he was too kind-hearted. +And as he had received another offer of rental, he notified Barret to +relinquish the fields as soon as possible. He was very sorry, but he +also was poor. Ah! And at the same time, he reminded him that it would +be necessary to pay back the loan for the purchase of the horse, ... a +sum which with the interest amounted to.... + +The poor farmer did not even pay attention to the sum of some thousand +reals to which his debt had aggregated with the blessed interest, so +agitated and confused did he become by this order to abandon his lands. + +His weakness and the inner erosion produced by the crushing struggle of +two years showed themselves suddenly. + +He, who had never wept, now sobbed like a child. All of his pride, his +Moorish gravity, disappeared all at once, and kneeling down before the +old man, he begged him not to forsake him since he looked upon him as a +father. + +But a fine father poor Barret had picked! Don Salvador proved to be +relentless. He was sorry, but he could not help it: he himself was poor; +he had to provide a living for his sons. And he continued to cloak his +cruelty with sentences of hypocritical sentimentality. + +The farmer grew tired of asking for mercy. He made several trips to +Valencia to the house of the master to remind him of his forefathers, of +his moral right to those lands, begging him for a little patience, +declaring with frenzied hope that he would pay him back. But at last the +miser refused to open his door to him. + +Then desperation gave Barret new life. He became again the son of the +_huerta_, proud, spirited, intractable, when he is convinced that he is +in the right. The landlord did not wish to listen to him? He refused to +give him any hope? Very well; he was in his own house; if Don Salvador +desired anything, he would have to seek him there. He would like to see +the bully who could make him leave his farm. + +And he went on working, but with misgiving, gazing anxiously about if +any one unknown to him happened to be approaching over the adjoining +roads, as though expecting at any moment to be attacked by a band of +bandits. + +They summoned him to court, but he did not appear. + +He already knew what this meant: the snares that men set in order to +ruin the honourable. If they were going to rob him, let them seek him +out on these lands which had become a part of his very flesh and blood, +for as such he would defend them. + +One day they gave him notice that the court was going to begin +proceedings to expel him from his land that very afternoon; furthermore, +they would attach everything he had in his cabin to meet his debts. He +would not be sleeping there that night. + +This news was so incredible to poor old Barret that he smiled with +incredulity. This might happen to others, to those cheats who had never +paid anything; but he, who had always fulfilled his duty, who had even +been born here, who owed only a year's rent,--nonsense! Such a thing +could not happen, even though one were living among savages, without +charity or religion! + +But in the afternoon, when he saw certain men in black coming along the +road, big funereal birds with wings of paper rolled under the arm, he no +longer was in doubt. This was the enemy. They were coming to rob him. + +And suddenly there was awakened within old Barret the blind courage of +the Moor who will suffer every manner of insult but who goes mad when +his property is touched. Running into the cabin, he seized the old +shot-gun, always hung loaded behind the door, and raising it to his +shoulder, took his stand under the vineyard, ready to put two bullets +into the first bandit of the law to set foot upon his fields. + +His sick wife and four daughters came running out, shouting wildly, and +threw themselves upon him, trying to wrest away the gun, pulling at the +barrel with both hands. And such were the cries of the group, as they +struggled and contended for it, reeling from one pillar of the +grape-arbour to the other, that people from the neighbourhood began to +run out, arriving in an anxious crowd, with the fraternal solidarity of +those who live in deserted places. + +It was Pimentó who prudently made himself master of the shot-gun and +carried it off to his house. Barret staggered behind, trying to pursue +him but restrained and held fast by the strong arms of some strapping +young fellows, while he vented his madness upon the fool who was keeping +him from defending his own. + +"Pimentó,--thief! Give me back my shot-gun!" + +But the bully smiled good-naturedly, satisfied that he was behaving both +prudently and paternally with the old madman. Thus he brought him to his +own farm-house, where he and Barret's friends watched him and advised +him not to do a foolish deed. Have a care, old Barret! These people are +from the court, and the poor always lose when they pick a quarrel with +_it_! Coolness and evil design succeed above everything. + +And at the same time, the big black birds were writing papers, and yet +more papers in the farm-house of Barret; impassively they turned over +the furniture and the clothing, making an inventory even of the corral +and the stable, while the wife and the daughters wept in despair, and +the terrified crowd, gathering at the door, followed all the details of +the deed, trying to console the poor woman, or breaking out into +suppressed maledictions against the Jew, Don Salvador, and these fellows +who yielded obedience to such a dog. + +Toward nightfall, Barret, who was like one overwhelmed, and who, after +the mad crisis, had fallen into a stony stupor, saw some bundles of +clothing at his feet, and heard the metallic sound of a bag which +contained his farming implements. + +"Father! Father!" whimpered the tremulous voices of his daughters, who +threw themselves into his arms; behind them the old woman, sick, +trembling with fever, and in the rear, invading the _barraca_ of +Pimentó, and disappearing into the background through the dark door, all +the people of the neighbourhood, the terrified chorus of the tragedy. + +He had already been driven away from his farm-house. The men in black +had closed it, taking away the keys; nothing remained to them there +except the bundles which were on the floor; the worn clothing, the iron +implements; this was all which they were permitted to take out of the +house. + +Their words were broken by sobs; the father and the daughters embraced +again, and Pepeta, the mistress of the house, as well as other women, +wept and repeated the maledictions against the old miser until Pimentó +opportunely intervened. + +There would be time left to speak of what had occurred; now it was time +for supper. What the deuce! Grieve like this because of an old Jew! If +he could but see all this, how his evil heart would rejoice! The people +of the _huerta_ were kind; all of them would help to care for the family +of old Barret, and would share with them a loaf of bread if they had +nothing more. + +The wife and daughters of the ruined farmer went off with some +neighbours to pass the night in their houses. Old Barret remained +behind, under the vigilance of Pimentó. + +The two men remained seated until ten in their rush-chairs, smoking +cigar after cigar in the candle-light. + +The poor old farmer appeared to be crazy. He answered in short +monosyllables the reflections of this bully, who now assumed the rôle of +a good-natured fellow; and when he spoke it was always to repeat the +same words: + +"Pimentó! Give me my shot-gun!" + +And Pimentó smiled with a sort of admiration. The sudden ferocity of +this little old man, who was considered a good-natured fool by all the +_huerta_, astounded him. Return him the shot-gun! At once! He well +divined by the straight wrinkles which stood out between his eyebrows, +his firm intention of blowing the author of his ruin to atoms. + +Barret grew more and more vexed with the young fellow. He went so far as +to call him a thief: he had refused to give him his weapon. He had no +friends; he could see that well enough; all of them were only ingrates, +equal to don Salvador in avarice; he did not wish to sleep here; he was +suffocating. And searching in the bag of implements, he selected a +sickle, shoved it through his sash, and left the farm-house. Nor did +Pimentó attempt to bar his way. + +At such an hour, he could do no harm; let him sleep in the open if it +suited his pleasure. And the bully, closing the door, went to bed. + +Old Barret started directly toward the fields, and like an abandoned +dog, began to make a détour around his farm-house. + +Closed! Closed forever! These walls had been raised by his grandfather +and renovated by himself through all these years. Even in the darkness, +the pallor of the neat whitewash, with which his little girls had coated +them three months before, stood out plainly. + +The corral, the stable, the pigsties were all the work of his father; +and this straw-roof, so slender and high, with the two little crosses at +the ends, he had built himself as a substitution for the old, which had +leaked everywhere. + +And the curbstone at the well, the post of the vineyard, the cane-fences +over which the pinks and the morning-glories were showing their tufts of +bloom;--these too were the work of his hands. And all this was going to +become the property of another, because--yes, because men had arranged +it so. + +He searched in his sash for the pasteboard strip of matches in order to +set fire to the straw-roof. Let the devil fly away with it all; it was +his own, anyway, as God knew, and he could destroy his own property and +would do so before he would see it fall into the hands of thieves. + +But just as he was going to set fire to his old house, he felt a +sensation of horror, as if he saw the ghosts of all his ancestors rising +up before him; and he hurled the strip of matches to the ground. + +But the longing for destruction continued roaring through his head, and +sickle in hand, he set forth over the fields which had been his ruin. + +Now at a single stroke he would get even with the ungrateful earth, the +cause of all his misfortunes. + +The destruction lasted for entire hours. Down they came tumbling to his +heels, the arches of cane upon which the green tendrils of the tender +kidney-beans and peas were climbing; parted by the furious sickle, the +beans fell, and the cabbages and lettuce, driven by the sharp steel, +flew wide like severed heads, scattering their rosettes of leaves all +around. No one should take advantage of his labour. + +And thus he went on mowing until the break of dawn, trampling under foot +with mad stampings, shouting curses, howling blasphemies, until +weariness finally deadened his fury, and casting himself down upon a +furrow, he wept like a child, thinking that the earth henceforth would +be his real bed, and his only occupation begging in the streets. + +He was awakened by the first rays of the sun striking his eyes, and the +joyful twitter of the birds which hopped around his head, availing +themselves of the remnants of the nocturnal destruction for their +breakfast. + +Benumbed with weariness and chilled with the dampness, he rose from the +ground. Pimentó and his wife were calling him from a distance, inviting +him to come and take something. Barret answered them with scorn. Thief! +After taking away his shot-gun! And he set out on the road toward +Valencia, trembling with cold, without even knowing where he was going. + +He stopped at the tavern of Copa and entered. Some teamsters of the +neighbourhood spoke to him, expressing sympathy for him in his +misfortune, and invited him to have a drink. He accepted gratefully. He +craved something which would counteract this cold, which had penetrated +his very bones. And he who had always been so sober, drank, one after +the other, two glasses of brandy, which fell into his weakened stomach +like waves of fire. + +His face flushed, then became deadly pale; his eyes grew bloodshot. To +the teamsters who sympathized with him, he seemed expressive and +confiding, almost like one who is happy. He called them his sons, +assuring them that he was not fretting over so little. Nor had he lost +everything. There still remained in his possession the best thing in his +house, the sickle of his grandfather, a jewel which he would not +exchange, no, not for fifty measures of grain. + +And from his sash he drew forth the curved steel, an implement brilliant +and pure, of fine temper and very keen edge, which, as Barret declared, +would cut a cigarette-paper in the air. + +The teamsters paid up, and urging on their beasts, set off for Valencia, +filling the air with the creaking of wheels. + +The old man stayed in the tavern for more than an hour, talking to +himself, feeling more and more dizzy, until, made ill at ease by the +hard glances of the landlord, who divined his condition, he experienced +a vague feeling of shame, and set out with unsteady steps without saying +good-bye. + +But he was unable to dispel from his mind a tenacious remembrance. He +could see, as he closed his eyes, a great orchard of oranges which was +about an hour's distance, between Benimaclet and the sea. There he had +gone many times on business, and there he would go now to see if the +devil would be so good as to let him come across the master, as there +was hardly a day that his avaricious glance did not inspect the +beautiful trees as though he had the oranges counted on every one. + +He arrived after two hours of walking, during which he stopped many +times to balance his body, which was swaying back and forth upon his +unsteady legs. + +The brandy had now taken complete possession of him. He could no longer +remember for what purpose he had come here, so far from that part of the +_huerta_ in which his own family lived, and finally he let himself fall +into a field of hemp at the edge of the road. In a short time, his +laboured snores of drunkenness sounded among the green straight stalks. + +When he awoke, the afternoon was well advanced. He felt heavy of head +and his stomach was faint. There was a humming in his ears, and he had a +horrible taste in his coated mouth. What was he doing here, near the +_huerta_ of the Jew? Why had he come so far? His instinctive sense of +honour arose; he felt ashamed at seeing himself in such a state of +debasement, and he tried to get on his feet to go away. The pressure on +his stomach caused by the sickle which lay crosswise in his sash, gave +him chills. + +On standing up, he thrust his head out from among the hemp, and he saw, +in a turn of the road, a little man who was walking slowly along +enveloped in a cape. + +Barret felt all his blood suddenly rise to his head; his drunkenness +came back on him again. He stood up, tugging at his sickle. And yet they +say that the devil is not good? Here was his man; here was the one whom +he had been wanting to see since the day before. + +The old usurer had hesitated before leaving his house. The affair of old +Barret had pricked his conscience; it was a recent event and the +_huerta_ was treacherous; but the fear that his absence might be taken +advantage of in the _huerta_ was stronger even than his cowardice, and +remembering that the orange estate was distant from the attached +farm-house, he set out on the road. + +He was already in sight of the _huerta_, scoffing inwardly at his past +fears, when he saw Barret bound out from the plot of cane-brake: like an +enormous demon he seemed to him with his red face and extended arms, +impeding all flight, cutting him off at the edge of the canal which ran +parallel to the road. He thought he must be dreaming; his teeth +chattered, his face turned green, and his cape fell off, revealing his +old overcoat and the dirty handkerchiefs rolled around his neck. So +great was his terror, his agitation, that he spoke to him in Spanish. + +"Barret! My son!" he said, in a broken voice. "The whole thing has been +a joke; never mind. What happened yesterday was only to make you a +little afraid ... nothing more. You may stay on your land; come tomorrow +to my house ... we will talk things over: you shall pay me whenever you +wish." + +And he bent backward to avoid the approach of old Barret: he attempted +to sneak away, to flee from that terrible sickle, upon whose blade a ray +of sun broke, and where the blue of the sky was reflected. But with the +canal behind him, he could not find a place to retreat, and he threw +himself backward, trying to shield himself with his clenched hands. + +The farmer, showing his sharp white teeth, smiled like a hyena. + +"Thief! thief!" he answered in a voice which sounded like a snarl. + +And waving his weapon from side to side, he sought for a place where he +might strike, avoiding the thin and desperate hands which the miser held +before him. + +"But, Barret, my son! what does this mean? Lower your weapon, do not +jest! You are an honest man ... think of your daughters! I repeat to +you, it was only a joke. Come tomorrow and I will give you the key.... +Aaaay!..." + +There came a horrible howl; the cry of a wounded beast. The sickle, +tired of encountering obstacles, had lopped off one of the clenched +hands at a blow. It remained hanging by the tendons and the skin, and +from the red stump blood spurted violently, spattering Barret, who +roared as the hot stream struck his face. + +The old man staggered on his legs, but before he fell to the ground the +sickle cut horizontally across his neck, and ... zas! severed the +complicated folds of the neckerchief, opening a deep gash which almost +separated the head from the trunk. + +Don Salvador fell into the canal; his legs remained on the sloping bank, +twitching, like a slaughtered steer giving its last kicks. And meanwhile +his head, sunken into the mire, poured out all of his blood through the +deep breach, and the waters following their peaceful course with a +tranquil murmur which enlivened the solemn silence of the afternoon, +became tinged with red. + +Barret, stupefied, stood stock still on the shore. How much blood the +old thief had! The canal grew red, it seemed more copious! Suddenly the +farmer, seized with terror, broke into a run, as if he feared that the +little river of blood would overflow and drown him. + +Before the end of the day, the news had circulated like the report of a +cannon which stirred all the plain. Have you ever seen the hypocritical +gesture, the silent rejoicing, with which a town receives the death of a +governor who has oppressed it? All guessed that it was the hand of old +Barret, yet nobody spoke. The farm-houses would have opened their last +hiding-places for him; the women would have hidden him under their +skirts. + +But the assassin roamed like a madman through the fields, fleeing from +people, lying low behind the sloping banks, concealing himself under the +little bridges, running across the fields, frightened by the barking of +the dogs, until on the following day, the rural police surprised him +sleeping in a hayloft. + +For six weeks, they talked of nothing in the _huerta_ but old Barret. + +Men and women went on Sundays to the prison of Valencia as though on a +pilgrimage, in order to look through the bars at the poor liberator, +who grew thinner and thinner, his eyes more sunken, and his glance more +troubled. + +The day of his trial arrived and he was sentenced to death. + +The news made a deep impression in the plain; parish priests and mayors +started a movement to avoid such a shame.... A member of the district to +find himself on the scaffold! And as Barret had always been among the +docile, voting as the political bosses ordered him to vote, and +passively obeying as he was commanded, they made trips to Madrid in +order to save his life, and his pardon was opportunely granted. + +The farmer came forth from the prison as thin as a mummy, and was +conducted to Ceuta, where he died after a few years. + +His family scattered; disappearing like a handful of straw in the wind. + +The daughters, one after the other, left the families which had taken +them in, and went to Valencia to earn their living as servants; and the +poor widow, tired of troubling others with her infirmities, was taken to +the hospital, and died there in a short time. + +The people of the _huerta_, with that facility which every one displays +in forgetting the misfortune of others, scarcely ever spoke of the +terrible tragedy of old Barret, and then only to wonder what had become +of his daughters. + +But nobody forgot the fields and the farm-house, which remained exactly +as on the day when the judge ejected the unfortunate farmer from them. + +It was a silent agreement of the whole district; an instinctive +conspiracy which few words prepared but in which the very trees and +roads seemed to have a part. + +Pimentó had given expression to it the very day of the catastrophe. We +will see the fine fellow who dares take possession of those lands! + +And all the people of the _huerta_, even the women and children, seemed +to answer with their glances of mute understanding. Yes; they would see. + +The parasitic plants, the thistles, began to spring up from the accursed +land which old Barret had stamped upon and cut down with his sickle on +that last night, as though he had a presentiment that he would die in +prison through its fault. + +The sons of Don Salvador, men as rich and avaricious as their father, +cried poverty because this piece of land remained unproductive. + +A farmer who lived in another district of the _huerta_, a man who +pretended to be a bully and never had enough land, was tempted by their +low price, and tackled these fields which inspired fear in all. + +He set out to work the land with a gun on his shoulder; he and his +farm-hands laughed among themselves at the isolation in which the +neighbours left them; the farm-houses were closed to them as they +passed, and hostile glances followed from a distance. + +The tenant, having the presentiment of an ambush, was vigilant. But his +caution served him to no purpose. As he was leaving the fields alone one +afternoon, before he had even finished breaking up the ground, two +musket-shots were fired at him by some invisible aggressor, and he came +forth miraculously uninjured by the handful of birdshot which passed +close to his ear. + +No one was found in the fields,--not even a fresh foot-print. The +sharpshooter had fired from some canal, hidden behind the cane-brake. + +With enemies such as these, one has no chance to fight, and on the same +night, the Valencian delivered the keys of the farm-house to its +masters. + +One should have heard the sons of Don Salvador. Was there no law or +security for property, ... nor for anything? + +No doubt Pimentó was the instigator of this attack. It was he who was +preventing these fields from being cultivated. So the rural police +arrested the bully of the _huerta_, and took him off to prison. + +But when the moment of taking oath arrived, all of the district filed by +before the judge declaring the innocence of Pimentó, and from these +cunning rustics not one contradictory word could be forced. + +One and all told the same story. Even failing old women who never left +their farm-houses declared that on that day, at the very hour when the +two reports were heard, Pimentó was in a tavern of Alboraya, enjoying a +feast with his friends. + +Nothing could be done with these people of imbecile expression and +candid looks, who lied with such composure as they scratched the back of +their heads. Pimentó was set free, and a sigh of triumph and of +satisfaction came from all the houses. + +Now the proof was given: now it was known that the cultivation of these +lands was paid for with men's lives. + +The avaricious masters would not yield. They would cultivate the land +themselves. And they sought day-labourers among the long-suffering and +submissive people, who, smelling of coarse sheep-wool and poverty, and +driven by hunger, descended from the ends of the province, from the +mountainous frontiers of Aragon, in search of work. + +The _huerta_ pitied the poor _churros_.[F] Unfortunate men! They wanted +to earn a day's pay; what guilt was theirs? And at night, as they were +leaving with their hoes over the shoulder, there was always some good +soul to call to them from the door of the tavern of Copa. They made them +enter, drink, talked to them confidentially with frowning faces but with +the paternal and good-natured tone of one who counsels a child to avoid +danger; and the result was that on the following day these docile +_churros_, instead of going to the field, presented themselves en masse +to the owners of the land. + +"Master: we have come to get our pay." + +All the arguments of the two old bachelors, furious at seeing themselves +opposed in their avarice, were useless. + +"Master," they responded to everything, "we are poor, but we were not +born like dogs behind a barn." + +And not only did they leave their work, but they passed the warning on +to all their countrymen, to avoid earning a day's wages in those fields +of Barret's as they would flee from the devil. + +The owners of the land even asked for protection in the daily papers. +And the rural police went out over the _huerta_ in pairs, stopping along +the roads to surprise gestures and conversations, but always without +results. + +Every day they saw the same thing. The women sewing and singing under +the vine-arbours; the men bending over in the fields, their eyes upon +the ground, their active arms never resting; Pimentó, stretched out like +a grand lord under the little wands of bird-lime, waiting for the birds, +or torpidly and lazily helping Pepeta; in the tavern of Copa, a few old +men, sunning themselves or playing cards. The countryside breathed forth +peace, and honourable stolidity; it was a Moorish Arcadia. But those of +the "_Union_" were on their guard; not a farmer wanted the land, not +even gratuitously; and at last, the owners had to abandon their +undertaking, let the weeds cover the place and the house fall into +decay, while they hoped for the arrival of some willing man, capable of +buying or working the farm. + +The _huerta_ trembled with satisfaction, seeing how this wealth was +lost, and the heirs of Don Salvador were being ruined. + +It was a new and intense pleasure. Sometimes, after all, the will of the +poor must triumph, and the rich must get the worst of it. And the hard +bread seemed more savoury, the wine better, the work less burdensome, as +they thought of the fury of the two misers, who with all their money had +to endure the rustics of the _huerta_ laughing at them. + +Furthermore, this patch of desolation and misery in the midst of the +_vega_, served to make the other landlords less exacting. Taking this +neighbourhood as an example, they did not increase their rents and even +agreed to wait when the half year's rent was late in being paid. + +Those desolate fields were the talisman which kept the dwellers of the +_huerta_ intimately united, in continuous contact: a monument which +proclaimed their power over the owners; the miracle of the solidarity of +poverty against the laws and the wealth of those who were the lords of +the land without working it or sweating over their fields. + +All this, which they thought out confusedly, made them believe that on +the day when the fields of old Barret should be cultivated, the _huerta_ +would suffer all manner of misfortunes. And they did not expect, after a +triumph of ten years, that any person would dare to enter those +abandoned fields except old Tomba, a blind and gibbering shepherd, who +in default of an audience daily related his deeds of prowess to his +flock of dirty sheep. + +Hence the exclamations of astonishment, the gestures of wrath, over all +the _huerta_, when Pimentó published the news from field to field, from +farm-house to farm-house, that the lands of Barret now had a tenant, a +stranger, and that he ... he ... (whoever he might be), was here with +all his family, installing himself without any warning, ... as if they +were his own! + + + + +III + + +When he inspected the uncultivated land, Batiste told himself that here +he would have work for some time. + +Nor did he feel dismayed over the prospect. He was an energetic, +enterprising man, accustomed to working hard to earn a livelihood, and +there was hard work here, and plenty of it, furthermore, he consoled +himself by remembering that he had been even worse off. + +His life had been a continuous change of profession, always within the +circle of rural poverty; but though he had changed his occupation every +year, he had never succeeded in obtaining for his family the modest +comfort which was his only aspiration. + +When he first became acquainted with his wife, he was a millhand in the +neighbourhood of Sagunto. He was then working like a dog (as he +expressed it) to provide for his family; and the Lord rewarded his +labours by sending him every year a child, all sons,--beautiful +creatures who seemed to have been born with teeth, judging by the haste +with which they deserted the mother's breast, and began to beg +continually for bread. + +The result was that in his search for higher wages, he had to give up +the mill and become a teamster. + +But bad luck pursued him. And yet no one tended the live stock and +watched the road as well as he: though nearly dead from fatigue, he had +never like his companions dared to sleep in the wagon, letting the +beasts, guided by their instinct, find their own way: wakeful at all +hours, he always walked beside the nag ahead to avoid the holes and the +bad places. Nevertheless, if a wagon upset, it was always his; if an +animal fell ill of the rains, it was of course one of Batiste's, in +spite of the paternal care with which he hastened to cover the flanks of +the horses with trappings of sackcloth, as soon as a few drops had +fallen. + +During some years of tiresome wanderings over highroads of the province, +eating poorly, sleeping in the open, and suffering the torment of +passing entire months away from his family, whom he adored with the +concentrated affection of a rough and silent man, Batiste experienced +only losses, and saw his position getting worse and worse. + +His nags died, and he had to go into debt to buy others; the profit that +he should have had from the continuous carrying of bags of skin bulged +out with wine or oil, would disappear in the hands of hucksters and +owners of carts, until the moment arrived when, seeing his impending +ruin, he gave up the occupation. + +Then he took some land near Sagunto; arid fields, red and eternally +thirsty, in which the century-old carob-trees writhed their hollow +trunks, and the olive-trees raised their round and dusty heads. + +His life was one continuous battle with the drought, an incessant gazing +at the sky; whenever a small dark cloud showed itself on the horizon, he +trembled with fear. + +It rained but little, the crops were bad for four consecutive years, and +at last Batiste did not know what to do nor where to turn. Then, in a +trip to Valencia, he made the acquaintance of the sons of Don Salvador, +excellent gentlemen (the Lord bless them), who offered to let him use +these beautiful fields rent-free for two years, until they could be +brought back completely to their old condition. + +He had heard rumours of what had happened at the farm-house; of the +causes which had compelled the owner to keep these beautiful lands +unproductive; but such a long time had elapsed! Furthermore, poverty has +no ears; the fields suited him, and in them he would remain. What did he +care for the story of don Salvador and old Barret? + +All of which was scorned and forgotten as he looked over the land. And +Batiste felt himself filled with sweet ecstasy at finding himself the +cultivator of the fertile _huerta_, which he had envied so many times as +he passed along the high-road of Valencia to Sagunto. + +This was fine land; always green; of inexhaustible fertility, producing +one harvest after another; the red water circulating at all hours like +life-giving blood through the innumerable canals and irrigation trenches +which furrowed its surface like a complicated network of veins and +arteries; so fertile that entire families were supported by patches so +small that they looked like green handkerchiefs. The dry fields off +there near Sagunto reminded him of an inferno of drought, from which he +fortunately had liberated himself. + +Now he was sure that he was on the right road. To work! The fields were +ruined; there was much work to be done; but when one is so willing! And +this big, robust, muscular fellow, with the shoulders of a giant, +closely cropped round head, and good-natured countenance supported by +the heavy neck of a monk, extended his powerful arms, accustomed to +raising sacks of flour and the heavy skin sacks of the teamster's trade, +aloft in the air, and stretched himself. + +He was so absorbed in his lands that he scarcely noticed the curiosity +of his neighbours. + +Restless heads appeared between the cane-brake; men, stretched out at +full-length on the sloping banks, were watching him; even the women and +the children of the adjoining _huertas_ followed his movements. + +Batiste did not mind them. It was curiosity, the hostile expectation +which recent arrivals always inspire. Well did he know what that was; +they would get accustomed to it. Furthermore, perhaps they were +interested in seeing how that desolate growth burned, which ten years of +abandonment had heaped upon the fields of Barret. + +And aided by his wife and children, he went about on the day after his +arrival, burning up all the parasitic vegetation. + +The shrubs writhed in the flames; they fell like live coals from whose +ashes the loathsome vermin escaped all singed, and the farm-house seemed +lost amid the clouds of smoke from these fires, which awakened silent +anger in all the _huerta_. + +The fields once cleared, Batiste without losing time proceeded to +cultivate them. They were somewhat hard; but like an expert farmer, he +planned to work them little by little, in sections, and marking out a +plot near his farm-house, he began to break up the earth, aided by all +his family. + +The neighbours made sport of them with an irony which betrayed their +irritation. A pretty family! They were gipsies, like those who sleep +under the bridges. They lived in that old farm-house like shipwrecked +sailors who are holding out in a ruined boat; plugging a hole here, +shoring there, doing real wonders to sustain the straw roof, and +distributing their poor furniture, carefully polished, in all the rooms +which had been before the burrowing place of rats and vermin. + +In their industry, they were like a nest of squirrels, unable to keep +idle while the father was working. Teresa, the wife, and Roseta, the +eldest daughter, with their skirts tucked in between their legs, and hoe +in hand, dug with more zeal than day-labourers, resting only to throw +back the locks of hair which kept straggling over their red, perspiring +foreheads. The eldest son made continuous trips to Valencia with the +rush-basket on his shoulder, carrying manure and rubbish which he piled +up in two heaps like columns of honour at the entrance to the +farm-house; and the three little tots, grave and laborious, as if they +understood the situation of the family, went down on all fours behind +the diggers, tearing up the hard roots of the burned shrubs from the +earth. + +This preparatory work lasted more than a week, the family sweating and +panting from dawn till night. + +Half of the land having been broken up, Batiste fenced in the plot and +tilled it with the aid of the willing nag, which was like one of the +family. + +He had only to proceed to cultivate. They were then in Saint Martin's +summer, the time of sowing, and the labourer divided the broken-up +earth into three parts. The greater part was for wheat, a smaller patch +for beans, and another part for fodder, for it would not do to forget +Morrut, the dear old horse: well had he earned it. + +And with the joy of those who discover a port after a hard voyage, the +family proceeded to the sowing. The future was assured. The fields of +the _huerta_ never failed; here bread for all the year would be +forthcoming. + +On the afternoon which completed the sowing, they saw coming over the +adjoining road some sheep with dirty wool, which stopped timidly at the +end of the field. + +Behind them walked an old man, like dried up parchment, yellowish, with +deep sunken eyes and a mouth surrounded by a circle of wrinkles. He was +walking with firm steps, but with his shepherd's crook ahead of him, as +though feeling his way along the road. + +The family looked at him with attention; he was the only person who had +ventured to approach the land within the two weeks they were here. On +noticing the hesitation of the sheep, he shouted to them to go on. + +Batiste went out to meet the old man; he could not pass through; the +fields were now under cultivation. Did he not know? + +Old Tomba had heard something, but during the two preceding weeks, he +had taken out his flock to graze upon the rank grass in the ravine of +Carraixet, without concerning himself about the fields. So indeed they +now were cultivated? + +And the old shepherd raised his head, and with his almost sightless eyes +made an effort to see the bold man who dared to do that which was held +to be impossible in all the _huerta_. + +He was silent for a long while. Then at last he began to mutter sadly: +Too bad. He had also been daring in his youth; he had liked to go +counter to everything. But when the enemies are so many! Very bad! He +had put himself into an awkward position. These lands, since the time of +old Barret, had been accursed. He could take his, Tomba's, word for it; +he was old and experienced; they would bring him misfortune. + +And the shepherd called his flock and made them start out again along +the road, but before departing, he threw back his cloak, raised his +emaciated arms, and with a certain intonation characteristic of a seer +who forecasts the future, or of a prophet who scents disaster, he cried +to Batiste: + +"Believe me, my son, they will bring you misfortune!" + +This encounter gave the _huerta_ another cause for anger. + +Old Tomba could not bring his sheep back into those lands, after +enjoying the peaceful use of their fodder for ten years! + +Not a word was said as to the legitimacy of the refusal, inasmuch as the +land was now under cultivation; they spoke only of the respect which the +old shepherd deserved, a man who in his youth had "eaten up" the French +alive, who had seen much of the world, and whose wisdom, demonstrated by +half-spoken words and incoherent advice, inspired a superstitious +respect among the people of the _huerta_. + +After Batiste and his family saw the bosom of the earth well-filled with +fertile seed, they began, for lack of work more pressing, to think of +the house. The fields would do their duty; now the time had arrived to +think about themselves. + +And for the first time since his coming to the _huerta_, Batiste left +his land for Valencia to load into his cart all the rubbish of the city +which might be useful to him. + +This man was like a lucky ant. The mounds started by Batiste increased +considerably with the expeditions of the father. The heap of manure +which formed a defensive screen before the farm-house, grew rapidly, and +beyond, there was piling up a mound of hundreds of broken bricks, +worm-eaten wood, broken-down doors, windows reduced to splinters, all +the refuse of the demolished buildings of the city. + +The people of the _huerta_ looked with astonishment at the dispatch and +clever skill of these laborious ants as they worked to prepare their +home. + +The straw roof of the house stood erect again; some of the rafters of +the roof, corroded by the rains, were reinforced, others substituted. A +new layer of straw now covered the two hanging planes of the exterior; +even the little crosses at the ends were supplanted by others which +Batiste had daintily made with his clasp knife, decorating their corners +with notched grooves: and in all the neighbourhood, there was not a roof +which rose more trimly. + +The neighbours, on noticing how Barret's house was improved when the +roof was placed erect, saw in it something to mock and to challenge. + +Then the work below was started. What ways and means of utilizing the +rubbish of Valencia! The chinks disappeared, and the plastering of the +walls being finished, the wife and daughters white-washed them a +dazzling white. The door, new and painted blue, seemed to be the mother +of all the little windows, which showed their four square faces of the +same colour through the openings of the walls; under the vine-arbour, +Batiste made a little enclosure paved with red bricks, so the women +might sew there during the afternoon. The well, after a week of descents +and laborious carryings, was cleared of all the rocks and the refuse +with which the rascals of the _huerta_ had filled it for the last ten +years, and its water, fresh and clear, began to rise once more in the +mossy bucket, with joyful creakings of the pulley, which seemed to laugh +at the district with the strident peals of laughter of a malicious old +woman. + +The neighbours chocked down their fury in silence. Thief! More than +thief! A fine way to work! This man, in his robust arms, seemed to +possess two magic wands that transformed all that he touched! + +Two months had passed since his arrival, yet he had not left his land a +half-dozen times; he was always there, his head between his shoulders, +intoxicated with work. And the house of Barret began to present a +smiling and coquettish aspect, such as it had never possessed in the +days of its former master. + +The corral, previously enclosed with rotting cane-brake, now had sides +of pickets and clay painted white, along whose edges strutted the ruddy +hens, and the cock, excited, shook his red comb. In the little square in +front of the house, beds of morning-glories and climbing plants +blossomed; a row of chipped jars painted blue served as flower-pots on +the bench of red bricks; and through the half-open door, oh vain fellow! +the new pitcher-shelf might be seen, with its enamelled tiling, and its +glazed green pitchers, casting insolent reflections which blinded the +eyes of the passerby who went along the adjoining road. + +All the _huerta_ with increasing fury ran to Pimentó. "Could it possibly +be permitted? What did the terrible husband of Pepeta think of doing?" + +And Pimentó, scratching his forehead, listened to them with a certain +confusion. + +What was he going to do? He would say just two little words to this +stranger who had set himself to cultivate that which was not his; he +would give him a hint, a very serious hint, not to be a fool, but to let +the land go, as he had no business there. But that accursed man would +not come forth from his fields, and it would never do to go to him and +threaten him in his own house. It would mean the giving of a foundation +for that which must follow. He had to be cautious and watch till he came +out. In short, a little patience. He was able to assure them that the +man in question would not reap the wheat, nor gather the beans, nor +anything which had been planted in the fields of Barret. That should be +for the devil. + +Pimentó's words calmed the neighbours, who followed the progress of the +accursed family with attentive glances, wishing silently that the hour +of their ruin would soon arrive. + +One afternoon, Batiste returned from Valencia very well pleased with the +result of his trip. He wanted no idle hands in his house. Batiste, when +the work in the field did not take his time, was occupied in going to +the city for manure. The little girl, a willing youngster, who once they +were settled was of small use at home, had, thanks to the patronage of +the sons of Don Salvador, who seemed very well satisfied with his new +tenant, just succeeded in getting taken into a silk factory. + +On the following day, Roseta would be one of the string of girls who, +awakening with the dawn, marched with waving skirts and their little +baskets on their arm, over all the paths, on their way to the city to +spin the silky cocoon with the thick fingers of the daughters of the +_huerta_. + +When Batiste arrived near the tavern of Copa, a man appeared in the +road, emerging from an adjoining path, and walked slowly toward him, +giving him to understand that he desired to speak to him. + +Batiste stopped, regretting inwardly that he did not have with him so +much as a clasp knife or a hoe; but calm and quiet, he raised his round +head with the imperious expression so much feared by his family and +crossed his muscular arms, the arms of a former millhand, on his +breast. + +He knew this man, although he had never spoken with him; it was Pimentó. + +The meeting which he had dreaded so much finally occurred. + +The bully measured this odious intruder with a glance, and spoke to him +in a bland voice, striving to give an accent of good-natured counsel to +his ferocity and evil intention. + +He wished to say to him just two words: he had been wanting to do so for +some time, but how? did he never come forth from his land? + +Two little words, no more. + +And he gave him the couple of words, counselling him to leave the lands +of old Barret as soon as possible. He should believe the people who +wished him well, those who knew the _huerta_. His presence there was an +offence, and the farm-house, which was almost new, was an insult to the +poor people. He ought to believe him, and with his family go away to +other parts. + +Batiste smiled ironically on hearing Pimentó, who seemed confused by the +serenity of the intruder, humbled by meeting a man who did not seem +afraid of him. + +Go away? There was not a bully in all the _huerta_ who could make him +abandon that which was now his; that which was watered by his sweat; +moreover he had to earn bread for his family. He was a peaceful man, +understand! but if they trifled with him, he had just as much manly +spirit as most. Let every one attend to his own business, for he thought +that he would do enough if he attended to his own, and failed nobody. + +And scornfully turning his back upon the Valencian, he went his way. + +Pimentó, accustomed to making all the _huerta_ tremble, was more and +more disconcerted by the serenity of Batiste. + +"Is that your last word?" he shouted to him when he was already at some +distance. + +"Yes, the last," answered Batiste without turning. + +And he went ahead, disappearing in a curve of the road. At some +distance, on the old farm of Barret, the dog was barking, scenting the +approach of his master. + +On finding himself alone, Pimentó again recovered his arrogance. +_Cristo!_ How this old fellow had mocked him! He muttered some curses, +and clenching his fist, shook it threateningly at the bend in the road +where Batiste had disappeared. + +"You shall pay for this,--you shall pay for this, you thug!" + +In his tone which trembled with madness, there vibrated all the +condensed hatred of the _huerta_. + + + + +IV + + +It was Thursday, and according to a custom which dated back for five +centuries, the Tribunal of the Waters was going to meet at the doorway +of the Cathedral named after the Apostles. + +The clock of the Miguelete pointed to a little after ten, and the +inhabitants of the _huerta_ were gathering in idle groups or seating +themselves about the large basin of the dry fountain which adorned the +_plaza_, forming about its base an animated wreath of blue and white +cloaks, red and yellow handkerchiefs, and skirts of calico prints of +bright colours. + +Others were arriving, drawing up their horses, with their rush-baskets +loaded with manure, satisfied with the collection they had made in the +streets; still others, in empty carts, were trying to persuade the +police to allow their vehicles to remain there; and while the old folks +chatted with the women, the young went into the neighbouring café, to +kill time over a glass of brandy, while chewing at a three-centime +cigar. + +All those of the _huerta_ who had grievances to avenge were here, +gesticulating and scowling, speaking of their rights, impatient to let +loose the interminable chain of their complaints before the syndics or +judges of the seven canals. + +The bailiff of the tribunal, who had been carrying on this contest with +the insolent and aggressive crowd for more than fifty years, placed a +long sofa of old damask which was on its last legs within the shadow of +the Gothic portal, and then set up a low railing, thereby closing in the +square of sidewalk which had to serve the purpose of an +audience-chamber. + +The portal of the Apostles, old, reddish, corroded by the centuries, +extending its gnawed beauty to the light of the sun, formed a background +worthy of an ancient tribunal; it was like a canopy of stone devised to +protect an institution five centuries old. + +In the tympanum appeared the Virgin with six angels, with stiff white +gowns and wings of fine plumage, chubby-cheeked, with heavy curls and +flaming tufts of hair, playing violas and flutes, flageolets and +tambourines. Three garlands of little figures, angels, kings, and +saints, covered with openwork canopies, ran through three arches +superposed over the three portals. In the thick, solid walls, forepart +of the portal, the twelve apostles might be seen, but so disfigured, so +ill-treated, that Jesus himself would not have known them; the feet +gnawed, the nostrils broken, the hands mangled; a line of huge figures +who, rather than apostles, looked like sick men who had escaped from a +clinic, and were sorrowfully displaying their shapeless stumps. Above, +at the top of the portal, there opened out like a gigantic flower +covered with wire netting, the coloured rose-window which admitted light +to the church; and on the lower part the stone along the base of the +columns adorned with the shields of Aragon, was worn, the corners and +foliage having become indistinct through the rubbing of innumerable +generations. + +By this erosion of the portals the passing of riot and revolt might be +divined. A whole people had met and mingled beside these stones; here, +in other centuries, the turbulent Valencian populace, shouting and red +with fury, had moved about; and the saints of the portal, mutilated and +smooth as Egyptian mummies, gazing at the sky with their broken heads, +appeared to be still listening to the Revolutionary bell of the Union, +or the arquebus shots of the Brotherhood. + +The bailiff finished arranging the Tribunal, and placed himself at the +entrance of the enclosure to await the judges. The latter arrived +solemnly, dressed in black, with white sandals, and silken handkerchiefs +under their broad hats, they had the appearance of rich farmers. Each +was followed by a cortège of canal-guards, and by persistent supplicants +who, before the hour of justice, were seeking to predispose the judges' +minds in their favour. + +The farmers gazed with respect at these judges, come forth from their +own class, whose deliberations did not admit of any appeal. They were +the masters of the water: in their hands remained the living of the +families, the nourishment of the fields, the timely watering, the lack +of which kills a harvest. And the people of these wide plains, separated +by the river, which is like an impassable frontier, designated the +judges by the number of the canals. + +A little, thin, bent, old man, whose red and horny hands trembled as +they rested on the thick staff, was Cuart de Faitanar; the other, stout +and imposing, with small eyes scarcely visible under bushy white brows, +was Mislata. Soon Roscaña arrived; a youth who wore a blouse that had +been freshly ironed, and whose head was round. After these appeared in +sequence the rest of the seven:--Favara, Robella, Tornos and Mestalla. + +Now all the representatives of the four plains were there; the one on +the left bank of the river; the one with the four canals; the one which +the _huerta_ of Rufaza encircles with its roads of luxuriant foliage +ending at the confines of the marshy Albufera; and the plain on the +right bank of the Turia, the poetic one, with its strawberries of +Benimaclet, its _cyperus_ of Alboraya and its gardens always overrun +with flowers. + +The seven judges saluted, like people who had not seen each other for a +week; they spoke of their business beside the door of the Cathedral: +from time to time, upon opening the wooden screens covered with +religious advertisements, a puff of incense-laden air, somewhat like the +damp exhalation from a subterranean cavern, diffused itself into the +burning atmosphere of the _plaza_. + +At half-past eleven, when the divine offices were ended and only some +belated devotee was still coming from the temple, the Tribunal began to +operate. + +The seven judges seated themselves on the old sofa; then the people of +the _huerta_ came running up from all sides of the _plaza_, to gather +around the railing, pressing their perspiring bodies, which smelled of +straw and coarse sheep's wool, close together, and the bailiff, rigid +and majestic, took his place near the pole topped with a bronze crook, +symbolic of aquatic majesty. + +The seven syndics removed their hats and remained with their hands +between the knees and their eyes upon the ground, while the eldest +pronounced the customary sentence: + +"Let the Tribunal begin." + +Absolute stillness. The crowd, observing religious silence, seemed here, +in the midst of the _plaza_, to be worshipping in a temple. The sound of +carriages, the clatter of tramways, all the din of modern life passed +by, without touching or stirring this most ancient institution, which +remained tranquil, like one who finds himself in his own house, +insensible to time, paying no attention to the radical change +surrounding it, incapable of any reform. + +The inhabitants of the _huerta_ were proud of their tribunal. It +dispensed justice; the penalty without delay, and nothing done with +papers, which confuse and puzzle honest men. + +The absence of stamped paper and of the clerk of court who terrifies, +was the part best liked by these people who were accustomed to looking +upon the art of writing of which they were ignorant with a certain +superstitious terror. Here were no secretary, no pens, no days of +anxiety while awaiting sentence, no terrifying guards, nor anything more +than words. + +The judges kept the declarations in their memory, and passed sentence +immediately with the tranquillity of those who know that their decisions +must be fulfilled. On him who would be insolent with the tribunal, a +fine was imposed; from him who had refused to comply with the verdict, +the water was taken away forever, and he must die of hunger. + +Nobody played with this tribunal. It was the simple patriarchal justice +of the good legendary king, coming forth mornings to the door of his +palace in order to settle the disputes of his subjects; the judicial +system of the Kabila chief, passing sentences at his tent-entrance. Thus +are rascals punished, and the honourable triumph, and there is peace. + +And the public, men, women, and children, fearful of missing a word, +pressed close together against the railing, moving, sometimes, with +violent contortions of their shoulders, in order to escape from +suffocation. + +The complainants would appear at the other side of the railing, before +the sofa as old as the tribunal itself. + +The bailiff would take away their staffs and shepherds' crooks, which he +regarded as offensive arms incompatible with the respect due the +tribunal. He pushed them forward until with their mantle folded over +their hands they were planted some paces distant from the judges, and if +they were slow in baring their head, the handkerchief was wrested from +it with two tugs. It was hard, but with this crafty people it was +necessary to act thus. + +The line filing by brought a continuous outburst of intricate questions, +which the judges settled with marvellous facility. + +The keepers of the canals and the irrigation-guards, charged with the +establishment of each one's turn in the irrigation, formulated their +charges, and the defendants appeared to defend themselves with +arguments. The old men allowed their sons, who knew how to express +themselves with more energy, to speak; the widow appeared, accompanied +by some friend of the deceased, a devoted protector, who acted as her +spokesman. + +The passion of the south cropped out in every case. + +In the midst of the accusation, the defendant would not be able to +contain himself. "You lie! What you say is evil and false! You are +trying to ruin me!" + +But the seven judges received these interruptions with furious glances. +Here nobody was permitted to speak before his own turn came. At the +second interruption, he would have to pay a fine of so many _sous_. And +he who was obstinate, driven by his vehement madness, which would not +permit him to be silent before the accuser, paid more and more _sous_. + +The judges, without giving up their seats, would put their heads +together like playful goats, and whisper together for some seconds; +then the eldest, in a composed and solemn voice, pronounced the +sentence, designating the fine in _sous_ and pounds, as if money had +suffered no change, and majestic Justice with its red robe and its +escort of plumed crossbowmen were still passing through the centre of +the _plaza_. + +It was after twelve, and the seven judges were beginning to show signs +of being weary of such prodigious outpouring of the stream of justice, +when the bailiff called out loudly to Bautista Borrull, denouncing him +for infraction and disobedience of irrigation-rights. + +Pimentó and Batiste passed the railing, and the people pressed up even +closer against the bar. + +Here were many of those who lived near the ancient land of Barret. + +This trial was interesting. The hated new-comer had been denounced by +Pimentó, who was the "_atandador_"[G] of that district. + +The bully, by mixing up in elections, and strutting about like a +fighting cock all over the neighbourhood, had won this office which gave +him a certain air of authority and strengthened his prestige among the +neighbours, who made much of him and treated him on irrigation days. + +Batiste was amazed at this unjust denunciation. His pallor was that of +indignation. He gazed with eyes full of fury at all the familiar mocking +faces, which were pressing against the rail, and at his enemy Pimentó, +who was strutting about proudly, like a man accustomed to appearing +before the tribunal, and to whom a small part of its unquestionable +authority belonged. + +"Speak," said the eldest of the judges, putting one foot forward, for +according to a century-old custom, the tribunal, instead of using the +hands, signalled with the white sandal to him who should speak. + +Pimentó poured forth his accusation. This man who was beside him, +perhaps because he was new in the _huerta_, seemed to think that the +apportionment of the water was a trifling matter, and that he could suit +his own blessed will. + +He, Pimentó, the _atandador_, who represented the authority of the +canals in his district, had set for Batiste the hour for watering his +wheat. It was two o'clock in the morning. But doubtless the señor, not +wishing to arise at that hour, had let his turn go, and at five, when +the water was intended for others, he had raised the flood-gate without +permission from anybody (the _first_ offence), and attempted to water +his fields, resolving to oppose, by main force, the orders of the +_atandador_, which constituted the _third_ and last offence. + +The thrice-guilty delinquent, turning all the colours of the rainbow, +and indignant at the words of Pimentó, was not able to restrain himself. + +"You lie, and lie doubly!" + +The tribunal became indignant at the heat and the lack of respect with +which this man was protesting. + +If he did not keep silent he would be fined. + +But what was a fine for the concentrated wrath of a peaceful man! He +kept on protesting against the injustice of men, against the tribunal +which had, as its servants, such rogues and liars as Pimentó. + +The tribunal was stirred up; the seven judges became excited. + +Four _sous_ for a fine! + +Batiste, realizing his situation, suddenly grew silent, terrified at +having incurred a fine, while laughter came from the crowd and howls of +joy from his enemies. + +He remained motionless, with bowed head, and his eyes dimmed with tears +of rage, while his brutal enemy finished formulating his denunciation. + +"Speak," the tribunal said to him. But little sympathy was noted in the +looks of the judges for this disturber, who had come to trouble the +solemnity of their deliberations with his protests. + +Batiste, trembling with rage, stammered, not knowing how to begin his +defence because of the very fact that it seemed to him perfectly just. + +The court had been misled; Pimentó was a liar and furthermore his +declared enemy. He had told him that his time for irrigation came at +five, he remembered it very well, and was now affirming that it was two; +just to make him incur a fine, to destroy the wheat upon which the life +of his family depended.... Did the tribunal value the word of an honest +man? Then this was the truth, although he was not able to present +witnesses. It seemed impossible that the honourable syndics, all good +people, should trust a rascal like Pimentó! + +The white sandal of the president struck the square tile of the +sidewalk, as if to avert the storm of protests and the lack of respect +which he saw from afar. + +"Be silent." + +And Batiste was silent, while the seven-headed monster, folding itself +up again on the sofa of damask, was whispering, preparing the sentence. + +"The tribunal decrees ..." said the eldest judge, and there was absolute +silence. + +All the people around the roped space showed a certain anxiety in their +eyes, as if they were the sentenced. They were hanging on the lips of +the eldest judge. + +"Batiste Borrull shall pay two pounds for a penalty, and four _sous_ for +a fine." + +A murmur of satisfaction arose and spread, and one old woman even began +to clap her hands, shouting "Hurrah! hurrah!" amid the loud laughter of +the people. + +Batiste went out blindly from the tribunal, with his head lowered as +though he were about to fight, and Pimentó prudently stayed behind. + +If the people had not parted, opening the way, for him, it is certain +that he would have struck out with his powerful fists, and given the +hostile rabble a beating on the spot. + +He departed. He went to the house of his masters to tell them of what +had happened, of the ill will of this people, pledged to embitter his +existence for him; and an hour later, already more composed by the kind +words of the _señores_, he set forth on the road toward his home. + +Insufferable torment! Marching close to their carts loaded with manure +or mounted on their donkeys above the empty hampers, he kept meeting on +the low road of Alboraya many of those who had been present at the +trial. + +They were hostile people, neighbours whom he never greeted. + +When he passed beside them, they remained silent, and made an effort to +keep their gravity, although a malicious joy glowed in their eyes; but +as soon as he had gone by, they burst into insolent laughter behind his +back, and he even heard the voice of a lad who shouted, mimicking the +grave tone of the president: + +"Four _sous_ for a fine!" + +In the distance he saw, in the doorway of the tavern of Copa, his enemy +Pimentó, with an earthen jug in hand, in the midst of a circle of +friends, gesticulating and laughing as if he were imitating the protests +and complaints of the one denounced. His sentence was the theme of +rejoicing for the _huerta_: all were laughing. + +God! Now he, a man of peace and a kind father, understood why it is that +men kill. + +His powerful arms trembled, and he felt a cruel itching in the hands. He +slackened his pace on approaching the house of Copa; he wanted to see +whether they would mock him to his face. + +He even thought, a strange novelty, of entering for the first time to +drink a glass of wine face to face with his enemies; but the two pound +fine lay heavy on his heart and he repented of his generosity. This was +a conspiracy against the footwear of his sons; it would take all the +little pile of farthings hoarded together by Teresa to buy new sandals +for the little ones. + +As he passed the front of the tavern, Pimentó hid with the excuse of +filling the jug, and his friends pretended not to see Batiste. + +His aspect of a man ready for anything inspired respect in his +neighbours. + +But this triumph filled him with sadness. How hateful the people were +to him! The entire _vega_ arose before him, scowling and threatening at +all hours. This was not living. Even in the daytime, he avoided coming +out of his fields, shunning all contact with his neighbours. + +He did not fear them, but like a prudent man, avoided disputes. + +At night, he slept restlessly, and many times, at the slightest barking +of the dogs, he leaped out of bed, rushed from the house, shotgun in +hand, and even believed on more than one occasion that he saw black +forms which fled among the adjoining paths. + +He feared for his harvest, for the wheat which was the hope of the +family and whose growth was followed in silence but with envious glances +from the other farm-houses. + +He knew of the threats of Pimentó, who supported by all the _huerta_, +swore that this wheat should not be cut by him who had sowed it, and +Batiste almost forgot his sons in thinking about his fields, of the +series of green waves which grew and grew under the rays of the sun and +which must turn into golden piles of ripe wheat. + +The silent and concentrated hatred followed him out upon the road. The +women drew away, with curling lips, and did not deign to salute him, as +is the custom in the _huerta_; the men who were working in the fields +adjoining the road, called to each other with insolent expressions which +were directed indirectly at Batiste; and the little children shouted +from a distance, "Thug! Jew!" without adding more to such insults, as if +they alone were applicable to the enemy of the _huerta_. + +Ah! If he had not had the fists of a giant, those enormous shoulders and +that expression of a man who has few friends, how soon the entire _vega_ +would have settled with him! Each one hoping that the other would be the +first to dare, they contented themselves with insulting him from a +distance. + +Batiste, in the midst of the sadness which this solitude inspired in +him, experienced one slight satisfaction. Already close to the +farm-house, when he heard the barkings of the dog who had scented his +approach, he saw a boy, an overgrown youth, seated on a sloping bank +with the sickle between his legs, and holding some piles of cut +brushwood at his side, who stood up to greet him. + +"Good day, Señor Batiste!" + +And the salutation, the trembling voice of a timid boy with which he +spoke to him, impressed him pleasantly. + +The friendliness of this child was a small matter, yet he experienced +the impression of a feverish man upon feeling the coolness of water. + +He gazed with tenderness at the blue eyes, the smiling face covered by a +coat of down, and searched his memory as to who the boy might be. +Finally he remembered that he was the grandson of old Tomba, the blind +shepherd whom all the _huerta_ respected; a good boy who was serving as +a servant to a butcher at Alboraya, whose herd the old man tended. + +"Thanks, little one, thanks," he murmured, acknowledging the salute. + +And he went ahead, and was welcomed by his dog, who leaped before him, +and rubbed himself against his corduroy trousers. + +In the door of the cabin stood his wife surrounded by the little ones, +waiting impatiently, for the supper hour had already passed. + +Batiste looked at the fields, and all the fury he had suffered an hour +ago before the Tribunal of the Waters, returned at a stroke and like a +furious wave flooded his consciousness. + +His wheat was thirsty. He had only to see it; its leaves shrivelled, the +green colour, before so lustrous, now of a yellow transparency. The +irrigation had failed him; the turn of which Pimentó, with his sly and +evil tricks, had robbed him, would not belong to him until fifteen days +had passed, because the water was scarce; and on top of this misfortune +all that damned string of pounds and _sous_ for a fine. Christ! + +He ate without any appetite, telling his wife the while of the +occurrence at the Tribunal. + +Poor Teresa listened to her husband, pale with the emotion of the +countrywoman who feels a pang in her heart when there must be a +loosening of the knot of the stocking which guards the money in the +bottom of the chest. Sovereign queen! They had determined to ruin them! +What sorrow at the evening-meal! + +And letting her spoon fall into the frying-pan of rice, she wept, +swallowing her tears. Then she became red with sudden passion, looked +out at the expanse of plain with she saw in front of her door, with its +white farm-houses and its waves of green, and stretching out her arms, +she cried: "Rascals! Rascals!" + +The little folks, frightened by their father's scowl, and the cries of +their mother, were afraid to eat. They looked from one to the other with +indecision and wonder, picked at their noses to be doing something, and +all of them ended by imitating their mother and weeping over the rice. + +Batiste, agitated by the chorus of sobs, arose furiously, and almost +kicked over the little table as he flung himself out of the house. + +What an afternoon! The thirst of his wheat and the remembrance of the +fine were like two fierce dogs tearing at his heart. When one, tired of +biting him, was going to sleep, the other arrived at full speed and +fixed his teeth in him. + +He wanted to distract his thoughts, to forget himself in work, and he +gave himself over with all his will to the task he had in hand, a pigsty +which he was putting up in the corral. + +But the work did not progress. He was suffocating between the mud-walls; +he wanted to look at the fields, he was like those who feel the need to +look upon their misfortune, to yield utterly and drink the cup of sorrow +to the dregs. And with his hands full of clay, he came out from the +farm-yard, and remained standing before the oblong patch of shrivelled +wheat. + +A few steps away, at the edge of the road, the murmuring canal brimmed +with red water ran by. + +The life-giving blood of the _huerta_ was flowing far away, for other +fields whose masters did not have the misfortune of being hated; and +here was his poor wheat, shrivelled, languishing, bowing its green head +as if it were making signs to the water to come near and caress it with +its cool kiss. + +To poor Batiste, it seemed that the sun was burning hotter than on other +days. The sun was at the horizon, yet the poor man imagined that its +rays were vertical, and that everything was burning up. + +His land was cracking open, it parted in tortuous grooves, forming a +thousand mouths which vainly awaited a swallow of water. + +Nor would the wheat hold its thirst until the next irrigation. It would +die, it would become dried up, the family would not have bread; and +besides so much misery, a fine on top of everything. And people even +find fault if men go to ruin! + +Furious he walked back and forth along the border of his oblong plot. +Ah, Pimentó! Greatest of scoundrels! If there were no Civil Guards! + +And like shipwrecked mariners, agonizing with hunger and thirst, who in +their delirium see only interminable banquet-tables, and the clearest +springs, Batiste confusedly saw fields of wheat whose stalks were green +and straight, and the water entering, gushing from the mouths of the +sloping-banks, extending itself with a luminous rippling, as if it +laughed softly at feeling the tickling of the thirsty earth. + +At the sinking of the sun, Batiste felt a certain relief, as though it +had gone out forever, and his harvest was saved. + +He went away from his fields, from his farm-house, and unconsciously, +with slow steps, took the road below, toward the tavern of Copa. The +thought of the rural police had left his mind, and he accepted the +possibility of a meeting with Pimentó, who should not be very far away +from the tavern, with a certain feeling of pleasure. + +Along the borders of the road, there were coming toward him swift rows +of girls, hamper on arm, and skirts flying, returning from the factories +of the city. + +Blue shadows were spreading over the _huerta_; in the background, over +the darkening mountains, the clouds were growing red with the splendour +of some far distant fire; in the direction of the sea, the first stars +were trembling in the infinite blue; the dogs were barking mournfully; +and with the monotonous singing of the frogs and the crickets, was +mingled the confused creaking of invisible wagons, departing over all +the roads of the immense plain. + +Batiste saw his daughter coming, separated from all the girls, walking +with slow steps. But not alone. It seemed to him that she was talking +with a man who followed in the same direction as herself, although +somewhat apart, as the betrothed always walk in the _huerta_, for whom +approach is a sign of sin. + +When he saw Batiste in the middle of the road, the man slackened his +pace and remained at a distance as Roseta approached her father. + +The latter remained motionless, as he wanted the stranger to advance so +that he might recognize him. + +"Good night, Señor Batiste." + +It was the same timid voice which had saluted him at midday. The +grandson of old Tomba. That scamp seemed to have nothing to do but +wander over the roads, and greet him, and thrust himself before his eyes +with his bland sweetness. + +He looked at his daughter, who grew red under the gaze, and lowered her +eyes. + +"Go home; home, ... I will settle with you!" + +And with all the terrible majesty of the Latin father, the absolute +master of his children, and more inclined to inspire fear than +affection, he started after the tremulous Roseta, who, as she drew near +the farm, anticipated a sure cudgeling. + +She was mistaken. At that moment the poor father had no other children +in the world but his crops, the poor sick wheat, shrivelling, drying, +and crying out to him, begging for a swallow in order not to die. + +And of this he thought while his wife was getting the supper ready. +Roseta was bustling about pretending to be busy, in order not to attract +attention and expecting from one moment to the next an outburst of +terrible anger. But Batiste, seated before the little dwarfish table, +surrounded by all the young people of his family, who were gazing +greedily by the candle-light at the earthenware dish, filled with +smoking hake and potatoes, went on thinking of his fields. + +The woman was still sighing, pondering the fine; making comparisons, +without doubt, between the fabulous sum which they were going to wrest +from her, and the ease with which the entire family were eating. + +Batiste, contemplating the voracity of his children, scarcely ate. +Batistet, the eldest son, even appropriated with feigned abstraction of +the pieces of bread belonging to the little ones. To Roseta, fear gave a +fierce appetite. + +Never until then did Batiste comprehend the load which was weighing upon +his shoulders. These mouths which opened to swallow up the meagre +savings of the family would be without food if that land outside should +dry. + +And all for what? On account of the injustice of men, because there are +laws made to molest honest workmen.... He should not stand this. His +family before everything else. Did he not feel capable of defending his +own from even greater dangers? Did he not owe them the duty of +maintaining them? He was capable of becoming a thief in order to give +them food. Why then, did he have to submit, when he was not trying to +steal, but to give life to his crops, which were all his own? + +The image of the canal, which at a short distance was dragging along its +murmuring supply for others, was torturing him. It enraged him that life +should be passing by at his very door without his being able to profit +by it, because the laws wished it so. + +Suddenly he arose, like a man who has adopted a resolution and who in +order to fulfil it, stamps everything under foot. + +"To irrigate! To irrigate!" + +The woman was terrified, for she quickly guessed all the danger of the +desperate resolution. For Heaven's sake, Batiste!... They would impose +upon him a greater fine; perhaps the Tribunal, offended by his +rebellion, would take the water away from him forever! He ought to +consider it.... It was better to wait. + +But Batiste had the enduring wrath of phlegmatic and slow men, who, when +they once lose their composure, are slow to recover it. + +"Irrigate! Irrigate!" + +And Batistet, gaily repeating the words of his father, picked up the +large hoes, and started from the house, followed by his sister and the +little ones. + +They all wished to take part in this work, which seemed like a holiday. + +The family felt the exhilaration of a people which, by a revolution, +recovers its liberty. + +They approached the canal, which was murmuring in the shade. The immense +plain was lost in the blue shadow, the cane-brake undulated in dark and +murmuring masses, and the stars twinkled in the heavens. + +Batiste went into the canal knee-deep, lowering the gates which held the +water, while his son, his wife and even his daughter attacked the +sloping banks with the hoes, opening gaps, through which the water +gushed. + +All the family felt a sensation of coolness and of well-being. + +The earth sung merrily with a greedy glu-glu, which touched the heart. +"Drink, drink, poor thing!" And their feet sank in the mud, as bent over +they went from one side to the other of the field, looking to see if the +water had reached every part. + +Batiste muttered with the cruel satisfaction which the joy of the +prohibited produces. What a load was lifted from him! The Tribunal might +come now, and do whatever it wished. His field had drunk; this was the +main thing. + +And as with the acute hearing of a man accustomed to the solitude, he +thought that he perceived a certain strange noise in the neighbouring +cane-brake, he ran to the farm, and returned immediately, holding a new +shotgun. + +With the weapon over his arm, and his finger on the trigger, he stood +more than an hour close to the bars of the canal. + +The water did not flow ahead; it spread itself out in the fields of +Batiste, which drank and drank with the thirst of a dropsical man. + +Perhaps those down below were complaining; perhaps Pimentó, notified as +an _atandador_, was prowling in the vicinity, outraged at this insolent +breach of the law. + +But here was Batiste, like a sentinel of his harvest, a hero made +desperate by the struggle of his family, guarding his people who were +moving about in the field, extending the irrigation; ready to deal a +blow at the first who might attempt to raise the bars, and re-establish +the water's course. + +So fierce was the attitude of this great fellow who stood out motionless +in the midst of the canal; in this black phantom there might be divined +such a resolution of shooting at whoever might present himself, that no +one ventured forth from the adjoining cane-brake, and the fields drank +for an hour without any protest. + +And this is what is yet stranger: on the following Thursday the +_atandador_ did not have him summoned before the Tribunal of the Waters. + +The _huerta_ had been informed that in the ancient farm-house of Barret +the only object of worth was a double-barreled shotgun, recently bought +by the intruder, with that African passion of the Valencian, who +willingly deprives himself of bread in order to have behind the door of +his house a new weapon which excites envy and inspires respect. + + + + +V + + +Every morning, at dawn, Roseta, Batiste's daughter, leaped out of bed, +her eyes heavy with sleep, and after stretching out her arms in graceful +writhings which shook all her body of blonde slenderness, opened the +farm-house door. + +The pulley of the well creaked, the ugly little dog, which passed the +night outside the house, leaped close to her skirts, barking with joy, +and Roseta, in the light of the last stars, cast over her face and hands +a pail of cold water drawn from that round and murky hole, crowned at +the top by thick clumps of ivy. + +Afterward, in the light of the candle, she moved about the house +preparing for her journey to Valencia. + +The mother followed her without seeing her from the bed with all kinds +of suggestions. She could take away what was left from the supper: that +with three sardines which she would find on the shelf would be +sufficient. And take care not to break the dish as she did the other +day. Ah! And she should not forget to buy thread, needles and some +sandals for the little one. Destructive child!... She would find the +money in the drawer of the little table. + +And while the mother turned over in bed, sweetly caressed by the warmth +of the bedroom, planning to sleep a half-hour more close to the enormous +Batiste, who snored noisily, Roseta continued her evolutions. She placed +her poor meal in a basket, passed a comb through her light-blond hair, +which looked as though the sun had absorbed its colour, and tied the +handkerchief under her chin. Before going out, she looked with the +tender solicitousness of an elder sister, to see if the little ones who +slept on the floor, all in the same room, were well covered. They lay +there in a row from the eldest to the youngest, from the overgrown +Batistet to the little tot who as yet could hardly talk, like a row of +organ pipes. + +"Good-bye, until tonight!" shouted the brave girl, and passing her arm +through the handle of the basket, she closed the door of the farm-house, +placing the key underneath. + +It was already daylight. In the bluish light of dawn the procession of +workers could be seen passing over the paths and roads, all walking in +the same direction, drawn by the life of the city. + +Groups of graceful spinning-mill girls passed by, marching with an even +step, swinging with jaunty grace their right arms which cut the air like +a strong oar, and all screaming in chorus every time that any strapping +young fellow saluted them from the neighbouring fields with coarse +jests. + +Roseta walked to the city alone. Well did the poor child know her +companions, daughters and sisters of those who hated her family so +bitterly. + +Several of them were working in the factory, and the poor little +yellow-haired girl, making a show of courage more than once, had to +defend herself by sheer scratching. Taking advantage of her +carelessness, they threw dirty things into her lunch-basket; made her +break the earthenware dish of which she was reminded so many times, and +never passed near her in the mill without trying to push her over the +smoking kettle where the cocoon was being soaked while they called her a +pauper, and applied similar eulogies to her and her family. + +On the way she fled from them as from a throng of furies, and felt safe +only when she was inside the factory, an ugly old building close to the +market, whose façades, painted in water-colours the century before, +still preserved between peeling paint and cracks certain groups of +rose-coloured legs, and profiles of bronzed colour, remnants of +medallions, and mythological paintings. + +Of all the family, Roseta was the most like her father: a fury for work, +as Batiste said of himself. The fiery vapour of the caldron where the +cocoon is soaked mounted about her head, burning her eyes; but, in spite +of this, she was always in her place, fishing in the depths of the +boiling water for the loosened ends of those capsules of soft silk of +the mellow colour of caramel, in whose interior the laborious worm, the +larva of precious exudation, had just perished for the offence of +creating a rich dungeon for its transformation into the butterfly. + +Throughout the large building reigned the din of work, deafening and +tiresome for the daughters of the _huerta_, who were used to the calm of +the immense plain, where the voice carries a great distance. Below +roared the steam-engine, giving forth frightful roaring sounds which +were transmitted through the multiple tubing: pulleys and wheels +revolved with an infernal din, and as though there were not noise +enough, the spinning-mill girls, according to traditional custom, sang +in chorus with a nasal voice, the _Padre nuestro_, the _Ave Maria_, and +the _Gloria Patri_, with the same musical interludes as the chorus which +roamed about the _huerta_ Sunday mornings at dawn. + +This did not prevent them from laughing as they sang, nor from insulting +each other in an undertone between prayers, and threatening each other +with four long scratches on coming out, for these dark-complexioned +girls, enslaved by the rigid tyranny which rules in the farmer's family, +and obliged by hereditary conventions to lower their eyes in the +presence of men, when gathered together without restraint were regular +demons, and took delight in uttering everything they had heard from the +cart-drivers and labourers on the roads. + +Roseta was the most silent and industrious of them all. In order not to +distract her attention from her work, she did not sing; she never +provoked quarrels and she learned everything with such facility, that +in a few weeks she was earning three reals, almost the maximum for the +day's work, to the great envy of the others. + +At the lunch-hour these bands of dishevelled girls sallied forth from +the factory to gobble up the contents of their earthen-ware dishes. As +they formed a loafing group on the side-walk or in the immediate +porches, and challenged the men with insolent glances to speak to them, +only falsely scandalized, to fire back shameless remarks in return, +Roseta remained in a corner of the mill, seated on the floor with two or +three good girls who were from another _huerta_, from the right side of +the river, and who did not care a rap for the story of old Barret and +the hatred of their companions. + +During the first weeks, Roseta saw with a certain terror the arrival of +dusk, and with it, the hour for departure. + +Fearing her companions, who took the same road as herself, she stayed in +the factory for a time, letting them set out ahead like a cyclone, with +scandalous bursts of laughter, flauntings of skirts, daring vulgarisms, +and the odour of health, of hard and rugged limbs. + +She walked lazily through the streets of the city in the cold twilight +of winter, making purchases for her mother, stood open-mouthed before +the shop windows which began to be illumined, and at last, passing over +the bridge, she entered the dark narrow alleys of the suburbs to set +forth upon the road of Alboraya. + +So far, all was well. But after she came to the dark _huerta_ with its +mysterious noises, its dark and alarming forms which passed close to her +saluting with a deep "Good night," fear set in, and her teeth chattered. + +And it was not that the silence and the darkness intimidated her. Like a +true daughter of the country, she was accustomed to these. If she had +been certain that she would encounter no one on the road, it would have +given her confidence. In her terror, she never thought, as did her +companions, of death, nor of witches and phantasms; it was the living +who disturbed her. + +She recalled with growing fear certain stories of the _huerta_ that she +had heard in the factory; the fear that the little girls had of Pimentó, +and other bullies who congregated in the tavern of Copa: heartless +fellows who pinched the girls wherever they could, and pushed them into +the canals, or made them fall behind the haylofts. And Roseta, who was +no longer innocent after entering the factory, gave free rein to her +imagination, till it reached the utmost limits of the horrible; and she +saw herself assassinated by some one of these monsters, her stomach +ripped up and soaked in blood, like those children of the legends of the +_huerta_ whose fat sinister and mysterious murderers extracted and used +in making wonderful salves and potions for the rich. + +In the twilight of winter, dark and oftentimes rainy, Roseta passed over +more than half of the road all a tremble. But the most cruel crisis, the +most terrible obstacle was almost at the end, and close to the farm--the +famous tavern of Copa. + +Here was the den of the wild beast. This was the most frequented and the +brightest bit of road. The sound of voices, the outbursts of laughter, +the thrumming of a guitar, and couplets of songs with loud shouting came +forth from the door which, like the mouth of a furnace, cast forth a +square of reddish light over the black road, in which grotesque shadows +moved about. And nevertheless, the poor mill girl, on arriving near this +place, stopped undecided, trembling like the heroines of the fairy-tales +before the den of the ogre, ready to set out through the fields in +order to make a détour around the rear of the building, to sink into the +canal which bordered the road, and to slip away hidden behind the +sloping banks; anything rather than to pass in front of this red gullet +which gave forth the din of drunkenness and brutality. + +Finally she decided; made an effort of will like one who is going to +throw himself over a high cliff, and passed swiftly before the tavern, +along the edge of the canal, with a very light step, and the marvellous +poise which fear lends. + +She was a breath, a white shadow which did not give the turbid eyes of +the customers of Copa time to fix themselves upon it. + +And the tavern passed, the child ran and ran, believing that some one +was just behind her, expecting to feel the tug of his powerful paw at +her skirt. + +She was not calm until she heard the barking of the dog at the +farm-house, that ugly animal, who by way of antithesis no doubt, was +called The Morning Star, and who came bounding up to her in the middle +of the road with bounds and licked her hands. + +Roseta never told those at home of the terrors encountered on the road. +The poor child composed herself on entering the house, and answered the +questions of her anxious mother quietly, meeting the situation +valorously by stating that she had come home with some companions. + +The spinning-mill girl did not want her father to come out nights to +accompany her on the road. She knew the hatred of the neighbourhood: the +tavern of Copa with its quarrelsome people inspired her with fear. + +And on the following day she returned to the factory to suffer the same +fears upon returning, enlivened only by the hope that the spring would +soon come with its longer days and its luminous twilights, which would +permit her to return to the house before it grew dark. + +One night, Roseta experienced a certain relief. While she was still +close to the city, a man came out upon the road and began to walk at the +same pace as herself. + +"Good evening!" + +And while the mill-girl was walking over the high bank which bordered +the road, the man walked below, among the deep cuts opened by the +wheels of the carts, stumbling over the red bricks, chipped dishes, and +even pieces of glass with which farsighted hands wished to fill up the +holes of remote origin. + +Roseta showed no disquietude. She had recognized her companion even +before he saluted her. It was Tonet, the nephew of old Tomba, the +shepherd: a good boy, who served as an apprentice to a butcher of +Alboraya, and at whom the mill-girls laughed when they met him upon the +road, taking delight in seeing how he blushed, and turned his head away +at the least word. + +Such a timid boy! He was alone in the world without any other relatives +than his grandfather, worked even on Sundays, and not only went to +Valencia to collect manure for the fields of his master, but also helped +him in the slaughter of cattle and tilled the earth, and carried meat to +the rich farmers. All in order that he and his grandfather might eat, +and that he might go dressed in the old ragged clothes of his master. He +did not smoke; he had entered the tavern of Copa only two or three times +in his life, and on Sundays, if he had some hours free, instead of +squatting on the Plaza of Alboraya, like the others to watch the +bullies playing hand-ball, he went out into the fields and roamed +aimlessly through the tangled net-work of paths. If he happened to meet +a tree filled with birds, he would stop there fascinated by the +fluttering and the cries of these vagrants of the air. + +The people saw in him something of the mysterious eccentricities of his +grandfather, the shepherd: all regarded him as a poor fool, timid and +docile. + +The mill-girl became enlivened with company. She was safer if a man +walked with her, and more so if it were Tonet, who inspired confidence. + +She spoke to him, asking him whence he came, and the youth answered +vaguely, with his habitual timidity: "From there ... from there...." and +then became silent as if those words cost him a great effort. + +They followed the road in silence, parting close to the _barraca_. + +"Good night and thanks!" said the girl. + +"Good night," and Tonet disappeared, walking toward the village. + +It was an incident of no importance, an agreeable encounter which had +banished her fear, nothing more. And nevertheless, Roseta ate supper +that night and went to bed thinking of old Tomba's nephew. + +Now she recalled the times that she had met him mornings on the road, +and it seemed to her that Tonet always tried to keep the same pace as +herself, although somewhat apart so as not to attract the attention of +the sarcastic mill-girls. It even seemed to her that at times, on +turning her head suddenly, she had surprised him with his eyes fixed +upon her. + +And the girl, as if she were spinning a cocoon, grasped these loose ends +of her memory, and drew and drew them out, recalling everything in her +existence which related to Tonet: the first time that she saw him, and +her impulse of sympathetic compassion on account of the mockery of the +mill-girls which he suffered crestfallen and timid, as though these +harpies in a troop inspired him with fear; then the frequent encounters +on the road, and the fixed glances of the boy, who seemed to wish to say +something to her. + +The following day, when she went to Valencia, she did not see him, but +at night, upon starting to return to the _barraca_, the girl was not +afraid in spite of the twilight being dark and rainy. She foresaw that +the companion who gave her such courage would put in an appearance, and +true enough he came out to meet her at almost the same spot as on the +preceding day. + +He was as expressive as usual: "Good night!" and went on walking at her +side. + +Roseta was more loquacious. Where did he come from? What a chance to +meet on two succeeding days! And he, trembling, as though the words cost +him a great effort, answered as usual: "From there ... from there ..." + +The girl, just as timid, felt nevertheless a temptation to laugh at his +agitation. She spoke of her fear, and the scares which she had met with +on the road during the winter, and Tonet, comforted by the service which +he was lending to her, unglued his lips at last, in order to tell her +that he would accompany her frequently. He always had business for his +master in the _huerta_. + +They took leave of each other with the brevity of the preceding day; but +that night the girl went to her bed restless and nervous, and dreamed a +thousand wild things; she saw herself on a black road, very black, +accompanied by an enormous dog which licked her hands and had the same +face as Tonet; and afterward there came a wolf to bite her, with a snout +which vaguely reminded her of the hateful Pimentó; and the two fought +with their teeth, and her father came out with a club, and she was +weeping as if the blows which her faithful dog received were falling on +her own shoulders; and thus her imagination went on wandering. But in +all the confused scenes of her dream she saw the grandson of old Tomba, +with his blue eyes, and his boyish face covered with light down, first +indication of his manhood. + +She arose weak and broken as if she were coming out of a delirium. This +was Sunday, and she was not going to the factory. The sun came in +through the little window of her bedroom, and all the people of the +farm-house were already out of their beds. Roseta began to get ready to +go with her mother to church. + +The diabolical dream still upset her. She felt differently, with +different thoughts, as though the preceding night were a wall which +divided her existence into two parts. + +She sang gaily like a bird while she took her clothes out of the chest, +and arranged them upon the bed, which, still warm, held the impress of +her body. + +She liked these Sundays with her freedom to arise late, with her hours +of leisure, and her little trip to Alboraya to hear mass; but this +Sunday was better than the others; the sun shone more brightly, the +birds were singing with more passion, through the little window the air +entered gloriously balsamic; how should one express it! in short, this +morning had something new and extraordinary about it. + +She reproached herself now for having up to that time paid no attention +to her personal appearance. It is time, at sixteen, to think about +fixing oneself up. How stupid she had been, always laughing at her +mother who called her a dowdy! And as though it were new attire which +she looked on for the first time, she drew over her head as carefully as +if it were thin lace, the calico petticoat which she wore every Sunday; +and laced her corset tightly, as though that armour of high whalebones, +a real farmer-girl's corset, which crushed the budding breasts cruelly, +were not already tight enough. For in the _huerta_ it is considered +immodest for unmarried girls not to hide the alluring charms of nature, +so that no one might sinfully behold in the virgin the symbols of her +future maternity. + +For the first time in her life, the mill-girl passed more than a quarter +of an hour before the four inches of looking-glass, in its frame of +varnished pine, which her father had presented to her, a mirror in which +she had to look at her face by sections. + +She was not beautiful, and she knew it; but uglier ones she had met by +the dozen in the _huerta_. And without knowing why, she took pleasure in +contemplating her eyes, of a clear green; the cheeks spotted with +delicate freckles which the sun had raised upon the tanned skin; the +whitish blond hair, which had the wan delicacy of silk; the little nose +with its palpitating nostrils, projecting over the mouth; the mouth +itself, shadowed by soft down, tender as that on a ripe peach, her +strong and even teeth, of the flashing whiteness of milk, and a gleam +which seemed to light up the whole face: the teeth of a poor girl! + +The mother had to wait; the poor woman was in a hurry, moving about the +house impatiently as though spurred on by the bell which sounded from a +distance. They were going to miss mass: and meanwhile Roseta was calmly +combing her hair, constantly undoing her work, which did not satisfy +her; she went on arranging the mantle with tugs of vexation, never +finding it to her liking. + +In the _plaza_ of Alboraya, upon entering and leaving the church, +Roseta, hardly raising her eyes, scanned the door of the meat-market, +where the people were crowding in, coming from mass. + +There he was, assisting his master, giving him the flayed pieces of +meat, and driving away the swarms of flies which were covering it. + +How the big simpleton flushed on seeing her. + +As she passed the second time, he remained like one who has been +charmed, with a leg of mutton in his hand, while his stout employer, +waiting in vain for him to pass it to him, poured forth a round volley +of oaths, threatening the youth with a cleaver. + +She was sad that afternoon. Seated at the door of the farm-house, she +believed she saw him several times prowling about the distant paths, and +hiding in the cane-brake to watch her. The mill-girl wished that Monday +might arrive soon, so she might go back to the factory, and come home +over the horrible road accompanied by Tonet. + +The boy did not fail her at dusk on the following day. + +Even nearer to the city than upon the other nights, he came forth to +meet her. + +"Good evening!" + +But after the customary salutation, he was not silent. The rogue had +made progress on the day of rest. + +And slowly, accompanying his expressions with grimaces, and scratches +upon his trousers legs, he tried to explain himself, although at times a +full two minutes passed between his words. He was happy at seeing her +well. (A smile from Roseta and a "thanks," murmured faintly.) "Had she +enjoyed herself Sunday?" ... (Silence.) "He had had quite a dull time. +It had bored him. Doubtless, the custom ... then ... it seemed that +something had been lacking ... naturally he had taken a fancy for the +road ... no, not the road: what he liked was to accompany her...." + +And here he stopped high and dry: it even seemed to him that he bit his +tongue nervously to punish it for its boldness and pinched himself for +having gone so far. + +They walked some distance in silence. The girl did not answer; she went +along her way with the gracefully affected air of the mill-girls, the +basket at the left hip, and the right arm cutting the air with the +swinging motion of a pendulum. + +She was thinking of her dream; she imagined herself again to be in the +midst of that delirium, seeing wild phantasies; several times she turned +her head, believing that she saw in the twilight the dog which had +licked her hands, and which had the face of Tonet, a remembrance which +even made her laugh. But no; he who was at her side was a good fellow +capable of defending her; somewhat timid and bashful, yes, with his head +drooping, as though it hurt him to bring forth the words which he had +just spoken. + +Roseta even confused him the more. Come now; why did he go out to meet +her on the way? What would the people say? If her father should be +informed, how annoyed he would be! + +"Why? Why?" asked the girl. + +And the youth, sadder and sadder, and more and more timid, like a +convicted culprit who hears his accusation, answered nothing. He walked +along at the same pace as the girl, but apart from her, stumbling along +the edge of the road. Roseta almost believed that he was going to cry. + +But when they were near the _barraca_, and as they were about to +separate, Tonet had an impulse: as he had been intensely silent, so now +he was intensely eloquent, and as though many minutes had not elapsed, +he answered the question of the girl: + +"Why?... because I love you." + +As he said it he approached her so closely that she even felt his breath +on her face and his eyes glowed as if through them all the truth must go +out to her; and after this, repenting again, afraid, terrified by his +words, he began to run like a child. + +So then he loved her!... For two days the girl had been expecting the +word, and nevertheless, it gave her the effect of a sudden, unexpected +revelation. She also loved him, and all that night, even in dreams, she +heard him murmuring a thousand times, close to her ears, the same words: + +"Because I love you." + +Tonet did not await her the following night. At dawn Roseta saw him on +the road, almost hidden behind the trunk of a mulberry-tree, watching +her with anxiety, like a child who fears a reprimand and has repented, +ready to flee at the first gesture of displeasure. + +But the mill-girl smiled blushingly, and there was need of nothing more. + +All was said: they did not tell each other again that they loved each +other, but this matter decided their betrothal, and Tonet no longer +failed a single time to accompany her on the road. + +The stout butcher of Alboraya blustered with anger at the sudden change +in his servant, so far so diligent, and now ever inventing pretexts to +pass hours and ever more hours in the _huerta_, especially at night. + +But with the selfishness of happiness, Tonet cared no more for the oaths +and threats of his master than the mill-girl did for her father, for +whom she felt more fear than respect. + +Roseta always had some nest or other in her bedroom, which she claimed +to have found upon the road. This boy did not know how to present +himself with empty hands, and explored all the cane-brake and the trees +of the _huerta_ in order to present her, his betrothed, with round mats +of straw and twigs, in whose depths were some little rogues of +fledgelings whose rosy skin was covered with the finest down, peeping +desperately as they opened their monstrous beaks, always hungry for more +crumbs of bread. + +Roseta guarded the gift in her room, as though it were the very person +of her betrothed, and wept when her brothers, the little people who had +the farm-house for a nest, showed their admiration for the birds so +strenuously that they ended by stifling them. + +At other times, Tonet appeared with his clothes bulging, his sash filled +with lupines and peanuts bought in the tavern of Copa, and as they +walked along the road, they would eat and eat, gazing into each other's +eyes, smiling like fools, without knowing why, often seating themselves +upon a bank, without realizing it. + +She was the more sensible and scolded him. Always spending money! There +were two reals or a little less, which, in a week's time, he had left at +the tavern for such treats. And he showed himself to be generous. For +whom did he want the money if not for her? When they would be +married--which had to happen some day--he would then take care of his +money. That, however, would not be for ten or twelve years; there was +no need of haste; all the betrothals of the _huerta_ lasted for some +time. + +The matter of the wedding brought Roseta back to reality. The day her +father would learn of it.... Most holy Virgin! he would break her back +with a club. And she spoke of the future thrashing with serenity, +smiling like a strong girl accustomed to this parental authority, rigid, +imposing, and respected, which manifested itself in cuffs and cudgels. + +Their relations were innocent. Never did there arise between them the +poignant and rebellious desire of the flesh. They walked along the +almost deserted road in the dusk of the evening-fall, and solitude +seemed to drive all impure thoughts from their minds. + +Once when Tonet involuntarily and lightly touched Roseta's waist, he +blushed as if he, not she, were the girl in question. + +They were both very far from thinking that their daily meeting might +result in something more than words and glances. It was the first love, +the budding of scarcely awakened youth, content with seeing, speaking, +laughing, without a trace of sensual desire. + +The mill-girl, who on the nights of fear, had longed so for the coming +of spring, saw with anxiety the arrival of the long and luminous +twilights. + +Now she met her betrothed in full daylight, and there were never lacking +companions of the factory or some neighbour along the road, who on +seeing them together smiled maliciously, guessing the truth. + +In the factory, jokes were started by all her enemies, who asked her +with sarcasm when the wedding was to take place and nicknamed her The +Shepherdess, for being in love with the grandson of old Tomba. + +Poor Roseta trembled with anxiety. What a thrashing she was going to +bring upon herself! Any day the news might reach her father's ears. And +then it was that Batiste, on the day of his sentence in the Tribunal of +the Waters, saw her on the road, accompanied by Tonet. + +But nothing happened. The happy incident of the irrigation saved her. +Her father, contented at having saved the crops, limited himself to +looking at her several times, with his eyebrows puckered, and to +notifying her in a slow voice, forefinger raised in air, and with an +imperative accent, that henceforth she should take care to return alone +from the factory, or otherwise she would learn who he was. + +And she came back alone during all the week. Tonet had a certain respect +for Señor Batiste, and contented himself with hiding in the cane-brake, +near the road, to watch the mill-girl pass by, or to follow her from a +distance. + +As the days now were longer, there were more people on the road. + +But this separation could not be prolonged for the impatient lovers, and +one Sunday afternoon, Roseta, inactive, tired of walking in front of the +door of her house, and believing she saw Tonet in all who were passing +over the neighbouring paths, seized a green-varnished pitcher, and told +her mother that she was going to bring water from the fountain of the +Queen. + +The mother allowed her to go. She ought to divert herself; poor girl! +she did not have any friends and you must let youth claim its own. + +The fountain of the Queen was the pride of all that part of the +_huerta_, condemned to the water of the wells and the red and muddy +liquid which ran through the canals. + +It was in front of an abandoned farm-house, and was old and of great +merit, according to the wisest of the _huerta_; the work of the Moors, +according to Pimentó; a monument of the epoch when the apostles were +baptizing sinners as they went about the world, so that oracle, old +Tomba, declared with majesty. + +In the afternoons, passing along the road, bordered by poplars with +their restless foliage of silver, one might see groups of girls with +their pitchers held motionless and erect upon their heads, reminding one +with their rhythmical step and their slender figures of the Greek +basket-bearers. + +This defile gave to the Valencian _huerta_ something of a Biblical +flavour; it recalled Arabic poetry, which sings of the woman beside the +fountain with the pitcher on her head, uniting in the same picture the +two most vehement passions of the Oriental: beauty and water. + +The fountain of the Queen was a four-sided pool, with walls of red +stone, and the water below at the level of the ground. One descended by +a half-dozen steps, always slippery and green with humidity. On the +surface of the rectangle of stone facing the stairs a bas-relief +projected, but the figures were indistinct; it was impossible to make +them out beneath the coat of whitewash. + +It was probably the Virgin surrounded by angels; a work of the rough and +simple art of the Middle Ages; some votive offering of the time of the +conquest: but with some generations picking at the stones, in order to +mark better the figures obliterated by the years, and others +white-washing them with the sudden impulse of barbaric curiosity, had +left the slab in such condition that nothing except the shapeless form +of a woman could be distinguished, the queen who gave her name to the +fountain: the queen of the Moors, as all queens necessarily must be in +all country-tales. + +Nor was the shouting and the confusion a small matter here on Sunday +afternoons. More than thirty girls would crowd together with their +pitchers, desiring to be the first to fill them, but then in no hurry to +go away. They pushed each other on the narrow stairway, with their +skirts tucked in between their limbs, in order to bend over and sink the +pitcher into the pool, whose surface trembled with the bubbles of water +which incessantly surged up from the bottom of the sand, where clumps of +gelatinous plants were growing, green tufts of hair-like fibres, waving +in the prison of crystal liquid, trembling with the impulse of the +current. The restless water-skippers streaked across the clear surface +with their delicate legs. + +Those who had already filled their pitchers sat down on the edge of the +pool, hanging their legs over the water and drawing them in with +scandalized screams whenever a boy came down to drink and looked up at +them. + +It was a reunion of turbulent gamin. All were talking at the same time; +they insulted each other, they flayed those who were absent, revealing +all the scandal of the _huerta_, and the young people, free from +parental severity, cast off the hypocritical expression assumed for the +house, revealing an aggressiveness characteristic of the uncultured who +lack expansion. These angelic brunettes, who sang songs to the Virgin +and litanies in the church of Alboraya so softly when the festival of +the unmarried women was celebrated, now on being alone, became bold and +enlivened their conversation with the curses of a teamster, speaking of +secret things with the calmness of old women. + +Roseta arrived here with her pitcher, without having met her betrothed +upon the road, in spite of the fact that she had walked slowly and had +turned her head frequently, hoping at every moment to see him come +forth from a path. + +The noisy party at the fountain became silent on seeing her. The +presence of Roseta at first caused stupefaction: somewhat like the +apparition of a Moor in the church of Alboraya in the midst of high +mass. Why did this pauper come here? + +Roseta greeted two or three who were from the factory, but they pinched +their lips with an expression of scorn and hardly answered her. + +The others, recovered from their surprise, and not wishing to concede to +the intruder even the honour of silence, went on talking as though +nothing had happened. + +Roseta descended to the fountain, filled the pitcher and stood up, +casting anxious glances above the wall, around over all the plain. + +"Look away, look away, but he won't come!" + +It was a niece of Pimentó who said this; the daughter of a sister of +Pepeta, a dark, nervous girl, with an upturned and insolent nose, proud +of being an only daughter, and of the fact that her father was nobody's +tenant, as the four fields which he was working were his own. + +Yes; she might go on looking as much as she pleased, but he would not +come. Didn't the others know whom she was expecting? Her betrothed, the +nephew of old Tomba: a fine arrangement! + +And the thirty cruel mouths laughed and laughed as though every laugh +were a bite; not because they considered it a great joke, but in order +to crush the daughter of the hated Batiste. + +The shepherdess!... The divine shepherdess! + +Roseta shrugged her shoulders with indifference. She was expecting this: +moreover, the jokes of the factory had blunted her susceptibility. + +She took the pitcher and went down the steps, but at the bottom the +little mimicking voice of the niece of Pimentó held her. How that small +insect could sting! + +"She would not marry the grandson of old Tomba. He was a poor fool, +dying of hunger, but very honourable and incapable of becoming related +to a family of thieves." + +Roseta almost dropped her pitcher. She grew red as if the words, tearing +at her heart, had made all the blood rise to her face; then she became +deathly pale. + +"Who is a thief? Who?" she asked with trembling voice, which made all +the others at the fountain laugh. + +Who? Her father. Pimentó, her uncle, knew it well, and in the tavern of +Copa nothing else was discussed. Did they believe that the past could be +hidden? They had fled from their own _pueblo_ because they were known +there too well: for that reason they had come here, to take possession +of what was not theirs. They had even heard that Señor Batiste had been +in prison for ugly crimes. + +And thus the little viper went on talking, pouring forth everything that +she had heard in her house and in the _huerta_: the lies forged by the +dissolute fellows at the tavern of Copa, all invented by Pimentó, who +was growing less and less disposed to attack Batiste face to face, and +was trying to annoy him, to persecute and wound him with insults. + +The determination of the father suddenly surged up in Roseta. Trembling, +stammering with fury, and with bloodshot eyes, she dropped the pitcher, +which broke into pieces drenching the nearest girls, who protested in a +chorus, calling her a stupid creature. But she was in no mood to take +notice of such things! + +"My father ..." she cried, advancing toward the one who had insulted +her. "My father a thief? Say that again and I will smash your face!" + +But the dark-haired girl did not have to repeat it, for before she could +open her lips, she received a blow in the mouth, and the fingers of +Roseta fixed themselves in her hair. Instinctively, impelled by pain, +she seized the blond hair of the mill-girl in turn, and for some time +the two could be seen struggling together, bent over, pouring forth +cries of pain and madness, with their foreheads almost touching the +ground, dragged this way and that by the cruel tugs which each one gave +to the head of the other. The hair-pins fell out, loosening the braids; +the heavy heads of hair seemed like banners of war, not floating and +victorious, but crumpled and torn by the hands of the opponent. + +But Roseta, either stronger or more furious, succeeded in disengaging +herself, and was going to drag her enemy to her, perhaps to give her a +spanking, for she was trying to take off her slipper with her free hand, +when there occurred an irritating, brutal, unheard-of scene. + +Without any spoken agreement, as if all the hatred of their families, +all the words and maledictions heard in their homes, had surged up in +them at a bound, all threw themselves together upon the daughter of +Batiste. + +"Thief! Thief!" + +In the twinkling of an eye, Roseta disappeared under the wrathful arms. +Her face was covered with scratches; she was carried down by the shower +of blows, though unable to fall, for the very crush of her enemies +impeded her; but driven from one side to the other, she ended by rolling +down head-long on the slippery stones, striking her forehead on an angle +of the stone. + +Blood! It was like the casting of a stone into a tree covered with +sparrows. They flew away, all of them, running in different directions, +with their pitchers on their heads, and in a short time no one could be +seen in the vicinity of the fountain of the Queen but poor Roseta, who +with loosened hair, skirts torn, face dirty with dust and blood, went +crying home. + +How her mother screamed when she saw her come in! How she protested +upon being told of what had occurred! Those people were worse than Jews! +Lord! Lord! Could such crimes occur in a land of Christians? + +It was impossible to live. They had not done enough already with the men +attacking poor Batiste, persecuting him and slandering him before the +Tribunal, and imposing unjust fines upon him. Now here were these girls +persecuting her poor Roseta, as though that unfortunate child had done +anything wrong. And why was it all? Because they wished to earn a living +and work, without offending anybody, as God commanded. + +Batiste turned pale as he looked at his daughter. He took a few steps +toward the road, looking at Pimentó's farm-house, whose roof stood out +behind the canes. + +But he stopped and finally began to reproach his daughter mildly. What +had occurred would teach her not to go walking about the _huerta_. They +must avoid all contact with others: live together and united in the +farm-house and never leave these lands which were their life. + +His enemies would take good care not to seek him out in his own home. + + + + +VI + + +A wasp-like buzzing, the murmur of a bee-hive, was what the dwellers in +the _huerta_ heard as they passed before the Cadena mill by the road +leading to the sea. + +A thick curtain of poplar-trees closed in the little square formed by +the road as it widened before the heap of old tiled roofs, cracked walls +and small black windows of the mill, the latter an old and tumble-down +structure erected over the canal and based on thick buttresses, between +which poured the water's foaming cascade. + +The slow, monotonous noise that seemed to issue from between the trees +came from Don Joaquín's school, situated in a farm-house hidden by the +row of poplar-trees. + +Never was knowledge worse-lodged, though wisdom does not often, to be +sure, dwell in palaces. + +An old farm-house, with no other light than from the door and that which +filtered in through the cracks of the roofs: the walls of doubtful +whiteness, for the master's wife, a stout lady who lived in her +rush-chair, passed the day listening to her husband and admiring him; a +few benches, three grimy alphabets, torn at the ends, fastened to the +wall with bits of chewed bread, and in the room adjoining the school +some few old pieces of furniture which seemed to have knocked about half +of Spain. + +In the whole _barraca_ there was one new object: the long cane which the +master kept behind the door and which he renewed every couple of days +from the nearby cane-brake; it was very fortunate that the material was +so cheap, for it was rapidly used up on the hard, close-clipped heads of +those small savages. + +Only three books could be seen in the school; the same primer served for +all. Why should there be more? There reigned the Moorish method; +sing-song and repetition, till with continual pounding you got things +into their hard heads. + +Hence from morning to night the old farm-house sent from its door a +wearisome sing-song which all the birds of the neighbourhood made fun +of. + +"Our ... fa ... ther, who ... art ... in heaven." + +"Holy ... Mary ..." + +"Two times two ... fo ... up...." + +And the sparrows, the linnets, and the calendar larks who fled from the +youngsters when they saw them in a band on the roads, alighted with the +greatest confidence on the nearest trees, and even hopped up and down +with their springy little feet before the door of the school, laughing +scandalously at their fierce enemies on seeing them thus caged up, under +the threat of the rattan, condemned to gaze at them sideways, without +moving, and repeating the same wearisome and unlovely song. + +From time to time the chorus stilled and the voice of Don Joaquín rose +majestically, pouring out his fund of knowledge in a stream. + +"How many works of mercy are there?" + +"Two times seven are how many?" + +And rarely was he satisfied with the answers. + +"You are a lot of dunces. You sit there listening as though I were +talking Greek. And to think that I treat you with all courtesy, as in a +city college, so you may learn good forms and know how to talk like +persons of breeding!... In short, you have some one to imitate. But you +are as rough and ignorant as your parents, who are also dishonest: they +have money left to go to the tavern and they invent a thousand excuses +to avoid giving me Saturdays the two coppers that are due me." + +And he walked up and down indignant as he always was when he complained +of the Saturday omissions. You could see it in his hair and in his +figure, which seemed to be divided into two parts. + +Below, his torn hempen-sandals always stained with mud: his old cloth +trousers; his rough, scaly hands, which retained in the fissures of the +skin the dirt of his little orchard, a square of garden-truck which he +owned in front of the school-house, and many times this produce was all +that went into his stew. + +But from the waist upward his nobility was shown, "the dignity of the +priest of knowledge," as he would say; that which distinguished him from +all the population of the farm-houses, worms fastened to the glebe; a +necktie of loud colours over his dirty shirt-front, a grey and bristly +moustache, cutting his chubby and ruddy face, and a blue cap with an +oilcloth visor, souvenir of one of the many positions he had filled in +his chequered career. + +This was what consoled him for his poverty; especially the necktie, +which no one else in the whole district wore, and which he exhibited as +a sign of supreme distinction, a species of golden fleece, as it were, +of the _huerta_. + +The people of the farm-houses respected Don Joaquín, though as regards +the assistance of his poverty they were remiss and slothful. What that +man had seen! How he had travelled over the world! Several times a +railway employé; other times helping to collect taxes in the most remote +provinces of Spain; it was even said that he had been a policeman in +America. In short, he was a "somebody" in reduced circumstances. + +"Don Joaquín," his stout wife would say, who was always the first to +give him his title, "has never seen himself in the position he is in +today; we are of a good family. Misfortune has brought us to this, but +in our time we have made a mint of money." + +And the gossips of the _huerta_, despite the fact that they sometimes +forgot to send the two coppers for the instruction Saturdays, respected +Don Joaquín as a superior being, reserving the right to make a little +sport of his short jacket, which was green and had square tails; and +which he wore on holidays, when he sang at high mass in the choir of +Alboraya church. + +Driven by poverty, he had landed there with his obese and flabby +better-half as he might have landed anywhere else. He helped the +secretary of the village with extra work; he prepared with herbs known +only to himself certain brews which accomplished wonders in the +farm-houses, where they all admitted that that old chap knew a lot; and +without the title of schoolmaster, but with no fear that any one else +would try to take away from him a school which did not bring in enough +even to buy bread, he succeeded by much repetition and many canings, in +teaching all the urchins of five or ten, who on holidays threw stones at +the birds, stole fruit, and chased the dogs on the roads of the +_huerta_, to spell and to keep quiet. + +Where had the master come from? All the wives of the neighbours knew, +from beyond the _churrería_. And vainly were further explanations asked, +for as far as the geography of the _huerta_ was concerned, all those who +do not speak Valencian are of the _churrería_. + +Don Joaquín had no small difficulty in making his pupils understand him +and preventing them from being afraid of Castilian. There were some who +had been two months in school and who opened their eyes wide and +scratched the backs of their heads without understanding what the master +who used words never heard before in his school said to them. + +How the good man suffered! He who attributed all the triumphs of his +teaching to his refinement, to his distinction of manners, to his use of +good language, as his wife declared! + +Every word which his pupils pronounced badly (and they did not pronounce +one well), made him groan and raise his hands indignantly till they +touched the smoky ceiling of his school-house. Nevertheless he was proud +of the urbanity with which he treated his pupils. + +"You should look upon this humble school-house," he would say to the +twenty youngsters who crowded and pushed one another on the narrow +benches, listening to him half-bored and half-afraid of his rattan, "as +a temple of courtesy and good-breeding. Temple, did I say? It is the +torch that shines and dissolves the barbaric darkness of this _huerta_. +Without me, what would you be? Beasts, and pardon me the word; the same +as your worthy fathers whom I do not wish to offend! But with God's aid +you must leave here educated, able to present yourselves anywhere, since +you have had the good fortune to find a master like me. Isn't that so?" + +And the boys replied with furious noddings, some knocking their heads +against their neighbours' heads; and even his wife, moved by the temple +and the torch, stopped knitting her stocking and pushed back the +rush-chair to envelop her husband in a glance of admiration. + +He would question all the band of dirty urchins whose feet were bare and +whose shirt-tails were in the air, with astonishing courtesy: + +"Let's see, Señor de Lopis; rise." + +And Señor de Lopis, a mucker of seven with short knee trousers held up +by one suspender, tumbled off his bench and stood at attention before +the master, gazing askance at the terrible cane. + +"For some time, I've been watching you picking your nose and making +little balls of it. An ugly habit, Señor de Lopis. Believe your master. +I will let it pass this time because you are industrious and know your +multiplication table; but knowledge is nothing when good-breeding is +lacking; don't forget that, Señor de Lopis." + +And the boy who made the little balls agreed with everything, overjoyed +to get off without a caning. But another big boy who sat beside him on +the bench and who must have been nourishing some old grudge, seeing him +standing, gave him a treacherous pinch. + +"Oh, oh, master!" cried the boy. "'_'Orse-face_' pinched me!" + +What was not Don Joaquín's indignation? What most excited his anger was +the fondness the boys had for calling each other by their father's +nicknames and even for inventing new ones. + +"Who is '_'Orse_-Face'? Señor de Peris, you probably mean. What mode of +address is that, great heavens! One would think you were in a +drinking-house! If at least you had said _Horse_-Face! Wear yourself out +teaching such idiots! Brutes!" + +And raising his cane, he began to distribute resounding blows to each; +to the one for the pinch and to the other for the "impropriety of +language," as Don Joaquín expressed it, without stopping his whacks. And +his blows were so blind that the other boys on the benches shrank +together, each one hiding his head on his neighbour's shoulder; and one +little fellow, the younger son of Batiste, frightened by the noise of +the cane, had a movement of the bowels. + +This appeased the master, made him recover his lost majesty, while the +well-thrashed audience picked their noses. + +"Doña Pepa," he said to his wife, "take Señor de Borrull away, for he is +ill, and clean him after school." + +And the old woman, who had a certain consideration for the three sons of +Batiste, because they paid her husband every Saturday, seized the hand +of _Señor de Borrull_, who left the school walking unsteadily on his +weak little legs, still weeping with fear, and showing somewhat more +than his shirttail through the rear-opening of his trousers. + +These incidents concluded, the lesson-chanting was continued, and the +grove trembled with displeasure, its monotonous whisper filtering +through the foliage. + +Sometimes a melancholy sound of bells was heard and the whole school was +filled with joy. It was the flock of old Tomba approaching; all knew +that when the old man arrived with his flock, there were always a couple +of hours of freedom. + +If the shepherd was talkative, the master was no whit behind him; both +launched out on an interminable conversation, while the pupils left the +benches and came close to listen, or slipping quietly away, went to play +with the sheep who were grazing on the grass of the nearby slopes. + +Don Joaquín liked the old man. He had seen the world, showed him the +respect of speaking to him in Castilian, had a knowledge of medicinal +herbs, and yet did not take from him his own customers; in short, he was +the only person in the _huerta_ worthy of enjoying friendly relations +with him. + +His appearance was always attended by the same circumstances. First the +sheep arrived at the school-door, stuck their heads in, sniffed +curiously and withdrew with a certain contempt, convinced that there was +no food here other than intellectual, and that of small value; +afterwards old Tomba appeared walking along confidently in this +well-known region, holding his shepherd's crook, the only aid of his +failing sight, in front of him. + +He would sit down on the brick bench next to the master's door, and +there the master and the shepherd would talk, silently admired by Doña +Josefa and the bigger boys of the school, who would approach slowly and +form a group around them. + +Old Tomba, who would even talk with his sheep along the roads, spoke +slowly at first like a man who fears to reveal his limitations, but the +chat of the master would give him courage and soon he would plunge into +the vast sea of his eternal stories. He would lament over the bad state +of Spain, over what those who came from Valencia said in the _huerta_, +over bad governments in general which are to blame for bad harvests, and +he always would end by repeating the same thing: + +"Those times, Don Joaquín, those times of mine were different. You did +not know them, but your own were better than these. It's getting worse +and worse. Just think what all these youngsters will see when they are +men!" + +This was always the introduction of his story. + +"If you had only seen the followers of the Fliar!" (The shepherd could +never say friar.) "_They_ were true Spaniards; now there are only +boasters in Copa's tavern. I was eighteen years old; I had a helmet with +a copper eagle which I took from a dead man, and a gun bigger than +myself. And the Fliar!... What a man! They talk now of General +So-and-So. Lies, all lies! Where Father Nevot was, there was no one +else! You should have seen him with his cassock tucked up, on his nag, +with his curved sabre and pistols! How we galloped! Sometimes here, +sometimes in Alicante-province, then near Albacete: they were always at +our heels; but we made mince-meat of every Frenchman we caught. It seems +to me I can see them still: _musiu_ ... mercy! and I, slash, slash, and +a clean bayonet-thrust!" + +And the wrinkled old man grew bolder and rose; his dim eyes shone like +dull embers and he brandished his shepherd's staff as though he were +still piercing the enemy with his bayonet. Then came the advice; behind +the kind old fellow there arose a man all fierceness, with a hard, +relentless heart, the product of a war to the death. His fierce +instincts appeared, instincts which had, as it were, become petrified in +his youth, and thus made impervious to the flight of time. He addressed +the boys in Valencian, sharing with them the fruit of his experience. +They must believe what he told them, for he had seen much. In life, +patience to take revenge upon the enemy; to wait for the ball, and when +it comes, to hit it hard. And as he gave these counsels, he winked his +eyes, which in the hollows of the deep sockets seemed like dying stars +on the point of flickering out. He related with senile malice a past of +struggles in the _huerta_, a past of ambuscades and stratagems, and of +complete contempt for the life of one's fellow-beings. + +The master, fearing the moral effect of this on his pupils, would divert +the course of the conversation, speaking of France, which was old +Tomba's greatest memory. + +It was an hour-long topic. He knew that country as well as though he had +been born there. When Valencia surrendered to Marshal Suchet, he had +been taken prisoner with several thousand more to a great +city--Toulouse. And he intermingled in the conversation the horribly +mutilated French words which he still remembered after so many years. +What a country! There men went about with white plush hats, coloured +coats with collars reaching up to the back of their heads, high boots +like riding-boots; and the women with skirts like flute-sheaths, so +narrow that they showed all they encased; and so he went on talking of +the costumes and customs of the time of the Empire, imagining that it +all still continued and that France of today was as it was at the +beginning of the century. + +And while he related in detail all his recollections, the master and his +wife listened attentively, and some of the boys, profiting by the +unexpected recess, slipped away from the school-house, attracted by the +sheep, who fled from them as from the devil in person. For they pulled +their tails and grabbed them by the legs, forcing them to walk on their +fore-feet, and they sent them rolling down the slopes or tried to mount +on their dirty fleece; the poor creatures protested with gentle +bleatings in vain, for the shepherd did not hear them, absorbed as he +was in telling with great relish of the agony of the last Frenchman who +had died. + +"And how many fell?" the master would ask at the end of the story. + +"A matter of a hundred and twenty or thirty. I don't remember exactly." + +And the husband and wife would exchange a smile. Since the last time the +total had risen by twenty. As the years passed, his deeds of prowess +and the number of victims increased. + +The lamentations of the flock would attract the master's attention. + +"Gentlemen," he would call out to the rash youths as he reached for his +rattan, "come here, all of you. Do you imagine you can spend the day +enjoying yourself? This is the place for work." + +And to demonstrate this by example, he would brandish his cane so that +it was a delight to see it driving back all the flock of playful +youngsters into the sheep-fold of knowledge with blows. + +"With your leave, Uncle Tomba: we've been talking over two hours. I must +go on with the lesson." + +And while the shepherd, courteously dismissed, guided his sheep toward +the mill to repeat his stories there, there began once again in the +school the chant of the multiplication-table which was Don Joaquín's +great symbol of learning. + +At sunset, the boys sang their last song, thanking the Lord "because He +had helped them with His light," and each one took up again his +dinner-bag. As the distances in the _huerta_ were not small, the +youngsters would leave their homes in the morning with provisions enough +to pass the whole day in school; and the enemies of Don Joaquín even +said that one of his favourite punishments was to take away their +rations in order thus to supplement the deficiencies of Doña Pepa's +cooking. + +Fridays, when school was out, the pupils invariably heard the same +oration. + +"Gentlemen: tomorrow is Saturday: remind your mothers and tell them that +the one who does not bring his two coppers won't be let into the school. +I tell you this particularly, Mr. de ... So and So, and you, Mr. de ... +So and So" (and he would enumerate about a dozen names). "For three +weeks now you have not brought the sum agreed upon, and if this goes on, +it will prove that instruction is impossible, and learning impotent to +combat the innate barbarity of these rustic regions. I contribute +everything: my erudition, my books" (and he would glance at the three +primer-charts, which his wife picked up carefully to put them away in +the old bureau), "and you contribute nothing. Well, what I said, I +said: Any one who comes tomorrow empty-handed will not pass that +threshold. Notify your mothers." + +The boys would form in couples, holding each other's hands (the same as +in the schools of Valencia; what do you suppose?), and depart, after +kissing the horny hand of Don Joaquín and repeating glibly as they +passed near him: + +"Good-bye, until tomorrow, by God's grace." + +The master would accompany them to the little mill-square which was as a +star for roads and paths; and there the formation was broken up into +small groups and dispersed over different sections of the plain. + +"Take care, my masters, I've got an eye on you," cried Don Joaquín as a +last warning. "Look out when you steal fruit, throw stones or jump over +canals. I have a little bird who tells me everything and if tomorrow I +hear anything bad, my rattan will play the very deuce with you." + +And standing in the little square, he followed with his gaze the largest +group which was departing up the Alboraya road. + +These paid the best. Among them walked the three sons of Batiste, for +whom many a time the road had been turned into a way of suffering. + +Hand in hand the three tried to follow the other boys, who because they +lived in the farm-house next to old Batiste, felt the same hatred as +their fathers for him and for his family and never lost an opportunity +to torment them. + +The two elder ones knew how to defend themselves, and with a scratch +more or less even came out victorious at times. + +But the smallest, Pascualet, a fat-stomached little chap who was only +five years old and whom his mother adored for his sweetness and +gentleness, and hoped to make a chaplain, broke into tears the moment he +saw his brothers involved in deadly conflict with their fellow-pupils. + +Many a time the two elder boys would reach home covered with sweat and +dust as though they had been wallowing in the road, with their trousers +torn and their shirts unfastened. These were the signs of combat; the +little fellow told it all with tears. And the mother had to minister to +one or another of the larger boys, which she did by pressing a +penny-piece on the bump raised by some treacherous stone. + +Teresa was much upset on hearing of the attacks to which her son were +subjected. But she was a rough, courageous woman who had been born in +the country, and when she heard that her boys had defended themselves +well and given a good thrashing to the enemy, she would again regain her +calm. + +Good heaven! let them take care of Pascualet first of all. And the +oldest brother, indignant, would promise a thrashing to all the lousy +crew when he met them on the roads. + +Hostilities began every afternoon, as soon as Don Joaquín lost sight of +them. + +The enemies, sons or nephews of those in the tavern who threatened to +put an end to Batiste, began to walk more slowly, lessening the distance +between themselves and the three brothers. + +The words of the master, however, and the threat of the accursed bird +who saw and told everything, would still be ringing in their ears; some +laughed but on the wrong side of their mouths. That old fellow knew such +a lot! + +But the farther off they got, the less effective became the master's +threat. + +They would begin to prance around the three brothers, and laughingly +chase each other, a mere malicious pretext, inspired by the instinctive +hypocrisy of youth, to push them as they ran by, with the pious desire +of landing them in the canal that ran along the road. + +Afterwards when this manoeuvre proved unsuccessful, they would resort +to slaps on the head and sudden pulls as they ran by at full speed. + +"Thieves! Thieves!" + +And as they hurled this insult, they would pull their ears and run off, +only to turn after a little and repeat the same words. + +This calumny, invented by the enemies of their father, made the boys +absolutely frantic. The two older ones, abandoning Pascualet, who took +refuge weeping behind a tree, would seize stones and a battle would +begin in the middle of the road. + +The cobbles whistled between the branches, making the leaves fall in +showers, and bounce against the trunks and slopes: the dogs drawn by the +noise of the battle, would rush out from the farm-houses barking +fiercely, and the women from the doors of their houses would raise their +arms to heaven, crying indignantly-- + +"Rascals! Devils!" + +These scandals touched Don Joaquín to the quick and gave impetus next +day to the relentless cane. What would people say of his school, the +temple of good-breeding! + +The battle would not end until some passing carter would brandish his +whip, or until some old chap would come from the farm-houses, cudgel in +hand, when the aggressors would flee, and disperse, repenting of their +deed on seeing themselves alone, thinking fearfully, with the rapid +shifting of impressions characteristic of childhood, of that bird who +knew everything and of what Don Joaquín would have in store for them the +following day. + +And meanwhile, the three brothers would continue on their way, rubbing +the bruises they had received in the battle. + +One afternoon, Batiste's poor wife sent up a cry to heaven on seeing the +state in which her young ones arrived. + +The battle had been a fierce one! Ah! the bandits! The two older ones +were bruised as usual; nothing to worry about. + +But the little boy, the Bishop, as his mother called him caressingly, +was wet from head to foot, and the poor little fellow was crying and +trembling from cold and fear. + +The savage young rascals had thrown him into a canal of stagnant water +and his brothers had fished him out covered with disgusting black mud. + +The mother put him to bed, for the poor little chap was still trembling +in her arms, clinging around her neck, and murmuring with a voice that +sounded like the bleating of a lamb, + +"Mother! Mother!" + +"Lord God! give us patience!" All that base rabble, big and little, had +resolved to put an end to the whole family. + + + + +VII + + +Sad and frowning as though he were going to a funeral, Batiste started +forth one Thursday morning on the road to Valencia. It was horse-market +day at the river-bed and the little bag of sackcloth containing the +remainder of his savings bulged out his sash. + +Misfortunes were pouring on the family in a steady stream. The last and +fitting climax now would be that the roof should fall on their heads and +crush them to death. What people! What a place had they got into! + +The little boy was steadily getting worse, and trembled with fever in +his mother's arms, while the latter wept continually. He was visited +twice a day by the doctor; in short, it was a sickness which was going +to cost twelve or fifteen dollars,--a mere trifle, so to speak. + +The oldest boy, Batistet, could hardly go about. His head was still +swathed in bandages and his face crisscrossed with scratches, after a +big battle which he had had one morning with other boys of his own age +who were going like himself to gather manure in Valencia. All the +_fematers_ (manure-gatherers) of the district had banded against +Batistet and the poor boy could not show himself upon the road. + +The two younger ones had stopped going to school through fear of the +fights that would be forced on them on the way home. + +And Roseta, poor girl! she was the saddest of all. Her father put on a +gloomy countenance in the house, casting severe glances at her to remind +her that she must not show her feelings and that her sufferings were an +outrage on paternal authority. But when he was alone, the worthy Batiste +felt grieved over the poor girl's sadness. For he had once been young +himself and knew how heavy the sufferings of love may be. + +Everything had been discovered. After the famous quarrel at the fountain +of the Queen, the whole _huerta_ gossiped for days about Roseta's +love-affair with old Tomba's grandson. + +The fat-bellied butcher of Alboraya stormed angrily at his hired-man. +Ah, the big rascal! Now he knew why he forgot all his duties, why he +passed his afternoons wandering over the _huerta_ like a gipsy. The +young gentleman indulged himself in a fiancée, as though he had the +means to support her. And what a fiancée, great Heaven! All he had to do +was to listen to his customers as they chatted before his butcher's +table. They all said the same: they were surprised that a man like him, +religious and respectable, whose only defect was to cheat a little in +the weight, should allow his hired-man to keep company with the daughter +of the _huerta's_ enemy, an evil man who, it was said, had been in the +penitentiary. + +And as all this to the mind of the fat boss was a dishonour to his +establishment, he would become furious at every murmur of the gossiping +women and threaten his timid hired-man with his knife, or reproach old +Tomba as he tried to persuade him to reform his rascally grandson. + +Finally the butcher discharged the boy and his grandfather found him a +position in Valencia in another butcher-shop, where he asked them not to +give him any time off even on holidays, so that he would not be able to +wait for Batiste's daughter on the road. + +Tonet departed submissively, his eyes wet like one of the young lambs +whom he had so often dragged before the master's knife. He would not +return. The poor girl remained in the farm-house, hiding herself in her +bedroom to weep, making efforts not to show her suffering to her mother, +who, exasperated by so many vexations, was very intolerant, and before +her father, who threatened to kill her if she had another lover and gave +their enemies in the district any more chance to talk. + +Poor Batiste, who seemed so severe and threatening, was more grieved +than by anything else at the girl's inconsolable sorrow, her lack of +appetite, her yellow complexion and hollow eyes, and by the efforts she +made to feign indifference, in spite of the fact that she scarcely slept +at all: this, however, did not prevent her from trudging off punctually +every day to the factory with a vagueness in her eyes which showed that +her mind was far afield, and that she lived perpetually in a state of +inward dream. + +Though they did not succeed in crushing Batiste, they undoubtedly cast +on him the evil eye, for his poor Morrut, the old horse who was like a +member of the family, who had drawn the poor furniture and the +youngsters over the roads in the various peregrinations of poverty, +gradually grew weaker and weaker in his new stable, the best lodging he +had ever known in his long life of labour. + +He had behaved like a respectable equine in the worst period, when the +family had just moved to the farm, and he had had to plough up the land +accursed and petrified by ten years' neglect; when he had had to plod +continuously to Valencia to bring back débris and old boards from +buildings being torn down; when the food was not plentiful and the work +heavy. And now, when before the little window of the stable there +stretched out a large field of grass, cool, high and waving, all for +him; now that he had his table set with that green and juicy covering +which smelled gloriously, now that he was growing fat, that his angular +haunches and his bony back were rounding out, he died without even a +reason, perhaps in the exercise of his perfect right to rest, after +having helped the family through its time of trouble and tribulation. + +He lay down one day on his straw and refused to go out, gazing at +Batiste with glassy yellow eyes which silenced all angry oaths and +threats upon the master's lips. Poor Morrut seemed to be a human being! +Batiste, remembering his glance, felt like weeping. The farm-house was +all upset, and this misfortune for the time being made the family forget +poor Pascualet, who was trembling with fever in his bed. + +Batiste's wife was weeping. That poor beast whose gentle face lay there +flat on the ground had seen almost all her children come into the world. +She still remembered as though it were yesterday when they bought him in +the Sagunto-market, small, dirty, covered with scabs, a nag condemned. +It was a member of the family that was passing now. And when some +repellent old men came in a cart to take the corpse of the old worker to +the "boneyard" where they would convert his skeleton into bones of +polished brilliancy and his flesh into fertilizer, the children wept, +and called interminable farewells to poor Morrut who was carried away +with his feet stretched out stiffly and his head swaying, while the +mother, as though she felt some terrible presentiment, threw herself +with open arms upon her sick little boy. + +She saw her little son when he entered the stable to pull Morrut's tail, +Morrut, who endured all the youngster's pranks with affectionate +submission. She saw the little fellow when his father placed him on the +animal's hard spine, beating his little feet against the shining flanks +and crying, "Get up! Get up!" with his stammering child's voice. And she +felt that the death of the poor animal had somehow opened up a way for +others. Oh God! grant that her sorrowful mother's fears might be +mistaken; that only the long-suffering horse should die; and that he +should not, on his road to heaven, carry away upon his flanks the poor +little fellow now as in other times he used to carry him along the paths +of the _huerta_ grasping his mane, walking slowly so as not to make him +lose his balance! + +And poor Batiste, his mind preoccupied by so many misfortunes, confusing +all together in his fancy the sick child, the dead horse, the wounded +son and the daughter with her concentrated grief, reached the outskirts +of the city and passed over the bridge of Serranos. + +At the end of the bridge, on the esplanade between the two gardens in +front of the octagonal towers whose Gothic arcades, projecting barbicans +and noble crown of battlements rose above the grove, Batiste stopped +and passed his hands over his face. + +He had to visit the masters, the sons of Don Salvador, and ask them to +loan him a small sum to make up the necessary amount to buy a horse to +take poor Morrut's place. And as cleanliness is the poor man's luxury, +he sat down on a stone-bench, waiting his turn to have his beard +shaved,--a two weeks' growth, stiff and bristly like porcupine-quills, +which blackened his whole face. + +In the shade of the high plane-trees, the barber-shops of the district, +the open-air barbers as they were called, plied their trade. A couple of +arm-chairs with rush-seats and arms made shiny by use, a portable +furnace on which boiled the pot of water, towels of doubtful colour, and +nicked razors which scraped the hard skin of the customers with raspings +that made you shiver, constituted all the stock-in-trade of those +open-air establishments. + +Clumsy boys who aspired to be apprentices in the barber-shops of the +town were there learning how to use their arms; and while they learned +by inflicting cuts or by covering the victims' heads with clips and +bald-spots, the master conversed with the customers on the +promenade-bench or read the newspaper aloud to the group who listened +impassively. + +As for those who sat on the chair of torment, a piece of hard soap was +nibbed over their jaws, until the lather came. Then the cruel razor, and +cuts endured stoically by the customer, whose face was tinged with +blood. A little further on resounded the enormous scissors in continuous +movement passing back and forth over the round head of some vain youth, +who was left shaved like a poodle; the height of elegance, with a long +lock falling over the brow, and half the head behind carefully cropped. + +Batiste, swallowed up in the rush-chair, listened with closed eyes to +the head-barber as he read in a nasal and monotonous voice, and +commented and glossed like a man well versed in public affairs. His +shave resulted quite fortunately: all he got was three scrapes and a cut +on his ear. Other times there had been more. He paid his half-real and +departed; and entered the city through the Serranos gate. + +Two hours later he came out again and sat down on the stone-bench among +the group of customers to listen to the head-barber until the time of +the market arrived. + +The masters had just loaned him the small amount he needed to buy the +horse. The important thing now was to have a good eye in making his +choice; to keep his temper and not let himself be cheated by the cunning +gipsies who passed before him with their animals and went down the slope +to the river-bed. + +Eleven o'clock. The horse-market had evidently reached its moment of +greatest animation. There came to Batiste's ears the confused sound of +something like an invisible ebullition; the neighs of horses and voices +of men rose from the river-bed. He hesitated, hung back, like a man who +wants to put off an important resolution, and at last decided to go down +to the market. + +The river-bed as usual was dry. Some pools of water which had escaped +from the water-wheels and dams which irrigated the plain wound in and +out like serpents, forming curves and islands in a soil which was dusty, +hot and uneven, more like an African desert than a river-bed. + +At such times it was all white with sunlight, without the slightest spot +of shade. + +The carts of the farmers with their white awnings formed an encampment +in the middle of the river-bed, and along the railing, placed in a row, +stood the horses which were for sale; the black, kicking mules with +their red caparisons and their shining flanks all aquiver with +nervousness; the plough horses, strong and sad, like slaves condemned to +eternal labour, gazing with glassy eyes at all those who passed as +though they divined in them the new tyrant, and the small and lively +nags, pawing up the dust and dragging on the halter fastened to their +nose-pieces. + +Near the descent were the cast-off animals; earless dirty donkeys; sad +horses whose coat seemed to be pierced by the sharp angles of their +fleshless bones; blind mules with long stork-like necks; all the +castaways of the market, the wrecks of labour, whose hide had been +well-tanned by the stick and who awaited the arrival of the contractor +of bullfights or of the beggar who still put them to some use. + +Near the currents of water in the centre of the river-bed, on the shores +which dampness had covered with a thin cloak of grassy sod, trotted the +colts who had not been broken, their long manes flying in the wind, and +their tails sweeping the ground. Beyond the bridges, through the round +stone "eyes" could be seen the herds of bulls with their legs drawn up, +tranquilly ruminating the grass which the shepherds threw them, or +stepping lazily over the hot ground, feeling the longing for green +pastures and taking a fierce pose whenever the youngsters whistled to +them from the railings. + +The animation of the market was increasing. Around each horse whose sale +was being arranged crowded groups of gesticulating and loquacious +farmers in their shirt sleeves, their ash-sticks in their hands. The +thin, bronzed gipsies, with their long bowed legs, in sheepskin jackets +covered with patches, and fur-caps beneath which their black eyes shone +feverishly, talked ceaselessly, breathing into the faces of the +customers as though they wished to hypnotize them. + +"But just look at the horse! Notice her lines,--why, she's a beauty!" + +And the farmer, impervious to the gipsy's honeyed phrases, reserved, +thoughtful and uncertain, gazed at the ground, looked at the animal, +scratched his head and finally said with a species of obstinate energy: + +"All right ... but I won't give any more." + +To arrange the terms and solemnize the sales, the protection of a shed +was sought, under which a big woman sold small cakes or filled sticky +glasses with the contents of half a dozen bottles lined up on a +zinc-covered table. + +Batiste passed back and forth among the horses, paying no attention to +the venders who pursued him, divining his intention. + +Nothing pleased him. Alas, poor Morrut! How hard it was to find his +successor! If he had not been compelled by necessity, he would have left +without purchasing: he felt that it was an offence to the dead horse to +fix his attention on these repellent beasts. + +At last he stopped before a white nag, not very fat or sleek, with a few +galls on his legs and a certain air of fatigue; a beast of burden who, +though dejected, looked strong and willing. + +But scarcely had he passed his hand over the animal's haunches when he +found at his side the gipsy, obsequious, familiar, treating him as +though he had known him all his life. + +"That animal is a treasure; it is easy to see that you know good horses +when you see them.... And cheap: I don't think we'll quarrel over the +price ... Monote! Walk him out so this gentleman can see what a graceful +swing he has!" + +And the Monote referred to, a little gipsy, took the horse by the halter +and ran off with him over the uneven sand. The poor beast trotted after +him reluctantly, as though bored by an operation that was so frequently +repeated. + +The curious people ran up and gathered around Batiste and the gipsy, who +were gazing at the horse as it ran. When Monote returned with the animal +Batiste examined it in detail; he put his fingers between the yellow +teeth, passed his hands over his whole body, raised his hoofs to inspect +them, and looked carefully between his legs. + +"Look, look!" said the gipsy, ... "he's just made for it.... Cleaner +than the plate of the Eucharist. No one is cheated here; everything open +and aboveboard. I don't fix up horses the way the others do who +disfigure a burro before you can take your breath. I bought him last +week and I even didn't fix up those trifles he has on the legs. You saw +what a graceful swing he has. And for drawing a wagon? Why an elephant +wouldn't have the push to him that he has! You can see the signs of it +there on his neck." + +Batiste did not look dissatisfied with his examination, but he tried to +look displeased and made grimaces and rasped his throat. His misfortunes +as a carter had given him knowledge of horses and he laughed inwardly at +some of the curious ones who, influenced by the bad looks of the horse, +were arguing with the gipsy, telling him that the horse was fit only to +be sent to the boneyard. His sad and weary appearance was that of beasts +of labour who obey as long as they can stand on their legs. + +The moment of decision came. He would buy him. How much? + +"Since it's for a friend," said the gipsy, touching his shoulder +caressingly, "since it's for a nice fellow like you who will treat this +jewel of a horse well, I'll let him go for forty dollars and the +bargain's made." + +Batiste received this broadside calmly, like a man well used to such +discussions, and smiled slyly. + +"Well, since it's you I'm dealing with. I won't offer you much less. Do +you want twenty-five?" + +The gipsy stretched out his arms with dramatic indignation, retreated a +few steps, pulled at his fur cap, and made all kinds of extravagant and +grotesque gestures to express his amazement. + +"Mother of God! Twenty-five dollars! But did you look at the animal? +Even if I had stolen him, I couldn't sell him at that price!" + +But Batiste, to all his extravagant talk, always made the same reply: + +"Twenty-five. Not a cent more." + +And the gipsy, after exhausting all his persuasions, which were by no +means few, fell back on the supreme argument. + +"Monote ... walk the horse out ... so the gentleman can get a good look +at him." + +And away trotted Monote again, pulling the horse by the halter, more and +more bored by all these promenadings. + +"What a gait, hey?" said the gipsy. "You'd think he was a prince. Isn't +he worth twenty-five dollars to you?" + +"Not a penny more," repeated the hard-headed Batiste. + +"Monote ... come back. That's enough." + +And feigning indignation, the gipsy turned his back on the purchaser, +intimating thereby that all the bargaining was off, but on seeing that +Batiste was really leaving, his seriousness disappeared. + +"Come, sir.... What's your name?... Ah! Well, look, Mr. Batiste, so that +you can see that I like you and want you to own this treasure, I'm going +to do for you what I wouldn't do for any one else. Do you agree to +thirty-five dollars? Come now, say yes. I swear to you on your life that +I wouldn't do as much for my own father." + +This time his protestations, on seeing that the farmer was not moved by +the reduction and offered him a beggarly two dollars more, were even +livelier and more gesticulatory than before. Why, did that jewel of a +horse inspire him with no more liking than that? But man alive, hadn't +he eyes in his head to see his value? Come, Monote; take him out again. + +But Monote didn't have to tire himself out again, for Batiste departed, +pretending that he had given up the purchase. + +He wandered through the market looking at other horses from afar, but +always gazing out of the tail of his eye at the gipsy, who similarly +feigning indifference, was following and watching him. + +He approached a big, strong, sleek horse which he did not think of +buying, divining his high price. He had scarcely passed his hand over +the haunches when he felt a warm breath on his face, and heard the +gipsy's voice murmuring:-- + +"Thirty-three.... On your children's lives, don't say no; you see I'm +reasonable." + +"Twenty-eight," said Batiste, without turning around. + +When he grew tired of admiring that beautiful beast, he went on, and to +have something to do, watched an old farmer's wife haggling over a +donkey. + +The first gipsy had gone back to his horse again, and was gazing at him +from afar, and shaking the halter-rope as though he were calling him. +Batiste slowly drew near him, pretending absent-mindedness, looking at +the bridges over which passed the parasols of the women of the city, +like many-coloured movable cupolas. + +It was now noon. The sand of the river-bed grew hot; not the slightest +breath of wind passed over the space between the railings. In that hot +and sticky atmosphere, the sun beat down vertically penetrating the skin +and burning the lips. + +The gipsy advanced a few steps toward Batiste, offering him the end of +the rope, as a kind of taking of possession. + +"Neither your offer nor mine. Thirty, and God knows I get no profit on +it. Thirty ... don't say no, or you'll make me wild. Come, put it +there!" + +Batiste took the rope and offered his hand to the vender who pressed it +with much feeling. The bargain was concluded. + +The former began to take from his sash all that plethora of savings +which swelled out his stomach like an undigested meal: a bank-note that +the master had loaned him, a few silver dollars, a handful of small +change wrapped up in a paper-cone. When the count was completed, he +could not get out of going with the gipsy to the shed to invite him to +take a drink, and giving a few pennies to Monote for all his trottings. + +"You're carrying off the treasure of the market. It's a lucky day for +you, Mist' Bautista: you crossed yourself with your right hand, and the +Virgin came out to look at you." + +And he had to drink a second glass, the gipsy's treat, but at last, +cutting short his torrent of offers and flatteries, he seized the +halter of his new horse and helped by the obliging Monote, mounted on +the steed's bare back and left the noisy market at a trot. + +He departed well satisfied with the animal; he had not lost his day. He +scarcely remembered poor Morrut, and he felt the pride of ownership when +on the bridge and on the road, some one from the _huerta_ turned around +to examine the white steed. + +But his greatest satisfaction came when he passed before the house of +Copa. He made the beast break into an arrogant little trot as though he +were a horse of pedigree, and he saw how Pimentó and all the loafers of +the _huerta_ came to the door to look after him; the wretches! Now they +would be convinced that it was difficult to crush him, and that by his +unaided efforts, he could defend himself. Now they saw that he had a new +horse. If only the trouble within the home could be as easily adjusted! + +His high, green wheat formed a kind of lake of restless waves by the +roadside; the alfalfa-grass grew luxuriantly and had a perfume which +made the horse's nostrils dilate. Batiste could not complain of his +land, but it was inside the house that he feared to meet misfortune, +eternal companion of his existence, waiting to dig its claws into him. + +On hearing the trotting of the horse, Batistet came out with his +bandaged head, and ran to hold the animal while his father dismounted. +The boy waxed enthusiastic over the new animal. He caressed him, put his +hands between his lips, and in his eagerness to get on his back, he put +one foot on the hook, seized his tail and mounted with the agility of an +Arab on his crupper. + +Batiste entered the house. As white and clean as usual, with its shining +tiles and all the furniture in its place, it seemed to be enveloped in +the sadness of a clean and shining sepulchre. + +His wife came out to the door of the room, her eyes red and swollen and +her hair dishevelled, revealing in her tired aspect the long, sleepless +nights she had spent. + +The doctor had just gone away: as usual, little hope. His manner was +forbidding, he spoke in half-words, and after examining the boy a +little, he went out without leaving any new prescription. Only when he +mounted his horse, he had said that he would return at night. And the +child was the same, with a fever that consumed his little body, which +grew thinner and thinner. + +It was the same thing every day. They had grown accustomed now to that +misfortune; the mother wept automatically, and the others went about +their usual occupations with sad faces. + +Then Teresa, who had a business head, asked her husband about the result +of his journey; she wanted to see the horse; and even sad Roseta forgot +her sorrows of love and inquired about the new acquisition. + +All, large and small, went to the barnyard to see the horse in his +stable; Batistet full of enthusiasm had brought him there. The child +remained abandoned in the big bed of the bedroom where he tossed about, +his eyes glazed with sickness, bleating weakly: "Mother! Mother!" + +Teresa examined her husband's purchase with a grave expression, +calculating in detail whether he was worth more than thirty dollars; the +daughter sought out the differences between the new horse and Morrut of +happy memory, and the two youngsters, with sudden confidence, pulled his +tail and stroked his belly, and vainly begged their older brother to put +them up on his white back. + +Everybody was decidedly pleased with this new member of the family, who +sniffed the manger in an odd way as though he found there some trace, +some remote odour of his dead companion. + +The whole family had dinner, and the excitement and enthusiasm over the +new acquisition was such that several times Batistet and the little ones +slipped away from the table to go and take a look in the stable, as +though they feared the horse had sprouted wings and flown away. + +The afternoon passed without anything happening. Batiste had to plough +up a part of the land which he was keeping uncultivated, preparing the +crop of garden-truck, and he and his son put the horse in harness, proud +to see the gentleness with which he obeyed and the strength with which +he drew the plough. + +At nightfall, when they were about to return, Teresa called them, +screaming from the farm-house door, and her voice was like that of one +who is crying for help. + +"Batiste!--Batiste!--Come quickly!" + +And Batiste ran across the field, frightened by the tone of his wife's +voice and by her wild actions; for she was tearing her hair and +moaning. + +The child was dying; you had only to see him to be convinced of it. +Batiste entered the bedroom and leaning over the bed, felt a shudder of +cold go over him, a sensation as though some one had just thrown a +stream of cold water on him from behind. The poor little Bishop scarcely +moved; he breathed stertorously and with difficulty; his lips grew +purple; his eyes, almost closed, showed the glazed and motionless pupil; +they were eyes which saw no more; and his little brown face seemed to be +darkened by a mysterious sadness as though the wings of death cast their +shadow on it. The only bright thing in that countenance was the blond +hair streaming over the pillows like a skein of curly silk; the flame of +the candle shone on it strangely. + +The mother's groans were desperate; they were like the howlings of a +maddened beast. Her son, weeping silently, had to check her, to hold her +in order to keep her from throwing herself on the little one or dashing +her head against the wall. Outside the youngsters were weeping, not +daring to come in, as though the lamentations of the mother frightened +them, and by the side of the bed stood Batiste, absorbed, clenching his +fists, biting his lips, his eyes fixed on that little body, which it was +costing so much anguish, so many shudders, to give up its hold on life. +The calm of that giant, his dry eyes winking nervously, his head bent +down toward his son, gave an even more painful impression than the +lamentations of the mother. + +Suddenly, he noticed that Batistet stood by his side; he had followed +him, alarmed by his mother's cries. Batiste was angry when he found out +that his son had left the horse alone in the middle of the field, and +the boy, drying his eyes, ran out to bring the horse back to the stable. + +In a short while, new cries awakened Batiste from his stupor. + +"Father! Father!" + +It was Batistet calling him from the door of the farm-house. The father, +foreseeing some new misfortune, ran after him, not understanding his +confused words. "The horse ... the poor white horse ... lay on the +ground ... blood...." + +And after a few steps he saw him lying on his haunches, still harnessed +to the plough but trying in vain to rise, stretching out his neck and +neighing dolorously, while from his side, near one of his forelegs, a +black liquid trickled slowly, soaking the freshly opened furrows. + +They had wounded him; perhaps he was going to die. God! A beast that he +needed like his own life and which had cost him money borrowed from the +master. + +He looked around as though seeking the perpetrator of the deed. There +was no one on the plain, which was growing purple in the twilight; +nothing could be heard but the far-off rumbling of wheels, the rustling +noise of the canebrakes, and the cries of people calling from one +farm-house to another. In the nearby roads, on the paths, there was not +a single soul. + +Batistet tried to excuse himself to his father for negligence. While he +was running toward the farm-house, he had seen a group of men coming +along the road, gay people who were laughing and singing, returning +doubtless from the inn. Perhaps it was they. + +The father would not listen to anything more.... Pimentó, who else could +it be? The hatred of the district had caused his son's death, and now +that thief was killing his horse, guessing how much he needed it. God! +Was that not enough to make a Christian turn to evil ways? + +And he argued no more. Scarcely realizing what he was doing, he returned +to the farm-house, seized his musket from behind the door, and ran out, +mechanically opening the breech to see if the two barrels were loaded. + +Batistet remained near the horse, trying to staunch the blood with the +bandage from his own head. He was fear-stricken when he saw his father +running along the road with his musket cocked, longing to give vent to +his rage by slaying. + +It was terrible to see that big, quiet, slow man in whom the wild beast, +tired of being daily harassed, was now awakened. In his bloodshot eyes +burned a murderous light; all his body trembled with anger, that +terrible anger of the peaceful man who, when he passes the boundaries of +gentleness, becomes ferocious. + +Like a furious wild boar, he entered the fields, trampling down the +plants, jumping over the irrigation streams, breaking off the canes; if +he diverged from the road, it was only to reach Pimentó's farm more +quickly. + +Some one was at the door. The blindness of anger and the twilight +shadows prevented him from distinguishing if it was a man or a woman, +but he saw how the person with one leap sprang in and closed the door +suddenly, frightened by that vision on the point of raising his gun and +firing. + +Batiste stopped before the closed door of the farm-house: + +"Pimentó!... Thief! Come out!" + +And his voice amazed him as though it was another's. + +It was a voice which was trembling and shrill, high-pitched and +suffocated by anger. + +No one answered. The door remained closed; closed the windows and the +three loop-holes at the top which lighted the upper story, the _cambra_, +where the crops were kept. + +The scoundrel was probably gazing at him through some crack, perhaps +even cocking his gun to fire some treacherous shot from one of the high +small windows. And instinctively, with that foresight of the Moor always +alert in suspecting all kinds of evil tricks of the enemy, he hid behind +the trunk of a giant fig-tree which cast its shade over Pimentó's +house. + +The latter's name resounded ceaslessly in the silence of the twilight +accompanied by all kinds of insults. + +"Come down! You coward! Come out, you thug!" + +And the farm-house remained silent and closed, as though it had been +abandoned. + +Batiste thought he heard a woman's stifled cries; the noise of a +struggle; something which made him suppose a fight was going on between +poor Pepeta and Pimentó, whom she was trying to prevent from going out +to answer the insults; but after that he heard nothing, and his insults +reverberated in a silence which made him desperate. + +This infuriated him more than if the enemy had shown himself. He felt +himself going mad. It seemed to him that the mute house was mocking him, +and abandoning his hiding-place, he threw himself against the door, +striking it with the butt of his gun. + +The timbers trembled with the pounding of the infuriated giant. He +wished to vent his rage on the dwelling, since he could not annihilate +the master, and not only did he beat the door, but he also struck his +gun against the walls, dislodging enormous pieces of plaster. Several +times, he even raised the weapon to his face, wishing to fire his two +shots at the two little windows of the _cambra_, and was deferred from +this only by his fear that he would remain disarmed. + +His anger increased; he roared forth insults; his bloodshot eyes could +scarcely see; he staggered like a drunken man. He was almost on the +point of falling to the ground in a fit of apoplexy, agonized with +anger, choked by fury, when suddenly the red clouds which surrounded him +tore themselves apart, his fury gave way to weakness, he saw all his +misfortune, felt himself crushed; his anger, broken by the terrible +tension, vanished, and Batiste, amidst the torrent of insults, felt his +voice grow stifled till it became a moan, and at last he burst out +crying. + +And he stopped insulting Pimentó. He began gradually to retreat, till he +reached the road, and sat down on a bank, his musket at his feet. There +he wept and wept, feeling a great relief, caressed by the shadows of +night which seemed to share his sorrow, for they became deeper, deeper, +hiding his childish weeping. + +How unfortunate he was! Alone against all! He would find the little +fellow dead when he returned to the farm; the horse which was his +livelihood made useless by those traitors; trouble coming on him from +every direction, surging up from the roads, from the houses, from the +cane-brakes, profiting by all occasions to wound him and his; and he +defenceless, could not protect himself from these enemies who vanished +the moment, weary of suffering, he tried to turn on them. + +Lord! what had he done to deserve such sufferings? Was he not an honest +man? + +He felt himself more and more crushed by grief. Unable to move he +remained seated on the bank; his enemies might come; he had not even the +strength to pick up the musket that lay at his feet. + +Over the road resounded the slow tolling of a bell which filled the +darkness with mysterious vibrations. Batiste thought of his little boy, +of the poor "Bishop" who probably had died by now. Perhaps that sweet +chime was made by the angels who came down from heaven to bear the +child's soul away; and who unable to find his farm were flying over the +_huerta_. If only the others did not remain, those who needed the +strength of his arm to support them!... The poor man longed for +annihilation; he thought of the happiness of leaving down there on that +bank, that ugly body, the life of which it cost him so much to sustain, +and embracing the innocent little soul of his boy, of flying away like +the blessed ones whom he had seen guided by angels in the paintings of +the church. + +The chimes seemed to approach and dark figures which his tear-wet eyes +could not distinguish passed by on the road. He felt some one touch him +with the end of a stick and, raising his head, he saw a solitary figure, +a kind of spectre leaning toward him. + +And he recognized old Tomba, the only one of the _huerta_ to whom he +owed no suffering. + +The shepherd, considered as a sorcerer, possessed the amazing intuition +of the blind. Scarcely had he recognized Batiste when he seemed to +understand all his misfortune. He felt with his stick the musket lying +at his feet, and turned his head, as though looking for Pimentó's farm +in the darkness. + +He spoke slowly, with a quiet sadness, like a man accustomed to the +miseries of a world which he must soon leave. He divined that Batiste +was weeping. + +"My son ... my son...." + +He had expected everything that had occurred. He had warned him the +first day when he saw him settled on the accursed lands. They would +bring him misfortune. + +He had just passed by Batiste's farm and had seen lights through the +open door ... he had heard cries of despair; the dog was howling ... the +little boy had died, hadn't he? And he yonder, thinking he was seated on +a bank, when in reality he sat with one foot in prison. Thus men are +lost and their families broken up. He would end with some mad and +foolish murder, like poor Barret, and would die like him, in prison. It +was inevitable; those lands were cursed by the poor and could give forth +only accursed fruits. + +And muttering his terrible prophecies, the shepherd went his way behind +his sheep on the village road, advising poor Batiste to leave also, and +go away, very far away, where he could earn his bread without having to +struggle against the hatred of the poor. And now invisible, shrouded in +the shadows, Batiste still heard his slow, sad voice which made him +shudder: + +"Believe me, my son ... they will bring you misfortune!" + + + + +VIII + + +Batiste and his family did not realize how the unheard-of, unexpected +event began; who was the first who decided to pass the bridge that +joined the road to the hated fields. + +In the farm-house they were in no condition to notice such details. +Exhausted with suffering, they saw that the people of the _huerta_ had +suddenly begun to come to them, and they did not protest, for misfortune +needs counsel, nor did they offer thanks for the unexpected impulse to +approach. + +The news of the little boy's death had been transmitted through all the +neighbourhood with the strange swiftness with which all news spreads in +the _huerta_, flying from farm to farm on the wings of scandal, which is +the swiftest of all telegraphs. + +Many slept poorly that night. It seemed as though the little boy, as he +departed, had left a thorn fixed in the consciences of the neighbours. +More than one woman tossed about in bed, disturbing with her +restlessness her husband's sleep, making him protest indignantly. "But +curse you! will you go to sleep?..." No, she couldn't; that child +prevented her from sleeping. Poor little fellow! What would he tell the +Lord when he reached Heaven? + +All shared the responsibility of that death, but each one with +hypocritical egotism attributed to his neighbour the chief blame for the +bitter persecution whose consequences had fallen on the little fellow's +head; each gossiping woman blamed her enemy for the deed. And at last +she went to sleep with the intention of undoing all the evil done, of +going in the morning to offer her aid to the family, of weeping over the +poor child; and amid the mists of sleep they thought they saw Pascualet, +as white and resplendent as an angel, looking with reproachful eyes at +those who had been so hard with him and his family. + +All the people of the neighbourhood rose meditating as to how they could +approach and enter Batiste's house. It was an examination of conscience, +an explosion of repentance which burst on the poor farm-house from every +end of the plain. + +It had scarcely dawned when two old women who lived in a neighbouring +farm-house entered Batiste's home. The family, crushed with grief, felt +almost no wonder at seeing those two women appear in the house which no +one had entered for more than six months. They wanted to see the child, +the poor little "Bishop," and entering the bedroom they gazed at him +still lying there in the bed; the edge of the sheet pulled up to his +chin scarcely outlining the shape of his body, his blond head inert and +heavy on the pillow. The mother could only weep in her corner, all +shrunken and crouched together, as small as a child, as though she were +trying to annihilate herself and disappear. + +After these women came others and still others; it was a stream of +weeping old women who arrived from all parts of the plain; surrounding +the bed, they kissed the little corpse and seemed to take possession of +him as their own, leaving Teresa and her daughter aside; the latter, +exhausted by lack of sleep and weeping, seemed imbecile as they hung +their red and tear-wet faces on their breasts. + +Batiste, seated in a rush-chair, in the middle of the farm-house, gazed +stupidly at that procession of people who had so ill-treated him. He +did not hate them, but neither did he feel gratitude. He had come forth +from the crisis of the day before crushed, and he gazed at all this with +indifference, as though the farm-house were not his, as though the poor +little fellow on the bed were not his son. + +Only the dog curling up at his feet seemed to remember and feel hatred: +he sniffed hostilely at all the procession of petticoats that came and +went, and growled as though he wanted to bite and only refrained from +doing so in order not to displease his masters. + +The young people shared the dog's resentment. Batistet scowled at all +those old women who had made fun of him so often when he passed before +their houses, and he took refuge in the stable so as not to lose sight +of the poor horse, whom he was curing according to the instructions of +the veterinary, called in the night before. He was very fond of his +little brother; but death has no remedy, and what he was anxious about +now was that the horse should not be permanently lame. + +The two little ones, pleased in their hearts at a misfortune which +attracted to their house the attention of the whole plain, kept watch +over the door, barring the way to the small boys who like bands of +sparrows arrived by all roads and paths with morbid and excited +curiosity to see the little body of the dead child. Now _their_ turn had +come; now _they_ were the masters. And with the courage of those who are +in their own homes, they threatened and drove away some and let others +enter, giving them their favour according to the treatment they had +received from them in the bloody vicissitudes of their peregrinations on +their way home from school.... Rascals! There were even some who +insisted on entering after having played a part in the battle during +which poor Pascualet had fallen into the canal, thus catching the +illness which had been his death. + +The appearance of a weak, pale little woman seemed to bring suddenly on +the whole family a host of painful recollections. It was Pepeta, +Pimentó's wife! Even she came! + +An impulse of protestation came over both Batiste and his wife. But to +what purpose? Welcome, and if she entered to enjoy their misfortune, she +could laugh as much as she wished. There they were all inert, crushed by +grief. God, the all-seeing, would give to every one his deserts. + +But Pepeta went straight to the bed, pushing the other women aside. She +bore in her arms an enormous bunch of flowers and leaves which she +spread out upon the bed. The first perfumes of the nascent springtime +spread through the room which smelled of medicine, and in whose heavy +atmosphere insomnia and sighs of desperation seemed to be inhaled. + +Pepeta, the poor beast of burden, dead for maternity though married with +the hope of becoming a mother, lost her calm on seeing that little +marble face, framed in the turned-back hair as in a nimbus of gold. + +"My son!... my poor little boy!" + +And she wept with all her soul, as she bent over the little corpse, +barely grazing with her lips the pale, cold brow, as though she feared +to awaken him. + +On hearing her sobs, Batiste and his wife raised their heads in +astonishment. They knew now that she was a good woman: _he_ was the bad +one. And a mother's and father's gratitude shone in their eyes. + +Batiste even trembled when he saw how poor Pepeta embraced Teresa and +her daughter, and mingled her tears with theirs. No; here was no +duplicity. She herself was a victim; that was why she could understand +the misfortunes of others who were also victims. + +The little woman wiped away her tears, and became again the brave, +strong woman accustomed to the labour of a beast of burden to keep up +her house. She cast an amazed glance around. Things could not stay like +that. The child in the bed and everything in disorder! The "Bishop" must +be laid out for his last journey, he must be dressed in white, pure and +resplendent as the dawn, whose name he bore. + +And with the instinct of a superior being born for practical life, with +the power of imposing obedience on others, she began to give orders to +all the women who vied in doing some service for the family they had +hitherto cursed so vehemently. + +She would go to Valencia with two companions to buy the shroud and the +coffin. Others went to the village, or scattered about among the +neighbouring farm-houses in search of the objects which Pepeta charged +them to procure. + +Even the hateful Pimentó who remained invisible, had to contribute to +these preparations. His wife met him on the road and ordered him to look +for some musicians for the evening. They were, like himself, vagabonds +and drunkards; he would certainly find them at Copa's. And the bully, +who seemed preoccupied that day, listened to his wife's words without +reply and endured the imperious tone in which she spoke to him, gazing +down at the ground as though ashamed. + +Since the previous night he felt himself transformed. That man who had +defied and insulted him and kept him shut up in his own house like a +timid hen; his wife, who for the first time had imposed her will upon +him and taken his musket away; his lack of courage to face his victim, +who was wholly in the right; all these reasons kept him confused and +crushed. + +He was no longer the Pimentó of other days; he began to know himself and +even to suspect that all the things done against Batiste and his family +amounted to a crime. There even came a moment when he despised himself. +What a man he was!... All the mean tricks of himself and the other +neighbours had served only to take the life of a poor child. And as was +his custom in dark days, when some trouble made him frown, he marched +off to the tavern, seeking the consolations that Copa kept in his famous +wine-barrel in the corner. + +At ten in the morning, when Pepeta and her two companions returned from +the city, the house was filled with people. + +Some men who were very slow and heavy and domestic, who had taken little +part in the crusade against the strangers, formed a group with Batiste +in the door of the farm-house; some squatting, in Moorish fashion, +others seated in rush-chairs, smoking and speaking slowly of the weather +and the crops. + +Inside, women and more women, pressing around the bed, deafening the +mother with their talk; some speaking of the sons they had lost, others +installed in corners as though they were in their own homes, gossiping +about all the rumours of the neighbourhood. That day was extraordinary; +it made no difference that their houses were dirty and that dinner must +be cooked; there was an excuse. The children clinging to their skirts +wept and deafened everybody with their cries, some wanting to return +home, others begging to be shown the "Bishop." + +Some old women took possession of the cupboard and every moment prepared +big glasses of sugared wine and water, offering them to Teresa and her +daughter so they could weep more comfortably, and when the poor +creatures, swollen by this sugary inundation, declined to drink, the +officious old gossips took turns in swallowing the refreshments +themselves, for they also needed to recover from their sorrow. + +Pepeta began to shout, desirous of inspiring respect in this confusion. +"Go away, all of you!" Instead of staying here and bothering people, +they ought to take the two poor women away with them, for they were +exhausted with sorrow and driven crazy by so much noise. + +Teresa objected to abandoning her son even for a short time; she would +soon see him no more; they should not steal from her any of the time +that remained to her to look upon her treasure. And bursting out into +even greater lamentations, she threw herself on the cold corpse, wishing +to embrace it. + +But the supplications of her daughter and Pepeta's will were stronger, +and Teresa, escorted by a great number of women, left the farm-house +with her apron over her face, moaning, staggering, heedless of those +who pulled her away with them, each one vying with the other as to who +should take her home. + +Pepeta began to arrange the funeral ceremony. She placed in the centre +of the entrance the little white table on which the family ate, and +covered it with a sheet, fastening the ends with pins. On it they placed +a quilt which was starched and lace-trimmed, and there they placed the +little coffin brought from Valencia, a jewel of a coffin which the +neighbours admired; a white casket trimmed with gold braid, padded +inside like a baby's cradle. + +Pepeta took out of a bundle the last finery of the dead child; the +shroud of gauze woven of silver thread, the sandals, the garland of +flowers, all white, whose purity was symbolic of that of the poor little +"Bishop." + +Slowly, with maternal care, Pepeta shrouded the corpse. She pressed the +cold little body against her breast, introduced into the shroud, with +the greatest care, the rigid little arms, as though they were bits of +glass which might be broken at the least shock, and kissed the icy feet +before putting them into the sandals. + +In her arms, like a white dove stiff with cold, she carried Pascualet +to the casket; to that altar raised in the middle of the farm-house +before which the whole _huerta_, drawn by curiosity, would defile. + +Nor was this all: the best was still lacking, the garland, a bonnet of +white flowers with festoons which hung over the ears; a barbaric +adornment like those worn by savages at the opera. Pepeta's pious hand, +engaged in a terrible struggle with death, stained the pale cheeks a +rosy colour; the mouth, blackened by death, she toned up with a layer of +bright scarlet, but her efforts to open the weak eyelids wide were vain; +they kept falling, covering the dull filmed eyes, eyes without lustre, +which had the grey sadness of death. + +Poor Pascualet ... unhappy little Bishop! With his grotesque garland and +his painted face, he was turned into a ridiculous scarecrow. He had +inspired more sorrowful tenderness when his pale little face had been +livid in death on his mother's pillow, adorned only with his own blond +hair. + +But all this did not prevent the good women of the _huerta_ from +admiring Pepeta's work enthusiastically. Look at him, ... why, he +seemed to be asleep! So beautiful, so pinkly flushed!... never had such +a little Abbot been seen before. + +And they filled the hollows of his casket with flowers; flowers on the +white vestment, scattered on the table, piled up in clusters at the +ends; the whole plain's luxuriance embraced the child's body, which it +had so often seen running along its paths like a bird; enveloped it with +a wave of colour and perfume. + +The two small brothers gazed on Pascualet astonished, piously, as on a +superior being who might take flight at any time; the dog prowled around +the catafalque stretching out his muzzle to lick the cold, waxen, little +hands, and burst out into an almost human lamentation, a moan of despair +which made the women nervous and impelled them to chase the poor beast +away with kicks. + +At noon, Teresa, escaping almost by main force from the captivity in +which her neighbours kept her, returned home. Her mother-love filled her +with a feeling of deep satisfaction when she beheld the little fellow's +finery; she kissed his painted mouth and redoubled her lamentations. + +It was dinner-time. Batistet and the little ones, whose grief did not +succeed in killing their appetites, devoured a broken crust, hidden in +the corners. Teresa and her daughter had no thought of food. The father, +still seated in his rush-chair, smoked cigar after cigar, impassive as +an Oriental, turning his back on his dwelling as if he feared to see the +white catafalque which served as an altar for his son's body. + +In the afternoon, the visitors were more numerous. The women arrived, +decked out in holiday attire, and wearing their mantillas for the +funeral; the girls disputed energetically as to who should be one of the +four to carry the poor little Bishop to the cemetery. + +Walking slowly by the edge of the road and avoiding the dust as though +it were a deadly danger, some distinguished visitors arrived: Don +Joaquín and Doña Josefa, the schoolmaster and the "lady." That +afternoon, because of the unhappy event (as he declared), there was no +school, as was very evident, from the crowd of bold and sticky boys who +slipped into the farm-house, and tired of contemplating the corpse of +their erstwhile companion as they picked at their noses, came out to +run around on the nearby road or to jump over the canals. + +Doña Josefa, in a threadbare woollen dress and a large yellow mantilla, +entered the farm-house silently, and after a few pompous phrases caught +from her husband, seated her robust self in a large rope-chair and +remained as mute as if asleep, in contemplation of the coffin. The good +woman, accustomed to hearing and admiring her husband, could not carry +on a conversation by herself. + +The schoolmaster, who was showing off his short green jacket which he +wore on days of ceremony, and his necktie of gigantic proportions, sat +down outside by the father's side. His big farmer's hands were encased +in black gloves which had grown grey in the course of years, till now +they were the colour of a fly's wing; he moved them constantly, desirous +of drawing attention to the garments he wore on occasions of great +solemnity. + +For Batiste's benefit, he brought out the most flowery and high-sounding +phrases of his repertory. The latter was his best customer; not a single +Saturday had he failed to give his sons the two coppers for the school. + +"It's life, Mr. Bautista; resignation. We never know God's plans. Often +he turns evil into good for his creatures." + +And interrupting his string of commonplaces, uttered pompously as though +he were in school, he lowered his voice and added, blinking his eyes +maliciously: + +"Did you notice, Mr. Batiste, all these people? Yesterday they were +cursing you and your family; and God knows how many times I have +censured them for this wickedness; today they enter your house as though +they were entering their own, and overwhelm you with manifestations of +affection. Misfortune makes them forget, brings them close to you." + +And after a pause, during which he stood with lowered head, he added +with conviction, striking his breast: + +"Believe me, for I know them well; at bottom they are very good people. +Very stupid, certainly. Capable of the most barbarous actions, but with +hearts which are moved by misfortune and which make them draw in their +claws.... Poor people! Whose fault is it that they were born stupid and +that no one tries to help them to overcome it?" + +He was silent for some time, and then he added with the fervour of a +merchant praising his article: + +"What is necessary here is education, much education. Temples of wisdom +to spread the light of knowledge over this plain; torches which ... +which.... In short, if more youngsters came to my temple, I mean to my +school, and if the fathers, instead of getting drunk paid punctually +like you, Mr. Bautista, things would be different. And I say nothing +more, for I don't like to offend." + +There was danger of this, for many of the fathers who sent him pupils +unballasted by the two pennies were near. + +Other farmers, those who had shown the family the most hostility, did +not dare to approach the house, and remained grouped together on the +road. + +Among them was Pimentó, who had just arrived from the tavern with five +musicians, his conscience easy after remaining a few hours near Copa's +counter. + +More and more people poured into the farm-house. There was no free space +left in it, and the women and children sat on the brick-benches beneath +the vine-arbour or on the slopes, waiting for the hour set for the +funeral. + +Within were heard lamentations, counsels energetically uttered, the +noise of a struggle. It was Pepeta, trying to separate Teresa from her +son's body. Come!... she must be reasonable; the "Bishop" could not stay +there for ever, it was getting late, and it was better to drink the +bitter cup down and get it over with. + +And she struggled with the mother to make her leave the coffin and enter +the bedroom, so as not to be present at the terrible moment of +departure, when the "Bishop" would rise and take flight on the white +wings of his shroud never to return. + +"My son! his mother's darling!" moaned poor Teresa. + +She would see him no more; one kiss, another; and the head, more and +more marblelike and livid despite the paint, moved from one side of the +pillow to the other, making the diadem of flowers shake in the anxious +hands of the mother and sister who disputed the last kiss. + +At the end of the village the vicar would be found with the sacristan +and the acolytes: they must not be kept waiting. Pepeta was growing +impatient. Inside! Inside! And aided by other women, Teresa and her +daughter were installed almost by main force in the bedroom, and walked +up and down with dishevelled hair and eyes, red with weeping, their +breasts heaving with a protest of sorrow which expressed itself not with +moans but with howls. + +Four girls with hoop-skirts, their silk mantillas falling over their +eyes, and who had a modest and nun-like expression, seized the legs of +the little table, raising all the white catafalque. Like the salvos +saluting the flag as it is raised, there resounded a strange, prolonged, +terrifying moan, which made chills run down the backs of many. It was +the dog taking leave of the poor "Bishop," uttering an interminable +lamentation, tears in his eyes and paws outstretched as if he wished +himself to follow his very cry. + +Outside, Don Joaquín was clapping his hands to command attention. Come +now ... let the whole school form! The people on the road had approached +the farm-house. Pimentó captained the musicians; the latter prepared +their instruments to salute the "Bishop" as soon as the coffin should +pass the threshold, and amid the disorder and shouts with which the +procession formed, the clarinet trilled, the cornet played, and the +trombone blew like a fat, asthmatic old man. + +The youngsters started out, raising high great bunches of sweet basil. +Don Joaquín knew how to do things properly. Afterward, breaking through +the crowd, appeared the four damsels holding the light, white altar on +which the poor "Bishop," lying in his coffin, moved his head with a +slight movement from side to side as though he were taking leave of the +farm-house. + +The musicians burst forth into a playful, merry waltz, taking up their +position behind the bier, and behind them, all the curious people ran +along the little road to the farm in compact groups. + +The farm-house remained mute and dark, with that melancholy atmosphere +of places over which misfortune has passed. + +Batiste, alone under the vine-arbour, still in his attitude of an +impressive Arab, bit his cigar and followed the course of the procession +which began to wind along the highway, the coffin and its catafalque +looking like an enormous white dove among the black robes and green +branches which marked the cortège. + +Auspiciously did the poor "Bishop" set out upon his way to the heaven of +the innocents. The plain, stretching out voluptuously under the kiss of +the springtime sun, enveloped the dead child with its fragrance, +accompanied him to the tomb, and covered him with an imperceptible +shroud of perfumes. The old trees, which had germinated, filled with the +sap of new life, seemed to greet the little corpse as they moved in the +breeze, their branches heavy-laden with flowers. Never had Death passed +over the earth so beautiful a mask. + +Dishevelled and screaming like madwomen, waving their arms furiously, +the two unhappy women appeared in the door of the farm-house, their +voices prolonged like an interminable moan in the quiet atmosphere of +the plain, pervaded with soft light. + +"My son!... My soul!..." moaned poor Teresa and her daughter. + +Nnnnn! nnnnn! howled the dog, stretching out his muzzle in a long groan, +which set the nerves on edge and seemed to send a funereal shiver over +all the plain. + +"Good-bye, Pascualet!... Good-bye!" cried the little ones, swallowing +their tears. + +And from afar, among the foliage, borne over the green waves of the +fields, replied the echoes of the valley, accompanying the poor "Bishop" +to eternity, as he swayed back and forth in his white barge trimmed with +gold. The complicated scales of the cornet, with its diabolic capers, +seemed like a happy outburst of laughter from Death, who with the child +in her arms, departed amid the sunset resplendencies of the plain. + +At evening-fall, the procession returned home. + +The little ones, sleepy from the excitement of the preceding night, when +Death had visited them, slept in their chairs. Teresa and her daughter, +overcome by weeping, their energy exhausted after so many sleepless +nights, were prostrated. They fell on the bed which still showed signs +of the poor child's body, while Batistet snored in the stable near the +sick horse. + +The father, still silent and impassive, received visitors, shook hands, +and gave thanks with movements of the head to the offers and consolatory +expressions. + +When the night shut in, all had gone. + +The farm-house remained dark and silent. Through the murky open door +there came, like a far-off whisper, the weary breathing of the tired +family, all of whom had fallen exhausted as though slain in the battle +of grief. + +Batiste, still motionless, gazed stupefied at the stars which twinkled +in the dark blue of night. + +Solitude brought him to his senses; he began to realize his situation. + +The plain had its usual aspect, but to him it appeared more beautiful, +more tranquillizing, like a frowning face which unbends and smiles. + +The people, whose shouts resounded in the distance in the doors of the +farm-houses, no longer hated him and would no longer persecute his +children. They had been beneath his roof and had blotted out with their +footsteps the curse that lay on the lands of old Barret. He would begin +a new life. But at what a price! + +And suddenly facing the exact realization of his misfortune, thinking of +poor Pascualet, who now lay crushed by a heavy weight of damp and fetid +earth, his white vestment contaminated by the corruption of other +bodies, ambushed by the filthy worm, the beautiful boy with the delicate +skin over which his calloused hand had been wont to glide, the blond +hair which he had so often caressed, he felt a leaden wave which rose +from his stomach to his throat. + +The crickets which sang on the nearby slope grew silent, frightened by +the strange hiccough which broke the stillness, and sounded in the +darkness for the greater part of the night like the stertorous breathing +of a wounded beast. + + + + +IX + + +St. John's day arrived, the greatest period of the year; the time of +harvest and abundance. + +The air vibrated with light and colour. An African sun poured torrents +of gold upon the earth, cracking it with its ardent caresses, and its +arrows of gold slipped in between the compressed foliage, an awning of +verdure under which the _vega_ protected its babbling canals and its +humid furrows, as though fearful of the heat which generated life +everywhere. + +The trees showed their branches loaded with fruit. The medlar trees bent +over under the weight of the yellow clusters covered with glazed leaves; +apricots glowed among the foliage like the rosy cheeks of a child; the +boys scanned the corpulent fig-trees with impatience, greedily seeking +the early first fruit, and in the gardens on top of the walls, the +jasmines exhaled their suave fragrance, and the magnolias, like +incensories of ivory, scattered their perfume in the burning +atmosphere, impregnated with the odour of ripe fruit. + +The gleaming sickles were shearing the fields, felling low the golden +heads of wheat, the heavy ears of grain, which oppressed with +superabundance of life, were bending toward the ground, their slender +stalks doubling beneath them. + +On the threshing-floor the straw was mounting up, forming hills of gold +which reflected the light of the sun; the wheat was fanned amid the +whirling clouds of dust, and in the fields whose tops were lopped off, +along the stubble, the sparrows hopped about, seeking the forgotten +grains. + +Every one was happy, all worked joyfully. The carts creaked on all the +roads, bands of boys ran over the fields, or gambled on the +threshing-floors, thinking of the cakes of new wheat, of the life of +abundance and satisfaction which began in the farm-house upon the +filling of the lofts; even the old nags seemed to look on with happy +eyes, and to walk with more alacrity, as though stimulated by the odour +of the mounds of straw which, like rivers of gold, would slip through +their cribs during the course of the year. + +The money, hoarded in the bedrooms during the winter, hidden away in the +chest or in the depth of a stocking, began to circulate through the +_vega_. Toward the close of the day, the taverns began to fill with men, +reddened and bronzed by the sun, their rough shirts soaked with sweat, +who talked about the harvest and the payment of Saint John, the +half-year's rent which they had to pay over to the masters of the land. + +The abundance had also brought happiness to the farm-house of Batiste. +The crops had made them forget the little "Abbot." Only the mother, with +sudden tears and some profound sighs, revealed the fleeting remembrance +of the little one. + +It was the wheat, the full sacks which Batiste and his son carried up to +the granary, and which made the floor tremble, and the whole house shake +as they fell from their shoulders, that interested all the family. + +The good season began. Their good fortune now was as extreme as their +past misfortune. The days slipped by in saintly calm and much work, but +without the slightest incident to disturb the monotony of a laborious +existence. + +The affection which all the neighbours had shown at the burial of the +little one had somewhat cooled down. As the remembrance of this +misfortune became deadened, the people seemed to repent of the +spontaneous impulse of tenderness and recalled once more the catastrophe +of old Barret and the arrival of the intruders. + +But the peace spontaneously made before the white casket of the little +one was not disturbed by this. Somewhat cold and suspicious, yes; but +all exchanged salutations with the family; the sons were able to go +through the plain without being annoyed, and even Pimentó when he met +Batiste, would nod his head in a friendly manner, mumbling something +which was like an answer to his salutation. + +In short, those who did not like them, left them alone, which was all +that they could desire. + +And in the interior of the farm-house, what abundance ... what +tranquillity! Batiste was surprised at the harvest. The lands, rested, +untouched by cultivation for a long time, seemed to have sent forth at +one time all the life accumulated in their depths after ten years of +repose. The grain was heavy and abundant. According to the news which +circulated through the plain, it was going to command a good price, and +what was better (Batiste smiled on thinking of this), he did not need to +pay out the profit as rent, for he was exempt for two years. He had +paid well for this advantage by many months of alarm and struggle and by +the death of poor Pascualet. + +The prosperity of the family seemed to be reflected in the farm-house, +clean and brilliant as never before. Seen at a distance, it stood out +from the neighbouring houses, as though revealing that it had in it more +prosperity and peace. Nobody would have recognized in it the tragic +house of old Barret. + +The red bricks of the pavement in front of the door shone, polished by +the daily rubbings; the flower-beds of sweet-basil and morning-glories +and the bind-weeds formed pavilions of green, on top of which, outlined +against the sky, stood out the sharp, triangular pediment of the +farm-house, of immaculate whiteness; within might be seen the fluttering +of the white curtains which covered the windows of the bedrooms, the +shelves with piles of plates and concave platters leaning against the +wall, showing big fantastic birds, and flowers like tomatoes painted on +the background, and on the pitcher-shelf, which looked like an altar of +glazed tile, there appeared, like divinities against thirst, the fat +enamelled pitchers, and the jars of china and greenish glass, hanging +from nails in a row. + +The ancient and ill-treated furniture, which was a continuous reminder +of the old wanderings and fleeing from misery, began to disappear, +leaving space for others, which the diligent Teresa bought on her trips +to the city. The money from the harvest was invested in repairing the +breaches in the furniture of the farm-house made by the months of +waiting. + +The family smiled at times, recalling the threatening words of Pimentó. +This wheat, which according to the bully, nobody should reap, began to +fatten all the family. Roseta had two more skirts, and Batistet and the +little ones strutted about on Sundays, dressed anew from head to foot. + +While crossing the plain during the sunniest hours, when the atmosphere +burned, and the flies and bees buzzed heavily, one felt a sensation of +comfort before this farm-house, which was so fresh and clean. The corral +through its walls of mud and stakes, revealed the life which it +enclosed. The hens clucked, the cock crowed, the rabbits leaped forth +from the burrows of a great pile of new kindling; the ducks, watched by +the two little sons of Teresa, swam upon the nearby canal, and the +flocks of chickens ran over the stubble, peeping without ceasing, moving +their little rosy bodies, scarcely covered with fine down. + +To say nothing of the fact that Teresa shut herself up in her bedroom +more than once, and opening a drawer of the dresser, untied handkerchief +after handkerchief, in order to go into ecstasies before a little heap +of silver coins, the first money which her husband had been able to make +the fields yield. This was just a beginning, and if times should be +good, more and more money would be added to this, and who knows if when +the time came these savings might not free the little ones from military +service. + +The concentrated and silent joy of the mother was noted also in Batiste. + +One should have seen him on a Sunday afternoon, smoking a cuarto-stogie +in honour of the festival, passing before the house, and watching his +fields lovingly. Two days before, he had planted corn and beans in them, +as almost all of his neighbours had, since the earth must not be allowed +to remain idle. + +He could hardly manage with the two fields which he had broken up and +cultivated. But like old Barret, he felt the intoxication of the land; +he wished to take in more and more with his labour, and though it was +somewhat late, he planned on the following day to break up that part of +the uncultivated earth which remained behind the farm-house, and plant +melons there, an unsurpassed crop, from which his wife might make a very +good profit, taking them as others did to the market at Valencia. + +He should thank God for finally permitting him to live at peace in this +paradise. What lands were these of the plain! According to history, even +the Moorish dogs had wept upon being ejected from them. + +The reaping had cleared the countryside, bringing low the masses of +wheat variegated with poppies which shut in the view on all sides like +ramparts of gold; now the plain seemed to be much larger, infinite; it +stretched out and out until the large patches of red earth, cut up by +paths and canals, disappeared from view. + +Over all the plain the Sunday holiday was rigorously observed, and as +there was a recent harvest, and not a little money, nobody thought of +violating the rule. There was not a single man to be seen working in +the fields, nor a horse upon the roads. The old women passed over the +paths with the snowy mantle over their eyes, and their little chair upon +their arm, as if the bells which were ringing in the distance, very far +away, over the tiled roofs of the village, were calling them; along a +cross-road, a numerous group of children were screaming, pursuing one +another; over the green of the sloping-banks stood out the red trousers +of some soldiers who were taking advantage of the holiday, to spend an +hour in their homes; there sounded in the distance, like the sharp +ripping of cloth, the reports of shot-guns fired at flocks of swallows +which were wheeling about from one side to the other in a capricious +quadrille, emitting mellow whistles, so high it seemed they would graze +their wings against the crystal blue of the sky; over the canals buzzed +clouds of mosquitoes, almost invisible; and in a green farm-house, under +the old vine-arbour, there stirred about, in a kaleidoscopic maze of +colours, flowered skirts and showy handkerchiefs, and the guitars +sounded with a dreamy rhythm, lulling to sleep at last the cornet which +was shrieking, pouring forth to every end of the plain, as it slept +beneath the sun, the Moorish sounds of the _jota_, the Valencian dance. + +This tranquil landscape was the idealization of laborious and happy +Arcadia. There could be no evil people here. Upon awakening, Batiste +stretched himself with a pleasurable feeling of laziness, yielding to +the tranquil comfort with which the atmosphere seemed to be impregnated. +Roseta had gone away with the little ones to a dance at a farm-house: +his wife was taking her siesta, and he was walking back and forth from +his house to the road over the bit of uncultivated land which served as +an entrance for vehicles. + +Standing on the little bridge, he answered the salutations of the +neighbours, who passed by laughing, as if they were going to witness a +very funny spectacle. + +They were going to Copa's tavern to see at close range the famous +contest between Pimentó and the two brothers, Terrerola, two bad +characters like the husband of Pepeta, who also had sworn hatred to +work, and passed the whole day in the tavern. Among them sprung up no +end of rivalry and bets, especially when a time like this arrived, when +the gatherings at the establishment swelled. The three bullies outdid +one another in brutality, each one anxious to acquire more renown than +the others. + +Batiste had heard of this bet, which was drawing people to the famous +tavern as though it were a public festivity. + +The proposition was to see who could remain seated longest playing at +cards, and drinking nothing but brandy. + +They started Friday evening, and on Sunday afternoon, the three were +still in their little rope-chairs, playing the hundredth game of cards, +with the jug of _aguardiente_ on the little table before them, leaving +the cards only to swallow the savoury blood-pudding which gave great +fame to Copa, because he knew so well how to preserve it in oil. + +And the news, spreading itself throughout all the plain, made all the +people come in a procession from a league roundabout. The three bullies +were not alone for a moment. They had their supporters, who assumed the +duty of occupying the fourth place in the game, and upon the coming of +the night, when the mass of spectators retired to their farms, they +remained there, watching them play in the light of the candle dangling +from a black poplar-tree, for Copa was an impatient fellow, incapable +of putting up with the tiresome wager, and so when the hour for sleep +arrived, he would close the door, and after renewing their supply of +brandy leave the players in the little square. + +Many feigned indignation at the brutal contest, but at bottom they all +felt satisfaction in having such men for neighbours. Such men were +reared by the _huerta_! The brandy passed through their bodies as if it +were water. + +All the neighbourhood seemed to have an eye fixed upon the tavern, +spreading the news about the course of the bet with prodigious celerity. +Two pitchers had already been drunk, and no effect at all. Then three +... and still they were steady. Copa kept account of the drinking. And +the people, according to their preference, bet for one or the other of +the three contestants. + +This event, which for two days had stirred up so much interest in the +_vega_, and did not yet seem to have any end, had reached the ears of +Batiste. He, a sober man, incapable of drinking without feeling +nauseated and having a headache, could not avoid feeling a certain +astonishment, bordering on admiration, for these brutes whose stomachs, +it seemed to him, must be lined with tin-plate. It would be a spectacle +worth seeing. + +And with a look of envy, his eyes followed those who were going toward +the tavern. Why should he not go also? He had never entered the house of +Copa, in other times the den of his enemies: but now the extraordinary +nature of the event justified his presence ... and, the devil! after so +much work and such a good harvest, an honest man could allow himself a +little self-indulgence. + +And crying out to his sleeping wife to tell her where he was going, he +set out on the road toward the tavern. + +The mass of people which filled the little plaza in front of the house +of Copa were like a swarm of human ants. All the men of the +neighbourhood were there without any coats or waistcoats, with corduroy +trousers, bulging black sash and a handkerchief wound around their heads +in the form of a mitre. The old people were leaning upon their heavy +staffs of yellow Lira-wood, with black arabesque work; the young people +with shirt-sleeves rolled up, displayed sinewy and ruddy arms, and as +though in contrast moved slender wands of ash between their thick, +calloused fingers. The tall black poplars which surrounded the tavern +gave shade to the animated groups. + +Batiste noticed attentively for the first time the famous tavern with +its white walls, its painted blue windows, and its hinges inset with +showy tiles of Manises. + +It had two doors. One was to the wine-cellar. Through the open doors +could be seen two rows of enormous casks, which reached up to the +ceiling, heaps of empty and wrinkled skin-sacks, large funnels and +enormous measures tinged red by the continuous flow of liquid; there at +the back of the room stood the heavy cart which went to the very ends of +the province to deliver purchases of wine. This dark and damp room +exhaled the fumes of alcohol, the perfume of grape-juice which so +intoxicated the sense of smell and disturbed the sight that one had the +feeling that both earth and air would soon be drenched with wine. + +Here were the treasures of Copa, which were spoken of with unction and +respect by all the drunkards of the _huerta_. He alone knew the secret +of the casks; his vision, penetrating the old staves, estimated the +quality of the red liquid which they contained; he was the high priest +of this temple of alcohol; when he wished to treat some one, he would +draw forth a glass in which sparkled liquid the colour of topaz, and +which was topped by a rainbow-hued crown of brilliants, as piously as +though he held the monstrance in his hands. + +The other door was that of the tavern itself, which was open from an +hour before daybreak until ten at night; through this the light of the +oil-lamp which hung above the counter cast over the black road a large +and luminous square. + +The walls and wainscots were of red, glazed bricks to the height of a +man, and were bordered by a row of flowered tiles. From there up to the +ceiling, the wall was dedicated to the sublime art of the painter, for +Copa, although he seemed to be a coarse man, whose only thought was to +have his cash drawer full at night, was a true Mæcenas. He had brought a +painter from the city, and kept him there more than a week, and this +caprice of the great protector of the arts had cost him, as he himself +declared, some five dollars, more or less. + +It was really true that one could not shift his gaze about without +meeting with some masterful work of art, whose loud colours seemed to +gladden the customers and stimulate them to drink. Blue trees over +purple fields, yellow horizons, houses larger than trees, and people +larger than houses; hunters with shot-guns which looked like brooms, and +Andalusian gallants with blunderbusses thrown over their legs, and +mounted upon spirited steeds which had all the appearance of gigantic +rats. A prodigy of originality which filled the drinkers with +enthusiasm! And over the doors of the rooms, the artist, referring +discreetly to the establishment, had painted astonishing paintings of +edible delicacies; pomegranates like open hearts, and bleeding melons +which looked like enormous pimientoes, and balls of red worsted which +were supposed to represent peaches. + +Many maintained that the importance of the house over the other taverns +of the _huerta_ was due to such astonishing adornment, and Copa cursed +the flies which dimmed such beauty. + +Close to this door was the counter, grimy and sticky: behind it the +three rows of little casks, crowned with battlements of bottles, all the +diversified and innumerable liquors of the establishment. From the +beams, like grotesque babies, hung sheets of long sausages and +black-puddings, clusters of peppers as red and pointed as devils' +fingers; and relieving the monotony of the scene, some red hams and +majestic bunches of pork-sausage. The free-lunch for delicate palates +was kept in a closet of turbid glass close to the counter. There were +the _estrellas de pastaflora_,[H] the raisin-cakes, the sugar-frosted +rolls, the _magdalenas_[I] all of a certain dark tinge and with +suspicious spots which showed old age; the cheese of Murviedo, tender +and fresh, pieces like soft white loaves still dripping whey. + +Also the tavern-keeper counted on his larder, where in monumental tins +were the green split olives and the black-puddings of onion preserved in +oil, which had the greatest sale. + +At the back of the tavern opened the door of the yard, vast and spacious +with its half dozen fireplaces to cook the _paellas_[J]; its white +pillars propping up an old wall-vine, which gave shade to the large +enclosure; and piled along one side of the wall, stools and small zinc +tables of such prodigious quantity that Copa seemed to have foreseen +the invasion of his house by the whole population of the plain. + +Batiste, scanning the tavern, perceived the owner, a big man whose +breast was bare, but whose cap with ear-laps was drawn down even in +midsummer over his face, which was enormous, chubby-cheeked and livid. +He was the first customer of his establishment: he would never lie down +satisfied if he had not drunk a half-pitcher of wine during his three +meals. + +On this account, doubtless, this bet which stirred up the entire plain +as it spread abroad, scarcely took his attention. + +His counter was the watch-tower from which, as an expert critic, he +watched the drunkenness of his customers. And in order that no outsider +should assume the rôle of bully in his house, he always put his hand +before speaking upon a club which he kept under the counter, a species +of ace of clubs, the sight of which made Pimentó and all the bullies of +the neighbourhood tremble. In his house there was no trouble. If they +were going to kill each other, out into the road! And when claspknives +began to be opened and raised aloft on Sunday nights, Copa, without +speaking a word, nor losing his composure, would rush in between the +combatants, seize the bravest by the arm, carry him through space to the +door and put him out upon the very highroad; then barring the door, he +would calmly begin to count the money in the drawer before going to bed, +while blows and the tumult of the renewed quarrel resounded outside. It +was all just a matter of closing the tavern an hour early, but within +it, there would never need to be a judge while he should be behind the +counter. + +Batiste, after glancing furtively from the door to the saloonkeeper, +who, aided by his wife and a servant, waited on the customers, returned +to the little plaza, and joined a group of old people, who were +discussing which of the three supporters of the bet seemed most serene. + +Many farmers, tired of admiring the three bullies, were playing cards on +their own account, or lunched, forming a group around the little tables. +The jug circulated, pouring forth a red stream which emitted a faint +_glu-glu_ as it gushed into the open mouths. Some gave others handfuls +of peanuts and lupines. The maids of the tavern served in hollow plates +from Manises the dark and oily black-puddings, the fresh cheese and the +split olives in their broth, on whose surface floated fragrant herbs; +and on the little tables appeared the new wheat bread, the rolls of +ruddy crust, inside of which the dark and succulent substance of the +thick flour of the _huerta_ was visible. All these people, eating, +drinking, and gesticulating, raised such a buzzing that one would have +thought the little _plaza_ occupied by a colossal wasp's nest. In the +atmosphere floated the vapours of alcohol, the suffocating fumes of +olive-oil, the penetrating odour of must, mingled with the fresh perfume +of the neighbouring fields. + +Batiste drew near the large group which surrounded those involved in the +wager. + +At first he did not see anything; but gradually, pushed ahead by the +curiosity of those who were behind him, he opened a space between the +sweaty and compressed bodies, until he found himself in the first row. +Some spectators were seated on the floor, with their chin supported on +both hands, their nose over the edge of the little table, and their eyes +fixed upon the players, as though they did not wish to lose one detail +of the famous event. Here it was that the odour of alcohol proved to be +most intolerable. The breath and the clothing of all the people seemed +impregnated with it. + +Batiste looked at Pimentó and his opponents seated upon stools of strong +carob-wood, with the cards before their eyes, the jar of brandy within +easy reach, and on the zinc the little heap of corn which was equivalent +to chips for the game. And at each play, one of the three grasped the +jar, drank deliberately, then passed it on to his companions, who took a +long draft with no less ceremony. + +The onlookers nearest by looked at the cards over their shoulders in +order to be sure they were well played. But the heads of the players +were as steady as if they had drunk nothing more than water: no one +became careless or made a poor play. + +And the game continued, although those in the wager never ceased to talk +with their friends, or to joke over the outcome of the contest. + +Pimentó, upon seeing Batiste, mumbled a "Hello!" which he intended for a +salutation, and returned to his cards. + +Unmoved outwardly he might be; but his eyes were red; a bluish unsteady +spark, similar to the flame of alcohol, glowed in their pupils, and his +face at times took on a dull pallor. The others were no better; but they +laughed and joked among themselves: the onlookers, as though infected by +this madness, passed from hand to hand the jug which they paid for in +shares, and there was a regular inundation of brandy which, overflowing +the tavern, descended like a wave of fire into the stomachs of all. + +Even Batiste, urged by the others of the group, had to drink. He did not +like it, but a man ought to try everything; and he began to hearten +himself with the same reflections which had brought him to the tavern. +When a man has worked and has his harvest in the granary, he can well +afford to permit himself his bit of folly. + +He felt a warmth in his stomach, and a delicious confusion in his head: +he began to grow accustomed to the atmosphere of the tavern, and found +the contest more and more entertaining. + +Even Pimentó seemed to him to be a notable man ... after a fashion. + +They had ended the game with a score of ... (nobody knew how much) and +they were now discussing the approaching supper with their friends. One +of the Terrerolas was losing ground visibly. The two days of +brandy-drinking without food, the two nights passed in a haze, began to +affect him in spite of himself. He closed his eyes and let his head fall +back heavily upon his brother, who revived him with tremendous blows on +the sides secretly given under the table. + +Pimentó smiled craftily. He already had one of them down. And he +discussed the supper with his admirers. It ought to be sumptuous without +regard for expense: in any event, he did not have to pay for it. A meal +which would be a worthy climax to the exploit, for on that same night, +the bet would surely be ended. + +And like a glorious trumpet announcing beforehand Pimentó's triumph, the +snores of Terrerola the younger began to be heard; he had collapsed face +downward over the table, and was almost on the point of falling from the +stool, as if all the brandy which had gone into his stomach were by the +law of gravity seeking the floor. + +His brother spoke of arousing him with slaps, but Pimentó intervened +good-naturedly, like a magnanimous conqueror. They would awaken him at +the supper-hour. And pretending to give but little importance to the +contest and to his own prowess, he spoke of his lack of appetite as of +a great misfortune, after having passed two days in this place eating +and drinking brutally. + +A friend ran to the tavern to carry over a long string of red +pepper-pods. This would bring his appetite back to him. The jest +provoked great laughter; and Pimentó, in order to amaze his admirers the +more, offered the infernal titbit to Terrerola, who still remained firm, +and he, on his part, began to devour it with the same indifference as +though it were bread. + +A murmur of admiration ran through the group. For each pod which was +eaten by the other, the husband of Pepeta gulped down three, and thus +made an end of the string, a regular rosary of red demons. The brute +must have an iron-plate stomach! + +And he went on, just as firm, just as impassive, though growing +continually paler and with eyes red and swollen, asking if Copa had +killed a pair of chickens for the supper, and giving instructions about +the manner of cooking them. + +Batiste gazed at this with amazement and vaguely felt a desire to go +away. The afternoon began to wane; in the little square the sound of +voices was rising, the tumult of every Sunday evening beginning, and +Pimentó gazed at him too often, with his strange and troubling eyes, +the eyes of a habitual drinker. But without knowing why, he remained +here, as though the attraction of this spectacle, so novel to him, were +stronger than his will. + +The friends of the bully jested with him on seeing that he was draining +the jar after the red pepper-pods, without even heeding whether his +weary rival was imitating him. He ought not to drink so much: he would +lose, and he would not have the money to pay. He was not as rich now as +he had been in other years, when the masters of the lands had agreed not +to charge him any rent. + +An imprudent fellow said this without realizing what he was saying, and +it produced a painful silence, as in the bedroom of an invalid, when the +injured part has been laid bare. + +To speak of rents and of payments in this place, when brandy had been +drunk by pitchersful both by actors and spectators! + +Batiste received a disagreeable impression. It seemed to him that +suddenly there passed through the atmosphere something hostile, +threatening; without any great urging, he would have started to run; but +he remained, feeling that all were looking fixedly at him. He feared +that he would be held by insults if he fled before he was attacked; and +with the hope of being unmolested, he remained motionless, overcome by a +feeling which was not fear, but something more than prudence. + +These people, whom Pimentó filled with admiration, made him repeat the +method which he had made use of, all these years, to avoid paying his +rent to the masters of the lands, and greeted it with loud bursts of +laughter, and tremors of malignant joy, like slaves who rejoice at the +misfortunes of a master. + +The bully modestly related his glorious achievements. Every year at +Christmas and St. John's Day, he had set out on the road to Valencia at +full speed to see his landlord. Others carried a fine brace of chickens, +a basket of cakes or fruits as a means to persuade the masters to accept +incomplete payment, and would weep and promise to complete the sum +before long. He alone carried words and not many of them. + +The mistress, a large, imposing woman, received him in the dining-room. +The daughters, proud young ladies, all dressed up with bows of ribbons +and bright colours, came and went nearby. + +Doña Manuela turned to the memorandum book, to look up the half-years +that Pimentó was behind. He came to pay, eh?... And the crafty rogue, +upon hearing the question of the lady of the "Hay-Lofts" always answered +the same. No, señora, he could not pay because he hadn't a copper. He +was not ignorant of the fact that by this he was proving himself a +scamp. His grandfather, who was a man of great wisdom, had told him so. +"For whom were chains forged? For men. Do you pay? You are an honest +man. Do you not pay? You are a rogue." And following this short +discourse on philosophy, he had recourse to the second argument. He drew +forth a black stogie and a pocket-knife from his sash, and began to pick +tobacco in order to roll a cigarette. + +The sight of the weapon sent chills through the lady, made her nervous; +and for this very reason the crafty fellow cut the tobacco slowly and +was deliberate about putting it away. Always repeating the same +arguments of the grandfather, in order to explain his tardiness about +the payment. + +The children with the little bows of ribbon called him "the man of the +chains"; the mamma felt uneasy in the presence of this rough fellow of +black reputation, who smelt vilely of wine, and gesticulated with the +knife as he talked; and convinced that nothing could be gotten from him, +she told him that he might go; but he felt a deep joy in being +troublesome, and tried to prolong the interview. They even went so far +as to say that if he could not pay anything, he could even spare them +his visits and not appear there further; they would forget that they had +those lands. Ah, no, señora. Pimentó fulfilled his obligations +punctually, and as a tenant, he should visit his landlord at Christmas +and San Juan, in order to show that though he was not paying, he +remained nevertheless their very humble servant. + +And there he would go, twice a year, smelling of wine, and stain the +floor with his sandals, clay covered, and repeat that chains were made +for men, making sabre-thrusts the while with his knife. It was the +vengeance of the slave, the bitter pleasure of the mendicant who appears +in the midst of a feast of rich men, with his foul tatters. + +All the farmers laughed, commenting on the conduct of Pimentó with his +landlord. + +And the bully justified his conduct with arguments. Why should he pay? +Come now, why? His grandfather had cultivated his lands before him; at +his father's death they had been divided among the brothers at their +pleasure, following the custom of the _huerta_, and without consulting +the landlord in any way. They were the ones who had worked them; they +had made them produce, they had worn away their lives upon their fields. + +Pimentó, speaking with vehemence of his work, showed such shamelessness +that some smiled.... Good: he was not working much now, because he was +shrewd and had recognized the farce of living. But at one time he had +worked, and this was enough to make the lands more justly his own than +they were of that big, fat woman of Valencia. When she would come to +work them; when she would take the plough with all its weight, and the +two little girls with the bows yoked together would draw it after them, +then she would legitimately be the mistress. + +The coarse jokes of the bully made the people roar with laughter. The +bad flavour of the payment of St. John remained with them and they took +much pleasure in seeing their masters treated so cruelly. Ah! The joke +about the plough was very funny; and each one imagined that he could see +the master, the stout and timid landlord, or the señora, old and proud, +hitched up to the ploughshare pulling and pulling, while they, the +farmers, those under the heel, were cracking the whip. + +And all winked at each other, laughed and clapped their hands, in order +to express their approbation. Oh! It was very comfortable in the house +of Copa listening to Pimentó. What ideas the man had! + +But the husband of Pepeta became gloomy, and many noticed that often he +would cast a side-long look about him, that look of murder which was +long known in the tavern to be a certain sign of immediate aggression. +His voice became thick, as if all the alcohol which was swelling his +stomach had ascended like a hot wave and burned his throat. + +They might laugh until they burst, but their laughs would be the last. +Already the _huerta_ was not the same as it had been for ten years. The +masters, who had been timid rabbits, had again become unruly wolves. +They were showing their teeth again. Even his mistress had taken +liberties with him. With him who was the terror of all the landowners of +the _huerta_! During his visit last St. John's day she had laughed at +his saying about the chains, and even at the knife, announcing to him +that he might prepare either to leave the lands or pay his rent, not +forgetting the back payments either. + +And why had they turned in such a manner? Because already they no longer +feared them.... And why did they not fear them? Christ! Because now the +fields of old Barret were no longer abandoned and uncultivated, a +phantom of desolation to awe the landlords and make them sweet and +reasonable. So the charm had been broken. Since a half-starved thief had +succeeded in imposing himself upon them, the landlords had laughed, and +wishing to take revenge for ten years of enforced meekness, had grown +worse than the infamous Don Salvador. + +"True ... it is true," said all the group, supporting the arguments of +Pimentó, with furious nods. + +All confessed that their landlords had changed as they recalled the +details of their last interview; the threats of ejection, the refusal to +accept the incomplete payments, the ironical way in which they had +spoken of the lands of old Barret, cultivated again in spite of the +hatred of all the _huerta_. And now, all at once, after the sweet +laziness of ten years of triumph, with the reins on their shoulders and +the master at their feet, had come the cruel pull, the return to other +times, the finding of the bread bitter and the wine more sour, thinking +of the accursed half-year, and all on account of an outsider, a lousy +fellow who had not even been born in the _huerta_, and who had hung +himself upon them to interfere in their business and make life harder +for them. And should this rogue still live? Did the _huerta_ not have +any men? + +Good-bye, new friendships, respect born by the side of the coffin of a +poor child! All the consideration created by misfortune went tumbling +down like a stock of playing-cards, vanishing like a nebulous cloud, and +the old hatred reappeared at a single bound--the solidarity of all the +_huerta_, which in combating the intruder was defending its very life. + +And at what a moment the general animosity arose! The eyes fixed upon +him burned with the fire of hatred; heads muddled with alcohol seemed to +feel a horrible itching for murder; instinctively they all started +toward Batiste, who felt himself pushed about from all sides as if the +circle were tightening in order to devour him. + +He repented now of having remained. He felt no fear, but he cursed the +hour in which the idea of going to the tavern occurred to him--an alien +place which seemed to rob him of his strength, that self-possession +which animated him when he felt the earth beneath his feet--the earth +which he had cultivated at the cost of so much sacrifice, and in whose +defence he was ready to lose his very life. + +Pimentó, as he gave way to his anger, felt all the brandy he had drunk +during the past two days fall suddenly like a heavy blow upon his brain. +He had lost the serenity of an unshakable drunkard; he arose staggering, +and it was necessary for him to make an effort to sustain himself upon +his legs. His eyes were inflamed as though they were dripping blood; his +voice was laboured as though the alcohol and anger were drawing it back +and not letting it come forth. + +"Go," he said imperiously to Batiste, threateningly, extending a hand, +till it almost touched his face. "Go, or I will kill you!" + +Go!... It was this that Batiste desired; he grew paler and paler, +repenting more and more that he was here. But he well divined the +significance of that imperious "Go!" of the bully, supported by signs of +approval on the part of all the others. + +They did not demand that he should leave the tavern, ridding them of his +odious presence; they were ordering him with threats of death to abandon +the fields, which were like the blood of his body; to give up for ever +the farm-house where his little one had died, and in which every corner +bore a record of the struggles and the joys of the family in their +battle with poverty. And swiftly he had a vision of himself and all his +furniture piled on the cart, wandering over the roads, in search of the +unknown, in order to create another existence: carrying along with them +like a gloomy companion, that ugly phantom of famine which would be ever +following at their heels.... + +No! He shunned quarrels, but let them not put a finger on his children's +bread! + +Now he felt no disquietude. The image of his family, hungry and without +a hearth, enraged him; he even felt a desire to attack all these people +who demanded of him such a monstrous thing. + +"Will you go? Will you go?" asked Pimentó, ever darker and more +threatening. + +No: he would not go. He said it with his head, with his smile of scorn, +with his firm glance and the challenging look which he fixed upon the +group. + +"Scoundrel!" roared the bully; and his hand fell upon the face of +Batiste, giving it a terrible resounding slap. + +As though stirred by this aggression, all the group rushed upon the +odious intruder, but above the line of heads a muscular arm arose, +grasping a rush-grass stool, the same perhaps upon which Pimentó had +been seated. + +For the strong Batiste it was a terrible weapon, this seat of strong +cross-pieces, with heavy legs of carob-wood, its corners polished by +usage. + +The little table and the jars of brandy rolled away, the people backed +instinctively, terrified by the gesture of this man, always so peaceful, +who seemed now a giant in his madness. But before any one could recede a +step, Plaf! a noise resounded like a bursting kettle, and Pimentó, his +head broken, fell to the ground. + +In the _plaza_, it produced an indescribable confusion. + +Copa, who from his lair seemed to pay attention to nothing, and was the +first to scent a quarrel, no sooner saw the stool in the air than he +drew out the "ace of clubs" which was under the counter, and with a few +quick blows, in a jiffy cleared the tavern of its customers and +immediately closed the door in accordance with his usual salutary +custom. + +The people remained outside, running around the little square; the +tables rolled about. Sticks and clubs were brandished in the air, each +one placing himself on guard against his neighbour, ready for whatever +might come; and in the meantime Batiste, the cause of all the trouble, +stood motionless, with hanging arms, grasping the stool now stained with +spots of blood, terrified by what had just occurred. + +Pimentó, face downward on the ground, uttered groans which sounded like +snarls, as the blood gushed forth from his broken head. + +Terrerola, the elder, with the fraternal feeling of one drunkard for +another ran to the aid of his rival, looking with hostility at Batiste. +He insulted him, looking in his sash for a weapon with which to wound +him. + +The most peaceful fled away through the paths, looking back with morbid +curiosity, and the others remained motionless, on the defensive, each +one capable of dispatching his neighbour, without knowing why, but not +one wishing to be the first aggressor. The clubs remained raised aloft, +the clasp knives gleamed in the group, but no one approached Batiste, +who slowly backed away, still holding the blood-stained tabouret aloft. + +Thus he left the little plaza, ever looking with challenging eyes at the +group which surrounded the fallen Pimentó, all brave fellows but +evidently intimidated by this man's strength. + +Upon finding himself on the road, at some distance from the tavern, he +began to run, and drawing near his farm-house, he dropped the heavy +stool in a canal, looking with horror at the blackish stain of the dry +blood upon the water. + + + + +X + + +Batiste lost all hope of living peacefully on his land. + +The entire _huerta_ once more arose against him. Again he had to isolate +himself in his farm-house, to live in perpetual solitude like one cursed +by a plague, or like some caged wild-beast, at whom every one shook his +fist from afar. + +His wife told him on the following day how the wounded bully was +conducted to his house. He himself, from his home, had heard the shouts +and the threats of the people, who had solicitously accompanied the +wounded Pimentó.... It was a real manifestation. The women, already +aware of what had happened through the marvellous rapidity with which +news spreads over the _huerta_, ran out on the road to see Pepeta's +brave husband at close range, and to express compassion for him as for +some hero sacrificed for the good of others. + +The same ones who had spoken insultingly of him some hours before, +scandalized by his wager of drunkenness, now pitied him, inquired +whether he was seriously hurt, and clamoured for revenge against that +starving pauper, that thief, who not content with taking possession of +that which was not his, tried to win respect by terror, and by attacking +good men. + +Pimentó was magnificent. He suffered great pain, and went about +supported by his friends with his head bandaged, transformed into an +_eccehomo_, as the indignant gossips declared; but he made an effort to +smile, and answered every incitement to revenge with an arrogant +gesture, declaring that he took the castigation of the enemy upon +himself. + +Batiste did not doubt that these people would seek vengeance. He was +familiar with the usual methods of the _huerta_. The courts of the city +were not made for this land; prison was a small matter when a question +of satisfying a grudge was concerned. Why should a man make use of a +judge or a civil guard, if he had a good eye and a shotgun in his house? +The affairs of men should be settled by the men themselves. + +And as all the _huerta_ thought thus, vainly on the day following the +quarrel did two guards with enamelled tricorns pass and repass over the +paths leading from Copa's tavern to the farm-house of Pimentó, making +sly inquiries of the people who were in the fields. No one had seen +anybody; no one knew anything. Pimentó related with brutal bursts of +laughter how he had broken his own head coming home from the tavern, +declaring it to be the consequence of his bet; the brandy had made him +stagger, and strike his head against the trees on the road. So the rural +police had to turn back to their little barracks at Alboraya without any +clear information concerning the vague rumours of quarrel and bloodshed +which had reached them. + +This magnanimity of the victim and his friends alarmed Batiste, who made +up his mind to live perpetually on the defensive. + +The family, shrinking from contact with the _huerta_, withdrew within +the house as a timid snail withdraws within its shell. + +The little ones did not even go to school. Roseta stopped going to the +factory, and Batistet did not go a pace away from the fields. Only the +father went out, showing himself as calm and confident about his +security as he was careful and prudent for the others. + +But he made no trips to the city without carrying the shotgun with him, +which he left with a friend in the suburbs. He literally lived with his +weapon. The most modern thing in his house, it was always clean, shining +and cared for with that affection which the Valencian farmer, like the +Barbary tribesman, bestows upon his gun. + +Teresa was as sad as she had been upon the death of the little one. +Every time that she saw her husband cleaning the double-barrelled +shotgun, changing the cartridges, or making the trigger play up and down +to be sure it would work smoothly, there arose in her mind the image of +the prison, the terrible tale of old Barret; she saw blood and cursed +the hour in which they had thought of settling upon these accursed +lands. And then came the hours of fear on account of the absence of her +husband, those long afternoons spent awaiting the man who did not +return, going out to the door of the farm-house to explore the road, +trembling each time that there sounded from the distance some report +from the hunters of sparrows, fearing that it was the beginning of a +tragedy, the shot which shattered the head of the father of the family +or which would take him to prison. And when Batiste finally appeared, +the little ones would shout with joy, Teresa would smile, wiping her +eyes, the daughter would run out to embrace her father, and even the dog +leaped close to him, sniffing restlessly, as though he scented about his +person the danger which he had just encountered. + +And Batiste, serene and firm, but without arrogance, laughed at his +family's anxiety, and became bolder and bolder as the famous quarrel +receded into the past. + +He considered himself secure. As long as he carried "the bird with the +two voices," as he called his shotgun, he could calmly walk throughout +all the _huerta_. When he went out in such good company, his enemies +pretended not to know him. At times he had even seen Pimentó from a +distance, walking through the _huerta_, exhibiting like a flag of +vengeance his bandaged head, but the bully, in spite of his recovery +from the blow had fled, fearing the encounter perhaps even more than +Batiste. + +All were watching him from the corner of their eye, but he never heard +from the fields adjoining the road a single word of insult. They +shrugged their shoulders with scorn, bent over the earth, and worked +feverishly until he was lost from sight. + +The only person who spoke to him was old Tomba, the crazy shepherd, who +recognized him despite his sightless eyes, as though he could scent the +atmosphere of calamity around Batiste. And it was ever the same.... Was +he not going to abandon the accursed lands? + +"You are making a mistake, my son; they will bring you misfortune." + +Batiste received the refrain of the old man with a smile. + +Grown familiar with peril, he had never feared it less than he did now. +He even felt a certain secret joy in provoking it, in marching directly +toward it. His tavern exploit had changed his character, previously so +peaceful and long-suffering; awakened in him a boastful brutality. He +wished to show all these people that he did not fear them, that even as +he had burst open Pimentó's head, so was he ready to take up arms +against the whole _huerta_. Since they had driven him to it, he would be +a bully and a braggart long enough for them to respect him and allow him +to live peacefully ever afterward. + +And possessed of this dangerous determination, he even abandoned his +lands, passing the afternoons along the roads of the _huerta_ under the +pretext of hunting, but in reality to exhibit his shotgun and his look +of a man who has few friends. + +One afternoon, while hunting swallows in the ravine of Carraixet, the +darkness surprised him. + +The birds seemed to be following the mazes of some capricious quadrille +as they flew about restlessly, reflected in the deep and quiet pools +bordered with tall rushes. This ravine, which cut across the _huerta_ +like a deep crack, gloomy, with stagnant water, and muddy shores, where +there bobbed up and down some rotting, half-submerged canoe, presented a +desolate and wild aspect. No one would have suspected that behind the +slope of the high banks, farther on beyond the rushes and the +cane-brake, lay the plain with its smiling atmosphere and its green +vistas. Even the light of the sun seemed dismal, as it sank to the +depths of the ravine, sifting through the wild vegetation and pallidly +reflecting itself in the dead waters. + +Batiste spent the afternoon firing at the wheeling swallows. A few +cartridges still remained in his belt, and at his feet, forming a mound +of blood-stained feathers, he already had two dozen birds. What a +supper! How happy the family would be! + +It grew dark in the deep ravine: from the pools, a fetid vapour came +forth, the deadly respiration of malarial fever. The frogs croaked by +the thousand, as though saluting the stars, contented at not hearing the +firing which interrupted their song, and obliged them to dive head-long, +disturbing the smooth crystal of the stagnant pools. + +Batiste picked up his "bag" of birds, hanging them from the belt, and +ascending the bank with two leaps, set out over the paths on his return +trip to the farm-house. + +The sky, still permeated with the faint glow of twilight, had the soft +tone of violet; the stars gleamed, and over the immense _huerta_ there +rose the many sounds of rustic life which would soon with the arrival of +night die away. Over the paths passed the girls returning from the city; +and men coming from the fields, the tired horses dragging the heavy +carts; and Batiste answered their "Good night," the greeting of all who +passed near him, people from Alboraya, who did not know him or did not +have the motives of his neighbours for hating him. + +He left the village behind him, and as he drew nearer to his farm, the +hostility stood out more plainly with every step. The people hissed him +without any greeting. + +He was in strange country, and like a soldier who prepares to fight as +soon as he crosses the hostile frontier, Batiste sought in his sash for +the munitions of war, two cartridges with ball and bird-shot, made by +himself, and loaded his shotgun. + +The big man laughed after doing this. Whoever tried to cut off his way +would receive a good shower of lead. + +He walked along without haste, calmly, as though enjoying the freshness +of the spring night. But this tranquillity did not prevent him from +thinking of the risk he was taking, with the enemies he had, in being +abroad in the _huerta_ at such an hour. + +His keen ear, that of a countryman, seemed to perceive a sound at his +shoulder. He turned about quickly, and in the pale star-light, he +thought he saw a dark figure, leaping from the road with a stealthy +bound and hiding behind a bank. + +Batiste laid hold of his shotgun, and lifting the hammer, approached +cautiously. No one.... Only at some distance it seemed to him that the +plants were waving in the darkness, as though a body were dragging +itself among them. + +They were following him: some one intended to surprise him treacherously +from behind. But this suspicion lasted but a short time. It might be +some vagabond dog which fled upon his approach. + +Well, it was certain that whatever it was, it was fleeing from him, and +so there was nothing for him to do. + +He went along over the dark road, walking silently like a man who knows +the country in the dark, and for the sake of prudence does not wish to +attract attention. As he approached the farm, he felt a certain +uneasiness. This was his neighbourhood, but here also were his most +tenacious enemies. + +Some minutes before arriving at the farm, near the blue farm-house where +the girls danced on Sundays, the road became narrow, forming various +curves. At one side, a high bank was crowned by a double row of +mulberry-trees; on the other, was a narrow canal whose sloping shores +were thickly covered with tall cane-brake. + +It looked in the darkness like an Indian thicket, a vault of bamboos +bending over the road. It was completely dark here; the mass of +cane-brake trembled in the light wind of the night, giving forth a +mournful sound; the place, so cool and agreeable during the hours of +sunlight, seemed to smell of treason. + +Batiste, laughing at his uneasiness, mentally exaggerated the danger. A +magnificent place to fire a safe shot at him. If Pimentó should come +along here, he would not scorn such a beautiful chance. + +And scarcely had he thought of this, when there came forth from among +the cane-brake a straight and fleeting tongue of fire, a red arrow which +vanished, followed by a report; and something passed, hissing close to +his ear. Some one was firing upon him. Instinctively he stooped down, +wishing to fuse with the darkness of the ground, so as not to present a +target to the enemy. In the same moment a new flash glowed, another +report sounded, mingling with the echoes still reverberating from the +first, and Batiste felt a tearing sensation in the left shoulder, +something like the scratch of steel, scraping him superficially. + +But his attention scarcely stopped at this. He felt a savage joy. Two +shots ... the enemy was disarmed. + +"Christ! Now I've got you!" + +He rushed out through the cane-brake, plunged, almost rolling down the +slope, and entered the water up to the waist, his feet in the mud and +his arms aloft, very high, in order to prevent his shotgun from getting +wet, guarding like a miser the two shots until the moment should arrive +when he could safely deal them out. + +Before his eyes the cane-brake met, forming a close arch almost level +with the water. Before him in the darkness, he heard a splashing like +that of a dog fleeing down through the canal. Here was the enemy: after +him! + +And in the stream-bed, he entered on a mad race, plunging along groping +through the shadows, leaving his sandals behind him, lost in the mud: +his trousers, clinging to his body, and dragging heavily, retarded his +movements: and the stiff sharp stalks of the broken cane-brake struck +and scratched his face. + +At one moment Batiste thought he saw something dark clinging to the +cane-brake, striving to rise above the bank. He was attempting to run +away: he must fire.... His hands, which felt the itching of murder, +carried the shotgun to his face, pulled the trigger, ... the report +sounded, and the body fell into the canal, among a shower of leaves and +rotting cane. + +At him! At him!... Again, Batiste heard the splashing of a fleeing dog: +but now with more effort, as though the fugitive, spurred on by +desperation, were straining every effort to escape. + +It was a dizzy flight, that race amid darkness, through the cane-brake +and water. The two kept slipping on the soft ground, unable to cling to +the brake without loosening their hold on their guns; the water eddied +about them, lashed by their reckless haste, but Batiste, who fell +several times on his knees, thought only of reaching out his arms, in +order to keep his weapon dry and save the shot which remained. + +And thus the human hunters went on, groping through the dismal darkness, +until in a turn of the canal, they came out to an open space, where the +banks were clear of reeds. + +The eyes of Batiste, accustomed to the gloom of the vault, saw with +perfect clearness a man who, leaning on his firearm, climbed staggering +out of the canal, with difficulty moving mud-clogged legs. + +It was he ... he! he as usual! + +"Thief!... thief! you shall not escape," roared Batiste, and he +discharged his second shot from the bottom of the canal, with the +certainty of the marksman who is able to aim well and knows he brings +down his booty. + +He saw him fall heavily headlong over the bank, and climb on all-fours +in order to roll into the water. Batiste wanted to catch him, but his +haste was so great that it was he who, making a false step, fell +full-length into the midst of the canal. + +His head sunk in the mud, and he swallowed the earthy, ruddy liquid; he +thought he would die, and remain buried in that miry marsh; but finally, +by a powerful effort, he succeeded in standing upright, drawing his eyes +blinded by the slime out of the water, then his mouth, panting as it +breathed in the night air. + +As soon as he recovered his sight, he looked for his enemy. He had +disappeared. + +He came out of the canal, dripping water and mud, and climbed the slope +at the same place where his enemy had emerged: but on reaching the top, +he could not see him. + +On the dry earth, however, he noticed some black stains, and touched +them with his hands: they smelled of blood. Now he knew that he had not +missed his aim. But, though he looked about, hoping to see his enemy's +corpse, he sought in vain. + +That Pimentó had a tough skin. Dripping mud and mire, he would go along +dragging himself up to his own farm-house. Perhaps that vague rustle +which he believed he heard in the immediate fields, as though a great +reptile were dragging itself over the furrows, came from him. All the +dogs were barking at him, filling the _huerta_ with desperate howlings. +He had heard him crawling along in the same manner a quarter of an hour +before, when doubtless he was intending to kill him from behind. But on +seeing himself discovered, he had fled on all-fours along the road, in +order to take his stand further on in the leafy cane and to lie in +ambush without any risk. + +Batiste felt suddenly afraid. He was alone, in the midst of the plain, +completely disarmed; his shotgun, without cartridges, was no more now +than a weak club. Pimentó couldn't return, but he had friends. + +And overcome by sudden fear, he began to run, seeking as he crossed the +fields the road which led to his farm. + +The plain trembled with alarm. The four shots in the darkness of the +evening had thrown all the neighbourhood into commotion. The dogs barked +more and more furiously; the doors of the farm-houses opened, emitting +black figures, who certainly did not come forth with empty hands. + +With whistling and shouts of alarm, the neighbours summoned each other +from a great distance. Shots at night might be signals of fire, of +thieves, of who knows what? certainly nothing good. And the men sallied +forth from their homes ready for anything, with the forgetfulness of +self and solidarity of those who live in solitude. + +Batiste, terrified by this movement, ran toward his farm, bending over, +in order to pass unnoticed along the shelter of the banks or the high +mounds of straw. + +He already saw his home, with the open door illumined, and in the +centre of the red square, the black forms of his family. + +The dog sniffed him and was the first to salute him. Teresa and Roseta +gave shouts of joy. + +"Batiste, is it you?" + +"Father! Father!" + +And all rushed toward him, toward the entrance of the farm-house, under +the old vine-arbour, through whose vines the stars shone like +glow-worms. + +The mother, with the woman's keen ear, restless and alarmed by the +tardiness of her husband, had heard from far, far off, the four shots, +and her heart "had given a leap," as she expressed it. All the family +had rushed toward the door, anxiously scanning the dark horizon, +convinced that the reports which alarmed the plain had some connection +with the father's absence. + +Mad with joy upon seeing him and hearing his voice, they did not notice +his mud-stained face, his unshod feet, or his clothing, dirty and +dripping mire. + +They drew him within. Roseta hung herself upon his neck, breathing +lovingly, with her eyes still moist. + +"Father!... Father!" + +But he was not able to restrain a grimace of pain, an ay! suppressed but +full of suffering. Roseta had flung her arm about his left shoulder, in +the same place where he had felt the tearing of steel, and which he now +felt more and more crushingly heavy. + +When he entered the house, and came into the full candlelight, the woman +and the children gave a cry of astonishment. They saw the blood-stained +shirt.... + +Roseta and her mother burst out crying. "Most holy queen! Sovereign +mother! They have killed him!" + +But Batiste, who felt the pain in his shoulder growing more and more +insufferable, hushed their lamentations and ordered them with a dark +gesture to see at once what had happened to him. + +Roseta, who was the bravest, tore open the coarse rough shirt, leaving +the shoulder uncovered. How much blood! The girl grew pale, trying not +to faint; Batistet and the little ones began to weep, and Teresa +continued her howlings as though her husband were in his death agony. + +But the wounded man would not tolerate their lamentations and protested +rudely. Less weeping: it was nothing: not serious, and the proof of +this was that he could move his arm, although he felt, all the time, a +greater weight in his shoulder. It was just a scratch, an abrasion, +nothing more. He felt too strong for the wound to be deep. Look ... +water, cloth, lint, the bottle of arnica which Teresa was guarding as a +miraculous remedy in her room ... move about quickly! This was no time +to stand gaping with open mouths. + +Teresa, returning to her room, searched the depths of her chests, +tearing up linen cloths, untying bandages, while the girl washed and +washed again the lips of the bleeding wound, which was cut like a +sabre-slash across the fleshy shoulder. + +The two women checked the hemorrhage as best they could, bandaged the +wound, and Batiste breathed with satisfaction, as though he were already +cured. Worse blows than this had descended upon him in this life. + +And he began to admonish the little ones to be prudent. Of what they had +seen, not a word to anybody. There are subjects which it is best to +forget. And he repeated the same to his wife, who talked of sending word +to the doctor; it would amount to the same thing as attracting the +attention of the court. It would cure itself. His constitution was +wonderful. What was important was that no one should get mixed up in +what occurred down below. Who knows in what condition the other man was +by this time? + +While his wife was helping him to change his clothes and prepared his +bed, Batiste told her all that had occurred. The good woman opened her +eyes with a frightened expression, sighed, thinking of the danger +encountered by her husband, and cast anxious glances at the closed door +of the farm-house, as if the rural police were about to enter through +it. + +Batistet, meanwhile, with precocious prudence, picked up the gun, and +dried it in the candlelight, striving to wipe away from it all signs of +recent usage, of that which had occurred. + +The night was a bad one for all the family; Batiste was delirious; he +had a fever, and tossed about furiously as if he still were running +along the bed of the canal, pursuing the man. He terrified the little +ones with his cries, so they were not able to sleep, as well as the +women who, seated close to his bed, and offering him every moment some +sugared water, the only domestic remedy which they could invent, passed +a white night. + +On the following day, the door of the farm-house was closed all morning. +The wounded man seemed to be better: the children, their eyes reddened +from lack of sleep, remained motionless in the corral, seated on the +manure-heap, following dully the motions of the animals which were being +raised there. + +Teresa watched the plain through the closed door, and entered afterward +into her husband's room.... How many people! All the neighbourhood was +passing over the road in the direction of Pimentó's house; a swarm of +men could be seen thronging around it. And all of them with sad and +frowning faces shouting with energetic motions, from a distance, and +casting glances of hatred toward old Barret's farm-house. + +Batiste received this news with grunts. Something itched in his breast, +hurting him. The movement of the plain toward the house of his enemy +meant that Pimentó was in a serious condition; perhaps he was dead! He +was sure that the two shots from his gun were in his body. + +And now, what was going to happen? Would he die in prison like poor +Barret? No; the customs of the _huerta_ would be respected; faith in +justice obtained by one's own hand. The dying man would be silent, +leaving it to his friends, the Terrerolas and the others, to avenge him. +And Batiste did not know which to fear more, the justice of the city, or +that of the _huerta_. + +It was drawing toward evening, when the wounded man, despite the +protests and cries of the two women, sprang out of bed. + +He was stifling; his athletic body, accustomed to fatigue, was not able +to stand so many hours of inactivity. The weight in his shoulder forced +him to change his position, as if this would free him from pain. + +With a hesitating step, benumbed by lying in bed so long, he went forth +from his house and seated himself on the brick-bench beneath the +vine-arbour. + +The afternoon was disagreeable; the wind blew too freshly for the +season; heavy dark clouds covered the sun, and the light was sinking +under them, closing up the horizon like a curtain of pale gold. + +Batiste looked uncertainly in the direction of the city, turning his +back toward the farm-house of Pimentó, which could be seen clearly now +that the fields were stripped of the golden grain which hid it before +the harvest. + +There might be noted in the wounded man both the impulse of curiosity +and the fear of seeing too much; but at last his will was conquered, and +he slowly turned his gaze toward the house of his enemy. + +Yes; many people swarmed before the door; men, women, children; all the +people of the plain who were anxiously running to visit their fallen +liberator. + +How they must hate him!... They were distant, but nevertheless he +guessed that his name must be on the lips of all; in the buzzing of his +ears, in the throbbing of his feverish temples he thought he perceived +the threatening murmur of that wasp's nest. + +And yet, God knew that he had done nothing more than defend himself; +that he wished only to keep his own without harming any one. Why should +_he_ take the blame of being in conflict with these people, who, as Don +Joaquín, the master, said, were very good but very stupid? + +The afternoon closed in; the twilight, grey and sad, sifted over the +plain. The wind, growing continually stronger, carried toward the +farm-house the distant echo of lamentations and furious voices. + +Batiste saw the people eddying in the door of the distant farm-house, +saw arms extended with a sorrowful expression, clenched hands which +snatched handkerchief from head and cast it in fury to the ground. + +The wounded man felt all his blood mounting toward his heart, which +stopped beating for some instants, as if paralysed, and afterward began +to thump with more fury, shooting a hot, red wave to his face. + +He guessed what was happening yonder: his heart told him. Pimentó had +just died. + +Batiste felt cold and afraid, with a sensation of weakness as if +suddenly all his strength had left him; and he went into his farm-house, +not breathing easily until he saw the door closed and the candle lit. + +The evening was dismal. Sleep overwhelmed the family, dead tired from +the vigil of the preceding night. Almost immediately after supper, they +retired: before nine, all were in bed. + +Batiste felt that his wound was better. The weight in the shoulder +diminished: the fever was not so fierce; but now a strange pain in his +heart was tormenting him. + +In the darkness of the bedroom, still awake, he saw a pale figure rising +up, at first indefinite, then little by little taking form and colour, +till it became Pimentó as he had seen him the last few days, with his +head bandaged and the threatening gesture of one stubbornly bent upon +revenge. + +The vision bothered him and he closed his eyes in order to sleep. +Absolute darkness; sleep was overpowering him, but his closed eyes were +beginning to fill the dense gloom with red points which kept growing +larger, forming spots of various colours; and the spots, after floating +about capriciously, joined themselves together, amalgamated, and again +there stood Pimentó, who approached him slowly, with the cautious +ferocity of an evil beast which fascinates its victim. + +Batiste tried to free himself from the nightmare. + +He did not sleep; he heard his wife snoring close to him, and his sons +overcome with weariness, but all the while he was hearing them lower +and lower, as if some mysterious force were carrying the farm-house +away, far away, to a distance: and he there inert, unable to move, no +matter how hard he tried, saw the face of Pimentó close to his own, and +felt in his nostrils his enemy's hot breath. + +But was he not dead?... His dulled brain kept asking this question, and +after many efforts, he answered himself that Pimentó had died. Now he +did not have a broken head as before: his body was exposed, torn by two +wounds, though Batiste was not able to determine where they were; but +two wounds he had, two inexhaustible fountains of blood, which opened +livid lips. The two gunshots, he already knew it: he was not one to miss +his aim. + +And the phantom, enveloping his face with its burning breath, fixed a +glance upon him which pierced his eyes, and descended lower and lower +until it tore his very vitals. + +"Pardon, Pimentó!" groaned the wounded man, terrified by the nightmare, +and trembling like a child. + +Yes, he ought to forgive him. He had killed him, it was true; but he +should consider that he had been the first to attack him. Come! Men who +are men ought to be reasonable! It was he who was to blame! + +But the dead do not listen to reason, and the spectre, behaving like a +bandit, smiled fiercely, and with a bound, landed on the bed, and seated +himself upon him, pressing upon the sick man's wound with all his +weight. + +Batiste groaned painfully, unable to move and cast off the heavy mass. +He tried to persuade him, calling him Toni with familiar tenderness, +instead of designating him by his nickname. + +"Toni, you are hurting me!" + +That was just what the phantom wished, to hurt him, and not satisfied +with this, he snatched from him with his glance alone his rags and +bandages, and afterward sank his cruel nails into the deep wound, and +pulled apart the edges, making him scream with pain. + +"Ay! Ay!... Pimentó, pardon me!" + +Such was his pain that his tremblings, surging up from the shoulder to +his head, made his cropped hair bristle, and stand erect, and then it +began to curl with the contraction of the pain until it turned into a +horrible tangle of serpents. + +Then a horrible thing happened. The ghost, seizing him by his strange +hair, finally spoke. + +"Come ... come...." it said, pulling him along. + +It dragged him along with superhuman swiftness, led him flying or +swimming, he did not know which, across a space both light and slippery; +dizzily they seemed to float toward a red spot which stood out in the +far, far distance. + +The stain grew larger, it looked in shape like the door of his bedroom, +and after it poured out a dense, nauseating smoke, a stench of burning +straw which prevented him from breathing. + +It must be the mouth of hell: Pimentó would hurl him into it, into the +immense fire whose splendour lit up the door. Fear conquered his +paralysis. He gave a fearful cry, finally moved his arms, and with a +back stroke of his hand, hurled Pimentó and the strange hair away from +him. + +Now he had his eyes well opened; the phantom had disappeared. He had +been dreaming: it was doubtless a feverish nightmare: now he found +himself again in bed with poor Teresa, who, still dressed, was snoring +laboriously at his side. + +But no; the delirium continued. What strange light was illumining his +bedroom? He still saw the mouth of hell, which was like the door of his +room, ejecting smoke and ruddy splendour. Was he asleep? He rubbed his +eyes, moved his arms, and sat up in bed. + +No: he was awake and wide awake. + +The door was growing redder all the time, the smoke was denser, he heard +muffled cracklings as of cane-brake bursting, licked by tongues of +flame, and even saw the sparks dance, and cling like flies of fire to +the cretonne curtain which closed the room. He heard a desperate steady +barking, like a furiously tolling bell sounding an alarm. + +Christ!... The conviction of reality suddenly leaped to his mind, and +maddened him. + +"Teresa! Teresa!... Up!" + +And with the first push, he flung her out of bed. Then he ran to the +children's room, and with shouts and blows pulled them out in their +shirts, like an idiotic, frightened flock which runs before the stick +without knowing where it is going. The roof of his room was already +burning, casting a shower of sparks over the bed. + +To Batiste, blinded by the smoke, the minutes seemed like centuries till +he got the door open; and through it, maddened with terror, all the +family rushed out in their nightclothes and ran to the road. + +Here, a little more serene, they took count. + +All; they were all there, even the poor dog which howled sadly as it +watched the burning house. + +Teresa embraced her daughter, who, forgetting her danger, trembled with +shame, upon seeing herself in her chemise in the middle of the _huerta_, +and seated herself upon a sloping bank, shrinking up with modesty, +resting her chin upon the knees, and drawing down her white linen +night-robe in order to cover her feet. + +The two little ones, frightened, took refuge in the arms of their elder +brother, and the father rushed about like a madman, roaring +maledictions. + +Thieves! How well they had known how to do it! They had set fire to the +farm-house from all four sides, it had burst into flames from top to +bottom; even the corral with its stable and its sheds was crowned with +flames. + +From it there came forth desperate neighings, cacklings of terror, +fierce gruntings; but the farm-house, insensible to the wails of those +who were roasting in its depths, went on sending up curved tongues of +fire through the door and the windows; and from its burning roof there +rose an enormous spiral of white smoke, which reflecting the fire took +on a rosy transparency. + +The weather had changed: the night was calm, the wind did not blow and +the blue of the sky was dimmed only by the columns of smoke, between +whose white wisps the curious stars appeared. + +Teresa was struggling with her husband, who, recovered from his painful +surprise, and spurred on by his interests, which incited him to commit +follies, wished to enter the fiery inferno. Just one moment, nothing +more: only the time necessary to take from the bedroom the little sack +of money, the profit of the harvest. + +Ah! Good Teresa! Even now it was no longer necessary to restrain the +husband, who endured her violent grasp. A farm-house soon burns; straw +and canes love fire. The roof came down with a crash,--that erect roof +which the neighbours looked upon as an insult--and out of the enormous +bed of live-coals arose a frightful column of sparks, in whose uncertain +and vacillating light the _huerta_ seemed to move with fantastic +grimaces. + +The sides of the corral stirred heavily as if within them a legion of +demons were rushing about and striking them. Engarlanded with flame the +fowls leaped forth, trying to fly, though burning alive. + +A piece of wall of mud and stakes fell, and through the black breach +there came forth like a lightning flash, a terrible monster, ejecting +smoke through its nostrils, shaking its mane of sparks, desperately +beating its tail like a broom of flame, which scattered a stench of +burning hair. + +It was the horse. With a prodigious bound, he leaped over the family, +and ran madly through the fields, instinctively seeking the canal, into +which he fell with the sizzling hiss of red-hot iron when it strikes +water. + +Behind him, dragging itself along like a drunken demon emitting +frightful grunts, came another spectre of fire, the pig, which fell to +the ground in the middle of the field, burning like a torch of grease. + +There remained now only the walls and the grape-vines with their twisted +runners distorted by fire, and the posts, which stood up like bars of +ink over the red background. + +Batistet, in his longing to save something, ran recklessly over the +paths, shouting, beating at the doors of the neighbouring farm-houses, +which seemed to wink in the reflection of the fire. + +"Help! Help! Fire! Fire!" + +His shouts died away, raising a funereal echo, like that heard amid +ruins and in cemeteries. + +The father smiled cruelly. He was calling in vain. The _huerta_ was deaf +to them. There were eyes within those white farm-houses, which looked +curiously out through the cracks; perhaps there were mouths which +laughed with infernal glee, but not one generous voice to say "Here I +am!" + +Bread! At what a cost it is earned! And how evil it makes man! + +In one farm-house there was burning a pale light, yellowing and sad. +Teresa, confused by her misfortune, wished to go there to implore help, +with the hope of some relief, of some miracle which she longed for in +their misfortune. + +Her husband held her back with an expression of terror. No: not there. +Anywhere but there. + +And like a man who has fallen low, so low that he already is unable to +feel any remorse, he shifted his gaze from the fire and fixed it on that +pale light, yellowish and sad; the light of a taper which glows without +lustre, fed by an atmosphere in which might almost be perceived the +fluttering of the dead. + +Good-bye, Pimentó! You were departing from the world well-served. The +farm-house and the fortune of the odious intruder were lighting up your +corpse with merrier splendour than the candles bought by the bereaved +Pepeta, mere yellowish tears of light. + +Batistet returned desperate from his useless trip. Nobody had answered. + +The plain, silent and scowling, had said good-bye to them for ever. + +They were more alone than if they had been in the midst of a desert; the +solitude of hatred was a thousand times worse than that of Nature. + +They must flee from there; they must begin another life, with hunger +ever treading at their heels: they must leave behind them the ruin of +their work, and the small body of one of their own, the poor little +fellow who was rotting in the earth, an innocent victim of the mad +battle. + +And all of them, with Oriental resignation, seated themselves upon the +bank, and there awaited the day, their shoulders chilled with cold, but +toasted from the front by the bed of live coals, which tinged their +stupefied faces with the reflection of blood; following with the +unchangeable passivity of fatalism the course of the fire, which was +devouring all their efforts, and changing them into embers as fragile +and tenuous as their old illusions of work and peace. + +THE END + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[A] Get up! + +[B] A _huerta_ is a cultivated district divided usually into tiny, +fertile, truck-garden and fruit farms. + +[C] Translator's Note:--Asensis Nebot, a Franciscan monk, surnamed El +Fraile (The Friar), leader of a band of foot soldiers and cavalry in the +War of Independence (1810-12): he waged a guerilla warfare against the +French around Valencia until the city was taken. + +[D] Barrete means "a round hat without a visor." Translator's note. + +[E] "Dawn-Songs," serenades at dawn. Translator's note. + +[F] A term of contempt, meaning barbarians. + +[G] One in charge of the _tanda_, or turn in irrigating. + +[H] Star-cakes--a local provincial dainty. + +[I] Long, boat-shaped rolls. + +[J] A Valencian dish of rice, meat and vegetables. + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Cabin, by +Vicente Blasco Ibáñez and John Garrett Underhill + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CABIN *** + +***** This file should be named 38165-8.txt or 38165-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/8/1/6/38165/ + +Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images available at The Internet Archive) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Cabin + [La barraca] + +Author: Vicente Blasco Ibáñez + John Garrett Underhill + +Translator: Francis Haffkine Snow + Beatrice M. Mekota + +Release Date: November 29, 2011 [EBook #38165] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CABIN *** + + + + +Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images available at The Internet Archive) + + + + + + +</pre> + +<hr class="full" /> + +<p class="r">THE CABIN<br /> +[LA BARRACA]</p> + +<div class="boxx"> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="" +style="border:1px solid black;padding:2%;margin-left:5%;"> +<tr><td align="center">THE BORZOI</td></tr> +<tr><td align="center">SPANISH TRANSLATIONS</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">THE CABIN [LA BARRACA]</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>By V. Blasco Ibáñez</i></span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">THE CITY OF THE DISCREET</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>By Pío Baroja</i></span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">MARTIN RIVAS</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>By Alberto Blest-Gana</i></span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">THE THREE-CORNERED HAT</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>By Pedro A. de Alarcón</i></span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CAESAR OR NOTHING</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>By Pío Baroja</i></span></td></tr> +</table> + +</div> + +<h1>THE CABIN<br /> +<small>[LA BARRACA]<br /> +<br /> +BY<br /> +VICENTE BLASCO IBÁÑEZ</small></h1> + +<p class="cb"><small>TRANSLATED FROM THE SPANISH BY</small><br /> +FRANCIS HAFFKINE SNOW<br /> +<small>AND</small> BEATRICE M. MEKOTA<br /> +<small>WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY</small><br /> +JOHN GARRETT UNDERHILL</p> + +<p> +<br /> +<br /> +</p> + +<p class="cb">NEW YORK<br /> +ALFRED A. KNOPF<br /> +1919</p> + +<p> +<br /> +<br /> +</p> + +<p class="c"> +COPYRIGHT, 1917, BY<br /> +ALFRED A. KNOPF<br /> +<br /> +COPYRIGHT, 1919, BY<br /> +ALFRED A. KNOPF, I<small>NC.</small><br /> +<br /> +<i>Second Printing, February, 1919</i><br /> +<i>Third Printing, February, 1919</i><br /> +<i>Fourth Printing, March, 1919</i><br /> +<i>Fifth Printing, November, 1919</i><br /> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA<br /> +</p> + +<p> +<br /> +<br /> +</p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="5" cellspacing="0" summary="" +style="border:3px gray double;text-align: center;"> +<tr><td><a href="#INTRODUCTION">INTRODUCTION</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td>THE CABIN: +<a href="#I">I, </a> +<a href="#II">II, </a> +<a href="#III">III, </a> +<a href="#IV">IV, </a> +<a href="#V">V, </a> +<a href="#VI">VI, </a> +<a href="#VII">VII, </a> +<a href="#VIII">VIII, </a> +<a href="#IX">IX, </a> +<a href="#X">X</a></td></tr></table> + +<p><a name="page_001" id="page_001"></a></p> + +<h2><a name="INTRODUCTION" id="INTRODUCTION"></a>INTRODUCTION</h2> + +<p>Señor Blasco Ibáñez has asked me to say a few words by way of +introduction to <i>The Cabin</i> which shall be both simple and true.</p> + +<p>He has watched with conflicting emotions the reception of his words in +this country—pleasure as he has realized the warmth of their welcome +and the general consensus of critical approval, pleasure not unmixed +with other feelings as he has read the notices in which these opinions +have been expressed and the accounts of his career which have +accompanied them. Few writers during the past twenty years have lived so +much in the public eye; the facts of his life are accessible and clear. +Then why invent new ones? "It is necessary," he writes, "to correct all +this, to give an account of my life which shall be accurate and +authentic, and which shall not lead the public into further error."</p> + +<p>Why is the American press entirely ignorant in matters pertaining to +Spain? It is guiltless even of the shadow of learning. Not one editor in +the United States knows anything about the intellectual life of the +peninsula. Why print as information the veriest absurdities? A liberal +use of the word <i>perhaps</i> is not a substitute for good faith with the +reader. Here<a name="page_002" id="page_002"></a> is one of the great dramatic literatures of the world, +which by common consent is unrivalled except by the English and the +Greek, which today is as vigorous as it ever was in its Golden Age +during the seventeenth century, yet a fastidious and reputable review +published in this city is able to say when the plays of Benavente are +first translated in this country, that it "feels that Jacinto Benavente +has dramatic talent." Dramatic talent!—a man who has revolutionized the +theatre of a race, and whose works are the intellectual pride of tens of +millions of people over two continents? Ignorance ceases to be +ridiculous at a certain point and becomes criminal. The Irishman who +perpetrated this bull should be deported for it. Again, Spain has +produced the greatest novel of all time in <i>Don Quixote</i>, she has +originated the modern realistic novel, yet the publications may be +counted upon the fingers of one hand which can command the services of a +reviewer who is able even to name the two leading Spanish novelists of +today, much less to distinguish Pío Baroja from Blasco Ibáñez or Ricardo +León. This condition must cease, or it will become wilful.</p> + +<p>The author of <i>The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse</i> is not a regional +novelist.</p> + +<p>He is not a literary disciple of the late Don Juan Valera.</p> + +<p>He is not a literary anarchist, nor a follower of the Catalan Ferrer.</p> + +<p>He has not reformed Spain.<a name="page_003" id="page_003"></a></p> + +<p>He is not associated with a group of novelists or other writers who have +done so.</p> + +<p>Had this desirable end been attained, and attained through the efforts +of a novelist, that novelist would have been Don Benito Pérez Galdós.</p> + +<p>The author of <i>The Cabin</i> cannot in modesty accept of foreigners the +laurels of all the writers of Spain. The Spanish is an ancient, complex, +strongly characteristic civilization, of which he happily is a product. +It is his hope that Americans may become some day better acquainted with +the spirit and rich heritage of a great national literature through his +pages. As his works have long been translated into Russian and have been +familiar for many years in French, perhaps it is not too early to +anticipate the attention of the enterprising American public.</p> + +<p>Unfortunately standards of translation do not exist in this country. +Many believe that there is no such thing as translation, that the +essence of a book cannot be conveyed. The professor seizes his +dictionary, the lady tourist her pen; the ingenious publisher knows that +none is so low that he will not translate—the less the experience, the +more the translator, a maxim in the application of which Blasco Ibáñez +has suffered appalling casualties. When <i>Sangre y arena</i> ("Blood and +Sand") comes from the press as <i>The Blood of the Arena</i>, the judicious +pause—this is to thunder on the title page, not in the index—but when +we meet the eunuch of Sónnica transformed into an "old crone," error +passes the bounds of decency and<a name="page_004" id="page_004"></a> deserves punishment which is +callipygian. Nor are these translations worse than their fellows.</p> + +<p>Blunders of this sort ought no longer to be possible. If American +scholarship is not a sham, this reform, which is imperative, must be +immediate.</p> + +<p>Blasco Ibáñez was born in Valencia, that most typical of the cities of +the eastern littoral along the Mediterranean, known as the Spanish +Levant. The Valencian dialect is directly affiliated with the +neighboring Catalan, and through it with the Provençal rather than with +the Castilian of the interior plateau. In the character of the people +there is a facility which suggests the French, while an oriental element +is distinctly evident, persisting not only from the days of the Moorish +kingdoms, but eloquent of the shipping of the East and the <i>lingua +franca</i> of the inland sea. Blasco Ibáñez is a Levantine touched with a +suggestion of Cyprus, of Alexandria, with an adaptability and mobility +of temperament which have endowed him with a faculty of literary +improvisation which is extraordinary. He has been a novelist, a +controversialist, a politician, a member of the Cortes, a republican, an +orator, a traveller, an expatriate, a ranchman, a duellist, a +journalist. "He writes," says the Argentine Manuel Ugarte, "as freely as +other men talk. This is the secret of the freshness and charm of the +unforgettable pages of <i>The Cabin</i>, of the sense of fraternity and +<i>camaraderie</i> which springs up immediately, uniting the author and his +readers. He seems to be telling us a story between cigarettes<a name="page_005" id="page_005"></a> at the +café table. In these times when mankind is shaking itself free from +stupid snobbery to return to nature and to simple sincerity, this gift +of free and lucid expression is the highest of merits."</p> + +<p>Ibáñez's first stories dealt with the life of the Valencian plain, whose +marvellous fertility has become proverbial:</p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="poetry"> +<tr><td align="left"><span style="margin-left: 0em;">"Valencia is paradise;</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span style="margin-left: .25em;">Wheat today, tomorrow rice."</span></td></tr> +</table> + +<p>Swift with the movement of the born story-teller and the vitality of a +mind which is always at white heat, these tales are remarkable for vivid +descriptive power in which each successive picture conveys an impression +of the subject so intense that it seems plastic. He is a painter of +sunshine, not as it idly falls on the slumberous streets of the +Andalusian cities, but turbulent with the surging of the spirit, welling +up and pressing on.</p> + +<p>In the novel of a more intellectual, introspective feature, he has also +met with rare success, as Mr. Howells has well shown in one of the few +articles upon this author in English which are of value. The vein is +more complex but not less copious, remaining instinct with power. It is +indeed less national, an excursion into the processes of the northern +mind. Ibáñez, however, was never an æsthete; no phase of art could +detain him long. He sailed for Argentina to deliver a series of lectures +on national themes at a time when Anatole France was upholding the +Gallic<a name="page_006" id="page_006"></a> tradition in that country. Argentine life attracted him and he +became a ranchman on the Pampas, bought an American motor tractor, and +settled down to create the Argentine novel. South America, it must be +confessed, for some reason has been incontinently unproductive of great +novels, nor was Ibáñez to find its atmosphere more propitious than it +had proved to its native sons. Besides, the Spaniards, who are a +religious people, were praying for his return. He took ship as suddenly +as he had arrived and has since resided chiefly at Paris, a city which +has been to him from early youth a second home.</p> + +<p>In the cosmopolitan vortex of the great war capital, he has interpreted +the spirit of the vast world conflict in terms of the imagination with a +breadth and force of appeal such as has been given, perhaps, to no other +man. While Spain has remained neutral, under compulsion of material +conditions which those who best understand her will appreciate at their +true weight, in a single volume Ibáñez has been able to abrogate this +neutrality of the land, and to marshal his people publically where their +heart has always been secretly, in line with the progressive opinion of +the world.</p> + +<p>If in <i>The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse</i> he has rendered his greatest +service to humanity, in <i>The Cabin</i> he has made his chief contribution +to art. It is the most nicely rounded of his stories, the most perfect. +Spanish and Latin-American opinion is here unanimous. Nevertheless, +primarily it is a human<a name="page_007" id="page_007"></a> document. Rubén Darío, than whom, certainly, +none is better qualified to speak, emphasizes this crusading bias: "The +soul of a gladiator, a robust teller of tales <i>à la</i> Zola is +externalized in <i>The Cabin</i>. The creative flood proceeds without +faltering with a rapidity of invention which proclaims the riches of the +source. Books such as this are not written purely for love of art, they +embody profound human aspirations. They are beautiful pages not only, +but generous deeds and apostolic exploits as well." The ambient blends +admirably with the action and the characters to present a picture which +is satisfying and which appeals to the eye as complete. <i>The Cabin</i> is a +rarely visual story, and directly so, affording in this respect an +interesting contrast to the imaginative suggestion of the present-day +Castilian realists. In no other work has the author combined so +effectively the broad swish of his valiant style with the homely, even +crass detail which lends it significance. "A book like this," to quote +Iglesias Hermida, "is written only once in a life-time, and one book +like this is sufficient."</p> + +<p>A favorite anecdote of Blasco Ibáñez is so illuminative that it deserves +to be told in his own words:</p> + +<p>"When I go to the Bull Ring, as I do from time to time with a foreigner, +I enjoy the polychromatic animated spectacle of the crowded +amphitheatre, the theatric entrance of the fighters and the encounters +with the first bull. The second diverts me less, at the third I begin to +yawn, and when the fourth appears, I reach for the book or newspaper +which I have forehandedly brought along in my pocket. And<a name="page_008" id="page_008"></a> I suspect +that half of the spectators feel very much as I do.</p> + +<p>"A number of years ago a professor in one of the celebrated universities +of the United States came to visit me at Madrid, and I took him, as is +customary, to see a bull-fight.</p> + +<p>"This learned gentleman was also a man of action, a Roosevelt of the +professorial chair; he rode, he boxed, he was devoted to hunting big +game as well as to the exploration of unknown lands. He watched intently +every incident of the fight, knitting his blond eyebrows above his +spectacles—for he was near-sighted—as he did so. Occasionally he +muttered a word of approbation: 'Very good!' 'Truly interesting!' I saw, +however, that some new, original idea was crystallizing in his mind.</p> + +<p>"When we came out, he expressed himself:</p> + +<p>"'Very interesting entertainment, but somewhat monotonous. Would it not +be better to turn the six bulls loose simultaneously and then kill them +all at once? It might shorten the exhibition, but how much more +exciting! It would give those chaps an opportunity to show off their +courage.'</p> + +<p>"I looked upon that Yankee as upon a great sage. He had formulated +definitely the vague dissatisfaction with the bull-fight which had +lurked in my mind ever since, as a boy, I had suffered at the tiresome +spectacle. Yes! Six bulls at one time!"</p> + +<p>In the novel of Blasco Ibáñez, it is always six bulls at one time.<a name="page_009" id="page_009"></a></p> + +<p> +<br /> +<br /> +</p> + +<p class="r">THE CABIN<br /> +[LA BARRACA]</p> + +<p> +<br /> +<br /> +</p> + +<p><a name="page_010" id="page_010"></a></p> + +<p><a name="page_011" id="page_011"></a></p> + +<h1>THE CABIN</h1> + +<h2><a name="I" id="I"></a>I</h2> + +<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>HE vast plain stretched out under the blue splendour of dawn, a broad +sash of light which appeared in the direction of the sea.</p> + +<p>The last nightingales, tired of animating with their songs this autumn +night, which seemed like spring in the balminess of its atmosphere, +poured forth their final warble, as if the light of dawn wounded them +with its steely reflections.</p> + +<p>Flocks of sparrows arose like crowds of pursued urchins from the +thatched roofs of the farm-houses, and the tops of the trees trembled at +the first assault of these gamins of the air, who stirred up everything +with the flurry of their feathers.</p> + +<p>The sounds which fill the night had gradually died away: the babbling of +the canals, the murmur of the cane-plantations, the bark of the watchful +dog.<a name="page_012" id="page_012"></a></p> + +<p>The <i>huerta</i> was awaking, and its yawnings were growing ever noisier. +The crowing of the cock was carried on from farm-house to farm-house; +the bells of the village were answering, with noisy peals, the ringing +of the first mass which floated from the towers of Valencia, blue and +hazy in the distance. From the corrals came a discordant animal-concert; +the whinnying of horses, the lowing of gentle cows, the clucking of +hens, the bleating of lambs, the grunting of pigs, ... all the noisy +awakening of creatures who, upon feeling the first caress of dawn, +permeated with the pungent perfume of vegetation, long to be off and run +about the fields.</p> + +<p>Space became saturated with light; the shadows dissolved as though +swallowed up by the open furrows and the masses of foliage; and in the +hazy mist of dawn, humid and shining rows of mulberry-trees, waving +lines of cane-brake, large square beds of garden vegetables like +enormous green handkerchiefs, and the carefully tilled red earth, became +gradually more and more defined.</p> + +<p>Along the high-road there came creeping rows of moveable black dots, +strung out like files of<a name="page_013" id="page_013"></a> ants, all marching toward the city. From all +the ends of the <i>vega</i>, resounded the creaking of wheels mingled with +idle songs interrupted by shouts urging on the beasts; and from time to +time, like the sonorous heralding of dawn, the air was rent by the +furious braying of the donkey protesting so to speak against the heavy +labour which fell upon him with break of day.</p> + +<p>Along the canals, the glassy sheet of ruddy crystal was disturbed by +noisy plashings and loud beating of wings which silenced the frogs as +the ducks advanced like galleys of ivory, moving their serpentine necks +like fantastic prows.</p> + +<p>The plain was flooded with light, and life penetrated into the interior +of the farm-houses.</p> + +<p>Doors creaked as they opened; under the grape-arbours white figures +could be seen, which upon awakening stretched out, hands clasped behind +their heads, and gazed toward the illumined horizon.</p> + +<p>The stables stood with doors wide-open, vomiting forth a stream of +milch-cows, herds of goats, and the nags of the cart-drivers, all bound +for the city. From behind the screen of dwarfish trees which concealed +the road, came the jingle<a name="page_014" id="page_014"></a> of cow-bells, while mingling with their gay +notes, there sounded the shrill <i>arre, aca!</i><a name="FNanchor_A_1" id="FNanchor_A_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_A_1" class="fnanchor">[A]</a> urging on the stubborn +beasts.</p> + +<p>At the doorways of the farm-houses stood those who were city-bound and +those who remained to work in the fields, saluting each other.</p> + +<p>May the Lord give us a good-day!</p> + +<p>Good-day!</p> + +<p>And after this salutation, exchanged with all the gravity of country +folk who carry the blood of Moors in their veins, and who speak the name +of God only with solemn gesture, silence fell again if the passer-by +were one unknown; but if he were an intimate, he was commissioned with +the purchase, in Valencia, of small objects for the house or wife.</p> + +<p>The day had now completely dawned.</p> + +<p>The air was already cleared of the tenuous mist that rose during the +night from the damp fields and the noisy canals. The sun was coming out; +in the ruddy furrows the larks hopped about with the joy of living one +day more, and the mischievous sparrows, alighting at the still-closed +windows, pecked away at the wood, chirping<a name="page_015" id="page_015"></a> to those within, with the +shrill cry of the vagabond used to living at the expense of others:</p> + +<p>"Up, you lazy drones! Work in the fields so we may eat!"</p> + +<p>Pepeta, wife of Toni, known throughout the neighbourhood as Pimentó, had +just entered their <i>barraca</i>. She was a courageous creature, and despite +her pale flesh, wasted white by anaemia while still in full youth, the +most hard working woman in the entire <i>huerta</i>.<a name="FNanchor_B_2" id="FNanchor_B_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_B_2" class="fnanchor">[B]</a></p> + +<p>At daybreak, she was already returning from market. She had risen at +three, loaded herself with the baskets of garden-truck gathered by Toni +the night before, and groping for the paths while she cursed the vile +existence in which she was worked so hard, had guided herself like a +true daughter of the <i>huerta</i> through the darkness to Valencia. +Meanwhile her husband, that good fellow who was costing her so dearly, +continued to snore in the warm bed-chamber, bundled in the matrimonial +blankets.</p> + +<p>The wholesalers who bought the vegetables were well acquainted with this +woman, who,<a name="page_016" id="page_016"></a> even before the break of day, was already in the +market-place of Valencia. Seated amid her baskets, she shivered beneath +her thin, thread-bare shawl while she gazed, with an envy of which she +was not aware, at those who were drinking a cup of coffee to combat the +morning chill the better. She hoped with a submissive, animal-like +patience to get the money she had reckoned upon, in her complicated +calculations, in order to maintain Toni and run the house.</p> + +<p>When she had sold her vegetables, she returned home, running all the +way, to save an hour on the road.</p> + +<p>A second time she set forth to ply another trade; after the vegetables +came the milk. And dragging the red cow by the halter, followed along by +the playful calf which clung like an amorous satellite to its tail, +Pepeta returned to the city, carrying a little stick under her arm, and +a measuring-cup of tin with which to serve her customers.</p> + +<p><i>La Rocha</i>, as the cow was called on account of her reddish coat, mooed +gently and trembled under her sackcloth cover as she felt the chill of +morning, while she rolled her humid eyes toward the <i>barraca</i>, which +remained behind with<a name="page_017" id="page_017"></a> its black stable and its heavy air, and thought of +the fragrant straw with the voluptuous desire of sleep that is not +satisfied.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, Pepeta urged her on with the stick: it was growing late, and +the customers would complain. And the cow and little calf trotted along +the middle of the road of Alboraya, which was muddy and furrowed with +deep ruts.</p> + +<p>Along the sloping banks passed interminable rows of cigarette-girls and +silk-mill workers, each with a hamper on one arm, while the other swung +free. The entire virginity of the <i>huerta</i> went along this way toward +the factories, leaving behind, with the flutter of their skirts, a wake +of harsh, rough chastity.</p> + +<p>The blessing of God was over all the fields.</p> + +<p>The sun rising like an enormous red wafer from behind the trees and +houses which hid the horizon, shot forth blinding needles of gold. The +mountains in the background and the towers of the city took on a rosy +tint; the little clouds which floated in the sky grew red like crimson +silk; the canals and the pools which bordered the road seemed to become +filled with fiery fish; the swishing of the broom, the rattle of china, +and<a name="page_018" id="page_018"></a> all the sounds of the morning's cleaning came from within the +<i>barracas</i>.</p> + +<p>The women squatted by the edges of the pools, with baskets of clothes +for the wash at their sides; dark-grey rabbits came hopping along the +paths with their deceiving smile, showing, in their flight, their +reddish quarters, parted by the stub of a tail; with an eye red and +flaming with anger, the cock mounted the heap of reddish manure with his +peaceful odalisks about him and sent forth the cry of an irritated +sultan.</p> + +<p>Pepeta, oblivious to this awakening of dawn which she witnessed every +day, hurried on her way, her stomach empty, her limbs aching, her poor +clothing drenched with the perspiration characteristic of her pale, thin +blood, which flowed for weeks at a time contrary to the laws of Nature.</p> + +<p>The crowds of labouring people who were entering Valencia filled all the +bridges. Pepeta passed the labourers from the suburbs who had come with +their little breakfast-sacks over their shoulders, and stopped at the +<i>octroi</i> to get her receipt,—a few coins which grieved her soul anew +each day,—then went on through the deserted streets, whose silence was +broken by the<a name="page_019" id="page_019"></a> cowbells of <i>La Rocha</i>, a monotonous pastoral melody, +which caused the drowsy townsman to dream of green pastures and idyllic +scenery.</p> + +<p>Pepeta had customers in all parts of the city. She went her intricate +way through the streets, stopping before the closed doors; it was a blow +on a knocker here, three or more repeated raps there, and ever the +continuation of the strident, high-pitched cry, which it seemed could +not possibly come from a chest so poor and flat:</p> + +<p><i>La lleeet!</i></p> + +<p>And the dishevelled, sunken-eyed servant came down in slippers, jug in +hand, to receive the milk; or the aged concierge appeared, still wearing +the mantilla which she had put on to go to mass.</p> + +<p>By eight all the customers had been served. Pepeta was now near the +Fishermen's quarter.</p> + +<p>Here she had business also, and the poor farmer's wife bravely +penetrated the dirty alleys which, at this hour, seemed to be dead. She +always felt at first a certain uneasiness,—the instinctive repugnance +of a delicate stomach: but her spirit, that of a woman who, though ill, +was respectable, succeeded in rising above it, and she went on with a +certain proud satisfaction—<a name="page_020" id="page_020"></a>the pride of a chaste woman who consoles +herself by remembering that though bent and weakened by her poverty, she +is still superior to others.</p> + +<p>From the closed and silent houses came forth the breath of the cheap, +noisy, shameless rabble mingled with an odour of heated, rotting flesh; +and through the cracks of the doors, there seemed to escape the gasping +and brutal breathing of heavy sleep, after a night of wild-beast +caresses and amorous, drunken desires.</p> + +<p>Pepeta heard some one calling her. At the entrance to a narrow stairway +stood a sturdy girl, making signs to her. She was ugly, without any +other charm than that of youth disappearing already; her eyes were +humid, her hair twisted in a topknot, and her cheeks, still stained by +the rouge of the preceding night, seemed like a caricature of the red +daubs on the face of a clown,—a clown of vice.</p> + +<p>The peasant woman, tightening her lips with a grimace of pride and +disdain, in order that the distance between them might be well-marked, +began to fill a jar which the girl gave her with milk from La Rocha's +udders. The latter, however, did not take her eyes from the farmer's +wife.<a name="page_021" id="page_021"></a></p> + +<p>"Pepeta,"—she said, in an indecisive voice, as though she were +uncertain if it were really she.</p> + +<p>Pepeta raised her head; she fixed her eyes for the first time upon the +girl; then she also appeared to be in doubt.</p> + +<p>"Rosario,—is it you?"</p> + +<p>Yes, it was; with sad nods of the head she confirmed it. Pepeta +immediately showed her surprise. She here! A daughter of such honourable +parents! God! What shame!</p> + +<p>The prostitute, through professional habit, tried to receive those +exclamations of the scandalized farmer's wife with a cynical smile and +the sceptical expression of one who has been initiated into the secret +of life, and who believes in nothing; but Pepeta's clear eyes seemed to +shame the girl, and she dropped her head as though she were about to +weep.</p> + +<p>No: she was not bad. She had worked in the factories, she had been a +servant, but finally, her sisters, tired of suffering hunger, had given +her the example. So here she was, sometimes receiving caresses, and +sometimes receiving blows, and here she would stay till she ceased to +live forever. It was natural: any family may<a name="page_022" id="page_022"></a> end thus where there is no +mother nor father left. The cause of it all was the master of the land; +he was to blame for everything, that Don Salvador, who assuredly must be +burning in hell! Ah, thief! How he had ruined the entire family!</p> + +<p>Pepeta forgot her frigid attitude and cold reserve in order to join in +the girl's indignation. It was the truth, the whole truth! That +avaricious old miser was to blame. The entire <i>huerta</i> knew it! Heaven +save us! How easily a family may be ruined! And poor old Barret had been +so good! If he could only raise his head and see his daughters!... It +was well-known yonder that the poor father had died in Ceuta two years +before; and as for the mother, the poor widow had ended her suffering on +a hospital-bed.</p> + +<p>What changes take place in the world in ten years! Who would have said +to her, and her sisters, who were reigning like queens in their homes at +the time, that they would come to such an end? Oh Lord! Lord! Deliver us +from evil!</p> + +<p>Rosario became animated during this conversation; she seemed rejuvenated +by this friend of<a name="page_023" id="page_023"></a> her childhood. Her eyes, previously dead, sparkled as +she recalled the past.</p> + +<p>And the <i>barraca</i>? And the land? They were still deserted. Truly? That +pleased her;—let them go to smash,—let them go to rack and +ruin,—those sons of the rascally don Salvador.</p> + +<p>That alone seemed to console her: she was very grateful to Pimentó and +to all the others, because they had prevented those people yonder from +coming to work the land which rightfully belonged to the family. And if +any one wished to take possession of it, he knew only too well the +remedy.... Bang! A report from a gun which would blow his head off!</p> + +<p>The girl grew bolder; her eyes gleamed fiercely; within the passive +breast of the prostitute, accustomed to blows, there came to life the +daughter of the <i>huerta</i>, who, from very birth, has seen the musket hung +behind the door, and breathed in the smell of gunpowder on feast-days +with delight.</p> + +<p>After speaking of the sad past Rosario, whose curiosity was awakened, +went on inquiring about all the folks at home, and ended by noticing how +badly Pepeta looked. Poor thing! It was perfectly<a name="page_024" id="page_024"></a> apparent that she was +not happy. Although still young, her eyes, clear, guileless, and timid +as a virgin's, alone revealed her real age. Her body was a mere +skeleton, and her reddish hair, the colour of a tender ear of corn, was +streaked with grey though as yet she had not reached her thirtieth year.</p> + +<p>What kind of a life was Pimentó giving her? Always drunk and averse to +work? She had brought it upon herself, marrying him contrary to every +one's advice. He was a strapping fellow, that was true; every one feared +him in the tavern of Copa on Sunday evenings, when he played cards with +the worst bullies of the <i>huerta</i>; but in the house, he was bound to +prove an insufferable husband. Still, after all, men are all alike! +Perhaps she didn't know it! Dogs, all of them, not worth the trouble of +being looked after! Great Heavens! how ill poor Pepeta was looking!</p> + +<p>The loud, deep voice of a virago resounded like a clap of thunder down +the narrow stairway.</p> + +<p>"Elisa! Bring up the milk at once! The gentleman is waiting!"</p> + +<p>Rosario began to laugh as though mad. "I am called Elisa now! You didn't +know that!"<a name="page_025" id="page_025"></a></p> + +<p>It was a requirement of her business to change her name, as well as to +speak with an Andalusian accent. And she began to imitate the voice of +the virago upstairs with a species of rough humour.</p> + +<p>But in spite of her mirth, she was in a hurry to get away. She was +afraid of those upstairs. The owner of the rough voice or the gentleman +who wanted the milk might give her some memento of the delay. So she +hurried up after urging Pepeta to stop again some other time to tell her +the news of the <i>huerta</i>.</p> + +<p>The monotonous tinkling of the bell of La Rocha continued for more than +an hour through the streets of Valencia; the wilted udders yielded up +their last drop of insipid milk, produced by a miserable diet of +cabbage-leaves and garbage, and Pepeta finally was ready to start back +toward the <i>barraca</i>.</p> + +<p>The poor labouring-woman walked along sadly deep in thought. The +encounter had impressed her; she remembered, as though it had just +happened the day before, the terrible tragedy which had swallowed up old +Barret and his entire family.</p> + +<p>Since then, the fields, which his ancestors had<a name="page_026" id="page_026"></a> tilled for more than a +hundred years, had lain abandoned at the edge of the high road.</p> + +<p>The uninhabited <i>barraca</i> was slowly crumbling to pieces without any +merciful hand to mend the roof or to cast a handful of clay upon the +chinks in the wall.</p> + +<p>Ten years of passing and re-passing had accustomed people to the sight +of this ruin, so they paid no further attention to it. It had been some +time since even Pepeta had looked at it. It now interested only the boys +who, inheriting the hatred of their fathers, trampled down the nettles +of the abandoned fields in order to riddle the deserted house with +rocks, which split great gaps in the closed door, or to fill up the well +under the ancient grape-arbour with earth and stones.</p> + +<p>But this morning Pepeta, under the spell of the recent meeting, not only +looked at the ruin, but stopped at the edge of the highway to see it the +better.</p> + +<p>The fields of old Barret, or rather, of the Jew, Don Salvador, and his +excommunicated heirs, were an oasis of misery and abandonment in the +midst of the <i>huerta</i>, so fertile, well-tilled, and smiling.<a name="page_027" id="page_027"></a></p> + +<p>Ten years of desolation had hardened the soil, causing all the parasitic +plants, all the nettles which the Lord has created to chasten the +farmer, to spring up out of its sterile depths. A dwarfish forest, +tangled and deformed, spread itself out over those fields in waving +ranks of strange green tones, varied here and there by flowers, +mysterious and rare, of the sort which thrive only amid cemeteries and +ruins.</p> + +<p>Here, in the rank maze of this thicket, fostered by the security of +their retreat, there bred and multiplied all species of loathsome +vermin, which spread out into the neighbouring fields; green lizards +with corrugated loins, enormous beetles with shells of metallic +reflection, spiders with short and hairy legs, and even snakes, which +slid off to the adjoining canals. Here they thrived in the midst of the +beautiful and cultivated plain, forming a separate estate, and devouring +one another. Though they caused some damage to the farmers, the latter +respected them even with a certain veneration, for the seven plagues of +Egypt would have seemed but a trifle to the dwellers of the <i>huerta</i> had +they descended upon those accursed fields.</p> + +<p>The lands of old Barret never had been destined<a name="page_028" id="page_028"></a> for man, so let the +most loathsome pests nest among them, and the more, the better.</p> + +<p>In the midst of these fields of desolation, which stood out in the +beautiful plain like a soiled patch on a royal robe of green velvet, the +<i>barraca</i> rose up, or one should rather say fell away, its straw roof +bursting open, showing through the gaps, which the rain and wind had +pierced, the worm-eaten framework of wood within.</p> + +<p>The walls, rotted away by the rains, laid bare the clay-adobe. Only some +very light stains revealed the former whitewash; the door was ragged +along the lower edge which rats had gnawed, with wide cracks that ran, +full length, from end to end. The two or three little windows, gaping +wide, hung loosely on one hinge exposed to the mercy of the south-west +winds, ready to fall as soon as the first gust should shake them.</p> + +<p>This ruin hurt the spirit and weighed upon the heart. It seemed as +though phantoms might sally forth from the wretched and abandoned hut as +soon as darkness closed in; that from the interior might come the cries +of the assassinated, rending the night; that all this waste of weeds<a name="page_029" id="page_029"></a> +might be a shroud to conceal hundreds of tragic corpses from sight.</p> + +<p>Horrible were the visions which were conjured up by the contemplation of +these desolate fields; and their gloomy poverty was sharpened by the +contrast with the surrounding fields, so red and well-cultivated, with +their orderly rows of garden-truck and their little fruit-trees, to +whose leaves the autumn gave a yellowish transparency.</p> + +<p>Even the birds fled from these plains of death, perhaps from fear of the +hideous reptiles which stirred about under the growth of weeds, or +possibly because they scented the vapour of abandonment.</p> + +<p>If anything were seen to flutter over the broken roof of straw, it was +certain to be of funereal plumage with black and treacherous wings, +which as they stirred, cast silence over the joyful flappings and +playful twitterings in the trees, leaving the <i>huerta</i> deathly still, as +though no sparrows chirped within a half-league roundabout.</p> + +<p>Pepeta was about to continue on her way toward her farm-house, which +peered whitely among the trees some distance across the fields; but she +had to stand still at the steep edge of the highroad in order to permit +the passing of a<a name="page_030" id="page_030"></a> loaded wagon, which seemed to be coming from the city, +and which advanced with violent lurches.</p> + +<p>At the sight of it, her feminine curiosity was aroused.</p> + +<p>It was the poor cart of a farmer drawn by an old and bony nag, which was +being helped over the deep ruts by a tall man, who marched alongside the +horse, encouraging him with shouts and the cracking of a whip.</p> + +<p>He was dressed like a labourer; but his manner of wearing the +handkerchief knotted around the head, his corduroy trousers, and other +details of his costume, indicated that he was not from the <i>huerta</i>, +where personal adornment had gradually been corrupted by the fashions of +the city. He was a farmer from some distant <i>pueblo</i>; he had come, +perhaps, from the very centre of the province.</p> + +<p>Heaped high upon the cart, forming a pyramid which mounted higher even +than the side-poles, was piled a jumble of domestic objects. This was +the migration of an entire family. Thin mattresses, straw-beds, filled +with rustling leaves of corn, rush-seats, frying-pans, kettles, plates, +baskets, green bed-slats: all were heaped<a name="page_031" id="page_031"></a> upon the wagon, dirty, worn, +and miserable, speaking of hunger, of desperate flight, as if disgrace +stalked behind the family, treading at its heels. And on top of this +disordered mass were three children, embracing each other as they looked +out across the fields with wide-open eyes, like explorers visiting a +country for the first time.</p> + +<p>Treading close at the heels of the wagon, watching vigilantly to see +that nothing might fall, trudged a woman with a slender girl, who +appeared to be her daughter. At the other side of the nag, aiding him +whenever the cart stuck in a rut, stalked a boy of some eleven years. +His grave exterior was that of a child accustomed to struggle with +misery. He was already a man at an age when others were still playing. A +little dog, dirty and panting, brought up the rear.</p> + +<p>Pepeta, leaning on the flank of her cow, and possessed with growing +curiosity, watched them pass on. Where could these poor people be going?</p> + +<p>This road, running into the fork of Alboraya, did not lead anywhere; it +was lost in the distance as though exhausted by the innumerable +forkings<a name="page_032" id="page_032"></a> of its lanes and paths, which gave entrance to the various +<i>barracas</i>.</p> + +<p>But her curiosity had an unexpected gratification. Holy Virgin! The +wagon turned away from the road, crossed the tumbledown little bridge +made of tree-trunks and sod which gave access to the accursed fields, +and went on through the meadows of old Barret, crushing the hitherto +respected growth of weeds beneath its wheels.</p> + +<p>The family followed behind, manifesting by gestures and confused words, +the impression which this miserable poverty and decay were making upon +them, but all the while going directly in a straight line toward the +ruined <i>barraca</i> like those who are taking possession of their own.</p> + +<p>Pepeta did not stop to see more; she fairly flew toward her own home. In +order to arrive the sooner, she abandoned the cow and little calf, who +tranquilly pursued their way like animals who have a good, safe stable +and are not worried about the course of human affairs.</p> + +<p>Pimentó was lazily smoking, as he lay stretched out at the side of his +<i>barraca</i> with his gaze fixed upon three little sticks smeared with +bird-lime, which shone in the sun, and about<a name="page_033" id="page_033"></a> which some birds were +fluttering,—the occupation of a gentleman.</p> + +<p>When he saw his wife arrive with astonished eyes and her weak chest +panting, Pimentó changed his position in order to listen the better, at +the same time warning her not to come near the little sticks.</p> + +<p>What was up now? Had the cow been stolen from her?</p> + +<p>Pepeta, between weariness and emotion, was scarcely able to utter two +consecutive words.</p> + +<p>The lands of Barret, ... an entire family, ... were going to work; they +were going to live in the ruined <i>barraca</i>,—she had seen it herself!</p> + +<p>Pimentó, a hunter with bird-lime, an enemy of labour, and the terror of +the entire community, was no longer able to preserve his composure, the +impressive gravity of a great lord, before such unexpected news.</p> + +<p><i>Cordons!</i></p> + +<p>And with one bound, he raised his heavy, muscular frame from the ground, +and set out on a run without awaiting further explanations.</p> + +<p>His wife watched him as he hurried across the fields until he reached a +cane-brake adjoining<a name="page_034" id="page_034"></a> the accursed land. Here he knelt down, threw +himself face forward, crawling upon his belly as he spied through the +cane-brake like a Bedouin in ambush. After a few minutes, he began to +run again, and was soon lost to sight amid the labyrinth of paths, each +of which led off to a different <i>barraca</i>, to a field where bending +figures wielded large steel hoes, which glittered as the light struck +upon them.</p> + +<p>The <i>huerta</i> lay smiling and rustling, filled with whisperings and with +light, drowsy under the cascade of gold reflected from the morning sun.</p> + +<p>But soon there came, from the distance, the mingled sound of cries and +halloes. The news passed on from field to field. With loud shouts, with +a trembling of alarm, of surprise, of indignation, it ran on through all +the plain as though centuries had not elapsed, and the report were being +spread that an Algerian galley was about to land upon the beach, seeking +a cargo of white flesh.<a name="page_035" id="page_035"></a></p> + +<h2><a name="II" id="II"></a>II</h2> + +<p class="nind"><span class="letra">A</span>T harvest time, when old Barret gazed at the various plots into which +his fields were divided, he was unable to restrain a feeling of pride. +As he gazed upon the tall wheat, the cabbage-heads with their hearts of +fleecy lace, the melons showing their green backs on a level with the +earth, the pimentoes and tomatoes, half-hidden by their foliage, he +praised the goodness of the earth as well as the efforts of all his +ancestors for working these fields better than the rest of the <i>huerta</i>.</p> + +<p>All the blood of his forefathers was here. Five or six generations of +Barrets had passed their lives working this same soil. They had turned +it over and over, taking care that its vital nourishment should not +decrease, combing and caressing it with ploughshare and hoe; there was +not one of these fields which had not been watered by the sweat and +blood of the family.</p> + +<p>The farmer loved his wife dearly, and even<a name="page_036" id="page_036"></a> forgave her the folly of +having given him four daughters and no son, to help him in his work. Not +that he loved his daughters any the less, angels sent from God who +passed the day singing and sewing at the door of their farm-house, and +who sometimes went out into the fields in order to give their poor +father a little rest. But the supreme passion of old Barret, the love of +all his loves, was the land upon which the silent and monotonous history +of his family had unrolled.</p> + +<p>Many years ago, many indeed, in those days when old Tomba, an aged man +now nearly blind, who took care of the poor herd of a butcher at +Alboraya, went roaming about in the band of The Friar,<a name="FNanchor_C_3" id="FNanchor_C_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_C_3" class="fnanchor">[C]</a> shooting at +the French, these lands had belonged to the monks of San Miguel de los +Reyes.</p> + +<p>They were good, stout gentlemen, sleek and voluble, who were not in a +hurry to collect their rentals, and appeared to be satisfied if when +they passed the cabin of an evening, the grand-<a name="page_037" id="page_037"></a>mother, who was a +generous soul, would treat them to deep cups of chocolate, and the first +fruits of the season. Before, long before, the owner of all this land +had been a great lord, who upon dying, had unloaded both his sins and +his estates upon the bosom of the community. Now, alas! they belonged to +Don Salvador, a little, dried-up old man of Valencia, who so tormented +old Barret, that he even dreamed of him at night.</p> + +<p>The poor farmer kept his trouble hidden from his family. He was a +courageous man of clean habits. If he went to the tavern of Copa for a +while on Sundays, when all the people of the neighbourhood were gathered +there together, it was in order to watch the card-players, to laugh +heartily at the absurdities and brutalities of Pimentó, and the other +strapping young fellows who played "cock o' the walk" about the +<i>huerta</i>; but never did he approach a counter to buy a glass; he always +kept his sash-purse tight around the waist, and if he drank at all, it +was only when one of the winners was treating all the crowd.</p> + +<p>Averse to discussing his difficulties, he always seemed to be smiling, +good-natured and calm, with the blue cap which had won for him<a name="page_038" id="page_038"></a> his +nickname,<a name="FNanchor_D_4" id="FNanchor_D_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_D_4" class="fnanchor">[D]</a> pulled well down over his ears.</p> + +<p>He worked from daylight until dusk. While the rest of the <i>huerta</i> still +slept, he tilled his fields in the uncertain light of dawn, but more and +more convinced, all the time, that he could not go on working them +alone.</p> + +<p>It was too great a burden for one man. If he only had a son! When he +sought aid, he took on servants who robbed him, worked but little, and +whom he discharged when he surprised them asleep in the stable during +the sunny hours.</p> + +<p>Obsessed with his respect for his ancestors, he would rather have died +in his fields, overcome by fatigue, than rent a single acre to strange +hands. And since he could not manage all the work alone, half of his +fertile land remained fallow and unproductive, while he tried to +maintain his family and pay off his landlord by the cultivation of the +other half.</p> + +<p>A silent struggle was this, desperate and obstinate, to earn enough for +the necessities of life and overcome the ebbing of his vitality.</p> + +<p>He now had only one wish. It was that his little girls should not know; +that no one should<a name="page_039" id="page_039"></a> give them an inkling of the worries and troubles +which harassed their father; that the sacred joy of this household, the +joy enlivened at all hours by the songs and laughter of the four +sisters, who had been born in four successive years, should not be +broken.</p> + +<p>And they, in the meantime, had already begun to attract the attention of +the young swains of the <i>huerta</i>, when they went to the merrymakings of +the village in their new and showy silk handkerchiefs and their rustling +ironed skirts. And while they were getting up at dawn and slipping off +barefooted in their chemises in order to look down, through the cracks +of the little windows, at the suitors who were singing the <i>albaes</i>,<a name="FNanchor_E_5" id="FNanchor_E_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_E_5" class="fnanchor">[E]</a> +or who wooed them with thrummings of the guitar, poor old Barret, trying +harder and harder to balance his accounts, drew out ounce by ounce the +handful of gold which his father had amassed for him farthing by +farthing, and tried in vain to appease Don Salvador, the old miser who +never had enough, and who, not content with squeezing him, kept talking +of the bad times, the scandalous increase in taxes, and the need of +raising his rent.</p> + +<p>Barret could not possibly have had a worse<a name="page_040" id="page_040"></a> landlord. He bore a +detestable reputation throughout the entire <i>huerta</i>, since there was +hardly a district where he did not own property. Every evening he passed +over the roads, visiting his tenants, wrapped up even in springtime in +his old cloak, shabby and looking like a beggar, while maledictions and +hostile gestures followed after him. It was the tenacity of avarice +which desired to be in contact with its property at all hours; the +persistency of the usurer, who has pending accounts to settle.</p> + +<p>The dogs howled from a distance when they saw him, as though Death +itself were approaching; the children looked after him with frowning +faces; men hid themselves in order to avoid painful excuses, and the +women came to meet him at the door of the cabin with their eyes upon the +ground and the lie ready to entreat him to be patient, while they +answered his blustering threats with tears.</p> + +<p>Pimentó who, as the public bully, interested himself in the misfortunes +of his neighbours, and who was the knight-errant of the <i>huerta</i>, +muttered something through his teeth which sounded like the promise of a +thrashing, with a cooling-off later in a canal. But the very victims of +the<a name="page_041" id="page_041"></a> miser held him back, telling him of the influence of Don Salvador, +warning him that he was a man who spent his mornings in court and had +powerful friends. With such, the poor are always losers.</p> + +<p>Of all his tenants, the best was Barret, who at the cost of great effort +owed him nothing at all. And the old miser, even while pointing him out +as a model to the other tenants, carried his cruelty toward him to the +utmost extreme. Aroused by the very meekness of the farmer he showed +himself more exacting, and was evidently pleased to find a man upon whom +he could vent without fear all his instincts of robbery and oppression.</p> + +<p>Finally he raised the rent of the land. Barret protested, even wept as +he recited to him the merits of the family who had worked the skin from +their hands in order to make these fields the best of the <i>huerta</i>. But +Don Salvador was inflexible. Were they the best? Then he ought to pay +more. And Barret paid the increase; he would give up his last drop of +blood before he would abandon those fields which little by little were +taking his very life.</p> + +<p>At last he had no money left to tide him over. He could count only upon +the produce from the<a name="page_042" id="page_042"></a> fields. And completely alone, poor Barret +concealed the real situation from his family. He forced himself to smile +when his wife and daughters begged him not to work so hard, and he kept +on like a veritable madman.</p> + +<p>He did not sleep; it seemed to him that his garden-truck was growing +less quickly than that of his neighbours; he made up his mind that he, +and he alone, should cultivate all the land; he worked at night, groping +in the darkness; the slightest threatening cloud would make him tremble, +and be fairly beside himself with fear; and finally, honourable and good +as he was, he even took advantage of the carelessness of his neighbours +and robbed them of their share of water for the irrigation.</p> + +<p>But if his family were blind, the neighbouring farmers understood his +situation and pitied him for his meekness. He was a big, good-natured +fellow, who did not know how to put on a bold front before the repellent +miser, who was slowly draining him dry.</p> + +<p>And this was true. The poor fellow, exhausted by his feverish existence +and mad labour, became a mere skeleton of skin and bones, bent over like +an octogenarian, with sunken eyes.<a name="page_043" id="page_043"></a> That characteristic cap, which had +given him his nickname, no longer remained settled upon his ears, but as +he grew leaner, drooped toward his shoulders, like the funereal +extinguisher of his existence.</p> + +<p>But the worst of it was that this insufferable excess of fatigue only +served to pay half of what the insatiable monster demanded. The +consequences of his mad labours were not slow in coming. Barret's nag, a +long-suffering animal, the companion of all his frantic toil, tired of +working both day and night, of drawing the cart with loads of +garden-truck to the market at Valencia, and of being hitched to the +plough without time to breathe or to cool off, decided to die rather +than to attempt the slightest rebellion against his poor master.</p> + +<p>Then indeed the poor farmer saw himself lost! He gazed with desperation +at his fields which he could no longer cultivate; the rows of fresh +garden-truck which the people in the city devoured indifferently without +suspecting the anxiety the produce had caused the poor farmer, in the +constant battle with his poverty and with the land.</p> + +<p>But Providence, which never abandons the<a name="page_044" id="page_044"></a> poor, spoke to him through the +mouth of Don Salvador. Not vainly do they say that God often derives +good from evil.</p> + +<p>The insufferable miser, the voracious usurer, offered his assistance +with touching and paternal kindness on hearing of Barret's misfortune. +How much did he need to buy another beast? Fifty dollars? Then here he +was, ready to aid him, and to show him how unjust was the hatred of +those who despised and spoke ill of him.</p> + +<p>And he loaned money to Barret, although with the insignificant detail of +demanding that he place his signature (since business is business), at +the foot of a certain paper in which he mentioned interest, the +accumulation of interest, and security for the debt, listing to cover +this last detail, the furniture, the implements, all that the farmer +possessed on his farm, including the animals of the corral.</p> + +<p>Barret, encouraged by the possession of a new and vigorous young horse, +returned to his work with more spirit, to kill himself again over those +lands which were crushing him, and which seemed to grow in proportion as +his efforts diminished until they enveloped him like a red shroud.<a name="page_045" id="page_045"></a></p> + +<p>All that his fields produced was eaten by his family, and the handful of +copper which he made by his sales in the market of Valencia was soon +scattered; he could never eke out enough to satisfy the avarice of Don +Salvador.</p> + +<p>The anguish of old Barret over his struggle to pay his debt and his +failure to do so aroused in him a certain instinct of rebellion which +caused all sorts of confused ideas of justice to surge through his crude +reasoning. Why were not the fields his own? All his ancestors had spent +their lives upon these lands; they were sprinkled with the sweat of his +family; if it were not for them, the Barrets, these lands would be as +depopulated as the sands of the seashore. And now this inhuman old man, +who was the master here, though he did not know how to pick up a hoe and +had never bent his back in toil in his whole life, was putting the +screws on him and crushing him with all his "reminders." Christ! How the +affairs of men are ordered!</p> + +<p>But these revolts were only momentary; the resigned submission of the +labourer returned to him; with his traditional and superstitious respect +for property. He must work and be honest.</p> + +<p>And the poor man, who considered that failure<a name="page_046" id="page_046"></a> to pay one's obligation +was the greatest of all dishonours, returned to his work, growing ever +weaker and thinner, and feeling within himself the gradual sagging of +his vitality. Convinced that he would not be able to drag out the +situation much longer, he was yet indignant at the mere possibility of +abandoning a handful of the lands of his forefathers.</p> + +<p>When Christmas came, he was able to pay Don Salvador only a small part +of the half-year's rent that fell due; Saint John's day arrived, and he +had not a <i>centime</i>; his wife was sick; he had even sold their wedding +jewelry in order to meet expenses; ... the ancient pendant earrings, and +the collar of pearls, which were the family treasure, and the future +possession of which had given rise to discussions among the four +daughters.</p> + +<p>The avaricious old miser proved himself to be inflexible. No, Barret, +this could not continue. Since he was kind-hearted (however unwilling +people were to believe it), he would not permit the farmer to kill +himself in his determination to cultivate more land than his efforts +were equal to. No, he would not consent to it; he was too kind-hearted. +And as he had received<a name="page_047" id="page_047"></a> another offer of rental, he notified Barret to +relinquish the fields as soon as possible. He was very sorry, but he +also was poor. Ah! And at the same time, he reminded him that it would +be necessary to pay back the loan for the purchase of the horse, ... a +sum which with the interest amounted to....</p> + +<p>The poor farmer did not even pay attention to the sum of some thousand +reals to which his debt had aggregated with the blessed interest, so +agitated and confused did he become by this order to abandon his lands.</p> + +<p>His weakness and the inner erosion produced by the crushing struggle of +two years showed themselves suddenly.</p> + +<p>He, who had never wept, now sobbed like a child. All of his pride, his +Moorish gravity, disappeared all at once, and kneeling down before the +old man, he begged him not to forsake him since he looked upon him as a +father.</p> + +<p>But a fine father poor Barret had picked! Don Salvador proved to be +relentless. He was sorry, but he could not help it: he himself was poor; +he had to provide a living for his sons. And he continued to cloak his +cruelty with sentences of hypocritical sentimentality.<a name="page_048" id="page_048"></a></p> + +<p>The farmer grew tired of asking for mercy. He made several trips to +Valencia to the house of the master to remind him of his forefathers, of +his moral right to those lands, begging him for a little patience, +declaring with frenzied hope that he would pay him back. But at last the +miser refused to open his door to him.</p> + +<p>Then desperation gave Barret new life. He became again the son of the +<i>huerta</i>, proud, spirited, intractable, when he is convinced that he is +in the right. The landlord did not wish to listen to him? He refused to +give him any hope? Very well; he was in his own house; if Don Salvador +desired anything, he would have to seek him there. He would like to see +the bully who could make him leave his farm.</p> + +<p>And he went on working, but with misgiving, gazing anxiously about if +any one unknown to him happened to be approaching over the adjoining +roads, as though expecting at any moment to be attacked by a band of +bandits.</p> + +<p>They summoned him to court, but he did not appear.</p> + +<p>He already knew what this meant: the snares that men set in order to +ruin the honourable. If they were going to rob him, let them seek<a name="page_049" id="page_049"></a> him +out on these lands which had become a part of his very flesh and blood, +for as such he would defend them.</p> + +<p>One day they gave him notice that the court was going to begin +proceedings to expel him from his land that very afternoon; furthermore, +they would attach everything he had in his cabin to meet his debts. He +would not be sleeping there that night.</p> + +<p>This news was so incredible to poor old Barret that he smiled with +incredulity. This might happen to others, to those cheats who had never +paid anything; but he, who had always fulfilled his duty, who had even +been born here, who owed only a year's rent,—nonsense! Such a thing +could not happen, even though one were living among savages, without +charity or religion!</p> + +<p>But in the afternoon, when he saw certain men in black coming along the +road, big funereal birds with wings of paper rolled under the arm, he no +longer was in doubt. This was the enemy. They were coming to rob him.</p> + +<p>And suddenly there was awakened within old Barret the blind courage of +the Moor who will suffer every manner of insult but who goes<a name="page_050" id="page_050"></a> mad when +his property is touched. Running into the cabin, he seized the old +shot-gun, always hung loaded behind the door, and raising it to his +shoulder, took his stand under the vineyard, ready to put two bullets +into the first bandit of the law to set foot upon his fields.</p> + +<p>His sick wife and four daughters came running out, shouting wildly, and +threw themselves upon him, trying to wrest away the gun, pulling at the +barrel with both hands. And such were the cries of the group, as they +struggled and contended for it, reeling from one pillar of the +grape-arbour to the other, that people from the neighbourhood began to +run out, arriving in an anxious crowd, with the fraternal solidarity of +those who live in deserted places.</p> + +<p>It was Pimentó who prudently made himself master of the shot-gun and +carried it off to his house. Barret staggered behind, trying to pursue +him but restrained and held fast by the strong arms of some strapping +young fellows, while he vented his madness upon the fool who was keeping +him from defending his own.</p> + +<p>"Pimentó,—thief! Give me back my shot-gun!"<a name="page_051" id="page_051"></a></p> + +<p>But the bully smiled good-naturedly, satisfied that he was behaving both +prudently and paternally with the old madman. Thus he brought him to his +own farm-house, where he and Barret's friends watched him and advised +him not to do a foolish deed. Have a care, old Barret! These people are +from the court, and the poor always lose when they pick a quarrel with +<i>it</i>! Coolness and evil design succeed above everything.</p> + +<p>And at the same time, the big black birds were writing papers, and yet +more papers in the farm-house of Barret; impassively they turned over +the furniture and the clothing, making an inventory even of the corral +and the stable, while the wife and the daughters wept in despair, and +the terrified crowd, gathering at the door, followed all the details of +the deed, trying to console the poor woman, or breaking out into +suppressed maledictions against the Jew, Don Salvador, and these fellows +who yielded obedience to such a dog.</p> + +<p>Toward nightfall, Barret, who was like one overwhelmed, and who, after +the mad crisis, had fallen into a stony stupor, saw some bundles of<a name="page_052" id="page_052"></a> +clothing at his feet, and heard the metallic sound of a bag which +contained his farming implements.</p> + +<p>"Father! Father!" whimpered the tremulous voices of his daughters, who +threw themselves into his arms; behind them the old woman, sick, +trembling with fever, and in the rear, invading the <i>barraca</i> of +Pimentó, and disappearing into the background through the dark door, all +the people of the neighbourhood, the terrified chorus of the tragedy.</p> + +<p>He had already been driven away from his farm-house. The men in black +had closed it, taking away the keys; nothing remained to them there +except the bundles which were on the floor; the worn clothing, the iron +implements; this was all which they were permitted to take out of the +house.</p> + +<p>Their words were broken by sobs; the father and the daughters embraced +again, and Pepeta, the mistress of the house, as well as other women, +wept and repeated the maledictions against the old miser until Pimentó +opportunely intervened.</p> + +<p>There would be time left to speak of what had occurred; now it was time +for supper. What the deuce! Grieve like this because of an old Jew!<a name="page_053" id="page_053"></a> If +he could but see all this, how his evil heart would rejoice! The people +of the <i>huerta</i> were kind; all of them would help to care for the family +of old Barret, and would share with them a loaf of bread if they had +nothing more.</p> + +<p>The wife and daughters of the ruined farmer went off with some +neighbours to pass the night in their houses. Old Barret remained +behind, under the vigilance of Pimentó.</p> + +<p>The two men remained seated until ten in their rush-chairs, smoking +cigar after cigar in the candle-light.</p> + +<p>The poor old farmer appeared to be crazy. He answered in short +monosyllables the reflections of this bully, who now assumed the rôle of +a good-natured fellow; and when he spoke it was always to repeat the +same words:</p> + +<p>"Pimentó! Give me my shot-gun!"</p> + +<p>And Pimentó smiled with a sort of admiration. The sudden ferocity of +this little old man, who was considered a good-natured fool by all the +<i>huerta</i>, astounded him. Return him the shot-gun! At once! He well +divined by the straight wrinkles which stood out between his eyebrows, +his firm intention of blowing the author of his ruin to atoms.<a name="page_054" id="page_054"></a></p> + +<p>Barret grew more and more vexed with the young fellow. He went so far as +to call him a thief: he had refused to give him his weapon. He had no +friends; he could see that well enough; all of them were only ingrates, +equal to don Salvador in avarice; he did not wish to sleep here; he was +suffocating. And searching in the bag of implements, he selected a +sickle, shoved it through his sash, and left the farm-house. Nor did +Pimentó attempt to bar his way.</p> + +<p>At such an hour, he could do no harm; let him sleep in the open if it +suited his pleasure. And the bully, closing the door, went to bed.</p> + +<p>Old Barret started directly toward the fields, and like an abandoned +dog, began to make a détour around his farm-house.</p> + +<p>Closed! Closed forever! These walls had been raised by his grandfather +and renovated by himself through all these years. Even in the darkness, +the pallor of the neat whitewash, with which his little girls had coated +them three months before, stood out plainly.</p> + +<p>The corral, the stable, the pigsties were all the work of his father; +and this straw-roof, so slender and high, with the two little crosses at +the ends,<a name="page_055" id="page_055"></a> he had built himself as a substitution for the old, which had +leaked everywhere.</p> + +<p>And the curbstone at the well, the post of the vineyard, the cane-fences +over which the pinks and the morning-glories were showing their tufts of +bloom;—these too were the work of his hands. And all this was going to +become the property of another, because—yes, because men had arranged +it so.</p> + +<p>He searched in his sash for the pasteboard strip of matches in order to +set fire to the straw-roof. Let the devil fly away with it all; it was +his own, anyway, as God knew, and he could destroy his own property and +would do so before he would see it fall into the hands of thieves.</p> + +<p>But just as he was going to set fire to his old house, he felt a +sensation of horror, as if he saw the ghosts of all his ancestors rising +up before him; and he hurled the strip of matches to the ground.</p> + +<p>But the longing for destruction continued roaring through his head, and +sickle in hand, he set forth over the fields which had been his ruin.</p> + +<p>Now at a single stroke he would get even with the ungrateful earth, the +cause of all his misfortunes.<a name="page_056" id="page_056"></a></p> + +<p>The destruction lasted for entire hours. Down they came tumbling to his +heels, the arches of cane upon which the green tendrils of the tender +kidney-beans and peas were climbing; parted by the furious sickle, the +beans fell, and the cabbages and lettuce, driven by the sharp steel, +flew wide like severed heads, scattering their rosettes of leaves all +around. No one should take advantage of his labour.</p> + +<p>And thus he went on mowing until the break of dawn, trampling under foot +with mad stampings, shouting curses, howling blasphemies, until +weariness finally deadened his fury, and casting himself down upon a +furrow, he wept like a child, thinking that the earth henceforth would +be his real bed, and his only occupation begging in the streets.</p> + +<p>He was awakened by the first rays of the sun striking his eyes, and the +joyful twitter of the birds which hopped around his head, availing +themselves of the remnants of the nocturnal destruction for their +breakfast.</p> + +<p>Benumbed with weariness and chilled with the dampness, he rose from the +ground. Pimentó and his wife were calling him from a distance, inviting +him to come and take something. Barret<a name="page_057" id="page_057"></a> answered them with scorn. Thief! +After taking away his shot-gun! And he set out on the road toward +Valencia, trembling with cold, without even knowing where he was going.</p> + +<p>He stopped at the tavern of Copa and entered. Some teamsters of the +neighbourhood spoke to him, expressing sympathy for him in his +misfortune, and invited him to have a drink. He accepted gratefully. He +craved something which would counteract this cold, which had penetrated +his very bones. And he who had always been so sober, drank, one after +the other, two glasses of brandy, which fell into his weakened stomach +like waves of fire.</p> + +<p>His face flushed, then became deadly pale; his eyes grew bloodshot. To +the teamsters who sympathized with him, he seemed expressive and +confiding, almost like one who is happy. He called them his sons, +assuring them that he was not fretting over so little. Nor had he lost +everything. There still remained in his possession the best thing in his +house, the sickle of his grandfather, a jewel which he would not +exchange, no, not for fifty measures of grain.</p> + +<p>And from his sash he drew forth the curved steel, an implement brilliant +and pure, of fine<a name="page_058" id="page_058"></a> temper and very keen edge, which, as Barret declared, +would cut a cigarette-paper in the air.</p> + +<p>The teamsters paid up, and urging on their beasts, set off for Valencia, +filling the air with the creaking of wheels.</p> + +<p>The old man stayed in the tavern for more than an hour, talking to +himself, feeling more and more dizzy, until, made ill at ease by the +hard glances of the landlord, who divined his condition, he experienced +a vague feeling of shame, and set out with unsteady steps without saying +good-bye.</p> + +<p>But he was unable to dispel from his mind a tenacious remembrance. He +could see, as he closed his eyes, a great orchard of oranges which was +about an hour's distance, between Benimaclet and the sea. There he had +gone many times on business, and there he would go now to see if the +devil would be so good as to let him come across the master, as there +was hardly a day that his avaricious glance did not inspect the +beautiful trees as though he had the oranges counted on every one.</p> + +<p>He arrived after two hours of walking, during which he stopped many +times to balance his body,<a name="page_059" id="page_059"></a> which was swaying back and forth upon his +unsteady legs.</p> + +<p>The brandy had now taken complete possession of him. He could no longer +remember for what purpose he had come here, so far from that part of the +<i>huerta</i> in which his own family lived, and finally he let himself fall +into a field of hemp at the edge of the road. In a short time, his +laboured snores of drunkenness sounded among the green straight stalks.</p> + +<p>When he awoke, the afternoon was well advanced. He felt heavy of head +and his stomach was faint. There was a humming in his ears, and he had a +horrible taste in his coated mouth. What was he doing here, near the +<i>huerta</i> of the Jew? Why had he come so far? His instinctive sense of +honour arose; he felt ashamed at seeing himself in such a state of +debasement, and he tried to get on his feet to go away. The pressure on +his stomach caused by the sickle which lay crosswise in his sash, gave +him chills.</p> + +<p>On standing up, he thrust his head out from among the hemp, and he saw, +in a turn of the road, a little man who was walking slowly along +enveloped in a cape.<a name="page_060" id="page_060"></a></p> + +<p>Barret felt all his blood suddenly rise to his head; his drunkenness +came back on him again. He stood up, tugging at his sickle. And yet they +say that the devil is not good? Here was his man; here was the one whom +he had been wanting to see since the day before.</p> + +<p>The old usurer had hesitated before leaving his house. The affair of old +Barret had pricked his conscience; it was a recent event and the +<i>huerta</i> was treacherous; but the fear that his absence might be taken +advantage of in the <i>huerta</i> was stronger even than his cowardice, and +remembering that the orange estate was distant from the attached +farm-house, he set out on the road.</p> + +<p>He was already in sight of the <i>huerta</i>, scoffing inwardly at his past +fears, when he saw Barret bound out from the plot of cane-brake: like an +enormous demon he seemed to him with his red face and extended arms, +impeding all flight, cutting him off at the edge of the canal which ran +parallel to the road. He thought he must be dreaming; his teeth +chattered, his face turned green, and his cape fell off, revealing his +old overcoat and the dirty handkerchiefs rolled around his neck. So +great was his terror, his agitation, that he spoke to him in Spanish.<a name="page_061" id="page_061"></a></p> + +<p>"Barret! My son!" he said, in a broken voice. "The whole thing has been +a joke; never mind. What happened yesterday was only to make you a +little afraid ... nothing more. You may stay on your land; come tomorrow +to my house ... we will talk things over: you shall pay me whenever you +wish."</p> + +<p>And he bent backward to avoid the approach of old Barret: he attempted +to sneak away, to flee from that terrible sickle, upon whose blade a ray +of sun broke, and where the blue of the sky was reflected. But with the +canal behind him, he could not find a place to retreat, and he threw +himself backward, trying to shield himself with his clenched hands.</p> + +<p>The farmer, showing his sharp white teeth, smiled like a hyena.</p> + +<p>"Thief! thief!" he answered in a voice which sounded like a snarl.</p> + +<p>And waving his weapon from side to side, he sought for a place where he +might strike, avoiding the thin and desperate hands which the miser held +before him.</p> + +<p>"But, Barret, my son! what does this mean? Lower your weapon, do not +<a name="page_062" id="page_062"></a>jest! You are an honest man ... think of your daughters! I repeat to +you, it was only a joke. Come tomorrow and I will give you the key.... +Aaaay!..."</p> + +<p>There came a horrible howl; the cry of a wounded beast. The sickle, +tired of encountering obstacles, had lopped off one of the clenched +hands at a blow. It remained hanging by the tendons and the skin, and +from the red stump blood spurted violently, spattering Barret, who +roared as the hot stream struck his face.</p> + +<p>The old man staggered on his legs, but before he fell to the ground the +sickle cut horizontally across his neck, and ... zas! severed the +complicated folds of the neckerchief, opening a deep gash which almost +separated the head from the trunk.</p> + +<p>Don Salvador fell into the canal; his legs remained on the sloping bank, +twitching, like a slaughtered steer giving its last kicks. And meanwhile +his head, sunken into the mire, poured out all of his blood through the +deep breach, and the waters following their peaceful course with a +tranquil murmur which enlivened the solemn silence of the afternoon, +became tinged with red.</p> + +<p>Barret, stupefied, stood stock still on the shore.<a name="page_063" id="page_063"></a> How much blood the +old thief had! The canal grew red, it seemed more copious! Suddenly the +farmer, seized with terror, broke into a run, as if he feared that the +little river of blood would overflow and drown him.</p> + +<p>Before the end of the day, the news had circulated like the report of a +cannon which stirred all the plain. Have you ever seen the hypocritical +gesture, the silent rejoicing, with which a town receives the death of a +governor who has oppressed it? All guessed that it was the hand of old +Barret, yet nobody spoke. The farm-houses would have opened their last +hiding-places for him; the women would have hidden him under their +skirts.</p> + +<p>But the assassin roamed like a madman through the fields, fleeing from +people, lying low behind the sloping banks, concealing himself under the +little bridges, running across the fields, frightened by the barking of +the dogs, until on the following day, the rural police surprised him +sleeping in a hayloft.</p> + +<p>For six weeks, they talked of nothing in the <i>huerta</i> but old Barret.</p> + +<p>Men and women went on Sundays to the prison of Valencia as though on a +pilgrimage, in order<a name="page_064" id="page_064"></a> to look through the bars at the poor liberator, +who grew thinner and thinner, his eyes more sunken, and his glance more +troubled.</p> + +<p>The day of his trial arrived and he was sentenced to death.</p> + +<p>The news made a deep impression in the plain; parish priests and mayors +started a movement to avoid such a shame.... A member of the district to +find himself on the scaffold! And as Barret had always been among the +docile, voting as the political bosses ordered him to vote, and +passively obeying as he was commanded, they made trips to Madrid in +order to save his life, and his pardon was opportunely granted.</p> + +<p>The farmer came forth from the prison as thin as a mummy, and was +conducted to Ceuta, where he died after a few years.</p> + +<p>His family scattered; disappearing like a handful of straw in the wind.</p> + +<p>The daughters, one after the other, left the families which had taken +them in, and went to Valencia to earn their living as servants; and the +poor widow, tired of troubling others with her infirmities, was taken to +the hospital, and died there in a short time.</p> + +<p>The people of the <i>huerta</i>, with that facility<a name="page_065" id="page_065"></a> which every one displays +in forgetting the misfortune of others, scarcely ever spoke of the +terrible tragedy of old Barret, and then only to wonder what had become +of his daughters.</p> + +<p>But nobody forgot the fields and the farm-house, which remained exactly +as on the day when the judge ejected the unfortunate farmer from them.</p> + +<p>It was a silent agreement of the whole district; an instinctive +conspiracy which few words prepared but in which the very trees and +roads seemed to have a part.</p> + +<p>Pimentó had given expression to it the very day of the catastrophe. We +will see the fine fellow who dares take possession of those lands!</p> + +<p>And all the people of the <i>huerta</i>, even the women and children, seemed +to answer with their glances of mute understanding. Yes; they would see.</p> + +<p>The parasitic plants, the thistles, began to spring up from the accursed +land which old Barret had stamped upon and cut down with his sickle on +that last night, as though he had a presentiment that he would die in +prison through its fault.</p> + +<p>The sons of Don Salvador, men as rich and<a name="page_066" id="page_066"></a> avaricious as their father, +cried poverty because this piece of land remained unproductive.</p> + +<p>A farmer who lived in another district of the <i>huerta</i>, a man who +pretended to be a bully and never had enough land, was tempted by their +low price, and tackled these fields which inspired fear in all.</p> + +<p>He set out to work the land with a gun on his shoulder; he and his +farm-hands laughed among themselves at the isolation in which the +neighbours left them; the farm-houses were closed to them as they +passed, and hostile glances followed from a distance.</p> + +<p>The tenant, having the presentiment of an ambush, was vigilant. But his +caution served him to no purpose. As he was leaving the fields alone one +afternoon, before he had even finished breaking up the ground, two +musket-shots were fired at him by some invisible aggressor, and he came +forth miraculously uninjured by the handful of birdshot which passed +close to his ear.</p> + +<p>No one was found in the fields,—not even a fresh foot-print. The +sharpshooter had fired from some canal, hidden behind the cane-brake.</p> + +<p>With enemies such as these, one has no chance to fight, and on the same +night, the Valencian delivered<a name="page_067" id="page_067"></a> the keys of the farm-house to its +masters.</p> + +<p>One should have heard the sons of Don Salvador. Was there no law or +security for property, ... nor for anything?</p> + +<p>No doubt Pimentó was the instigator of this attack. It was he who was +preventing these fields from being cultivated. So the rural police +arrested the bully of the <i>huerta</i>, and took him off to prison.</p> + +<p>But when the moment of taking oath arrived, all of the district filed by +before the judge declaring the innocence of Pimentó, and from these +cunning rustics not one contradictory word could be forced.</p> + +<p>One and all told the same story. Even failing old women who never left +their farm-houses declared that on that day, at the very hour when the +two reports were heard, Pimentó was in a tavern of Alboraya, enjoying a +feast with his friends.</p> + +<p>Nothing could be done with these people of imbecile expression and +candid looks, who lied with such composure as they scratched the back of +their heads. Pimentó was set free, and a sigh of triumph and of +satisfaction came from all the houses.<a name="page_068" id="page_068"></a></p> + +<p>Now the proof was given: now it was known that the cultivation of these +lands was paid for with men's lives.</p> + +<p>The avaricious masters would not yield. They would cultivate the land +themselves. And they sought day-labourers among the long-suffering and +submissive people, who, smelling of coarse sheep-wool and poverty, and +driven by hunger, descended from the ends of the province, from the +mountainous frontiers of Aragon, in search of work.</p> + +<p>The <i>huerta</i> pitied the poor <i>churros</i>.<a name="FNanchor_F_6" id="FNanchor_F_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_F_6" class="fnanchor">[F]</a> Unfortunate men! They wanted +to earn a day's pay; what guilt was theirs? And at night, as they were +leaving with their hoes over the shoulder, there was always some good +soul to call to them from the door of the tavern of Copa. They made them +enter, drink, talked to them confidentially with frowning faces but with +the paternal and good-natured tone of one who counsels a child to avoid +danger; and the result was that on the following day these docile +<i>churros</i>, instead of going to the field, presented themselves en masse +to the owners of the land.</p> + +<p>"Master: we have come to get our pay."<a name="page_069" id="page_069"></a></p> + +<p>All the arguments of the two old bachelors, furious at seeing themselves +opposed in their avarice, were useless.</p> + +<p>"Master," they responded to everything, "we are poor, but we were not +born like dogs behind a barn."</p> + +<p>And not only did they leave their work, but they passed the warning on +to all their countrymen, to avoid earning a day's wages in those fields +of Barret's as they would flee from the devil.</p> + +<p>The owners of the land even asked for protection in the daily papers. +And the rural police went out over the <i>huerta</i> in pairs, stopping along +the roads to surprise gestures and conversations, but always without +results.</p> + +<p>Every day they saw the same thing. The women sewing and singing under +the vine-arbours; the men bending over in the fields, their eyes upon +the ground, their active arms never resting; Pimentó, stretched out like +a grand lord under the little wands of bird-lime, waiting for the birds, +or torpidly and lazily helping Pepeta; in the tavern of Copa, a few old +men, sunning themselves or playing cards. The countryside breathed forth +peace, and honourable stolidity;<a name="page_070" id="page_070"></a> it was a Moorish Arcadia. But those of +the "<i>Union</i>" were on their guard; not a farmer wanted the land, not +even gratuitously; and at last, the owners had to abandon their +undertaking, let the weeds cover the place and the house fall into +decay, while they hoped for the arrival of some willing man, capable of +buying or working the farm.</p> + +<p>The <i>huerta</i> trembled with satisfaction, seeing how this wealth was +lost, and the heirs of Don Salvador were being ruined.</p> + +<p>It was a new and intense pleasure. Sometimes, after all, the will of the +poor must triumph, and the rich must get the worst of it. And the hard +bread seemed more savoury, the wine better, the work less burdensome, as +they thought of the fury of the two misers, who with all their money had +to endure the rustics of the <i>huerta</i> laughing at them.</p> + +<p>Furthermore, this patch of desolation and misery in the midst of the +<i>vega</i>, served to make the other landlords less exacting. Taking this +neighbourhood as an example, they did not increase their rents and even +agreed to wait when the half year's rent was late in being paid.</p> + +<p>Those desolate fields were the talisman which<a name="page_071" id="page_071"></a> kept the dwellers of the +<i>huerta</i> intimately united, in continuous contact: a monument which +proclaimed their power over the owners; the miracle of the solidarity of +poverty against the laws and the wealth of those who were the lords of +the land without working it or sweating over their fields.</p> + +<p>All this, which they thought out confusedly, made them believe that on +the day when the fields of old Barret should be cultivated, the <i>huerta</i> +would suffer all manner of misfortunes. And they did not expect, after a +triumph of ten years, that any person would dare to enter those +abandoned fields except old Tomba, a blind and gibbering shepherd, who +in default of an audience daily related his deeds of prowess to his +flock of dirty sheep.</p> + +<p>Hence the exclamations of astonishment, the gestures of wrath, over all +the <i>huerta</i>, when Pimentó published the news from field to field, from +farm-house to farm-house, that the lands of Barret now had a tenant, a +stranger, and that he ... he ... (whoever he might be), was here with +<a name="page_072" id="page_072"></a>all his family, installing himself without any warning, ... as if they +were his own!</p> + +<h2><a name="III" id="III"></a>III</h2> + +<p class="nind"><span class="letra">W</span>HEN he inspected the uncultivated land, Batiste told himself that here +he would have work for some time.</p> + +<p>Nor did he feel dismayed over the prospect. He was an energetic, +enterprising man, accustomed to working hard to earn a livelihood, and +there was hard work here, and plenty of it, furthermore, he consoled +himself by remembering that he had been even worse off.</p> + +<p>His life had been a continuous change of profession, always within the +circle of rural poverty; but though he had changed his occupation every +year, he had never succeeded in obtaining for his family the modest +comfort which was his only aspiration.</p> + +<p>When he first became acquainted with his wife, he was a millhand in the +neighbourhood of Sagunto. He was then working like a dog (as he +expressed it) to provide for his family; and the Lord rewarded his +labours by sending him every<a name="page_073" id="page_073"></a> year a child, all sons,—beautiful +creatures who seemed to have been born with teeth, judging by the haste +with which they deserted the mother's breast, and began to beg +continually for bread.</p> + +<p>The result was that in his search for higher wages, he had to give up +the mill and become a teamster.</p> + +<p>But bad luck pursued him. And yet no one tended the live stock and +watched the road as well as he: though nearly dead from fatigue, he had +never like his companions dared to sleep in the wagon, letting the +beasts, guided by their instinct, find their own way: wakeful at all +hours, he always walked beside the nag ahead to avoid the holes and the +bad places. Nevertheless, if a wagon upset, it was always his; if an +animal fell ill of the rains, it was of course one of Batiste's, in +spite of the paternal care with which he hastened to cover the flanks of +the horses with trappings of sackcloth, as soon as a few drops had +fallen.</p> + +<p>During some years of tiresome wanderings over highroads of the province, +eating poorly, sleeping in the open, and suffering the torment of +passing entire months away from his family, whom he adored with the +concentrated<a name="page_074" id="page_074"></a> affection of a rough and silent man, Batiste experienced +only losses, and saw his position getting worse and worse.</p> + +<p>His nags died, and he had to go into debt to buy others; the profit that +he should have had from the continuous carrying of bags of skin bulged +out with wine or oil, would disappear in the hands of hucksters and +owners of carts, until the moment arrived when, seeing his impending +ruin, he gave up the occupation.</p> + +<p>Then he took some land near Sagunto; arid fields, red and eternally +thirsty, in which the century-old carob-trees writhed their hollow +trunks, and the olive-trees raised their round and dusty heads.</p> + +<p>His life was one continuous battle with the drought, an incessant gazing +at the sky; whenever a small dark cloud showed itself on the horizon, he +trembled with fear.</p> + +<p>It rained but little, the crops were bad for four consecutive years, and +at last Batiste did not know what to do nor where to turn. Then, in a +trip to Valencia, he made the acquaintance of the sons of Don Salvador, +excellent gentlemen (the Lord bless them), who offered to let him use +these beautiful fields rent-free for two years,<a name="page_075" id="page_075"></a> until they could be +brought back completely to their old condition.</p> + +<p>He had heard rumours of what had happened at the farm-house; of the +causes which had compelled the owner to keep these beautiful lands +unproductive; but such a long time had elapsed! Furthermore, poverty has +no ears; the fields suited him, and in them he would remain. What did he +care for the story of don Salvador and old Barret?</p> + +<p>All of which was scorned and forgotten as he looked over the land. And +Batiste felt himself filled with sweet ecstasy at finding himself the +cultivator of the fertile <i>huerta</i>, which he had envied so many times as +he passed along the high-road of Valencia to Sagunto.</p> + +<p>This was fine land; always green; of inexhaustible fertility, producing +one harvest after another; the red water circulating at all hours like +life-giving blood through the innumerable canals and irrigation trenches +which furrowed its surface like a complicated network of veins and +arteries; so fertile that entire families were supported by patches so +small that they looked like green handkerchiefs. The dry fields off +there near Sagunto reminded him of an inferno of<a name="page_076" id="page_076"></a> drought, from which he +fortunately had liberated himself.</p> + +<p>Now he was sure that he was on the right road. To work! The fields were +ruined; there was much work to be done; but when one is so willing! And +this big, robust, muscular fellow, with the shoulders of a giant, +closely cropped round head, and good-natured countenance supported by +the heavy neck of a monk, extended his powerful arms, accustomed to +raising sacks of flour and the heavy skin sacks of the teamster's trade, +aloft in the air, and stretched himself.</p> + +<p>He was so absorbed in his lands that he scarcely noticed the curiosity +of his neighbours.</p> + +<p>Restless heads appeared between the cane-brake; men, stretched out at +full-length on the sloping banks, were watching him; even the women and +the children of the adjoining <i>huertas</i> followed his movements.</p> + +<p>Batiste did not mind them. It was curiosity, the hostile expectation +which recent arrivals always inspire. Well did he know what that was; +they would get accustomed to it. Furthermore, perhaps they were +interested in seeing how that desolate growth burned, which ten years of +abandonment had heaped upon the fields of Barret.<a name="page_077" id="page_077"></a></p> + +<p>And aided by his wife and children, he went about on the day after his +arrival, burning up all the parasitic vegetation.</p> + +<p>The shrubs writhed in the flames; they fell like live coals from whose +ashes the loathsome vermin escaped all singed, and the farm-house seemed +lost amid the clouds of smoke from these fires, which awakened silent +anger in all the <i>huerta</i>.</p> + +<p>The fields once cleared, Batiste without losing time proceeded to +cultivate them. They were somewhat hard; but like an expert farmer, he +planned to work them little by little, in sections, and marking out a +plot near his farm-house, he began to break up the earth, aided by all +his family.</p> + +<p>The neighbours made sport of them with an irony which betrayed their +irritation. A pretty family! They were gipsies, like those who sleep +under the bridges. They lived in that old farm-house like shipwrecked +sailors who are holding out in a ruined boat; plugging a hole here, +shoring there, doing real wonders to sustain the straw roof, and +distributing their poor furniture, carefully polished, in all the rooms +which had been before the burrowing place of rats and vermin.<a name="page_078" id="page_078"></a></p> + +<p>In their industry, they were like a nest of squirrels, unable to keep +idle while the father was working. Teresa, the wife, and Roseta, the +eldest daughter, with their skirts tucked in between their legs, and hoe +in hand, dug with more zeal than day-labourers, resting only to throw +back the locks of hair which kept straggling over their red, perspiring +foreheads. The eldest son made continuous trips to Valencia with the +rush-basket on his shoulder, carrying manure and rubbish which he piled +up in two heaps like columns of honour at the entrance to the +farm-house; and the three little tots, grave and laborious, as if they +understood the situation of the family, went down on all fours behind +the diggers, tearing up the hard roots of the burned shrubs from the +earth.</p> + +<p>This preparatory work lasted more than a week, the family sweating and +panting from dawn till night.</p> + +<p>Half of the land having been broken up, Batiste fenced in the plot and +tilled it with the aid of the willing nag, which was like one of the +family.</p> + +<p>He had only to proceed to cultivate. They were then in Saint Martin's +summer, the time of<a name="page_079" id="page_079"></a> sowing, and the labourer divided the broken-up +earth into three parts. The greater part was for wheat, a smaller patch +for beans, and another part for fodder, for it would not do to forget +Morrut, the dear old horse: well had he earned it.</p> + +<p>And with the joy of those who discover a port after a hard voyage, the +family proceeded to the sowing. The future was assured. The fields of +the <i>huerta</i> never failed; here bread for all the year would be +forthcoming.</p> + +<p>On the afternoon which completed the sowing, they saw coming over the +adjoining road some sheep with dirty wool, which stopped timidly at the +end of the field.</p> + +<p>Behind them walked an old man, like dried up parchment, yellowish, with +deep sunken eyes and a mouth surrounded by a circle of wrinkles. He was +walking with firm steps, but with his shepherd's crook ahead of him, as +though feeling his way along the road.</p> + +<p>The family looked at him with attention; he was the only person who had +ventured to approach the land within the two weeks they were here. On +noticing the hesitation of the sheep, he shouted to them to go on.<a name="page_080" id="page_080"></a></p> + +<p>Batiste went out to meet the old man; he could not pass through; the +fields were now under cultivation. Did he not know?</p> + +<p>Old Tomba had heard something, but during the two preceding weeks, he +had taken out his flock to graze upon the rank grass in the ravine of +Carraixet, without concerning himself about the fields. So indeed they +now were cultivated?</p> + +<p>And the old shepherd raised his head, and with his almost sightless eyes +made an effort to see the bold man who dared to do that which was held +to be impossible in all the <i>huerta</i>.</p> + +<p>He was silent for a long while. Then at last he began to mutter sadly: +Too bad. He had also been daring in his youth; he had liked to go +counter to everything. But when the enemies are so many! Very bad! He +had put himself into an awkward position. These lands, since the time of +old Barret, had been accursed. He could take his, Tomba's, word for it; +he was old and experienced; they would bring him misfortune.</p> + +<p>And the shepherd called his flock and made them start out again along +the road, but before departing, he threw back his cloak, raised his +emaciated arms, and with a certain intonation<a name="page_081" id="page_081"></a> characteristic of a seer +who forecasts the future, or of a prophet who scents disaster, he cried +to Batiste:</p> + +<p>"Believe me, my son, they will bring you misfortune!"</p> + +<p>This encounter gave the <i>huerta</i> another cause for anger.</p> + +<p>Old Tomba could not bring his sheep back into those lands, after +enjoying the peaceful use of their fodder for ten years!</p> + +<p>Not a word was said as to the legitimacy of the refusal, inasmuch as the +land was now under cultivation; they spoke only of the respect which the +old shepherd deserved, a man who in his youth had "eaten up" the French +alive, who had seen much of the world, and whose wisdom, demonstrated by +half-spoken words and incoherent advice, inspired a superstitious +respect among the people of the <i>huerta</i>.</p> + +<p>After Batiste and his family saw the bosom of the earth well-filled with +fertile seed, they began, for lack of work more pressing, to think of +the house. The fields would do their duty; now the time had arrived to +think about themselves.</p> + +<p>And for the first time since his coming to the <i>huerta</i>, Batiste left +his land for Valencia to load<a name="page_082" id="page_082"></a> into his cart all the rubbish of the city +which might be useful to him.</p> + +<p>This man was like a lucky ant. The mounds started by Batiste increased +considerably with the expeditions of the father. The heap of manure +which formed a defensive screen before the farm-house, grew rapidly, and +beyond, there was piling up a mound of hundreds of broken bricks, +worm-eaten wood, broken-down doors, windows reduced to splinters, all +the refuse of the demolished buildings of the city.</p> + +<p>The people of the <i>huerta</i> looked with astonishment at the dispatch and +clever skill of these laborious ants as they worked to prepare their +home.</p> + +<p>The straw roof of the house stood erect again; some of the rafters of +the roof, corroded by the rains, were reinforced, others substituted. A +new layer of straw now covered the two hanging planes of the exterior; +even the little crosses at the ends were supplanted by others which +Batiste had daintily made with his clasp knife, decorating their corners +with notched grooves: and in all the neighbourhood, there was not a roof +which rose more trimly.<a name="page_083" id="page_083"></a></p> + +<p>The neighbours, on noticing how Barret's house was improved when the +roof was placed erect, saw in it something to mock and to challenge.</p> + +<p>Then the work below was started. What ways and means of utilizing the +rubbish of Valencia! The chinks disappeared, and the plastering of the +walls being finished, the wife and daughters white-washed them a +dazzling white. The door, new and painted blue, seemed to be the mother +of all the little windows, which showed their four square faces of the +same colour through the openings of the walls; under the vine-arbour, +Batiste made a little enclosure paved with red bricks, so the women +might sew there during the afternoon. The well, after a week of descents +and laborious carryings, was cleared of all the rocks and the refuse +with which the rascals of the <i>huerta</i> had filled it for the last ten +years, and its water, fresh and clear, began to rise once more in the +mossy bucket, with joyful creakings of the pulley, which seemed to laugh +at the district with the strident peals of laughter of a malicious old +woman.</p> + +<p>The neighbours chocked down their fury in silence. Thief! More than +thief! A fine way<a name="page_084" id="page_084"></a> to work! This man, in his robust arms, seemed to +possess two magic wands that transformed all that he touched!</p> + +<p>Two months had passed since his arrival, yet he had not left his land a +half-dozen times; he was always there, his head between his shoulders, +intoxicated with work. And the house of Barret began to present a +smiling and coquettish aspect, such as it had never possessed in the +days of its former master.</p> + +<p>The corral, previously enclosed with rotting cane-brake, now had sides +of pickets and clay painted white, along whose edges strutted the ruddy +hens, and the cock, excited, shook his red comb. In the little square in +front of the house, beds of morning-glories and climbing plants +blossomed; a row of chipped jars painted blue served as flower-pots on +the bench of red bricks; and through the half-open door, oh vain fellow! +the new pitcher-shelf might be seen, with its enamelled tiling, and its +glazed green pitchers, casting insolent reflections which blinded the +eyes of the passerby who went along the adjoining road.</p> + +<p>All the <i>huerta</i> with increasing fury ran to Pimentó. "Could it possibly +be permitted?<a name="page_085" id="page_085"></a> What did the terrible husband of Pepeta think of doing?"</p> + +<p>And Pimentó, scratching his forehead, listened to them with a certain +confusion.</p> + +<p>What was he going to do? He would say just two little words to this +stranger who had set himself to cultivate that which was not his; he +would give him a hint, a very serious hint, not to be a fool, but to let +the land go, as he had no business there. But that accursed man would +not come forth from his fields, and it would never do to go to him and +threaten him in his own house. It would mean the giving of a foundation +for that which must follow. He had to be cautious and watch till he came +out. In short, a little patience. He was able to assure them that the +man in question would not reap the wheat, nor gather the beans, nor +anything which had been planted in the fields of Barret. That should be +for the devil.</p> + +<p>Pimentó's words calmed the neighbours, who followed the progress of the +accursed family with attentive glances, wishing silently that the hour +of their ruin would soon arrive.</p> + +<p>One afternoon, Batiste returned from Valencia very well pleased with the +result of his trip.<a name="page_086" id="page_086"></a> He wanted no idle hands in his house. Batiste, when +the work in the field did not take his time, was occupied in going to +the city for manure. The little girl, a willing youngster, who once they +were settled was of small use at home, had, thanks to the patronage of +the sons of Don Salvador, who seemed very well satisfied with his new +tenant, just succeeded in getting taken into a silk factory.</p> + +<p>On the following day, Roseta would be one of the string of girls who, +awakening with the dawn, marched with waving skirts and their little +baskets on their arm, over all the paths, on their way to the city to +spin the silky cocoon with the thick fingers of the daughters of the +<i>huerta</i>.</p> + +<p>When Batiste arrived near the tavern of Copa, a man appeared in the +road, emerging from an adjoining path, and walked slowly toward him, +giving him to understand that he desired to speak to him.</p> + +<p>Batiste stopped, regretting inwardly that he did not have with him so +much as a clasp knife or a hoe; but calm and quiet, he raised his round +head with the imperious expression so much feared by his family and +crossed his muscular<a name="page_087" id="page_087"></a> arms, the arms of a former millhand, on his +breast.</p> + +<p>He knew this man, although he had never spoken with him; it was Pimentó.</p> + +<p>The meeting which he had dreaded so much finally occurred.</p> + +<p>The bully measured this odious intruder with a glance, and spoke to him +in a bland voice, striving to give an accent of good-natured counsel to +his ferocity and evil intention.</p> + +<p>He wished to say to him just two words: he had been wanting to do so for +some time, but how? did he never come forth from his land?</p> + +<p>Two little words, no more.</p> + +<p>And he gave him the couple of words, counselling him to leave the lands +of old Barret as soon as possible. He should believe the people who +wished him well, those who knew the <i>huerta</i>. His presence there was an +offence, and the farm-house, which was almost new, was an insult to the +poor people. He ought to believe him, and with his family go away to +other parts.</p> + +<p>Batiste smiled ironically on hearing Pimentó, who seemed confused by the +serenity of the intruder, humbled by meeting a man who did not seem +afraid of him.<a name="page_088" id="page_088"></a></p> + +<p>Go away? There was not a bully in all the <i>huerta</i> who could make him +abandon that which was now his; that which was watered by his sweat; +moreover he had to earn bread for his family. He was a peaceful man, +understand! but if they trifled with him, he had just as much manly +spirit as most. Let every one attend to his own business, for he thought +that he would do enough if he attended to his own, and failed nobody.</p> + +<p>And scornfully turning his back upon the Valencian, he went his way.</p> + +<p>Pimentó, accustomed to making all the <i>huerta</i> tremble, was more and +more disconcerted by the serenity of Batiste.</p> + +<p>"Is that your last word?" he shouted to him when he was already at some +distance.</p> + +<p>"Yes, the last," answered Batiste without turning.</p> + +<p>And he went ahead, disappearing in a curve of the road. At some +distance, on the old farm of Barret, the dog was barking, scenting the +approach of his master.</p> + +<p>On finding himself alone, Pimentó again recovered his arrogance. +<i>Cristo!</i> How this old fellow had mocked him! He muttered some<a name="page_089" id="page_089"></a> curses, +and clenching his fist, shook it threateningly at the bend in the road +where Batiste had disappeared.</p> + +<p>"You shall pay for this,—you shall pay for this, you thug!"</p> + +<p>In his tone which trembled with madness, there vibrated all the +condensed hatred of the <i>huerta</i>.<a name="page_090" id="page_090"></a></p> + +<h2><a name="IV" id="IV"></a>IV</h2> + +<p class="nind"><span class="letra">I</span>T was Thursday, and according to a custom which dated back for five +centuries, the Tribunal of the Waters was going to meet at the doorway +of the Cathedral named after the Apostles.</p> + +<p>The clock of the Miguelete pointed to a little after ten, and the +inhabitants of the <i>huerta</i> were gathering in idle groups or seating +themselves about the large basin of the dry fountain which adorned the +<i>plaza</i>, forming about its base an animated wreath of blue and white +cloaks, red and yellow handkerchiefs, and skirts of calico prints of +bright colours.</p> + +<p>Others were arriving, drawing up their horses, with their rush-baskets +loaded with manure, satisfied with the collection they had made in the +streets; still others, in empty carts, were trying to persuade the +police to allow their vehicles to remain there; and while the old folks +chatted with the women, the young went into the neighbouring<a name="page_091" id="page_091"></a> café, to +kill time over a glass of brandy, while chewing at a three-centime +cigar.</p> + +<p>All those of the <i>huerta</i> who had grievances to avenge were here, +gesticulating and scowling, speaking of their rights, impatient to let +loose the interminable chain of their complaints before the syndics or +judges of the seven canals.</p> + +<p>The bailiff of the tribunal, who had been carrying on this contest with +the insolent and aggressive crowd for more than fifty years, placed a +long sofa of old damask which was on its last legs within the shadow of +the Gothic portal, and then set up a low railing, thereby closing in the +square of sidewalk which had to serve the purpose of an +audience-chamber.</p> + +<p>The portal of the Apostles, old, reddish, corroded by the centuries, +extending its gnawed beauty to the light of the sun, formed a background +worthy of an ancient tribunal; it was like a canopy of stone devised to +protect an institution five centuries old.</p> + +<p>In the tympanum appeared the Virgin with six angels, with stiff white +gowns and wings of fine plumage, chubby-cheeked, with heavy curls and +flaming tufts of hair, playing violas and flutes, flageolets and +tambourines. Three garlands<a name="page_092" id="page_092"></a> of little figures, angels, kings, and +saints, covered with openwork canopies, ran through three arches +superposed over the three portals. In the thick, solid walls, forepart +of the portal, the twelve apostles might be seen, but so disfigured, so +ill-treated, that Jesus himself would not have known them; the feet +gnawed, the nostrils broken, the hands mangled; a line of huge figures +who, rather than apostles, looked like sick men who had escaped from a +clinic, and were sorrowfully displaying their shapeless stumps. Above, +at the top of the portal, there opened out like a gigantic flower +covered with wire netting, the coloured rose-window which admitted light +to the church; and on the lower part the stone along the base of the +columns adorned with the shields of Aragon, was worn, the corners and +foliage having become indistinct through the rubbing of innumerable +generations.</p> + +<p>By this erosion of the portals the passing of riot and revolt might be +divined. A whole people had met and mingled beside these stones; here, +in other centuries, the turbulent Valencian populace, shouting and red +with fury, had moved about; and the saints of the portal, mutilated<a name="page_093" id="page_093"></a> and +smooth as Egyptian mummies, gazing at the sky with their broken heads, +appeared to be still listening to the Revolutionary bell of the Union, +or the arquebus shots of the Brotherhood.</p> + +<p>The bailiff finished arranging the Tribunal, and placed himself at the +entrance of the enclosure to await the judges. The latter arrived +solemnly, dressed in black, with white sandals, and silken handkerchiefs +under their broad hats, they had the appearance of rich farmers. Each +was followed by a cortège of canal-guards, and by persistent supplicants +who, before the hour of justice, were seeking to predispose the judges' +minds in their favour.</p> + +<p>The farmers gazed with respect at these judges, come forth from their +own class, whose deliberations did not admit of any appeal. They were +the masters of the water: in their hands remained the living of the +families, the nourishment of the fields, the timely watering, the lack +of which kills a harvest. And the people of these wide plains, separated +by the river, which is like an impassable frontier, designated the +judges by the number of the canals.<a name="page_094" id="page_094"></a></p> + +<p>A little, thin, bent, old man, whose red and horny hands trembled as +they rested on the thick staff, was Cuart de Faitanar; the other, stout +and imposing, with small eyes scarcely visible under bushy white brows, +was Mislata. Soon Roscaña arrived; a youth who wore a blouse that had +been freshly ironed, and whose head was round. After these appeared in +sequence the rest of the seven:—Favara, Robella, Tornos and Mestalla.</p> + +<p>Now all the representatives of the four plains were there; the one on +the left bank of the river; the one with the four canals; the one which +the <i>huerta</i> of Rufaza encircles with its roads of luxuriant foliage +ending at the confines of the marshy Albufera; and the plain on the +right bank of the Turia, the poetic one, with its strawberries of +Benimaclet, its <i>cyperus</i> of Alboraya and its gardens always overrun +with flowers.</p> + +<p>The seven judges saluted, like people who had not seen each other for a +week; they spoke of their business beside the door of the Cathedral: +from time to time, upon opening the wooden screens covered with +religious advertisements, a puff of incense-laden air, somewhat like the +damp exhalation from a subterranean<a name="page_095" id="page_095"></a> cavern, diffused itself into the +burning atmosphere of the <i>plaza</i>.</p> + +<p>At half-past eleven, when the divine offices were ended and only some +belated devotee was still coming from the temple, the Tribunal began to +operate.</p> + +<p>The seven judges seated themselves on the old sofa; then the people of +the <i>huerta</i> came running up from all sides of the <i>plaza</i>, to gather +around the railing, pressing their perspiring bodies, which smelled of +straw and coarse sheep's wool, close together, and the bailiff, rigid +and majestic, took his place near the pole topped with a bronze crook, +symbolic of aquatic majesty.</p> + +<p>The seven syndics removed their hats and remained with their hands +between the knees and their eyes upon the ground, while the eldest +pronounced the customary sentence:</p> + +<p>"Let the Tribunal begin."</p> + +<p>Absolute stillness. The crowd, observing religious silence, seemed here, +in the midst of the <i>plaza</i>, to be worshipping in a temple. The sound of +carriages, the clatter of tramways, all the din of modern life passed +by, without touching or stirring this most ancient institution, which +remained tranquil, like one who finds himself<a name="page_096" id="page_096"></a> in his own house, +insensible to time, paying no attention to the radical change +surrounding it, incapable of any reform.</p> + +<p>The inhabitants of the <i>huerta</i> were proud of their tribunal. It +dispensed justice; the penalty without delay, and nothing done with +papers, which confuse and puzzle honest men.</p> + +<p>The absence of stamped paper and of the clerk of court who terrifies, +was the part best liked by these people who were accustomed to looking +upon the art of writing of which they were ignorant with a certain +superstitious terror. Here were no secretary, no pens, no days of +anxiety while awaiting sentence, no terrifying guards, nor anything more +than words.</p> + +<p>The judges kept the declarations in their memory, and passed sentence +immediately with the tranquillity of those who know that their decisions +must be fulfilled. On him who would be insolent with the tribunal, a +fine was imposed; from him who had refused to comply with the verdict, +the water was taken away forever, and he must die of hunger.</p> + +<p>Nobody played with this tribunal. It was the simple patriarchal justice +of the good legendary king, coming forth mornings to the door of<a name="page_097" id="page_097"></a> his +palace in order to settle the disputes of his subjects; the judicial +system of the Kabila chief, passing sentences at his tent-entrance. Thus +are rascals punished, and the honourable triumph, and there is peace.</p> + +<p>And the public, men, women, and children, fearful of missing a word, +pressed close together against the railing, moving, sometimes, with +violent contortions of their shoulders, in order to escape from +suffocation.</p> + +<p>The complainants would appear at the other side of the railing, before +the sofa as old as the tribunal itself.</p> + +<p>The bailiff would take away their staffs and shepherds' crooks, which he +regarded as offensive arms incompatible with the respect due the +tribunal. He pushed them forward until with their mantle folded over +their hands they were planted some paces distant from the judges, and if +they were slow in baring their head, the handkerchief was wrested from +it with two tugs. It was hard, but with this crafty people it was +necessary to act thus.</p> + +<p>The line filing by brought a continuous outburst of intricate questions, +which the judges settled with marvellous facility.<a name="page_098" id="page_098"></a></p> + +<p>The keepers of the canals and the irrigation-guards, charged with the +establishment of each one's turn in the irrigation, formulated their +charges, and the defendants appeared to defend themselves with +arguments. The old men allowed their sons, who knew how to express +themselves with more energy, to speak; the widow appeared, accompanied +by some friend of the deceased, a devoted protector, who acted as her +spokesman.</p> + +<p>The passion of the south cropped out in every case.</p> + +<p>In the midst of the accusation, the defendant would not be able to +contain himself. "You lie! What you say is evil and false! You are +trying to ruin me!"</p> + +<p>But the seven judges received these interruptions with furious glances. +Here nobody was permitted to speak before his own turn came. At the +second interruption, he would have to pay a fine of so many <i>sous</i>. And +he who was obstinate, driven by his vehement madness, which would not +permit him to be silent before the accuser, paid more and more <i>sous</i>.</p> + +<p>The judges, without giving up their seats, would put their heads +together like playful<a name="page_099" id="page_099"></a> goats, and whisper together for some seconds; +then the eldest, in a composed and solemn voice, pronounced the +sentence, designating the fine in <i>sous</i> and pounds, as if money had +suffered no change, and majestic Justice with its red robe and its +escort of plumed crossbowmen were still passing through the centre of +the <i>plaza</i>.</p> + +<p>It was after twelve, and the seven judges were beginning to show signs +of being weary of such prodigious outpouring of the stream of justice, +when the bailiff called out loudly to Bautista Borrull, denouncing him +for infraction and disobedience of irrigation-rights.</p> + +<p>Pimentó and Batiste passed the railing, and the people pressed up even +closer against the bar.</p> + +<p>Here were many of those who lived near the ancient land of Barret.</p> + +<p>This trial was interesting. The hated new-comer had been denounced by +Pimentó, who was the "<i>atandador</i>"<a name="FNanchor_G_7" id="FNanchor_G_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_G_7" class="fnanchor">[G]</a> of that district.</p> + +<p>The bully, by mixing up in elections, and strutting about like a +fighting cock all over the neighbourhood, had won this office which gave +him a certain air of authority and strengthened<a name="page_100" id="page_100"></a> his prestige among the +neighbours, who made much of him and treated him on irrigation days.</p> + +<p>Batiste was amazed at this unjust denunciation. His pallor was that of +indignation. He gazed with eyes full of fury at all the familiar mocking +faces, which were pressing against the rail, and at his enemy Pimentó, +who was strutting about proudly, like a man accustomed to appearing +before the tribunal, and to whom a small part of its unquestionable +authority belonged.</p> + +<p>"Speak," said the eldest of the judges, putting one foot forward, for +according to a century-old custom, the tribunal, instead of using the +hands, signalled with the white sandal to him who should speak.</p> + +<p>Pimentó poured forth his accusation. This man who was beside him, +perhaps because he was new in the <i>huerta</i>, seemed to think that the +apportionment of the water was a trifling matter, and that he could suit +his own blessed will.</p> + +<p>He, Pimentó, the <i>atandador</i>, who represented the authority of the +canals in his district, had set for Batiste the hour for watering his +wheat. It was two o'clock in the morning. But doubtless the señor, not +wishing to arise at that hour, had<a name="page_101" id="page_101"></a> let his turn go, and at five, when +the water was intended for others, he had raised the flood-gate without +permission from anybody (the <i>first</i> offence), and attempted to water +his fields, resolving to oppose, by main force, the orders of the +<i>atandador</i>, which constituted the <i>third</i> and last offence.</p> + +<p>The thrice-guilty delinquent, turning all the colours of the rainbow, +and indignant at the words of Pimentó, was not able to restrain himself.</p> + +<p>"You lie, and lie doubly!"</p> + +<p>The tribunal became indignant at the heat and the lack of respect with +which this man was protesting.</p> + +<p>If he did not keep silent he would be fined.</p> + +<p>But what was a fine for the concentrated wrath of a peaceful man! He +kept on protesting against the injustice of men, against the tribunal +which had, as its servants, such rogues and liars as Pimentó.</p> + +<p>The tribunal was stirred up; the seven judges became excited.</p> + +<p>Four <i>sous</i> for a fine!</p> + +<p>Batiste, realizing his situation, suddenly grew<a name="page_102" id="page_102"></a> silent, terrified at +having incurred a fine, while laughter came from the crowd and howls of +joy from his enemies.</p> + +<p>He remained motionless, with bowed head, and his eyes dimmed with tears +of rage, while his brutal enemy finished formulating his denunciation.</p> + +<p>"Speak," the tribunal said to him. But little sympathy was noted in the +looks of the judges for this disturber, who had come to trouble the +solemnity of their deliberations with his protests.</p> + +<p>Batiste, trembling with rage, stammered, not knowing how to begin his +defence because of the very fact that it seemed to him perfectly just.</p> + +<p>The court had been misled; Pimentó was a liar and furthermore his +declared enemy. He had told him that his time for irrigation came at +five, he remembered it very well, and was now affirming that it was two; +just to make him incur a fine, to destroy the wheat upon which the life +of his family depended.... Did the tribunal value the word of an honest +man? Then this was the truth, although he was not able to present +witnesses. It seemed impossible that the honourable<a name="page_103" id="page_103"></a> syndics, all good +people, should trust a rascal like Pimentó!</p> + +<p>The white sandal of the president struck the square tile of the +sidewalk, as if to avert the storm of protests and the lack of respect +which he saw from afar.</p> + +<p>"Be silent."</p> + +<p>And Batiste was silent, while the seven-headed monster, folding itself +up again on the sofa of damask, was whispering, preparing the sentence.</p> + +<p>"The tribunal decrees ..." said the eldest judge, and there was absolute +silence.</p> + +<p>All the people around the roped space showed a certain anxiety in their +eyes, as if they were the sentenced. They were hanging on the lips of +the eldest judge.</p> + +<p>"Batiste Borrull shall pay two pounds for a penalty, and four <i>sous</i> for +a fine."</p> + +<p>A murmur of satisfaction arose and spread, and one old woman even began +to clap her hands, shouting "Hurrah! hurrah!" amid the loud laughter of +the people.</p> + +<p>Batiste went out blindly from the tribunal, with his head lowered as +though he were about to fight, and Pimentó prudently stayed behind.</p> + +<p>If the people had not parted, opening the way,<a name="page_104" id="page_104"></a> for him, it is certain +that he would have struck out with his powerful fists, and given the +hostile rabble a beating on the spot.</p> + +<p>He departed. He went to the house of his masters to tell them of what +had happened, of the ill will of this people, pledged to embitter his +existence for him; and an hour later, already more composed by the kind +words of the <i>señores</i>, he set forth on the road toward his home.</p> + +<p>Insufferable torment! Marching close to their carts loaded with manure +or mounted on their donkeys above the empty hampers, he kept meeting on +the low road of Alboraya many of those who had been present at the +trial.</p> + +<p>They were hostile people, neighbours whom he never greeted.</p> + +<p>When he passed beside them, they remained silent, and made an effort to +keep their gravity, although a malicious joy glowed in their eyes; but +as soon as he had gone by, they burst into insolent laughter behind his +back, and he even heard the voice of a lad who shouted, mimicking the +grave tone of the president:</p> + +<p>"Four <i>sous</i> for a fine!"</p> + +<p>In the distance he saw, in the doorway of the tavern of Copa, his enemy +Pimentó, with an<a name="page_105" id="page_105"></a> earthen jug in hand, in the midst of a circle of +friends, gesticulating and laughing as if he were imitating the protests +and complaints of the one denounced. His sentence was the theme of +rejoicing for the <i>huerta</i>: all were laughing.</p> + +<p>God! Now he, a man of peace and a kind father, understood why it is that +men kill.</p> + +<p>His powerful arms trembled, and he felt a cruel itching in the hands. He +slackened his pace on approaching the house of Copa; he wanted to see +whether they would mock him to his face.</p> + +<p>He even thought, a strange novelty, of entering for the first time to +drink a glass of wine face to face with his enemies; but the two pound +fine lay heavy on his heart and he repented of his generosity. This was +a conspiracy against the footwear of his sons; it would take all the +little pile of farthings hoarded together by Teresa to buy new sandals +for the little ones.</p> + +<p>As he passed the front of the tavern, Pimentó hid with the excuse of +filling the jug, and his friends pretended not to see Batiste.</p> + +<p>His aspect of a man ready for anything inspired respect in his +neighbours.</p> + +<p>But this triumph filled him with sadness.<a name="page_106" id="page_106"></a> How hateful the people were +to him! The entire <i>vega</i> arose before him, scowling and threatening at +all hours. This was not living. Even in the daytime, he avoided coming +out of his fields, shunning all contact with his neighbours.</p> + +<p>He did not fear them, but like a prudent man, avoided disputes.</p> + +<p>At night, he slept restlessly, and many times, at the slightest barking +of the dogs, he leaped out of bed, rushed from the house, shotgun in +hand, and even believed on more than one occasion that he saw black +forms which fled among the adjoining paths.</p> + +<p>He feared for his harvest, for the wheat which was the hope of the +family and whose growth was followed in silence but with envious glances +from the other farm-houses.</p> + +<p>He knew of the threats of Pimentó, who supported by all the <i>huerta</i>, +swore that this wheat should not be cut by him who had sowed it, and +Batiste almost forgot his sons in thinking about his fields, of the +series of green waves which grew and grew under the rays of the sun and +which must turn into golden piles of ripe wheat.</p> + +<p>The silent and concentrated hatred followed him out upon the road. The +women drew away,<a name="page_107" id="page_107"></a> with curling lips, and did not deign to salute him, as +is the custom in the <i>huerta</i>; the men who were working in the fields +adjoining the road, called to each other with insolent expressions which +were directed indirectly at Batiste; and the little children shouted +from a distance, "Thug! Jew!" without adding more to such insults, as if +they alone were applicable to the enemy of the <i>huerta</i>.</p> + +<p>Ah! If he had not had the fists of a giant, those enormous shoulders and +that expression of a man who has few friends, how soon the entire <i>vega</i> +would have settled with him! Each one hoping that the other would be the +first to dare, they contented themselves with insulting him from a +distance.</p> + +<p>Batiste, in the midst of the sadness which this solitude inspired in +him, experienced one slight satisfaction. Already close to the +farm-house, when he heard the barkings of the dog who had scented his +approach, he saw a boy, an overgrown youth, seated on a sloping bank +with the sickle between his legs, and holding some piles of cut +brushwood at his side, who stood up to greet him.</p> + +<p>"Good day, Señor Batiste!"<a name="page_108" id="page_108"></a></p> + +<p>And the salutation, the trembling voice of a timid boy with which he +spoke to him, impressed him pleasantly.</p> + +<p>The friendliness of this child was a small matter, yet he experienced +the impression of a feverish man upon feeling the coolness of water.</p> + +<p>He gazed with tenderness at the blue eyes, the smiling face covered by a +coat of down, and searched his memory as to who the boy might be. +Finally he remembered that he was the grandson of old Tomba, the blind +shepherd whom all the <i>huerta</i> respected; a good boy who was serving as +a servant to a butcher at Alboraya, whose herd the old man tended.</p> + +<p>"Thanks, little one, thanks," he murmured, acknowledging the salute.</p> + +<p>And he went ahead, and was welcomed by his dog, who leaped before him, +and rubbed himself against his corduroy trousers.</p> + +<p>In the door of the cabin stood his wife surrounded by the little ones, +waiting impatiently, for the supper hour had already passed.</p> + +<p>Batiste looked at the fields, and all the fury he had suffered an hour +ago before the Tribunal of the Waters, returned at a stroke and like a +furious wave flooded his consciousness.<a name="page_109" id="page_109"></a></p> + +<p>His wheat was thirsty. He had only to see it; its leaves shrivelled, the +green colour, before so lustrous, now of a yellow transparency. The +irrigation had failed him; the turn of which Pimentó, with his sly and +evil tricks, had robbed him, would not belong to him until fifteen days +had passed, because the water was scarce; and on top of this misfortune +all that damned string of pounds and <i>sous</i> for a fine. Christ!</p> + +<p>He ate without any appetite, telling his wife the while of the +occurrence at the Tribunal.</p> + +<p>Poor Teresa listened to her husband, pale with the emotion of the +countrywoman who feels a pang in her heart when there must be a +loosening of the knot of the stocking which guards the money in the +bottom of the chest. Sovereign queen! They had determined to ruin them! +What sorrow at the evening-meal!</p> + +<p>And letting her spoon fall into the frying-pan of rice, she wept, +swallowing her tears. Then she became red with sudden passion, looked +out at the expanse of plain with she saw in front of her door, with its +white farm-houses and its waves of green, and stretching out her arms, +she cried: "Rascals! Rascals!"</p> + +<p>The little folks, frightened by their father's<a name="page_110" id="page_110"></a> scowl, and the cries of +their mother, were afraid to eat. They looked from one to the other with +indecision and wonder, picked at their noses to be doing something, and +all of them ended by imitating their mother and weeping over the rice.</p> + +<p>Batiste, agitated by the chorus of sobs, arose furiously, and almost +kicked over the little table as he flung himself out of the house.</p> + +<p>What an afternoon! The thirst of his wheat and the remembrance of the +fine were like two fierce dogs tearing at his heart. When one, tired of +biting him, was going to sleep, the other arrived at full speed and +fixed his teeth in him.</p> + +<p>He wanted to distract his thoughts, to forget himself in work, and he +gave himself over with all his will to the task he had in hand, a pigsty +which he was putting up in the corral.</p> + +<p>But the work did not progress. He was suffocating between the mud-walls; +he wanted to look at the fields, he was like those who feel the need to +look upon their misfortune, to yield utterly and drink the cup of sorrow +to the dregs. And with his hands full of clay, he came out from the +farm-yard, and remained standing before the oblong patch of shrivelled +wheat.<a name="page_111" id="page_111"></a></p> + +<p>A few steps away, at the edge of the road, the murmuring canal brimmed +with red water ran by.</p> + +<p>The life-giving blood of the <i>huerta</i> was flowing far away, for other +fields whose masters did not have the misfortune of being hated; and +here was his poor wheat, shrivelled, languishing, bowing its green head +as if it were making signs to the water to come near and caress it with +its cool kiss.</p> + +<p>To poor Batiste, it seemed that the sun was burning hotter than on other +days. The sun was at the horizon, yet the poor man imagined that its +rays were vertical, and that everything was burning up.</p> + +<p>His land was cracking open, it parted in tortuous grooves, forming a +thousand mouths which vainly awaited a swallow of water.</p> + +<p>Nor would the wheat hold its thirst until the next irrigation. It would +die, it would become dried up, the family would not have bread; and +besides so much misery, a fine on top of everything. And people even +find fault if men go to ruin!</p> + +<p>Furious he walked back and forth along the border of his oblong plot. +Ah, Pimentó!<a name="page_112" id="page_112"></a> Greatest of scoundrels! If there were no Civil Guards!</p> + +<p>And like shipwrecked mariners, agonizing with hunger and thirst, who in +their delirium see only interminable banquet-tables, and the clearest +springs, Batiste confusedly saw fields of wheat whose stalks were green +and straight, and the water entering, gushing from the mouths of the +sloping-banks, extending itself with a luminous rippling, as if it +laughed softly at feeling the tickling of the thirsty earth.</p> + +<p>At the sinking of the sun, Batiste felt a certain relief, as though it +had gone out forever, and his harvest was saved.</p> + +<p>He went away from his fields, from his farm-house, and unconsciously, +with slow steps, took the road below, toward the tavern of Copa. The +thought of the rural police had left his mind, and he accepted the +possibility of a meeting with Pimentó, who should not be very far away +from the tavern, with a certain feeling of pleasure.</p> + +<p>Along the borders of the road, there were coming toward him swift rows +of girls, hamper on arm, and skirts flying, returning from the factories +of the city.</p> + +<p>Blue shadows were spreading over the <i>huerta</i>;<a name="page_113" id="page_113"></a> in the background, over +the darkening mountains, the clouds were growing red with the splendour +of some far distant fire; in the direction of the sea, the first stars +were trembling in the infinite blue; the dogs were barking mournfully; +and with the monotonous singing of the frogs and the crickets, was +mingled the confused creaking of invisible wagons, departing over all +the roads of the immense plain.</p> + +<p>Batiste saw his daughter coming, separated from all the girls, walking +with slow steps. But not alone. It seemed to him that she was talking +with a man who followed in the same direction as herself, although +somewhat apart, as the betrothed always walk in the <i>huerta</i>, for whom +approach is a sign of sin.</p> + +<p>When he saw Batiste in the middle of the road, the man slackened his +pace and remained at a distance as Roseta approached her father.</p> + +<p>The latter remained motionless, as he wanted the stranger to advance so +that he might recognize him.</p> + +<p>"Good night, Señor Batiste."</p> + +<p>It was the same timid voice which had saluted him at midday. The +grandson of old Tomba. That scamp seemed to have nothing to<a name="page_114" id="page_114"></a> do but +wander over the roads, and greet him, and thrust himself before his eyes +with his bland sweetness.</p> + +<p>He looked at his daughter, who grew red under the gaze, and lowered her +eyes.</p> + +<p>"Go home; home, ... I will settle with you!"</p> + +<p>And with all the terrible majesty of the Latin father, the absolute +master of his children, and more inclined to inspire fear than +affection, he started after the tremulous Roseta, who, as she drew near +the farm, anticipated a sure cudgeling.</p> + +<p>She was mistaken. At that moment the poor father had no other children +in the world but his crops, the poor sick wheat, shrivelling, drying, +and crying out to him, begging for a swallow in order not to die.</p> + +<p>And of this he thought while his wife was getting the supper ready. +Roseta was bustling about pretending to be busy, in order not to attract +attention and expecting from one moment to the next an outburst of +terrible anger. But Batiste, seated before the little dwarfish table, +surrounded by all the young people of his family, who were gazing +greedily by the candle-light at the earthenware dish, filled with<a name="page_115" id="page_115"></a> +smoking hake and potatoes, went on thinking of his fields.</p> + +<p>The woman was still sighing, pondering the fine; making comparisons, +without doubt, between the fabulous sum which they were going to wrest +from her, and the ease with which the entire family were eating.</p> + +<p>Batiste, contemplating the voracity of his children, scarcely ate. +Batistet, the eldest son, even appropriated with feigned abstraction of +the pieces of bread belonging to the little ones. To Roseta, fear gave a +fierce appetite.</p> + +<p>Never until then did Batiste comprehend the load which was weighing upon +his shoulders. These mouths which opened to swallow up the meagre +savings of the family would be without food if that land outside should +dry.</p> + +<p>And all for what? On account of the injustice of men, because there are +laws made to molest honest workmen.... He should not stand this. His +family before everything else. Did he not feel capable of defending his +own from even greater dangers? Did he not owe them the duty of +maintaining them? He was capable of becoming a thief in order to give +them food. Why then, did he have to submit, when he was<a name="page_116" id="page_116"></a> not trying to +steal, but to give life to his crops, which were all his own?</p> + +<p>The image of the canal, which at a short distance was dragging along its +murmuring supply for others, was torturing him. It enraged him that life +should be passing by at his very door without his being able to profit +by it, because the laws wished it so.</p> + +<p>Suddenly he arose, like a man who has adopted a resolution and who in +order to fulfil it, stamps everything under foot.</p> + +<p>"To irrigate! To irrigate!"</p> + +<p>The woman was terrified, for she quickly guessed all the danger of the +desperate resolution. For Heaven's sake, Batiste!... They would impose +upon him a greater fine; perhaps the Tribunal, offended by his +rebellion, would take the water away from him forever! He ought to +consider it.... It was better to wait.</p> + +<p>But Batiste had the enduring wrath of phlegmatic and slow men, who, when +they once lose their composure, are slow to recover it.</p> + +<p>"Irrigate! Irrigate!"</p> + +<p>And Batistet, gaily repeating the words of his father, picked up the +large hoes, and started<a name="page_117" id="page_117"></a> from the house, followed by his sister and the +little ones.</p> + +<p>They all wished to take part in this work, which seemed like a holiday.</p> + +<p>The family felt the exhilaration of a people which, by a revolution, +recovers its liberty.</p> + +<p>They approached the canal, which was murmuring in the shade. The immense +plain was lost in the blue shadow, the cane-brake undulated in dark and +murmuring masses, and the stars twinkled in the heavens.</p> + +<p>Batiste went into the canal knee-deep, lowering the gates which held the +water, while his son, his wife and even his daughter attacked the +sloping banks with the hoes, opening gaps, through which the water +gushed.</p> + +<p>All the family felt a sensation of coolness and of well-being.</p> + +<p>The earth sung merrily with a greedy glu-glu, which touched the heart. +"Drink, drink, poor thing!" And their feet sank in the mud, as bent over +they went from one side to the other of the field, looking to see if the +water had reached every part.</p> + +<p>Batiste muttered with the cruel satisfaction<a name="page_118" id="page_118"></a> which the joy of the +prohibited produces. What a load was lifted from him! The Tribunal might +come now, and do whatever it wished. His field had drunk; this was the +main thing.</p> + +<p>And as with the acute hearing of a man accustomed to the solitude, he +thought that he perceived a certain strange noise in the neighbouring +cane-brake, he ran to the farm, and returned immediately, holding a new +shotgun.</p> + +<p>With the weapon over his arm, and his finger on the trigger, he stood +more than an hour close to the bars of the canal.</p> + +<p>The water did not flow ahead; it spread itself out in the fields of +Batiste, which drank and drank with the thirst of a dropsical man.</p> + +<p>Perhaps those down below were complaining; perhaps Pimentó, notified as +an <i>atandador</i>, was prowling in the vicinity, outraged at this insolent +breach of the law.</p> + +<p>But here was Batiste, like a sentinel of his harvest, a hero made +desperate by the struggle of his family, guarding his people who were +moving about in the field, extending the irrigation; ready to deal a +blow at the first who might attempt to raise the bars, and re-establish +the water's course.<a name="page_119" id="page_119"></a></p> + +<p>So fierce was the attitude of this great fellow who stood out motionless +in the midst of the canal; in this black phantom there might be divined +such a resolution of shooting at whoever might present himself, that no +one ventured forth from the adjoining cane-brake, and the fields drank +for an hour without any protest.</p> + +<p>And this is what is yet stranger: on the following Thursday the +<i>atandador</i> did not have him summoned before the Tribunal of the Waters.</p> + +<p>The <i>huerta</i> had been informed that in the ancient farm-house of Barret +the only object of worth was a double-barreled shotgun, recently bought +by the intruder, with that African passion of the Valencian, who +willingly deprives himself of bread in order to have behind the door of +his house a new weapon which excites envy and inspires respect.<a name="page_120" id="page_120"></a></p> + +<h2><a name="V" id="V"></a>V</h2> + +<p class="nind"><span class="letra">E</span>VERY morning, at dawn, Roseta, Batiste's daughter, leaped out of bed, +her eyes heavy with sleep, and after stretching out her arms in graceful +writhings which shook all her body of blonde slenderness, opened the +farm-house door.</p> + +<p>The pulley of the well creaked, the ugly little dog, which passed the +night outside the house, leaped close to her skirts, barking with joy, +and Roseta, in the light of the last stars, cast over her face and hands +a pail of cold water drawn from that round and murky hole, crowned at +the top by thick clumps of ivy.</p> + +<p>Afterward, in the light of the candle, she moved about the house +preparing for her journey to Valencia.</p> + +<p>The mother followed her without seeing her from the bed with all kinds +of suggestions. She could take away what was left from the supper: that +with three sardines which she would find on the shelf would be +sufficient. And take care<a name="page_121" id="page_121"></a> not to break the dish as she did the other +day. Ah! And she should not forget to buy thread, needles and some +sandals for the little one. Destructive child!... She would find the +money in the drawer of the little table.</p> + +<p>And while the mother turned over in bed, sweetly caressed by the warmth +of the bedroom, planning to sleep a half-hour more close to the enormous +Batiste, who snored noisily, Roseta continued her evolutions. She placed +her poor meal in a basket, passed a comb through her light-blond hair, +which looked as though the sun had absorbed its colour, and tied the +handkerchief under her chin. Before going out, she looked with the +tender solicitousness of an elder sister, to see if the little ones who +slept on the floor, all in the same room, were well covered. They lay +there in a row from the eldest to the youngest, from the overgrown +Batistet to the little tot who as yet could hardly talk, like a row of +organ pipes.</p> + +<p>"Good-bye, until tonight!" shouted the brave girl, and passing her arm +through the handle of the basket, she closed the door of the farm-house, +placing the key underneath.</p> + +<p>It was already daylight. In the bluish light<a name="page_122" id="page_122"></a> of dawn the procession of +workers could be seen passing over the paths and roads, all walking in +the same direction, drawn by the life of the city.</p> + +<p>Groups of graceful spinning-mill girls passed by, marching with an even +step, swinging with jaunty grace their right arms which cut the air like +a strong oar, and all screaming in chorus every time that any strapping +young fellow saluted them from the neighbouring fields with coarse +jests.</p> + +<p>Roseta walked to the city alone. Well did the poor child know her +companions, daughters and sisters of those who hated her family so +bitterly.</p> + +<p>Several of them were working in the factory, and the poor little +yellow-haired girl, making a show of courage more than once, had to +defend herself by sheer scratching. Taking advantage of her +carelessness, they threw dirty things into her lunch-basket; made her +break the earthenware dish of which she was reminded so many times, and +never passed near her in the mill without trying to push her over the +smoking kettle where the cocoon was being soaked while they called her a +pauper, and applied similar eulogies to her and her family.<a name="page_123" id="page_123"></a></p> + +<p>On the way she fled from them as from a throng of furies, and felt safe +only when she was inside the factory, an ugly old building close to the +market, whose façades, painted in water-colours the century before, +still preserved between peeling paint and cracks certain groups of +rose-coloured legs, and profiles of bronzed colour, remnants of +medallions, and mythological paintings.</p> + +<p>Of all the family, Roseta was the most like her father: a fury for work, +as Batiste said of himself. The fiery vapour of the caldron where the +cocoon is soaked mounted about her head, burning her eyes; but, in spite +of this, she was always in her place, fishing in the depths of the +boiling water for the loosened ends of those capsules of soft silk of +the mellow colour of caramel, in whose interior the laborious worm, the +larva of precious exudation, had just perished for the offence of +creating a rich dungeon for its transformation into the butterfly.</p> + +<p>Throughout the large building reigned the din of work, deafening and +tiresome for the daughters of the <i>huerta</i>, who were used to the calm of +the immense plain, where the voice carries a great distance. Below +roared the steam-<a name="page_124" id="page_124"></a>engine, giving forth frightful roaring sounds which +were transmitted through the multiple tubing: pulleys and wheels +revolved with an infernal din, and as though there were not noise +enough, the spinning-mill girls, according to traditional custom, sang +in chorus with a nasal voice, the <i>Padre nuestro</i>, the <i>Ave Maria</i>, and +the <i>Gloria Patri</i>, with the same musical interludes as the chorus which +roamed about the <i>huerta</i> Sunday mornings at dawn.</p> + +<p>This did not prevent them from laughing as they sang, nor from insulting +each other in an undertone between prayers, and threatening each other +with four long scratches on coming out, for these dark-complexioned +girls, enslaved by the rigid tyranny which rules in the farmer's family, +and obliged by hereditary conventions to lower their eyes in the +presence of men, when gathered together without restraint were regular +demons, and took delight in uttering everything they had heard from the +cart-drivers and labourers on the roads.</p> + +<p>Roseta was the most silent and industrious of them all. In order not to +distract her attention from her work, she did not sing; she never +provoked quarrels and she learned everything with<a name="page_125" id="page_125"></a> such facility, that +in a few weeks she was earning three reals, almost the maximum for the +day's work, to the great envy of the others.</p> + +<p>At the lunch-hour these bands of dishevelled girls sallied forth from +the factory to gobble up the contents of their earthen-ware dishes. As +they formed a loafing group on the side-walk or in the immediate +porches, and challenged the men with insolent glances to speak to them, +only falsely scandalized, to fire back shameless remarks in return, +Roseta remained in a corner of the mill, seated on the floor with two or +three good girls who were from another <i>huerta</i>, from the right side of +the river, and who did not care a rap for the story of old Barret and +the hatred of their companions.</p> + +<p>During the first weeks, Roseta saw with a certain terror the arrival of +dusk, and with it, the hour for departure.</p> + +<p>Fearing her companions, who took the same road as herself, she stayed in +the factory for a time, letting them set out ahead like a cyclone, with +scandalous bursts of laughter, flauntings of skirts, daring vulgarisms, +and the odour of health, of hard and rugged limbs.</p> + +<p>She walked lazily through the streets of the<a name="page_126" id="page_126"></a> city in the cold twilight +of winter, making purchases for her mother, stood open-mouthed before +the shop windows which began to be illumined, and at last, passing over +the bridge, she entered the dark narrow alleys of the suburbs to set +forth upon the road of Alboraya.</p> + +<p>So far, all was well. But after she came to the dark <i>huerta</i> with its +mysterious noises, its dark and alarming forms which passed close to her +saluting with a deep "Good night," fear set in, and her teeth chattered.</p> + +<p>And it was not that the silence and the darkness intimidated her. Like a +true daughter of the country, she was accustomed to these. If she had +been certain that she would encounter no one on the road, it would have +given her confidence. In her terror, she never thought, as did her +companions, of death, nor of witches and phantasms; it was the living +who disturbed her.</p> + +<p>She recalled with growing fear certain stories of the <i>huerta</i> that she +had heard in the factory; the fear that the little girls had of Pimentó, +and other bullies who congregated in the tavern of Copa: heartless +fellows who pinched the girls wherever they could, and pushed them into +the canals, or made them fall behind the haylofts.<a name="page_127" id="page_127"></a> And Roseta, who was +no longer innocent after entering the factory, gave free rein to her +imagination, till it reached the utmost limits of the horrible; and she +saw herself assassinated by some one of these monsters, her stomach +ripped up and soaked in blood, like those children of the legends of the +<i>huerta</i> whose fat sinister and mysterious murderers extracted and used +in making wonderful salves and potions for the rich.</p> + +<p>In the twilight of winter, dark and oftentimes rainy, Roseta passed over +more than half of the road all a tremble. But the most cruel crisis, the +most terrible obstacle was almost at the end, and close to the farm—the +famous tavern of Copa.</p> + +<p>Here was the den of the wild beast. This was the most frequented and the +brightest bit of road. The sound of voices, the outbursts of laughter, +the thrumming of a guitar, and couplets of songs with loud shouting came +forth from the door which, like the mouth of a furnace, cast forth a +square of reddish light over the black road, in which grotesque shadows +moved about. And nevertheless, the poor mill girl, on arriving near this +place, stopped undecided, trembling like the heroines of the fairy-tales +before the den of the<a name="page_128" id="page_128"></a> ogre, ready to set out through the fields in +order to make a détour around the rear of the building, to sink into the +canal which bordered the road, and to slip away hidden behind the +sloping banks; anything rather than to pass in front of this red gullet +which gave forth the din of drunkenness and brutality.</p> + +<p>Finally she decided; made an effort of will like one who is going to +throw himself over a high cliff, and passed swiftly before the tavern, +along the edge of the canal, with a very light step, and the marvellous +poise which fear lends.</p> + +<p>She was a breath, a white shadow which did not give the turbid eyes of +the customers of Copa time to fix themselves upon it.</p> + +<p>And the tavern passed, the child ran and ran, believing that some one +was just behind her, expecting to feel the tug of his powerful paw at +her skirt.</p> + +<p>She was not calm until she heard the barking of the dog at the +farm-house, that ugly animal, who by way of antithesis no doubt, was +called The Morning Star, and who came bounding up to her in the middle +of the road with bounds and licked her hands.<a name="page_129" id="page_129"></a></p> + +<p>Roseta never told those at home of the terrors encountered on the road. +The poor child composed herself on entering the house, and answered the +questions of her anxious mother quietly, meeting the situation +valorously by stating that she had come home with some companions.</p> + +<p>The spinning-mill girl did not want her father to come out nights to +accompany her on the road. She knew the hatred of the neighbourhood: the +tavern of Copa with its quarrelsome people inspired her with fear.</p> + +<p>And on the following day she returned to the factory to suffer the same +fears upon returning, enlivened only by the hope that the spring would +soon come with its longer days and its luminous twilights, which would +permit her to return to the house before it grew dark.</p> + +<p>One night, Roseta experienced a certain relief. While she was still +close to the city, a man came out upon the road and began to walk at the +same pace as herself.</p> + +<p>"Good evening!"</p> + +<p>And while the mill-girl was walking over the high bank which bordered +the road, the man walked below, among the deep cuts opened by<a name="page_130" id="page_130"></a> the +wheels of the carts, stumbling over the red bricks, chipped dishes, and +even pieces of glass with which farsighted hands wished to fill up the +holes of remote origin.</p> + +<p>Roseta showed no disquietude. She had recognized her companion even +before he saluted her. It was Tonet, the nephew of old Tomba, the +shepherd: a good boy, who served as an apprentice to a butcher of +Alboraya, and at whom the mill-girls laughed when they met him upon the +road, taking delight in seeing how he blushed, and turned his head away +at the least word.</p> + +<p>Such a timid boy! He was alone in the world without any other relatives +than his grandfather, worked even on Sundays, and not only went to +Valencia to collect manure for the fields of his master, but also helped +him in the slaughter of cattle and tilled the earth, and carried meat to +the rich farmers. All in order that he and his grandfather might eat, +and that he might go dressed in the old ragged clothes of his master. He +did not smoke; he had entered the tavern of Copa only two or three times +in his life, and on Sundays, if he had some hours free, instead of +squatting on the Plaza of Alboraya, like the others to<a name="page_131" id="page_131"></a> watch the +bullies playing hand-ball, he went out into the fields and roamed +aimlessly through the tangled net-work of paths. If he happened to meet +a tree filled with birds, he would stop there fascinated by the +fluttering and the cries of these vagrants of the air.</p> + +<p>The people saw in him something of the mysterious eccentricities of his +grandfather, the shepherd: all regarded him as a poor fool, timid and +docile.</p> + +<p>The mill-girl became enlivened with company. She was safer if a man +walked with her, and more so if it were Tonet, who inspired confidence.</p> + +<p>She spoke to him, asking him whence he came, and the youth answered +vaguely, with his habitual timidity: "From there ... from there...." and +then became silent as if those words cost him a great effort.</p> + +<p>They followed the road in silence, parting close to the <i>barraca</i>.</p> + +<p>"Good night and thanks!" said the girl.</p> + +<p>"Good night," and Tonet disappeared, walking toward the village.</p> + +<p>It was an incident of no importance, an agreeable encounter which had +banished her fear, nothing more. And nevertheless, Roseta ate<a name="page_132" id="page_132"></a> supper +that night and went to bed thinking of old Tomba's nephew.</p> + +<p>Now she recalled the times that she had met him mornings on the road, +and it seemed to her that Tonet always tried to keep the same pace as +herself, although somewhat apart so as not to attract the attention of +the sarcastic mill-girls. It even seemed to her that at times, on +turning her head suddenly, she had surprised him with his eyes fixed +upon her.</p> + +<p>And the girl, as if she were spinning a cocoon, grasped these loose ends +of her memory, and drew and drew them out, recalling everything in her +existence which related to Tonet: the first time that she saw him, and +her impulse of sympathetic compassion on account of the mockery of the +mill-girls which he suffered crestfallen and timid, as though these +harpies in a troop inspired him with fear; then the frequent encounters +on the road, and the fixed glances of the boy, who seemed to wish to say +something to her.</p> + +<p>The following day, when she went to Valencia, she did not see him, but +at night, upon starting to return to the <i>barraca</i>, the girl was not +afraid in spite of the twilight being dark and rainy.<a name="page_133" id="page_133"></a> She foresaw that +the companion who gave her such courage would put in an appearance, and +true enough he came out to meet her at almost the same spot as on the +preceding day.</p> + +<p>He was as expressive as usual: "Good night!" and went on walking at her +side.</p> + +<p>Roseta was more loquacious. Where did he come from? What a chance to +meet on two succeeding days! And he, trembling, as though the words cost +him a great effort, answered as usual: "From there ... from there ..."</p> + +<p>The girl, just as timid, felt nevertheless a temptation to laugh at his +agitation. She spoke of her fear, and the scares which she had met with +on the road during the winter, and Tonet, comforted by the service which +he was lending to her, unglued his lips at last, in order to tell her +that he would accompany her frequently. He always had business for his +master in the <i>huerta</i>.</p> + +<p>They took leave of each other with the brevity of the preceding day; but +that night the girl went to her bed restless and nervous, and dreamed a +thousand wild things; she saw herself on a black road, very black, +accompanied by an enormous dog which licked her hands and had the same<a name="page_134" id="page_134"></a> +face as Tonet; and afterward there came a wolf to bite her, with a snout +which vaguely reminded her of the hateful Pimentó; and the two fought +with their teeth, and her father came out with a club, and she was +weeping as if the blows which her faithful dog received were falling on +her own shoulders; and thus her imagination went on wandering. But in +all the confused scenes of her dream she saw the grandson of old Tomba, +with his blue eyes, and his boyish face covered with light down, first +indication of his manhood.</p> + +<p>She arose weak and broken as if she were coming out of a delirium. This +was Sunday, and she was not going to the factory. The sun came in +through the little window of her bedroom, and all the people of the +farm-house were already out of their beds. Roseta began to get ready to +go with her mother to church.</p> + +<p>The diabolical dream still upset her. She felt differently, with +different thoughts, as though the preceding night were a wall which +divided her existence into two parts.</p> + +<p>She sang gaily like a bird while she took her clothes out of the chest, +and arranged them upon the bed, which, still warm, held the impress of +her body.<a name="page_135" id="page_135"></a></p> + +<p>She liked these Sundays with her freedom to arise late, with her hours +of leisure, and her little trip to Alboraya to hear mass; but this +Sunday was better than the others; the sun shone more brightly, the +birds were singing with more passion, through the little window the air +entered gloriously balsamic; how should one express it! in short, this +morning had something new and extraordinary about it.</p> + +<p>She reproached herself now for having up to that time paid no attention +to her personal appearance. It is time, at sixteen, to think about +fixing oneself up. How stupid she had been, always laughing at her +mother who called her a dowdy! And as though it were new attire which +she looked on for the first time, she drew over her head as carefully as +if it were thin lace, the calico petticoat which she wore every Sunday; +and laced her corset tightly, as though that armour of high whalebones, +a real farmer-girl's corset, which crushed the budding breasts cruelly, +were not already tight enough. For in the <i>huerta</i> it is considered +immodest for unmarried girls not to hide the alluring charms of nature, +so that no one might sinfully behold in the virgin the symbols of her +future maternity.<a name="page_136" id="page_136"></a></p> + +<p>For the first time in her life, the mill-girl passed more than a quarter +of an hour before the four inches of looking-glass, in its frame of +varnished pine, which her father had presented to her, a mirror in which +she had to look at her face by sections.</p> + +<p>She was not beautiful, and she knew it; but uglier ones she had met by +the dozen in the <i>huerta</i>. And without knowing why, she took pleasure in +contemplating her eyes, of a clear green; the cheeks spotted with +delicate freckles which the sun had raised upon the tanned skin; the +whitish blond hair, which had the wan delicacy of silk; the little nose +with its palpitating nostrils, projecting over the mouth; the mouth +itself, shadowed by soft down, tender as that on a ripe peach, her +strong and even teeth, of the flashing whiteness of milk, and a gleam +which seemed to light up the whole face: the teeth of a poor girl!</p> + +<p>The mother had to wait; the poor woman was in a hurry, moving about the +house impatiently as though spurred on by the bell which sounded from a +distance. They were going to miss mass: and meanwhile Roseta was calmly +combing her hair, constantly undoing her work, which did<a name="page_137" id="page_137"></a> not satisfy +her; she went on arranging the mantle with tugs of vexation, never +finding it to her liking.</p> + +<p>In the <i>plaza</i> of Alboraya, upon entering and leaving the church, +Roseta, hardly raising her eyes, scanned the door of the meat-market, +where the people were crowding in, coming from mass.</p> + +<p>There he was, assisting his master, giving him the flayed pieces of +meat, and driving away the swarms of flies which were covering it.</p> + +<p>How the big simpleton flushed on seeing her.</p> + +<p>As she passed the second time, he remained like one who has been +charmed, with a leg of mutton in his hand, while his stout employer, +waiting in vain for him to pass it to him, poured forth a round volley +of oaths, threatening the youth with a cleaver.</p> + +<p>She was sad that afternoon. Seated at the door of the farm-house, she +believed she saw him several times prowling about the distant paths, and +hiding in the cane-brake to watch her. The mill-girl wished that Monday +might arrive soon, so she might go back to the factory, and come home +over the horrible road accompanied by Tonet.<a name="page_138" id="page_138"></a></p> + +<p>The boy did not fail her at dusk on the following day.</p> + +<p>Even nearer to the city than upon the other nights, he came forth to +meet her.</p> + +<p>"Good evening!"</p> + +<p>But after the customary salutation, he was not silent. The rogue had +made progress on the day of rest.</p> + +<p>And slowly, accompanying his expressions with grimaces, and scratches +upon his trousers legs, he tried to explain himself, although at times a +full two minutes passed between his words. He was happy at seeing her +well. (A smile from Roseta and a "thanks," murmured faintly.) "Had she +enjoyed herself Sunday?" ... (Silence.) "He had had quite a dull time. +It had bored him. Doubtless, the custom ... then ... it seemed that +something had been lacking ... naturally he had taken a fancy for the +road ... no, not the road: what he liked was to accompany her...."</p> + +<p>And here he stopped high and dry: it even seemed to him that he bit his +tongue nervously to punish it for its boldness and pinched himself for +having gone so far.<a name="page_139" id="page_139"></a></p> + +<p>They walked some distance in silence. The girl did not answer; she went +along her way with the gracefully affected air of the mill-girls, the +basket at the left hip, and the right arm cutting the air with the +swinging motion of a pendulum.</p> + +<p>She was thinking of her dream; she imagined herself again to be in the +midst of that delirium, seeing wild phantasies; several times she turned +her head, believing that she saw in the twilight the dog which had +licked her hands, and which had the face of Tonet, a remembrance which +even made her laugh. But no; he who was at her side was a good fellow +capable of defending her; somewhat timid and bashful, yes, with his head +drooping, as though it hurt him to bring forth the words which he had +just spoken.</p> + +<p>Roseta even confused him the more. Come now; why did he go out to meet +her on the way? What would the people say? If her father should be +informed, how annoyed he would be!</p> + +<p>"Why? Why?" asked the girl.</p> + +<p>And the youth, sadder and sadder, and more and more timid, like a +convicted culprit who hears his accusation, answered nothing. He walked +along at the same pace as the girl, but<a name="page_140" id="page_140"></a> apart from her, stumbling along +the edge of the road. Roseta almost believed that he was going to cry.</p> + +<p>But when they were near the <i>barraca</i>, and as they were about to +separate, Tonet had an impulse: as he had been intensely silent, so now +he was intensely eloquent, and as though many minutes had not elapsed, +he answered the question of the girl:</p> + +<p>"Why?... because I love you."</p> + +<p>As he said it he approached her so closely that she even felt his breath +on her face and his eyes glowed as if through them all the truth must go +out to her; and after this, repenting again, afraid, terrified by his +words, he began to run like a child.</p> + +<p>So then he loved her!... For two days the girl had been expecting the +word, and nevertheless, it gave her the effect of a sudden, unexpected +revelation. She also loved him, and all that night, even in dreams, she +heard him murmuring a thousand times, close to her ears, the same words:</p> + +<p>"Because I love you."</p> + +<p>Tonet did not await her the following night. At dawn Roseta saw him on +the road, almost hidden<a name="page_141" id="page_141"></a> behind the trunk of a mulberry-tree, watching +her with anxiety, like a child who fears a reprimand and has repented, +ready to flee at the first gesture of displeasure.</p> + +<p>But the mill-girl smiled blushingly, and there was need of nothing more.</p> + +<p>All was said: they did not tell each other again that they loved each +other, but this matter decided their betrothal, and Tonet no longer +failed a single time to accompany her on the road.</p> + +<p>The stout butcher of Alboraya blustered with anger at the sudden change +in his servant, so far so diligent, and now ever inventing pretexts to +pass hours and ever more hours in the <i>huerta</i>, especially at night.</p> + +<p>But with the selfishness of happiness, Tonet cared no more for the oaths +and threats of his master than the mill-girl did for her father, for +whom she felt more fear than respect.</p> + +<p>Roseta always had some nest or other in her bedroom, which she claimed +to have found upon the road. This boy did not know how to present +himself with empty hands, and explored all the cane-brake and the trees +of the <i>huerta</i> in order to present her, his betrothed, with round mats +of straw and twigs, in whose depths were some<a name="page_142" id="page_142"></a> little rogues of +fledgelings whose rosy skin was covered with the finest down, peeping +desperately as they opened their monstrous beaks, always hungry for more +crumbs of bread.</p> + +<p>Roseta guarded the gift in her room, as though it were the very person +of her betrothed, and wept when her brothers, the little people who had +the farm-house for a nest, showed their admiration for the birds so +strenuously that they ended by stifling them.</p> + +<p>At other times, Tonet appeared with his clothes bulging, his sash filled +with lupines and peanuts bought in the tavern of Copa, and as they +walked along the road, they would eat and eat, gazing into each other's +eyes, smiling like fools, without knowing why, often seating themselves +upon a bank, without realizing it.</p> + +<p>She was the more sensible and scolded him. Always spending money! There +were two reals or a little less, which, in a week's time, he had left at +the tavern for such treats. And he showed himself to be generous. For +whom did he want the money if not for her? When they would be +married—which had to happen some day—he would then take care of his +money. That, however, would not be for ten or<a name="page_143" id="page_143"></a> twelve years; there was +no need of haste; all the betrothals of the <i>huerta</i> lasted for some +time.</p> + +<p>The matter of the wedding brought Roseta back to reality. The day her +father would learn of it.... Most holy Virgin! he would break her back +with a club. And she spoke of the future thrashing with serenity, +smiling like a strong girl accustomed to this parental authority, rigid, +imposing, and respected, which manifested itself in cuffs and cudgels.</p> + +<p>Their relations were innocent. Never did there arise between them the +poignant and rebellious desire of the flesh. They walked along the +almost deserted road in the dusk of the evening-fall, and solitude +seemed to drive all impure thoughts from their minds.</p> + +<p>Once when Tonet involuntarily and lightly touched Roseta's waist, he +blushed as if he, not she, were the girl in question.</p> + +<p>They were both very far from thinking that their daily meeting might +result in something more than words and glances. It was the first love, +the budding of scarcely awakened youth, content with seeing, speaking, +laughing, without a trace of sensual desire.</p> + +<p>The mill-girl, who on the nights of fear, had<a name="page_144" id="page_144"></a> longed so for the coming +of spring, saw with anxiety the arrival of the long and luminous +twilights.</p> + +<p>Now she met her betrothed in full daylight, and there were never lacking +companions of the factory or some neighbour along the road, who on +seeing them together smiled maliciously, guessing the truth.</p> + +<p>In the factory, jokes were started by all her enemies, who asked her +with sarcasm when the wedding was to take place and nicknamed her The +Shepherdess, for being in love with the grandson of old Tomba.</p> + +<p>Poor Roseta trembled with anxiety. What a thrashing she was going to +bring upon herself! Any day the news might reach her father's ears. And +then it was that Batiste, on the day of his sentence in the Tribunal of +the Waters, saw her on the road, accompanied by Tonet.</p> + +<p>But nothing happened. The happy incident of the irrigation saved her. +Her father, contented at having saved the crops, limited himself to +looking at her several times, with his eyebrows puckered, and to +notifying her in a slow voice, forefinger raised in air, and with an +imperative accent, that henceforth she should take care to<a name="page_145" id="page_145"></a> return alone +from the factory, or otherwise she would learn who he was.</p> + +<p>And she came back alone during all the week. Tonet had a certain respect +for Señor Batiste, and contented himself with hiding in the cane-brake, +near the road, to watch the mill-girl pass by, or to follow her from a +distance.</p> + +<p>As the days now were longer, there were more people on the road.</p> + +<p>But this separation could not be prolonged for the impatient lovers, and +one Sunday afternoon, Roseta, inactive, tired of walking in front of the +door of her house, and believing she saw Tonet in all who were passing +over the neighbouring paths, seized a green-varnished pitcher, and told +her mother that she was going to bring water from the fountain of the +Queen.</p> + +<p>The mother allowed her to go. She ought to divert herself; poor girl! +she did not have any friends and you must let youth claim its own.</p> + +<p>The fountain of the Queen was the pride of all that part of the +<i>huerta</i>, condemned to the water of the wells and the red and muddy +liquid which ran through the canals.</p> + +<p>It was in front of an abandoned farm-house, and was old and of great +merit, according to the<a name="page_146" id="page_146"></a> wisest of the <i>huerta</i>; the work of the Moors, +according to Pimentó; a monument of the epoch when the apostles were +baptizing sinners as they went about the world, so that oracle, old +Tomba, declared with majesty.</p> + +<p>In the afternoons, passing along the road, bordered by poplars with +their restless foliage of silver, one might see groups of girls with +their pitchers held motionless and erect upon their heads, reminding one +with their rhythmical step and their slender figures of the Greek +basket-bearers.</p> + +<p>This defile gave to the Valencian <i>huerta</i> something of a Biblical +flavour; it recalled Arabic poetry, which sings of the woman beside the +fountain with the pitcher on her head, uniting in the same picture the +two most vehement passions of the Oriental: beauty and water.</p> + +<p>The fountain of the Queen was a four-sided pool, with walls of red +stone, and the water below at the level of the ground. One descended by +a half-dozen steps, always slippery and green with humidity. On the +surface of the rectangle of stone facing the stairs a bas-relief +projected, but the figures were indistinct; it was impossible to make +them out beneath the coat of whitewash.<a name="page_147" id="page_147"></a></p> + +<p>It was probably the Virgin surrounded by angels; a work of the rough and +simple art of the Middle Ages; some votive offering of the time of the +conquest: but with some generations picking at the stones, in order to +mark better the figures obliterated by the years, and others +white-washing them with the sudden impulse of barbaric curiosity, had +left the slab in such condition that nothing except the shapeless form +of a woman could be distinguished, the queen who gave her name to the +fountain: the queen of the Moors, as all queens necessarily must be in +all country-tales.</p> + +<p>Nor was the shouting and the confusion a small matter here on Sunday +afternoons. More than thirty girls would crowd together with their +pitchers, desiring to be the first to fill them, but then in no hurry to +go away. They pushed each other on the narrow stairway, with their +skirts tucked in between their limbs, in order to bend over and sink the +pitcher into the pool, whose surface trembled with the bubbles of water +which incessantly surged up from the bottom of the sand, where clumps of +gelatinous plants were growing, green tufts of hair-like fibres, waving +in the prison of crystal liquid, trembling with the<a name="page_148" id="page_148"></a> impulse of the +current. The restless water-skippers streaked across the clear surface +with their delicate legs.</p> + +<p>Those who had already filled their pitchers sat down on the edge of the +pool, hanging their legs over the water and drawing them in with +scandalized screams whenever a boy came down to drink and looked up at +them.</p> + +<p>It was a reunion of turbulent gamin. All were talking at the same time; +they insulted each other, they flayed those who were absent, revealing +all the scandal of the <i>huerta</i>, and the young people, free from +parental severity, cast off the hypocritical expression assumed for the +house, revealing an aggressiveness characteristic of the uncultured who +lack expansion. These angelic brunettes, who sang songs to the Virgin +and litanies in the church of Alboraya so softly when the festival of +the unmarried women was celebrated, now on being alone, became bold and +enlivened their conversation with the curses of a teamster, speaking of +secret things with the calmness of old women.</p> + +<p>Roseta arrived here with her pitcher, without having met her betrothed +upon the road, in spite of the fact that she had walked slowly and had<a name="page_149" id="page_149"></a> +turned her head frequently, hoping at every moment to see him come +forth from a path.</p> + +<p>The noisy party at the fountain became silent on seeing her. The +presence of Roseta at first caused stupefaction: somewhat like the +apparition of a Moor in the church of Alboraya in the midst of high +mass. Why did this pauper come here?</p> + +<p>Roseta greeted two or three who were from the factory, but they pinched +their lips with an expression of scorn and hardly answered her.</p> + +<p>The others, recovered from their surprise, and not wishing to concede to +the intruder even the honour of silence, went on talking as though +nothing had happened.</p> + +<p>Roseta descended to the fountain, filled the pitcher and stood up, +casting anxious glances above the wall, around over all the plain.</p> + +<p>"Look away, look away, but he won't come!"</p> + +<p>It was a niece of Pimentó who said this; the daughter of a sister of +Pepeta, a dark, nervous girl, with an upturned and insolent nose, proud +of being an only daughter, and of the fact that her father was nobody's +tenant, as the four fields which he was working were his own.</p> + +<p>Yes; she might go on looking as much as she<a name="page_150" id="page_150"></a> pleased, but he would not +come. Didn't the others know whom she was expecting? Her betrothed, the +nephew of old Tomba: a fine arrangement!</p> + +<p>And the thirty cruel mouths laughed and laughed as though every laugh +were a bite; not because they considered it a great joke, but in order +to crush the daughter of the hated Batiste.</p> + +<p>The shepherdess!... The divine shepherdess!</p> + +<p>Roseta shrugged her shoulders with indifference. She was expecting this: +moreover, the jokes of the factory had blunted her susceptibility.</p> + +<p>She took the pitcher and went down the steps, but at the bottom the +little mimicking voice of the niece of Pimentó held her. How that small +insect could sting!</p> + +<p>"She would not marry the grandson of old Tomba. He was a poor fool, +dying of hunger, but very honourable and incapable of becoming related +to a family of thieves."</p> + +<p>Roseta almost dropped her pitcher. She grew red as if the words, tearing +at her heart, had<a name="page_151" id="page_151"></a> made all the blood rise to her face; then she became +deathly pale.</p> + +<p>"Who is a thief? Who?" she asked with trembling voice, which made all +the others at the fountain laugh.</p> + +<p>Who? Her father. Pimentó, her uncle, knew it well, and in the tavern of +Copa nothing else was discussed. Did they believe that the past could be +hidden? They had fled from their own <i>pueblo</i> because they were known +there too well: for that reason they had come here, to take possession +of what was not theirs. They had even heard that Señor Batiste had been +in prison for ugly crimes.</p> + +<p>And thus the little viper went on talking, pouring forth everything that +she had heard in her house and in the <i>huerta</i>: the lies forged by the +dissolute fellows at the tavern of Copa, all invented by Pimentó, who +was growing less and less disposed to attack Batiste face to face, and +was trying to annoy him, to persecute and wound him with insults.</p> + +<p>The determination of the father suddenly surged up in Roseta. Trembling, +stammering with fury, and with bloodshot eyes, she dropped<a name="page_152" id="page_152"></a> the pitcher, +which broke into pieces drenching the nearest girls, who protested in a +chorus, calling her a stupid creature. But she was in no mood to take +notice of such things!</p> + +<p>"My father ..." she cried, advancing toward the one who had insulted +her. "My father a thief? Say that again and I will smash your face!"</p> + +<p>But the dark-haired girl did not have to repeat it, for before she could +open her lips, she received a blow in the mouth, and the fingers of +Roseta fixed themselves in her hair. Instinctively, impelled by pain, +she seized the blond hair of the mill-girl in turn, and for some time +the two could be seen struggling together, bent over, pouring forth +cries of pain and madness, with their foreheads almost touching the +ground, dragged this way and that by the cruel tugs which each one gave +to the head of the other. The hair-pins fell out, loosening the braids; +the heavy heads of hair seemed like banners of war, not floating and +victorious, but crumpled and torn by the hands of the opponent.</p> + +<p>But Roseta, either stronger or more furious, succeeded in disengaging +herself, and was going to drag her enemy to her, perhaps to give her a<a name="page_153" id="page_153"></a> +spanking, for she was trying to take off her slipper with her free hand, +when there occurred an irritating, brutal, unheard-of scene.</p> + +<p>Without any spoken agreement, as if all the hatred of their families, +all the words and maledictions heard in their homes, had surged up in +them at a bound, all threw themselves together upon the daughter of +Batiste.</p> + +<p>"Thief! Thief!"</p> + +<p>In the twinkling of an eye, Roseta disappeared under the wrathful arms. +Her face was covered with scratches; she was carried down by the shower +of blows, though unable to fall, for the very crush of her enemies +impeded her; but driven from one side to the other, she ended by rolling +down head-long on the slippery stones, striking her forehead on an angle +of the stone.</p> + +<p>Blood! It was like the casting of a stone into a tree covered with +sparrows. They flew away, all of them, running in different directions, +with their pitchers on their heads, and in a short time no one could be +seen in the vicinity of the fountain of the Queen but poor Roseta, who +with loosened hair, skirts torn, face dirty with dust and blood, went +crying home.</p> + +<p>How her mother screamed when she saw her<a name="page_154" id="page_154"></a> come in! How she protested +upon being told of what had occurred! Those people were worse than Jews! +Lord! Lord! Could such crimes occur in a land of Christians?</p> + +<p>It was impossible to live. They had not done enough already with the men +attacking poor Batiste, persecuting him and slandering him before the +Tribunal, and imposing unjust fines upon him. Now here were these girls +persecuting her poor Roseta, as though that unfortunate child had done +anything wrong. And why was it all? Because they wished to earn a living +and work, without offending anybody, as God commanded.</p> + +<p>Batiste turned pale as he looked at his daughter. He took a few steps +toward the road, looking at Pimentó's farm-house, whose roof stood out +behind the canes.</p> + +<p>But he stopped and finally began to reproach his daughter mildly. What +had occurred would teach her not to go walking about the <i>huerta</i>. They +must avoid all contact with others: live together and united in the +farm-house and never leave these lands which were their life.</p> + +<p>His enemies would take good care not to seek him out in his own home.<a name="page_155" id="page_155"></a></p> + +<h2><a name="VI" id="VI"></a>VI</h2> + +<p class="nind"><span class="letra">A</span> WASP-LIKE buzzing, the murmur of a bee-hive, was what the dwellers in +the <i>huerta</i> heard as they passed before the Cadena mill by the road +leading to the sea.</p> + +<p>A thick curtain of poplar-trees closed in the little square formed by +the road as it widened before the heap of old tiled roofs, cracked walls +and small black windows of the mill, the latter an old and tumble-down +structure erected over the canal and based on thick buttresses, between +which poured the water's foaming cascade.</p> + +<p>The slow, monotonous noise that seemed to issue from between the trees +came from Don Joaquín's school, situated in a farm-house hidden by the +row of poplar-trees.</p> + +<p>Never was knowledge worse-lodged, though wisdom does not often, to be +sure, dwell in palaces.</p> + +<p>An old farm-house, with no other light than from the door and that which +filtered in through<a name="page_156" id="page_156"></a> the cracks of the roofs: the walls of doubtful +whiteness, for the master's wife, a stout lady who lived in her +rush-chair, passed the day listening to her husband and admiring him; a +few benches, three grimy alphabets, torn at the ends, fastened to the +wall with bits of chewed bread, and in the room adjoining the school +some few old pieces of furniture which seemed to have knocked about half +of Spain.</p> + +<p>In the whole <i>barraca</i> there was one new object: the long cane which the +master kept behind the door and which he renewed every couple of days +from the nearby cane-brake; it was very fortunate that the material was +so cheap, for it was rapidly used up on the hard, close-clipped heads of +those small savages.</p> + +<p>Only three books could be seen in the school; the same primer served for +all. Why should there be more? There reigned the Moorish method; +sing-song and repetition, till with continual pounding you got things +into their hard heads.</p> + +<p>Hence from morning to night the old farm-house sent from its door a +wearisome sing-song which all the birds of the neighbourhood made fun +of.<a name="page_157" id="page_157"></a></p> + +<p>"Our ... fa ... ther, who ... art ... in heaven."</p> + +<p>"Holy ... Mary ..."</p> + +<p>"Two times two ... fo ... up...."</p> + +<p>And the sparrows, the linnets, and the calendar larks who fled from the +youngsters when they saw them in a band on the roads, alighted with the +greatest confidence on the nearest trees, and even hopped up and down +with their springy little feet before the door of the school, laughing +scandalously at their fierce enemies on seeing them thus caged up, under +the threat of the rattan, condemned to gaze at them sideways, without +moving, and repeating the same wearisome and unlovely song.</p> + +<p>From time to time the chorus stilled and the voice of Don Joaquín rose +majestically, pouring out his fund of knowledge in a stream.</p> + +<p>"How many works of mercy are there?"</p> + +<p>"Two times seven are how many?"</p> + +<p>And rarely was he satisfied with the answers.</p> + +<p>"You are a lot of dunces. You sit there listening as though I were +talking Greek. And to think that I treat you with all courtesy, as in a +city college, so you may learn good forms and know how to talk like +persons of breeding!...<a name="page_158" id="page_158"></a> In short, you have some one to imitate. But you +are as rough and ignorant as your parents, who are also dishonest: they +have money left to go to the tavern and they invent a thousand excuses +to avoid giving me Saturdays the two coppers that are due me."</p> + +<p>And he walked up and down indignant as he always was when he complained +of the Saturday omissions. You could see it in his hair and in his +figure, which seemed to be divided into two parts.</p> + +<p>Below, his torn hempen-sandals always stained with mud: his old cloth +trousers; his rough, scaly hands, which retained in the fissures of the +skin the dirt of his little orchard, a square of garden-truck which he +owned in front of the school-house, and many times this produce was all +that went into his stew.</p> + +<p>But from the waist upward his nobility was shown, "the dignity of the +priest of knowledge," as he would say; that which distinguished him from +all the population of the farm-houses, worms fastened to the glebe; a +necktie of loud colours over his dirty shirt-front, a grey and bristly +moustache, cutting his chubby and ruddy face, and a blue cap with an +oilcloth visor, souvenir<a name="page_159" id="page_159"></a> of one of the many positions he had filled in +his chequered career.</p> + +<p>This was what consoled him for his poverty; especially the necktie, +which no one else in the whole district wore, and which he exhibited as +a sign of supreme distinction, a species of golden fleece, as it were, +of the <i>huerta</i>.</p> + +<p>The people of the farm-houses respected Don Joaquín, though as regards +the assistance of his poverty they were remiss and slothful. What that +man had seen! How he had travelled over the world! Several times a +railway employé; other times helping to collect taxes in the most remote +provinces of Spain; it was even said that he had been a policeman in +America. In short, he was a "somebody" in reduced circumstances.</p> + +<p>"Don Joaquín," his stout wife would say, who was always the first to +give him his title, "has never seen himself in the position he is in +today; we are of a good family. Misfortune has brought us to this, but +in our time we have made a mint of money."</p> + +<p>And the gossips of the <i>huerta</i>, despite the fact that they sometimes +forgot to send the two coppers for the instruction Saturdays, respected +Don Joaquín as a superior being, reserving the right<a name="page_160" id="page_160"></a> to make a little +sport of his short jacket, which was green and had square tails; and +which he wore on holidays, when he sang at high mass in the choir of +Alboraya church.</p> + +<p>Driven by poverty, he had landed there with his obese and flabby +better-half as he might have landed anywhere else. He helped the +secretary of the village with extra work; he prepared with herbs known +only to himself certain brews which accomplished wonders in the +farm-houses, where they all admitted that that old chap knew a lot; and +without the title of schoolmaster, but with no fear that any one else +would try to take away from him a school which did not bring in enough +even to buy bread, he succeeded by much repetition and many canings, in +teaching all the urchins of five or ten, who on holidays threw stones at +the birds, stole fruit, and chased the dogs on the roads of the +<i>huerta</i>, to spell and to keep quiet.</p> + +<p>Where had the master come from? All the wives of the neighbours knew, +from beyond the <i>churrería</i>. And vainly were further explanations asked, +for as far as the geography of the <i>huerta</i> was concerned, all those who +do not speak Valencian are of the <i>churrería</i>.<a name="page_161" id="page_161"></a></p> + +<p>Don Joaquín had no small difficulty in making his pupils understand him +and preventing them from being afraid of Castilian. There were some who +had been two months in school and who opened their eyes wide and +scratched the backs of their heads without understanding what the master +who used words never heard before in his school said to them.</p> + +<p>How the good man suffered! He who attributed all the triumphs of his +teaching to his refinement, to his distinction of manners, to his use of +good language, as his wife declared!</p> + +<p>Every word which his pupils pronounced badly (and they did not pronounce +one well), made him groan and raise his hands indignantly till they +touched the smoky ceiling of his school-house. Nevertheless he was proud +of the urbanity with which he treated his pupils.</p> + +<p>"You should look upon this humble school-house," he would say to the +twenty youngsters who crowded and pushed one another on the narrow +benches, listening to him half-bored and half-afraid of his rattan, "as +a temple of courtesy and good-breeding. Temple, did I say? It is the +torch that shines and dissolves the barbaric darkness of this <i>huerta</i>. +Without me, what<a name="page_162" id="page_162"></a> would you be? Beasts, and pardon me the word; the same +as your worthy fathers whom I do not wish to offend! But with God's aid +you must leave here educated, able to present yourselves anywhere, since +you have had the good fortune to find a master like me. Isn't that so?"</p> + +<p>And the boys replied with furious noddings, some knocking their heads +against their neighbours' heads; and even his wife, moved by the temple +and the torch, stopped knitting her stocking and pushed back the +rush-chair to envelop her husband in a glance of admiration.</p> + +<p>He would question all the band of dirty urchins whose feet were bare and +whose shirt-tails were in the air, with astonishing courtesy:</p> + +<p>"Let's see, Señor de Lopis; rise."</p> + +<p>And Señor de Lopis, a mucker of seven with short knee trousers held up +by one suspender, tumbled off his bench and stood at attention before +the master, gazing askance at the terrible cane.</p> + +<p>"For some time, I've been watching you picking your nose and making +little balls of it. An ugly habit, Señor de Lopis. Believe your master. +I will let it pass this time because you are industrious and know your +multiplication table;<a name="page_163" id="page_163"></a> but knowledge is nothing when good-breeding is +lacking; don't forget that, Señor de Lopis."</p> + +<p>And the boy who made the little balls agreed with everything, overjoyed +to get off without a caning. But another big boy who sat beside him on +the bench and who must have been nourishing some old grudge, seeing him +standing, gave him a treacherous pinch.</p> + +<p>"Oh, oh, master!" cried the boy. "'<i>'Orse-face</i>' pinched me!"</p> + +<p>What was not Don Joaquín's indignation? What most excited his anger was +the fondness the boys had for calling each other by their father's +nicknames and even for inventing new ones.</p> + +<p>"Who is '<i>'Orse</i>-Face'? Señor de Peris, you probably mean. What mode of +address is that, great heavens! One would think you were in a +drinking-house! If at least you had said <i>Horse</i>-Face! Wear yourself out +teaching such idiots! Brutes!"</p> + +<p>And raising his cane, he began to distribute resounding blows to each; +to the one for the pinch and to the other for the "impropriety of +language," as Don Joaquín expressed it, without stopping his whacks. And +his blows were so<a name="page_164" id="page_164"></a> blind that the other boys on the benches shrank +together, each one hiding his head on his neighbour's shoulder; and one +little fellow, the younger son of Batiste, frightened by the noise of +the cane, had a movement of the bowels.</p> + +<p>This appeased the master, made him recover his lost majesty, while the +well-thrashed audience picked their noses.</p> + +<p>"Doña Pepa," he said to his wife, "take Señor de Borrull away, for he is +ill, and clean him after school."</p> + +<p>And the old woman, who had a certain consideration for the three sons of +Batiste, because they paid her husband every Saturday, seized the hand +of <i>Señor de Borrull</i>, who left the school walking unsteadily on his +weak little legs, still weeping with fear, and showing somewhat more +than his shirttail through the rear-opening of his trousers.</p> + +<p>These incidents concluded, the lesson-chanting was continued, and the +grove trembled with displeasure, its monotonous whisper filtering +through the foliage.</p> + +<p>Sometimes a melancholy sound of bells was heard and the whole school was +filled with joy. It was the flock of old Tomba approaching; all<a name="page_165" id="page_165"></a> knew +that when the old man arrived with his flock, there were always a couple +of hours of freedom.</p> + +<p>If the shepherd was talkative, the master was no whit behind him; both +launched out on an interminable conversation, while the pupils left the +benches and came close to listen, or slipping quietly away, went to play +with the sheep who were grazing on the grass of the nearby slopes.</p> + +<p>Don Joaquín liked the old man. He had seen the world, showed him the +respect of speaking to him in Castilian, had a knowledge of medicinal +herbs, and yet did not take from him his own customers; in short, he was +the only person in the <i>huerta</i> worthy of enjoying friendly relations +with him.</p> + +<p>His appearance was always attended by the same circumstances. First the +sheep arrived at the school-door, stuck their heads in, sniffed +curiously and withdrew with a certain contempt, convinced that there was +no food here other than intellectual, and that of small value; +afterwards old Tomba appeared walking along confidently in this +well-known region, holding his shepherd's crook, the only aid of his +failing sight, in front of him.<a name="page_166" id="page_166"></a></p> + +<p>He would sit down on the brick bench next to the master's door, and +there the master and the shepherd would talk, silently admired by Doña +Josefa and the bigger boys of the school, who would approach slowly and +form a group around them.</p> + +<p>Old Tomba, who would even talk with his sheep along the roads, spoke +slowly at first like a man who fears to reveal his limitations, but the +chat of the master would give him courage and soon he would plunge into +the vast sea of his eternal stories. He would lament over the bad state +of Spain, over what those who came from Valencia said in the <i>huerta</i>, +over bad governments in general which are to blame for bad harvests, and +he always would end by repeating the same thing:</p> + +<p>"Those times, Don Joaquín, those times of mine were different. You did +not know them, but your own were better than these. It's getting worse +and worse. Just think what all these youngsters will see when they are +men!"</p> + +<p>This was always the introduction of his story.</p> + +<p>"If you had only seen the followers of the Fliar!" (The shepherd could +never say friar.) "<i>They</i> were true Spaniards; now there are only<a name="page_167" id="page_167"></a> +boasters in Copa's tavern. I was eighteen years old; I had a helmet with +a copper eagle which I took from a dead man, and a gun bigger than +myself. And the Fliar!... What a man! They talk now of General +So-and-So. Lies, all lies! Where Father Nevot was, there was no one +else! You should have seen him with his cassock tucked up, on his nag, +with his curved sabre and pistols! How we galloped! Sometimes here, +sometimes in Alicante-province, then near Albacete: they were always at +our heels; but we made mince-meat of every Frenchman we caught. It seems +to me I can see them still: <i>musiu</i> ... mercy! and I, slash, slash, and +a clean bayonet-thrust!"</p> + +<p>And the wrinkled old man grew bolder and rose; his dim eyes shone like +dull embers and he brandished his shepherd's staff as though he were +still piercing the enemy with his bayonet. Then came the advice; behind +the kind old fellow there arose a man all fierceness, with a hard, +relentless heart, the product of a war to the death. His fierce +instincts appeared, instincts which had, as it were, become petrified in +his youth, and thus made impervious to the flight of time. He addressed +the boys in Valencian, sharing with them<a name="page_168" id="page_168"></a> the fruit of his experience. +They must believe what he told them, for he had seen much. In life, +patience to take revenge upon the enemy; to wait for the ball, and when +it comes, to hit it hard. And as he gave these counsels, he winked his +eyes, which in the hollows of the deep sockets seemed like dying stars +on the point of flickering out. He related with senile malice a past of +struggles in the <i>huerta</i>, a past of ambuscades and stratagems, and of +complete contempt for the life of one's fellow-beings.</p> + +<p>The master, fearing the moral effect of this on his pupils, would divert +the course of the conversation, speaking of France, which was old +Tomba's greatest memory.</p> + +<p>It was an hour-long topic. He knew that country as well as though he had +been born there. When Valencia surrendered to Marshal Suchet, he had +been taken prisoner with several thousand more to a great +city—Toulouse. And he intermingled in the conversation the horribly +mutilated French words which he still remembered after so many years. +What a country! There men went about with white plush hats, coloured +coats with collars reaching up to the back of their heads, high boots +like riding-boots;<a name="page_169" id="page_169"></a> and the women with skirts like flute-sheaths, so +narrow that they showed all they encased; and so he went on talking of +the costumes and customs of the time of the Empire, imagining that it +all still continued and that France of today was as it was at the +beginning of the century.</p> + +<p>And while he related in detail all his recollections, the master and his +wife listened attentively, and some of the boys, profiting by the +unexpected recess, slipped away from the school-house, attracted by the +sheep, who fled from them as from the devil in person. For they pulled +their tails and grabbed them by the legs, forcing them to walk on their +fore-feet, and they sent them rolling down the slopes or tried to mount +on their dirty fleece; the poor creatures protested with gentle +bleatings in vain, for the shepherd did not hear them, absorbed as he +was in telling with great relish of the agony of the last Frenchman who +had died.</p> + +<p>"And how many fell?" the master would ask at the end of the story.</p> + +<p>"A matter of a hundred and twenty or thirty. I don't remember exactly."</p> + +<p>And the husband and wife would exchange a smile. Since the last time the +total had risen by<a name="page_170" id="page_170"></a> twenty. As the years passed, his deeds of prowess +and the number of victims increased.</p> + +<p>The lamentations of the flock would attract the master's attention.</p> + +<p>"Gentlemen," he would call out to the rash youths as he reached for his +rattan, "come here, all of you. Do you imagine you can spend the day +enjoying yourself? This is the place for work."</p> + +<p>And to demonstrate this by example, he would brandish his cane so that +it was a delight to see it driving back all the flock of playful +youngsters into the sheep-fold of knowledge with blows.</p> + +<p>"With your leave, Uncle Tomba: we've been talking over two hours. I must +go on with the lesson."</p> + +<p>And while the shepherd, courteously dismissed, guided his sheep toward +the mill to repeat his stories there, there began once again in the +school the chant of the multiplication-table which was Don Joaquín's +great symbol of learning.</p> + +<p>At sunset, the boys sang their last song, thanking the Lord "because He +had helped them with His light," and each one took up again his +dinner<a name="page_171" id="page_171"></a>-bag. As the distances in the <i>huerta</i> were not small, the +youngsters would leave their homes in the morning with provisions enough +to pass the whole day in school; and the enemies of Don Joaquín even +said that one of his favourite punishments was to take away their +rations in order thus to supplement the deficiencies of Doña Pepa's +cooking.</p> + +<p>Fridays, when school was out, the pupils invariably heard the same +oration.</p> + +<p>"Gentlemen: tomorrow is Saturday: remind your mothers and tell them that +the one who does not bring his two coppers won't be let into the school. +I tell you this particularly, Mr. de ... So and So, and you, Mr. de ... +So and So" (and he would enumerate about a dozen names). "For three +weeks now you have not brought the sum agreed upon, and if this goes on, +it will prove that instruction is impossible, and learning impotent to +combat the innate barbarity of these rustic regions. I contribute +everything: my erudition, my books" (and he would glance at the three +primer-charts, which his wife picked up carefully to put them away in +the old bureau), "and you contribute<a name="page_172" id="page_172"></a> nothing. Well, what I said, I +said: Any one who comes tomorrow empty-handed will not pass that +threshold. Notify your mothers."</p> + +<p>The boys would form in couples, holding each other's hands (the same as +in the schools of Valencia; what do you suppose?), and depart, after +kissing the horny hand of Don Joaquín and repeating glibly as they +passed near him:</p> + +<p>"Good-bye, until tomorrow, by God's grace."</p> + +<p>The master would accompany them to the little mill-square which was as a +star for roads and paths; and there the formation was broken up into +small groups and dispersed over different sections of the plain.</p> + +<p>"Take care, my masters, I've got an eye on you," cried Don Joaquín as a +last warning. "Look out when you steal fruit, throw stones or jump over +canals. I have a little bird who tells me everything and if tomorrow I +hear anything bad, my rattan will play the very deuce with you."</p> + +<p>And standing in the little square, he followed with his gaze the largest +group which was departing up the Alboraya road.</p> + +<p>These paid the best. Among them walked the three sons of Batiste, for +whom many a time<a name="page_173" id="page_173"></a> the road had been turned into a way of suffering.</p> + +<p>Hand in hand the three tried to follow the other boys, who because they +lived in the farm-house next to old Batiste, felt the same hatred as +their fathers for him and for his family and never lost an opportunity +to torment them.</p> + +<p>The two elder ones knew how to defend themselves, and with a scratch +more or less even came out victorious at times.</p> + +<p>But the smallest, Pascualet, a fat-stomached little chap who was only +five years old and whom his mother adored for his sweetness and +gentleness, and hoped to make a chaplain, broke into tears the moment he +saw his brothers involved in deadly conflict with their fellow-pupils.</p> + +<p>Many a time the two elder boys would reach home covered with sweat and +dust as though they had been wallowing in the road, with their trousers +torn and their shirts unfastened. These were the signs of combat; the +little fellow told it all with tears. And the mother had to minister to +one or another of the larger boys, which she did by pressing a +penny-piece on the bump raised by some treacherous stone.</p> + +<p>Teresa was much upset on hearing of the attacks<a name="page_174" id="page_174"></a> to which her son were +subjected. But she was a rough, courageous woman who had been born in +the country, and when she heard that her boys had defended themselves +well and given a good thrashing to the enemy, she would again regain her +calm.</p> + +<p>Good heaven! let them take care of Pascualet first of all. And the +oldest brother, indignant, would promise a thrashing to all the lousy +crew when he met them on the roads.</p> + +<p>Hostilities began every afternoon, as soon as Don Joaquín lost sight of +them.</p> + +<p>The enemies, sons or nephews of those in the tavern who threatened to +put an end to Batiste, began to walk more slowly, lessening the distance +between themselves and the three brothers.</p> + +<p>The words of the master, however, and the threat of the accursed bird +who saw and told everything, would still be ringing in their ears; some +laughed but on the wrong side of their mouths. That old fellow knew such +a lot!</p> + +<p>But the farther off they got, the less effective became the master's +threat.</p> + +<p>They would begin to prance around the three brothers, and laughingly +chase each other, a mere malicious pretext, inspired by the instinctive +hypocrisy<a name="page_175" id="page_175"></a> of youth, to push them as they ran by, with the pious desire +of landing them in the canal that ran along the road.</p> + +<p>Afterwards when this manœuvre proved unsuccessful, they would resort +to slaps on the head and sudden pulls as they ran by at full speed.</p> + +<p>"Thieves! Thieves!"</p> + +<p>And as they hurled this insult, they would pull their ears and run off, +only to turn after a little and repeat the same words.</p> + +<p>This calumny, invented by the enemies of their father, made the boys +absolutely frantic. The two older ones, abandoning Pascualet, who took +refuge weeping behind a tree, would seize stones and a battle would +begin in the middle of the road.</p> + +<p>The cobbles whistled between the branches, making the leaves fall in +showers, and bounce against the trunks and slopes: the dogs drawn by the +noise of the battle, would rush out from the farm-houses barking +fiercely, and the women from the doors of their houses would raise their +arms to heaven, crying indignantly—</p> + +<p>"Rascals! Devils!"</p> + +<p>These scandals touched Don Joaquín to the quick and gave impetus next +day to the relentless<a name="page_176" id="page_176"></a> cane. What would people say of his school, the +temple of good-breeding!</p> + +<p>The battle would not end until some passing carter would brandish his +whip, or until some old chap would come from the farm-houses, cudgel in +hand, when the aggressors would flee, and disperse, repenting of their +deed on seeing themselves alone, thinking fearfully, with the rapid +shifting of impressions characteristic of childhood, of that bird who +knew everything and of what Don Joaquín would have in store for them the +following day.</p> + +<p>And meanwhile, the three brothers would continue on their way, rubbing +the bruises they had received in the battle.</p> + +<p>One afternoon, Batiste's poor wife sent up a cry to heaven on seeing the +state in which her young ones arrived.</p> + +<p>The battle had been a fierce one! Ah! the bandits! The two older ones +were bruised as usual; nothing to worry about.</p> + +<p>But the little boy, the Bishop, as his mother called him caressingly, +was wet from head to foot, and the poor little fellow was crying and +trembling from cold and fear.</p> + +<p>The savage young rascals had thrown him into<a name="page_177" id="page_177"></a> a canal of stagnant water +and his brothers had fished him out covered with disgusting black mud.</p> + +<p>The mother put him to bed, for the poor little chap was still trembling +in her arms, clinging around her neck, and murmuring with a voice that +sounded like the bleating of a lamb,</p> + +<p>"Mother! Mother!"</p> + +<p>"Lord God! give us patience!" All that base rabble, big and little, had +resolved to put an end to the whole family.<a name="page_178" id="page_178"></a></p> + +<h2><a name="VII" id="VII"></a>VII</h2> + +<p class="nind"><span class="letra">S</span>AD and frowning as though he were going to a funeral, Batiste started +forth one Thursday morning on the road to Valencia. It was horse-market +day at the river-bed and the little bag of sackcloth containing the +remainder of his savings bulged out his sash.</p> + +<p>Misfortunes were pouring on the family in a steady stream. The last and +fitting climax now would be that the roof should fall on their heads and +crush them to death. What people! What a place had they got into!</p> + +<p>The little boy was steadily getting worse, and trembled with fever in +his mother's arms, while the latter wept continually. He was visited +twice a day by the doctor; in short, it was a sickness which was going +to cost twelve or fifteen dollars,—a mere trifle, so to speak.</p> + +<p>The oldest boy, Batistet, could hardly go about. His head was still +swathed in bandages and his face crisscrossed with scratches, after a<a name="page_179" id="page_179"></a> +big battle which he had had one morning with other boys of his own age +who were going like himself to gather manure in Valencia. All the +<i>fematers</i> (manure-gatherers) of the district had banded against +Batistet and the poor boy could not show himself upon the road.</p> + +<p>The two younger ones had stopped going to school through fear of the +fights that would be forced on them on the way home.</p> + +<p>And Roseta, poor girl! she was the saddest of all. Her father put on a +gloomy countenance in the house, casting severe glances at her to remind +her that she must not show her feelings and that her sufferings were an +outrage on paternal authority. But when he was alone, the worthy Batiste +felt grieved over the poor girl's sadness. For he had once been young +himself and knew how heavy the sufferings of love may be.</p> + +<p>Everything had been discovered. After the famous quarrel at the fountain +of the Queen, the whole <i>huerta</i> gossiped for days about Roseta's +love-affair with old Tomba's grandson.</p> + +<p>The fat-bellied butcher of Alboraya stormed angrily at his hired-man. +Ah, the big rascal! Now he knew why he forgot all his duties, why he<a name="page_180" id="page_180"></a> +passed his afternoons wandering over the <i>huerta</i> like a gipsy. The +young gentleman indulged himself in a fiancée, as though he had the +means to support her. And what a fiancée, great Heaven! All he had to do +was to listen to his customers as they chatted before his butcher's +table. They all said the same: they were surprised that a man like him, +religious and respectable, whose only defect was to cheat a little in +the weight, should allow his hired-man to keep company with the daughter +of the <i>huerta's</i> enemy, an evil man who, it was said, had been in the +penitentiary.</p> + +<p>And as all this to the mind of the fat boss was a dishonour to his +establishment, he would become furious at every murmur of the gossiping +women and threaten his timid hired-man with his knife, or reproach old +Tomba as he tried to persuade him to reform his rascally grandson.</p> + +<p>Finally the butcher discharged the boy and his grandfather found him a +position in Valencia in another butcher-shop, where he asked them not to +give him any time off even on holidays, so that he would not be able to +wait for Batiste's daughter on the road.</p> + +<p>Tonet departed submissively, his eyes wet like<a name="page_181" id="page_181"></a> one of the young lambs +whom he had so often dragged before the master's knife. He would not +return. The poor girl remained in the farm-house, hiding herself in her +bedroom to weep, making efforts not to show her suffering to her mother, +who, exasperated by so many vexations, was very intolerant, and before +her father, who threatened to kill her if she had another lover and gave +their enemies in the district any more chance to talk.</p> + +<p>Poor Batiste, who seemed so severe and threatening, was more grieved +than by anything else at the girl's inconsolable sorrow, her lack of +appetite, her yellow complexion and hollow eyes, and by the efforts she +made to feign indifference, in spite of the fact that she scarcely slept +at all: this, however, did not prevent her from trudging off punctually +every day to the factory with a vagueness in her eyes which showed that +her mind was far afield, and that she lived perpetually in a state of +inward dream.</p> + +<p>Though they did not succeed in crushing Batiste, they undoubtedly cast +on him the evil eye, for his poor Morrut, the old horse who was like a +member of the family, who had drawn the poor furniture and the +youngsters over the roads<a name="page_182" id="page_182"></a> in the various peregrinations of poverty, +gradually grew weaker and weaker in his new stable, the best lodging he +had ever known in his long life of labour.</p> + +<p>He had behaved like a respectable equine in the worst period, when the +family had just moved to the farm, and he had had to plough up the land +accursed and petrified by ten years' neglect; when he had had to plod +continuously to Valencia to bring back débris and old boards from +buildings being torn down; when the food was not plentiful and the work +heavy. And now, when before the little window of the stable there +stretched out a large field of grass, cool, high and waving, all for +him; now that he had his table set with that green and juicy covering +which smelled gloriously, now that he was growing fat, that his angular +haunches and his bony back were rounding out, he died without even a +reason, perhaps in the exercise of his perfect right to rest, after +having helped the family through its time of trouble and tribulation.</p> + +<p>He lay down one day on his straw and refused to go out, gazing at +Batiste with glassy yellow eyes which silenced all angry oaths and +threats upon the master's lips. Poor Morrut<a name="page_183" id="page_183"></a> seemed to be a human being! +Batiste, remembering his glance, felt like weeping. The farm-house was +all upset, and this misfortune for the time being made the family forget +poor Pascualet, who was trembling with fever in his bed.</p> + +<p>Batiste's wife was weeping. That poor beast whose gentle face lay there +flat on the ground had seen almost all her children come into the world. +She still remembered as though it were yesterday when they bought him in +the Sagunto-market, small, dirty, covered with scabs, a nag condemned. +It was a member of the family that was passing now. And when some +repellent old men came in a cart to take the corpse of the old worker to +the "boneyard" where they would convert his skeleton into bones of +polished brilliancy and his flesh into fertilizer, the children wept, +and called interminable farewells to poor Morrut who was carried away +with his feet stretched out stiffly and his head swaying, while the +mother, as though she felt some terrible presentiment, threw herself +with open arms upon her sick little boy.</p> + +<p>She saw her little son when he entered the stable to pull Morrut's tail, +Morrut, who endured<a name="page_184" id="page_184"></a> all the youngster's pranks with affectionate +submission. She saw the little fellow when his father placed him on the +animal's hard spine, beating his little feet against the shining flanks +and crying, "Get up! Get up!" with his stammering child's voice. And she +felt that the death of the poor animal had somehow opened up a way for +others. Oh God! grant that her sorrowful mother's fears might be +mistaken; that only the long-suffering horse should die; and that he +should not, on his road to heaven, carry away upon his flanks the poor +little fellow now as in other times he used to carry him along the paths +of the <i>huerta</i> grasping his mane, walking slowly so as not to make him +lose his balance!</p> + +<p>And poor Batiste, his mind preoccupied by so many misfortunes, confusing +all together in his fancy the sick child, the dead horse, the wounded +son and the daughter with her concentrated grief, reached the outskirts +of the city and passed over the bridge of Serranos.</p> + +<p>At the end of the bridge, on the esplanade between the two gardens in +front of the octagonal towers whose Gothic arcades, projecting barbicans +and noble crown of battlements rose above<a name="page_185" id="page_185"></a> the grove, Batiste stopped +and passed his hands over his face.</p> + +<p>He had to visit the masters, the sons of Don Salvador, and ask them to +loan him a small sum to make up the necessary amount to buy a horse to +take poor Morrut's place. And as cleanliness is the poor man's luxury, +he sat down on a stone-bench, waiting his turn to have his beard +shaved,—a two weeks' growth, stiff and bristly like porcupine-quills, +which blackened his whole face.</p> + +<p>In the shade of the high plane-trees, the barber-shops of the district, +the open-air barbers as they were called, plied their trade. A couple of +arm-chairs with rush-seats and arms made shiny by use, a portable +furnace on which boiled the pot of water, towels of doubtful colour, and +nicked razors which scraped the hard skin of the customers with raspings +that made you shiver, constituted all the stock-in-trade of those +open-air establishments.</p> + +<p>Clumsy boys who aspired to be apprentices in the barber-shops of the +town were there learning how to use their arms; and while they learned +by inflicting cuts or by covering the victims'<a name="page_186" id="page_186"></a> heads with clips and +bald-spots, the master conversed with the customers on the +promenade-bench or read the newspaper aloud to the group who listened +impassively.</p> + +<p>As for those who sat on the chair of torment, a piece of hard soap was +nibbed over their jaws, until the lather came. Then the cruel razor, and +cuts endured stoically by the customer, whose face was tinged with +blood. A little further on resounded the enormous scissors in continuous +movement passing back and forth over the round head of some vain youth, +who was left shaved like a poodle; the height of elegance, with a long +lock falling over the brow, and half the head behind carefully cropped.</p> + +<p>Batiste, swallowed up in the rush-chair, listened with closed eyes to +the head-barber as he read in a nasal and monotonous voice, and +commented and glossed like a man well versed in public affairs. His +shave resulted quite fortunately: all he got was three scrapes and a cut +on his ear. Other times there had been more. He paid his half-real and +departed; and entered the city through the Serranos gate.</p> + +<p>Two hours later he came out again and sat down on the stone-bench among +the group of<a name="page_187" id="page_187"></a> customers to listen to the head-barber until the time of +the market arrived.</p> + +<p>The masters had just loaned him the small amount he needed to buy the +horse. The important thing now was to have a good eye in making his +choice; to keep his temper and not let himself be cheated by the cunning +gipsies who passed before him with their animals and went down the slope +to the river-bed.</p> + +<p>Eleven o'clock. The horse-market had evidently reached its moment of +greatest animation. There came to Batiste's ears the confused sound of +something like an invisible ebullition; the neighs of horses and voices +of men rose from the river-bed. He hesitated, hung back, like a man who +wants to put off an important resolution, and at last decided to go down +to the market.</p> + +<p>The river-bed as usual was dry. Some pools of water which had escaped +from the water-wheels and dams which irrigated the plain wound in and +out like serpents, forming curves and islands in a soil which was dusty, +hot and uneven, more like an African desert than a river-bed.</p> + +<p>At such times it was all white with sunlight, without the slightest spot +of shade.<a name="page_188" id="page_188"></a></p> + +<p>The carts of the farmers with their white awnings formed an encampment +in the middle of the river-bed, and along the railing, placed in a row, +stood the horses which were for sale; the black, kicking mules with +their red caparisons and their shining flanks all aquiver with +nervousness; the plough horses, strong and sad, like slaves condemned to +eternal labour, gazing with glassy eyes at all those who passed as +though they divined in them the new tyrant, and the small and lively +nags, pawing up the dust and dragging on the halter fastened to their +nose-pieces.</p> + +<p>Near the descent were the cast-off animals; earless dirty donkeys; sad +horses whose coat seemed to be pierced by the sharp angles of their +fleshless bones; blind mules with long stork-like necks; all the +castaways of the market, the wrecks of labour, whose hide had been +well-tanned by the stick and who awaited the arrival of the contractor +of bullfights or of the beggar who still put them to some use.</p> + +<p>Near the currents of water in the centre of the river-bed, on the shores +which dampness had covered with a thin cloak of grassy sod, trotted the +colts who had not been broken, their long manes flying in the wind, and +their tails sweeping<a name="page_189" id="page_189"></a> the ground. Beyond the bridges, through the round +stone "eyes" could be seen the herds of bulls with their legs drawn up, +tranquilly ruminating the grass which the shepherds threw them, or +stepping lazily over the hot ground, feeling the longing for green +pastures and taking a fierce pose whenever the youngsters whistled to +them from the railings.</p> + +<p>The animation of the market was increasing. Around each horse whose sale +was being arranged crowded groups of gesticulating and loquacious +farmers in their shirt sleeves, their ash-sticks in their hands. The +thin, bronzed gipsies, with their long bowed legs, in sheepskin jackets +covered with patches, and fur-caps beneath which their black eyes shone +feverishly, talked ceaselessly, breathing into the faces of the +customers as though they wished to hypnotize them.</p> + +<p>"But just look at the horse! Notice her lines,—why, she's a beauty!"</p> + +<p>And the farmer, impervious to the gipsy's honeyed phrases, reserved, +thoughtful and uncertain, gazed at the ground, looked at the animal, +scratched his head and finally said with a species of obstinate energy:</p> + +<p><a name="page_190" id="page_190"></a>"All right ... but I won't give any more."</p> + +<p>To arrange the terms and solemnize the sales, the protection of a shed +was sought, under which a big woman sold small cakes or filled sticky +glasses with the contents of half a dozen bottles lined up on a +zinc-covered table.</p> + +<p>Batiste passed back and forth among the horses, paying no attention to +the venders who pursued him, divining his intention.</p> + +<p>Nothing pleased him. Alas, poor Morrut! How hard it was to find his +successor! If he had not been compelled by necessity, he would have left +without purchasing: he felt that it was an offence to the dead horse to +fix his attention on these repellent beasts.</p> + +<p>At last he stopped before a white nag, not very fat or sleek, with a few +galls on his legs and a certain air of fatigue; a beast of burden who, +though dejected, looked strong and willing.</p> + +<p>But scarcely had he passed his hand over the animal's haunches when he +found at his side the gipsy, obsequious, familiar, treating him as +though he had known him all his life.</p> + +<p>"That animal is a treasure; it is easy to see that you know good horses +when you see them<a name="page_191" id="page_191"></a>.... And cheap: I don't think we'll quarrel over the +price ... Monote! Walk him out so this gentleman can see what a graceful +swing he has!"</p> + +<p>And the Monote referred to, a little gipsy, took the horse by the halter +and ran off with him over the uneven sand. The poor beast trotted after +him reluctantly, as though bored by an operation that was so frequently +repeated.</p> + +<p>The curious people ran up and gathered around Batiste and the gipsy, who +were gazing at the horse as it ran. When Monote returned with the animal +Batiste examined it in detail; he put his fingers between the yellow +teeth, passed his hands over his whole body, raised his hoofs to inspect +them, and looked carefully between his legs.</p> + +<p>"Look, look!" said the gipsy, ... "he's just made for it.... Cleaner +than the plate of the Eucharist. No one is cheated here; everything open +and aboveboard. I don't fix up horses the way the others do who +disfigure a burro before you can take your breath. I bought him last +week and I even didn't fix up those trifles he has on the legs. You saw +what a graceful swing he has. And for drawing a wagon? Why an elephant +wouldn't have the push to him that he has! You can see the signs of it +there on his neck."<a name="page_192" id="page_192"></a></p> + +<p>Batiste did not look dissatisfied with his examination, but he tried to +look displeased and made grimaces and rasped his throat. His misfortunes +as a carter had given him knowledge of horses and he laughed inwardly at +some of the curious ones who, influenced by the bad looks of the horse, +were arguing with the gipsy, telling him that the horse was fit only to +be sent to the boneyard. His sad and weary appearance was that of beasts +of labour who obey as long as they can stand on their legs.</p> + +<p>The moment of decision came. He would buy him. How much?</p> + +<p>"Since it's for a friend," said the gipsy, touching his shoulder +caressingly, "since it's for a nice fellow like you who will treat this +jewel of a horse well, I'll let him go for forty dollars and the +bargain's made."</p> + +<p>Batiste received this broadside calmly, like a man well used to such +discussions, and smiled slyly.</p> + +<p>"Well, since it's you I'm dealing with. I won't offer you much less. Do +you want twenty-five?"</p> + +<p>The gipsy stretched out his arms with dramatic indignation, retreated a +few steps, pulled at his fur cap, and made all kinds of extravagant and<a name="page_193" id="page_193"></a> +grotesque gestures to express his amazement.</p> + +<p>"Mother of God! Twenty-five dollars! But did you look at the animal? +Even if I had stolen him, I couldn't sell him at that price!"</p> + +<p>But Batiste, to all his extravagant talk, always made the same reply:</p> + +<p>"Twenty-five. Not a cent more."</p> + +<p>And the gipsy, after exhausting all his persuasions, which were by no +means few, fell back on the supreme argument.</p> + +<p>"Monote ... walk the horse out ... so the gentleman can get a good look +at him."</p> + +<p>And away trotted Monote again, pulling the horse by the halter, more and +more bored by all these promenadings.</p> + +<p>"What a gait, hey?" said the gipsy. "You'd think he was a prince. Isn't +he worth twenty-five dollars to you?"</p> + +<p>"Not a penny more," repeated the hard-headed Batiste.</p> + +<p>"Monote ... come back. That's enough."</p> + +<p>And feigning indignation, the gipsy turned his back on the purchaser, +intimating thereby that all the bargaining was off, but on seeing that +Batiste was really leaving, his seriousness disappeared.<a name="page_194" id="page_194"></a></p> + +<p>"Come, sir.... What's your name?... Ah! Well, look, Mr. Batiste, so that +you can see that I like you and want you to own this treasure, I'm going +to do for you what I wouldn't do for any one else. Do you agree to +thirty-five dollars? Come now, say yes. I swear to you on your life that +I wouldn't do as much for my own father."</p> + +<p>This time his protestations, on seeing that the farmer was not moved by +the reduction and offered him a beggarly two dollars more, were even +livelier and more gesticulatory than before. Why, did that jewel of a +horse inspire him with no more liking than that? But man alive, hadn't +he eyes in his head to see his value? Come, Monote; take him out again.</p> + +<p>But Monote didn't have to tire himself out again, for Batiste departed, +pretending that he had given up the purchase.</p> + +<p>He wandered through the market looking at other horses from afar, but +always gazing out of the tail of his eye at the gipsy, who similarly +feigning indifference, was following and watching him.</p> + +<p>He approached a big, strong, sleek horse which he did not think of +buying, divining his<a name="page_195" id="page_195"></a> high price. He had scarcely passed his hand over +the haunches when he felt a warm breath on his face, and heard the +gipsy's voice murmuring:—</p> + +<p>"Thirty-three.... On your children's lives, don't say no; you see I'm +reasonable."</p> + +<p>"Twenty-eight," said Batiste, without turning around.</p> + +<p>When he grew tired of admiring that beautiful beast, he went on, and to +have something to do, watched an old farmer's wife haggling over a +donkey.</p> + +<p>The first gipsy had gone back to his horse again, and was gazing at him +from afar, and shaking the halter-rope as though he were calling him. +Batiste slowly drew near him, pretending absent-mindedness, looking at +the bridges over which passed the parasols of the women of the city, +like many-coloured movable cupolas.</p> + +<p>It was now noon. The sand of the river-bed grew hot; not the slightest +breath of wind passed over the space between the railings. In that hot +and sticky atmosphere, the sun beat down vertically penetrating the skin +and burning the lips.<a name="page_196" id="page_196"></a></p> + +<p>The gipsy advanced a few steps toward Batiste, offering him the end of +the rope, as a kind of taking of possession.</p> + +<p>"Neither your offer nor mine. Thirty, and God knows I get no profit on +it. Thirty ... don't say no, or you'll make me wild. Come, put it +there!"</p> + +<p>Batiste took the rope and offered his hand to the vender who pressed it +with much feeling. The bargain was concluded.</p> + +<p>The former began to take from his sash all that plethora of savings +which swelled out his stomach like an undigested meal: a bank-note that +the master had loaned him, a few silver dollars, a handful of small +change wrapped up in a paper-cone. When the count was completed, he +could not get out of going with the gipsy to the shed to invite him to +take a drink, and giving a few pennies to Monote for all his trottings.</p> + +<p>"You're carrying off the treasure of the market. It's a lucky day for +you, Mist' Bautista: you crossed yourself with your right hand, and the +Virgin came out to look at you."</p> + +<p>And he had to drink a second glass, the gipsy's treat, but at last, +cutting short his torrent of<a name="page_197" id="page_197"></a> offers and flatteries, he seized the +halter of his new horse and helped by the obliging Monote, mounted on +the steed's bare back and left the noisy market at a trot.</p> + +<p>He departed well satisfied with the animal; he had not lost his day. He +scarcely remembered poor Morrut, and he felt the pride of ownership when +on the bridge and on the road, some one from the <i>huerta</i> turned around +to examine the white steed.</p> + +<p>But his greatest satisfaction came when he passed before the house of +Copa. He made the beast break into an arrogant little trot as though he +were a horse of pedigree, and he saw how Pimentó and all the loafers of +the <i>huerta</i> came to the door to look after him; the wretches! Now they +would be convinced that it was difficult to crush him, and that by his +unaided efforts, he could defend himself. Now they saw that he had a new +horse. If only the trouble within the home could be as easily adjusted!</p> + +<p>His high, green wheat formed a kind of lake of restless waves by the +roadside; the alfalfa-grass grew luxuriantly and had a perfume which +made the horse's nostrils dilate. Batiste could not complain of his +land, but it was inside<a name="page_198" id="page_198"></a> the house that he feared to meet misfortune, +eternal companion of his existence, waiting to dig its claws into him.</p> + +<p>On hearing the trotting of the horse, Batistet came out with his +bandaged head, and ran to hold the animal while his father dismounted. +The boy waxed enthusiastic over the new animal. He caressed him, put his +hands between his lips, and in his eagerness to get on his back, he put +one foot on the hook, seized his tail and mounted with the agility of an +Arab on his crupper.</p> + +<p>Batiste entered the house. As white and clean as usual, with its shining +tiles and all the furniture in its place, it seemed to be enveloped in +the sadness of a clean and shining sepulchre.</p> + +<p>His wife came out to the door of the room, her eyes red and swollen and +her hair dishevelled, revealing in her tired aspect the long, sleepless +nights she had spent.</p> + +<p>The doctor had just gone away: as usual, little hope. His manner was +forbidding, he spoke in half-words, and after examining the boy a +little, he went out without leaving any new prescription. Only when he +mounted his horse, he had said that he would return at night. And the +child was the same, with a fever that consumed<a name="page_199" id="page_199"></a> his little body, which +grew thinner and thinner.</p> + +<p>It was the same thing every day. They had grown accustomed now to that +misfortune; the mother wept automatically, and the others went about +their usual occupations with sad faces.</p> + +<p>Then Teresa, who had a business head, asked her husband about the result +of his journey; she wanted to see the horse; and even sad Roseta forgot +her sorrows of love and inquired about the new acquisition.</p> + +<p>All, large and small, went to the barnyard to see the horse in his +stable; Batistet full of enthusiasm had brought him there. The child +remained abandoned in the big bed of the bedroom where he tossed about, +his eyes glazed with sickness, bleating weakly: "Mother! Mother!"</p> + +<p>Teresa examined her husband's purchase with a grave expression, +calculating in detail whether he was worth more than thirty dollars; the +daughter sought out the differences between the new horse and Morrut of +happy memory, and the two youngsters, with sudden confidence, pulled his +tail and stroked his belly, and vainly begged their older brother to put +them up on his white back.<a name="page_200" id="page_200"></a></p> + +<p>Everybody was decidedly pleased with this new member of the family, who +sniffed the manger in an odd way as though he found there some trace, +some remote odour of his dead companion.</p> + +<p>The whole family had dinner, and the excitement and enthusiasm over the +new acquisition was such that several times Batistet and the little ones +slipped away from the table to go and take a look in the stable, as +though they feared the horse had sprouted wings and flown away.</p> + +<p>The afternoon passed without anything happening. Batiste had to plough +up a part of the land which he was keeping uncultivated, preparing the +crop of garden-truck, and he and his son put the horse in harness, proud +to see the gentleness with which he obeyed and the strength with which +he drew the plough.</p> + +<p>At nightfall, when they were about to return, Teresa called them, +screaming from the farm-house door, and her voice was like that of one +who is crying for help.</p> + +<p>"Batiste!—Batiste!—Come quickly!"</p> + +<p>And Batiste ran across the field, frightened by the tone of his wife's +voice and by her wild<a name="page_201" id="page_201"></a> actions; for she was tearing her hair and +moaning.</p> + +<p>The child was dying; you had only to see him to be convinced of it. +Batiste entered the bedroom and leaning over the bed, felt a shudder of +cold go over him, a sensation as though some one had just thrown a +stream of cold water on him from behind. The poor little Bishop scarcely +moved; he breathed stertorously and with difficulty; his lips grew +purple; his eyes, almost closed, showed the glazed and motionless pupil; +they were eyes which saw no more; and his little brown face seemed to be +darkened by a mysterious sadness as though the wings of death cast their +shadow on it. The only bright thing in that countenance was the blond +hair streaming over the pillows like a skein of curly silk; the flame of +the candle shone on it strangely.</p> + +<p>The mother's groans were desperate; they were like the howlings of a +maddened beast. Her son, weeping silently, had to check her, to hold her +in order to keep her from throwing herself on the little one or dashing +her head against the wall. Outside the youngsters were weeping,<a name="page_202" id="page_202"></a> not +daring to come in, as though the lamentations of the mother frightened +them, and by the side of the bed stood Batiste, absorbed, clenching his +fists, biting his lips, his eyes fixed on that little body, which it was +costing so much anguish, so many shudders, to give up its hold on life. +The calm of that giant, his dry eyes winking nervously, his head bent +down toward his son, gave an even more painful impression than the +lamentations of the mother.</p> + +<p>Suddenly, he noticed that Batistet stood by his side; he had followed +him, alarmed by his mother's cries. Batiste was angry when he found out +that his son had left the horse alone in the middle of the field, and +the boy, drying his eyes, ran out to bring the horse back to the stable.</p> + +<p>In a short while, new cries awakened Batiste from his stupor.</p> + +<p>"Father! Father!"</p> + +<p>It was Batistet calling him from the door of the farm-house. The father, +foreseeing some new misfortune, ran after him, not understanding his +confused words. "The horse ... the poor white horse ... lay on the +ground ... blood...."</p> + +<p>And after a few steps he saw him lying on<a name="page_203" id="page_203"></a> his haunches, still harnessed +to the plough but trying in vain to rise, stretching out his neck and +neighing dolorously, while from his side, near one of his forelegs, a +black liquid trickled slowly, soaking the freshly opened furrows.</p> + +<p>They had wounded him; perhaps he was going to die. God! A beast that he +needed like his own life and which had cost him money borrowed from the +master.</p> + +<p>He looked around as though seeking the perpetrator of the deed. There +was no one on the plain, which was growing purple in the twilight; +nothing could be heard but the far-off rumbling of wheels, the rustling +noise of the canebrakes, and the cries of people calling from one +farm-house to another. In the nearby roads, on the paths, there was not +a single soul.</p> + +<p>Batistet tried to excuse himself to his father for negligence. While he +was running toward the farm-house, he had seen a group of men coming +along the road, gay people who were laughing and singing, returning +doubtless from the inn. Perhaps it was they.</p> + +<p>The father would not listen to anything more.... Pimentó, who else could +it be? The hatred of the district had caused his son's death,<a name="page_204" id="page_204"></a> and now +that thief was killing his horse, guessing how much he needed it. God! +Was that not enough to make a Christian turn to evil ways?</p> + +<p>And he argued no more. Scarcely realizing what he was doing, he returned +to the farm-house, seized his musket from behind the door, and ran out, +mechanically opening the breech to see if the two barrels were loaded.</p> + +<p>Batistet remained near the horse, trying to staunch the blood with the +bandage from his own head. He was fear-stricken when he saw his father +running along the road with his musket cocked, longing to give vent to +his rage by slaying.</p> + +<p>It was terrible to see that big, quiet, slow man in whom the wild beast, +tired of being daily harassed, was now awakened. In his bloodshot eyes +burned a murderous light; all his body trembled with anger, that +terrible anger of the peaceful man who, when he passes the boundaries of +gentleness, becomes ferocious.</p> + +<p>Like a furious wild boar, he entered the fields, trampling down the +plants, jumping over the irrigation streams, breaking off the canes; if +he diverged from the road, it was only to reach Pimentó's farm more +quickly.<a name="page_205" id="page_205"></a></p> + +<p>Some one was at the door. The blindness of anger and the twilight +shadows prevented him from distinguishing if it was a man or a woman, +but he saw how the person with one leap sprang in and closed the door +suddenly, frightened by that vision on the point of raising his gun and +firing.</p> + +<p>Batiste stopped before the closed door of the farm-house:</p> + +<p>"Pimentó!... Thief! Come out!"</p> + +<p>And his voice amazed him as though it was another's.</p> + +<p>It was a voice which was trembling and shrill, high-pitched and +suffocated by anger.</p> + +<p>No one answered. The door remained closed; closed the windows and the +three loop-holes at the top which lighted the upper story, the <i>cambra</i>, +where the crops were kept.</p> + +<p>The scoundrel was probably gazing at him through some crack, perhaps +even cocking his gun to fire some treacherous shot from one of the high +small windows. And instinctively, with that foresight of the Moor always +alert in suspecting all kinds of evil tricks of the enemy, he hid behind +the trunk of a giant fig-tree which cast its shade over Pimentó's +house.<a name="page_206" id="page_206"></a></p> + +<p>The latter's name resounded ceaslessly in the silence of the twilight +accompanied by all kinds of insults.</p> + +<p>"Come down! You coward! Come out, you thug!"</p> + +<p>And the farm-house remained silent and closed, as though it had been +abandoned.</p> + +<p>Batiste thought he heard a woman's stifled cries; the noise of a +struggle; something which made him suppose a fight was going on between +poor Pepeta and Pimentó, whom she was trying to prevent from going out +to answer the insults; but after that he heard nothing, and his insults +reverberated in a silence which made him desperate.</p> + +<p>This infuriated him more than if the enemy had shown himself. He felt +himself going mad. It seemed to him that the mute house was mocking him, +and abandoning his hiding-place, he threw himself against the door, +striking it with the butt of his gun.</p> + +<p>The timbers trembled with the pounding of the infuriated giant. He +wished to vent his rage on the dwelling, since he could not annihilate +the master, and not only did he beat the door, but he also struck his +gun against the walls, dislodging<a name="page_207" id="page_207"></a> enormous pieces of plaster. Several +times, he even raised the weapon to his face, wishing to fire his two +shots at the two little windows of the <i>cambra</i>, and was deferred from +this only by his fear that he would remain disarmed.</p> + +<p>His anger increased; he roared forth insults; his bloodshot eyes could +scarcely see; he staggered like a drunken man. He was almost on the +point of falling to the ground in a fit of apoplexy, agonized with +anger, choked by fury, when suddenly the red clouds which surrounded him +tore themselves apart, his fury gave way to weakness, he saw all his +misfortune, felt himself crushed; his anger, broken by the terrible +tension, vanished, and Batiste, amidst the torrent of insults, felt his +voice grow stifled till it became a moan, and at last he burst out +crying.</p> + +<p>And he stopped insulting Pimentó. He began gradually to retreat, till he +reached the road, and sat down on a bank, his musket at his feet. There +he wept and wept, feeling a great relief, caressed by the shadows of +night which seemed to share his sorrow, for they became deeper, deeper, +hiding his childish weeping.</p> + +<p>How unfortunate he was! Alone against all! He would find the little +fellow dead when he returned<a name="page_208" id="page_208"></a> to the farm; the horse which was his +livelihood made useless by those traitors; trouble coming on him from +every direction, surging up from the roads, from the houses, from the +cane-brakes, profiting by all occasions to wound him and his; and he +defenceless, could not protect himself from these enemies who vanished +the moment, weary of suffering, he tried to turn on them.</p> + +<p>Lord! what had he done to deserve such sufferings? Was he not an honest +man?</p> + +<p>He felt himself more and more crushed by grief. Unable to move he +remained seated on the bank; his enemies might come; he had not even the +strength to pick up the musket that lay at his feet.</p> + +<p>Over the road resounded the slow tolling of a bell which filled the +darkness with mysterious vibrations. Batiste thought of his little boy, +of the poor "Bishop" who probably had died by now. Perhaps that sweet +chime was made by the angels who came down from heaven to bear the +child's soul away; and who unable to find his farm were flying over the +<i>huerta</i>. If only the others did not remain, those who needed the +strength of his arm to support them!... The<a name="page_209" id="page_209"></a> poor man longed for +annihilation; he thought of the happiness of leaving down there on that +bank, that ugly body, the life of which it cost him so much to sustain, +and embracing the innocent little soul of his boy, of flying away like +the blessed ones whom he had seen guided by angels in the paintings of +the church.</p> + +<p>The chimes seemed to approach and dark figures which his tear-wet eyes +could not distinguish passed by on the road. He felt some one touch him +with the end of a stick and, raising his head, he saw a solitary figure, +a kind of spectre leaning toward him.</p> + +<p>And he recognized old Tomba, the only one of the <i>huerta</i> to whom he +owed no suffering.</p> + +<p>The shepherd, considered as a sorcerer, possessed the amazing intuition +of the blind. Scarcely had he recognized Batiste when he seemed to +understand all his misfortune. He felt with his stick the musket lying +at his feet, and turned his head, as though looking for Pimentó's farm +in the darkness.</p> + +<p>He spoke slowly, with a quiet sadness, like a man accustomed to the +miseries of a world which he must soon leave. He divined that Batiste +was weeping.<a name="page_210" id="page_210"></a></p> + +<p>"My son ... my son...."</p> + +<p>He had expected everything that had occurred. He had warned him the +first day when he saw him settled on the accursed lands. They would +bring him misfortune.</p> + +<p>He had just passed by Batiste's farm and had seen lights through the +open door ... he had heard cries of despair; the dog was howling ... the +little boy had died, hadn't he? And he yonder, thinking he was seated on +a bank, when in reality he sat with one foot in prison. Thus men are +lost and their families broken up. He would end with some mad and +foolish murder, like poor Barret, and would die like him, in prison. It +was inevitable; those lands were cursed by the poor and could give forth +only accursed fruits.</p> + +<p>And muttering his terrible prophecies, the shepherd went his way behind +his sheep on the village road, advising poor Batiste to leave also, and +go away, very far away, where he could earn his bread without having to +struggle against the hatred of the poor. And now invisible, shrouded in +the shadows, Batiste still heard his slow, sad voice which made him +shudder:</p> + +<p><a name="page_211" id="page_211"></a>"Believe me, my son ... they will bring you misfortune!"</p> + +<h2><a name="VIII" id="VIII"></a>VIII</h2> + +<p class="nind"><span class="letra">B</span>ATISTE and his family did not realize how the unheard-of, unexpected +event began; who was the first who decided to pass the bridge that +joined the road to the hated fields.</p> + +<p>In the farm-house they were in no condition to notice such details. +Exhausted with suffering, they saw that the people of the <i>huerta</i> had +suddenly begun to come to them, and they did not protest, for misfortune +needs counsel, nor did they offer thanks for the unexpected impulse to +approach.</p> + +<p>The news of the little boy's death had been transmitted through all the +neighbourhood with the strange swiftness with which all news spreads in +the <i>huerta</i>, flying from farm to farm on the wings of scandal, which is +the swiftest of all telegraphs.</p> + +<p>Many slept poorly that night. It seemed as though the little boy, as he +departed, had left a thorn fixed in the consciences of the neighbours.<a name="page_212" id="page_212"></a> +More than one woman tossed about in bed, disturbing with her +restlessness her husband's sleep, making him protest indignantly. "But +curse you! will you go to sleep?..." No, she couldn't; that child +prevented her from sleeping. Poor little fellow! What would he tell the +Lord when he reached Heaven?</p> + +<p>All shared the responsibility of that death, but each one with +hypocritical egotism attributed to his neighbour the chief blame for the +bitter persecution whose consequences had fallen on the little fellow's +head; each gossiping woman blamed her enemy for the deed. And at last +she went to sleep with the intention of undoing all the evil done, of +going in the morning to offer her aid to the family, of weeping over the +poor child; and amid the mists of sleep they thought they saw Pascualet, +as white and resplendent as an angel, looking with reproachful eyes at +those who had been so hard with him and his family.</p> + +<p>All the people of the neighbourhood rose meditating as to how they could +approach and enter Batiste's house. It was an examination of conscience, +an explosion of repentance which burst on the poor farm-house from every +end of the plain.<a name="page_213" id="page_213"></a></p> + +<p>It had scarcely dawned when two old women who lived in a neighbouring +farm-house entered Batiste's home. The family, crushed with grief, felt +almost no wonder at seeing those two women appear in the house which no +one had entered for more than six months. They wanted to see the child, +the poor little "Bishop," and entering the bedroom they gazed at him +still lying there in the bed; the edge of the sheet pulled up to his +chin scarcely outlining the shape of his body, his blond head inert and +heavy on the pillow. The mother could only weep in her corner, all +shrunken and crouched together, as small as a child, as though she were +trying to annihilate herself and disappear.</p> + +<p>After these women came others and still others; it was a stream of +weeping old women who arrived from all parts of the plain; surrounding +the bed, they kissed the little corpse and seemed to take possession of +him as their own, leaving Teresa and her daughter aside; the latter, +exhausted by lack of sleep and weeping, seemed imbecile as they hung +their red and tear-wet faces on their breasts.</p> + +<p>Batiste, seated in a rush-chair, in the middle of the farm-house, gazed +stupidly at that procession<a name="page_214" id="page_214"></a> of people who had so ill-treated him. He +did not hate them, but neither did he feel gratitude. He had come forth +from the crisis of the day before crushed, and he gazed at all this with +indifference, as though the farm-house were not his, as though the poor +little fellow on the bed were not his son.</p> + +<p>Only the dog curling up at his feet seemed to remember and feel hatred: +he sniffed hostilely at all the procession of petticoats that came and +went, and growled as though he wanted to bite and only refrained from +doing so in order not to displease his masters.</p> + +<p>The young people shared the dog's resentment. Batistet scowled at all +those old women who had made fun of him so often when he passed before +their houses, and he took refuge in the stable so as not to lose sight +of the poor horse, whom he was curing according to the instructions of +the veterinary, called in the night before. He was very fond of his +little brother; but death has no remedy, and what he was anxious about +now was that the horse should not be permanently lame.</p> + +<p>The two little ones, pleased in their hearts at a misfortune which +attracted to their house the attention<a name="page_215" id="page_215"></a> of the whole plain, kept watch +over the door, barring the way to the small boys who like bands of +sparrows arrived by all roads and paths with morbid and excited +curiosity to see the little body of the dead child. Now <i>their</i> turn had +come; now <i>they</i> were the masters. And with the courage of those who are +in their own homes, they threatened and drove away some and let others +enter, giving them their favour according to the treatment they had +received from them in the bloody vicissitudes of their peregrinations on +their way home from school.... Rascals! There were even some who +insisted on entering after having played a part in the battle during +which poor Pascualet had fallen into the canal, thus catching the +illness which had been his death.</p> + +<p>The appearance of a weak, pale little woman seemed to bring suddenly on +the whole family a host of painful recollections. It was Pepeta, +Pimentó's wife! Even she came!</p> + +<p>An impulse of protestation came over both Batiste and his wife. But to +what purpose? Welcome, and if she entered to enjoy their misfortune, she +could laugh as much as she wished. There they were all inert, crushed by +grief.<a name="page_216" id="page_216"></a> God, the all-seeing, would give to every one his deserts.</p> + +<p>But Pepeta went straight to the bed, pushing the other women aside. She +bore in her arms an enormous bunch of flowers and leaves which she +spread out upon the bed. The first perfumes of the nascent springtime +spread through the room which smelled of medicine, and in whose heavy +atmosphere insomnia and sighs of desperation seemed to be inhaled.</p> + +<p>Pepeta, the poor beast of burden, dead for maternity though married with +the hope of becoming a mother, lost her calm on seeing that little +marble face, framed in the turned-back hair as in a nimbus of gold.</p> + +<p>"My son!... my poor little boy!"</p> + +<p>And she wept with all her soul, as she bent over the little corpse, +barely grazing with her lips the pale, cold brow, as though she feared +to awaken him.</p> + +<p>On hearing her sobs, Batiste and his wife raised their heads in +astonishment. They knew now that she was a good woman: <i>he</i> was the bad +one. And a mother's and father's gratitude shone in their eyes.</p> + +<p>Batiste even trembled when he saw how poor<a name="page_217" id="page_217"></a> Pepeta embraced Teresa and +her daughter, and mingled her tears with theirs. No; here was no +duplicity. She herself was a victim; that was why she could understand +the misfortunes of others who were also victims.</p> + +<p>The little woman wiped away her tears, and became again the brave, +strong woman accustomed to the labour of a beast of burden to keep up +her house. She cast an amazed glance around. Things could not stay like +that. The child in the bed and everything in disorder! The "Bishop" must +be laid out for his last journey, he must be dressed in white, pure and +resplendent as the dawn, whose name he bore.</p> + +<p>And with the instinct of a superior being born for practical life, with +the power of imposing obedience on others, she began to give orders to +all the women who vied in doing some service for the family they had +hitherto cursed so vehemently.</p> + +<p>She would go to Valencia with two companions to buy the shroud and the +coffin. Others went to the village, or scattered about among the +neighbouring farm-houses in search of the objects which Pepeta charged +them to procure.</p> + +<p>Even the hateful Pimentó who remained invisible,<a name="page_218" id="page_218"></a> had to contribute to +these preparations. His wife met him on the road and ordered him to look +for some musicians for the evening. They were, like himself, vagabonds +and drunkards; he would certainly find them at Copa's. And the bully, +who seemed preoccupied that day, listened to his wife's words without +reply and endured the imperious tone in which she spoke to him, gazing +down at the ground as though ashamed.</p> + +<p>Since the previous night he felt himself transformed. That man who had +defied and insulted him and kept him shut up in his own house like a +timid hen; his wife, who for the first time had imposed her will upon +him and taken his musket away; his lack of courage to face his victim, +who was wholly in the right; all these reasons kept him confused and +crushed.</p> + +<p>He was no longer the Pimentó of other days; he began to know himself and +even to suspect that all the things done against Batiste and his family +amounted to a crime. There even came a moment when he despised himself. +What a man he was!... All the mean tricks of himself and the other +neighbours had served only to take the life of a poor child. And as was +his<a name="page_219" id="page_219"></a> custom in dark days, when some trouble made him frown, he marched +off to the tavern, seeking the consolations that Copa kept in his famous +wine-barrel in the corner.</p> + +<p>At ten in the morning, when Pepeta and her two companions returned from +the city, the house was filled with people.</p> + +<p>Some men who were very slow and heavy and domestic, who had taken little +part in the crusade against the strangers, formed a group with Batiste +in the door of the farm-house; some squatting, in Moorish fashion, +others seated in rush-chairs, smoking and speaking slowly of the weather +and the crops.</p> + +<p>Inside, women and more women, pressing around the bed, deafening the +mother with their talk; some speaking of the sons they had lost, others +installed in corners as though they were in their own homes, gossiping +about all the rumours of the neighbourhood. That day was extraordinary; +it made no difference that their houses were dirty and that dinner must +be cooked; there was an excuse. The children clinging to their skirts +wept and deafened everybody with their cries, some wanting to return +home, others begging to be shown the "Bishop."<a name="page_220" id="page_220"></a></p> + +<p>Some old women took possession of the cupboard and every moment prepared +big glasses of sugared wine and water, offering them to Teresa and her +daughter so they could weep more comfortably, and when the poor +creatures, swollen by this sugary inundation, declined to drink, the +officious old gossips took turns in swallowing the refreshments +themselves, for they also needed to recover from their sorrow.</p> + +<p>Pepeta began to shout, desirous of inspiring respect in this confusion. +"Go away, all of you!" Instead of staying here and bothering people, +they ought to take the two poor women away with them, for they were +exhausted with sorrow and driven crazy by so much noise.</p> + +<p>Teresa objected to abandoning her son even for a short time; she would +soon see him no more; they should not steal from her any of the time +that remained to her to look upon her treasure. And bursting out into +even greater lamentations, she threw herself on the cold corpse, wishing +to embrace it.</p> + +<p>But the supplications of her daughter and Pepeta's will were stronger, +and Teresa, escorted by a great number of women, left the farm-house +with her apron over her face, moaning, staggering,<a name="page_221" id="page_221"></a> heedless of those +who pulled her away with them, each one vying with the other as to who +should take her home.</p> + +<p>Pepeta began to arrange the funeral ceremony. She placed in the centre +of the entrance the little white table on which the family ate, and +covered it with a sheet, fastening the ends with pins. On it they placed +a quilt which was starched and lace-trimmed, and there they placed the +little coffin brought from Valencia, a jewel of a coffin which the +neighbours admired; a white casket trimmed with gold braid, padded +inside like a baby's cradle.</p> + +<p>Pepeta took out of a bundle the last finery of the dead child; the +shroud of gauze woven of silver thread, the sandals, the garland of +flowers, all white, whose purity was symbolic of that of the poor little +"Bishop."</p> + +<p>Slowly, with maternal care, Pepeta shrouded the corpse. She pressed the +cold little body against her breast, introduced into the shroud, with +the greatest care, the rigid little arms, as though they were bits of +glass which might be broken at the least shock, and kissed the icy feet +before putting them into the sandals.</p> + +<p>In her arms, like a white dove stiff with cold,<a name="page_222" id="page_222"></a> she carried Pascualet +to the casket; to that altar raised in the middle of the farm-house +before which the whole <i>huerta</i>, drawn by curiosity, would defile.</p> + +<p>Nor was this all: the best was still lacking, the garland, a bonnet of +white flowers with festoons which hung over the ears; a barbaric +adornment like those worn by savages at the opera. Pepeta's pious hand, +engaged in a terrible struggle with death, stained the pale cheeks a +rosy colour; the mouth, blackened by death, she toned up with a layer of +bright scarlet, but her efforts to open the weak eyelids wide were vain; +they kept falling, covering the dull filmed eyes, eyes without lustre, +which had the grey sadness of death.</p> + +<p>Poor Pascualet ... unhappy little Bishop! With his grotesque garland and +his painted face, he was turned into a ridiculous scarecrow. He had +inspired more sorrowful tenderness when his pale little face had been +livid in death on his mother's pillow, adorned only with his own blond +hair.</p> + +<p>But all this did not prevent the good women of the <i>huerta</i> from +<a name="page_223" id="page_223"></a>admiring Pepeta's work enthusiastically. Look at him, ... why, he +seemed to be asleep! So beautiful, so pinkly flushed!... never had such +a little Abbot been seen before.</p> + +<p>And they filled the hollows of his casket with flowers; flowers on the +white vestment, scattered on the table, piled up in clusters at the +ends; the whole plain's luxuriance embraced the child's body, which it +had so often seen running along its paths like a bird; enveloped it with +a wave of colour and perfume.</p> + +<p>The two small brothers gazed on Pascualet astonished, piously, as on a +superior being who might take flight at any time; the dog prowled around +the catafalque stretching out his muzzle to lick the cold, waxen, little +hands, and burst out into an almost human lamentation, a moan of despair +which made the women nervous and impelled them to chase the poor beast +away with kicks.</p> + +<p>At noon, Teresa, escaping almost by main force from the captivity in +which her neighbours kept her, returned home. Her mother-love filled her +with a feeling of deep satisfaction when she beheld the little fellow's +finery; she kissed his<a name="page_224" id="page_224"></a> painted mouth and redoubled her lamentations.</p> + +<p>It was dinner-time. Batistet and the little ones, whose grief did not +succeed in killing their appetites, devoured a broken crust, hidden in +the corners. Teresa and her daughter had no thought of food. The father, +still seated in his rush-chair, smoked cigar after cigar, impassive as +an Oriental, turning his back on his dwelling as if he feared to see the +white catafalque which served as an altar for his son's body.</p> + +<p>In the afternoon, the visitors were more numerous. The women arrived, +decked out in holiday attire, and wearing their mantillas for the +funeral; the girls disputed energetically as to who should be one of the +four to carry the poor little Bishop to the cemetery.</p> + +<p>Walking slowly by the edge of the road and avoiding the dust as though +it were a deadly danger, some distinguished visitors arrived: Don +Joaquín and Doña Josefa, the schoolmaster and the "lady." That +afternoon, because of the unhappy event (as he declared), there was no +school, as was very evident, from the crowd of bold and sticky boys who +slipped into the farm-house, and tired of contemplating the corpse of +their erstwhile companion as they<a name="page_225" id="page_225"></a> picked at their noses, came out to +run around on the nearby road or to jump over the canals.</p> + +<p>Doña Josefa, in a threadbare woollen dress and a large yellow mantilla, +entered the farm-house silently, and after a few pompous phrases caught +from her husband, seated her robust self in a large rope-chair and +remained as mute as if asleep, in contemplation of the coffin. The good +woman, accustomed to hearing and admiring her husband, could not carry +on a conversation by herself.</p> + +<p>The schoolmaster, who was showing off his short green jacket which he +wore on days of ceremony, and his necktie of gigantic proportions, sat +down outside by the father's side. His big farmer's hands were encased +in black gloves which had grown grey in the course of years, till now +they were the colour of a fly's wing; he moved them constantly, desirous +of drawing attention to the garments he wore on occasions of great +solemnity.</p> + +<p>For Batiste's benefit, he brought out the most flowery and high-sounding +phrases of his repertory. The latter was his best customer; not a single +Saturday had he failed to give his sons the two coppers for the school.<a name="page_226" id="page_226"></a></p> + +<p>"It's life, Mr. Bautista; resignation. We never know God's plans. Often +he turns evil into good for his creatures."</p> + +<p>And interrupting his string of commonplaces, uttered pompously as though +he were in school, he lowered his voice and added, blinking his eyes +maliciously:</p> + +<p>"Did you notice, Mr. Batiste, all these people? Yesterday they were +cursing you and your family; and God knows how many times I have +censured them for this wickedness; today they enter your house as though +they were entering their own, and overwhelm you with manifestations of +affection. Misfortune makes them forget, brings them close to you."</p> + +<p>And after a pause, during which he stood with lowered head, he added +with conviction, striking his breast:</p> + +<p>"Believe me, for I know them well; at bottom they are very good people. +Very stupid, certainly. Capable of the most barbarous actions, but with +hearts which are moved by misfortune and which make them draw in their +claws.... Poor people! Whose fault is it that they were born stupid and +that no one tries to help them to overcome it?"<a name="page_227" id="page_227"></a></p> + +<p>He was silent for some time, and then he added with the fervour of a +merchant praising his article:</p> + +<p>"What is necessary here is education, much education. Temples of wisdom +to spread the light of knowledge over this plain; torches which ... +which.... In short, if more youngsters came to my temple, I mean to my +school, and if the fathers, instead of getting drunk paid punctually +like you, Mr. Bautista, things would be different. And I say nothing +more, for I don't like to offend."</p> + +<p>There was danger of this, for many of the fathers who sent him pupils +unballasted by the two pennies were near.</p> + +<p>Other farmers, those who had shown the family the most hostility, did +not dare to approach the house, and remained grouped together on the +road.</p> + +<p>Among them was Pimentó, who had just arrived from the tavern with five +musicians, his conscience easy after remaining a few hours near Copa's +counter.</p> + +<p>More and more people poured into the farm-house. There was no free space +left in it, and the women and children sat on the brick-benches<a name="page_228" id="page_228"></a> beneath +the vine-arbour or on the slopes, waiting for the hour set for the +funeral.</p> + +<p>Within were heard lamentations, counsels energetically uttered, the +noise of a struggle. It was Pepeta, trying to separate Teresa from her +son's body. Come!... she must be reasonable; the "Bishop" could not stay +there for ever, it was getting late, and it was better to drink the +bitter cup down and get it over with.</p> + +<p>And she struggled with the mother to make her leave the coffin and enter +the bedroom, so as not to be present at the terrible moment of +departure, when the "Bishop" would rise and take flight on the white +wings of his shroud never to return.</p> + +<p>"My son! his mother's darling!" moaned poor Teresa.</p> + +<p>She would see him no more; one kiss, another; and the head, more and +more marblelike and livid despite the paint, moved from one side of the +pillow to the other, making the diadem of flowers shake in the anxious +hands of the mother and sister who disputed the last kiss.</p> + +<p>At the end of the village the vicar would be found with the sacristan +and the acolytes: they must not be kept waiting. Pepeta was growing<a name="page_229" id="page_229"></a> +impatient. Inside! Inside! And aided by other women, Teresa and her +daughter were installed almost by main force in the bedroom, and walked +up and down with dishevelled hair and eyes, red with weeping, their +breasts heaving with a protest of sorrow which expressed itself not with +moans but with howls.</p> + +<p>Four girls with hoop-skirts, their silk mantillas falling over their +eyes, and who had a modest and nun-like expression, seized the legs of +the little table, raising all the white catafalque. Like the salvos +saluting the flag as it is raised, there resounded a strange, prolonged, +terrifying moan, which made chills run down the backs of many. It was +the dog taking leave of the poor "Bishop," uttering an interminable +lamentation, tears in his eyes and paws outstretched as if he wished +himself to follow his very cry.</p> + +<p>Outside, Don Joaquín was clapping his hands to command attention. Come +now ... let the whole school form! The people on the road had approached +the farm-house. Pimentó captained the musicians; the latter prepared +their instruments to salute the "Bishop" as soon as the coffin should +pass the threshold, and amid the<a name="page_230" id="page_230"></a> disorder and shouts with which the +procession formed, the clarinet trilled, the cornet played, and the +trombone blew like a fat, asthmatic old man.</p> + +<p>The youngsters started out, raising high great bunches of sweet basil. +Don Joaquín knew how to do things properly. Afterward, breaking through +the crowd, appeared the four damsels holding the light, white altar on +which the poor "Bishop," lying in his coffin, moved his head with a +slight movement from side to side as though he were taking leave of the +farm-house.</p> + +<p>The musicians burst forth into a playful, merry waltz, taking up their +position behind the bier, and behind them, all the curious people ran +along the little road to the farm in compact groups.</p> + +<p>The farm-house remained mute and dark, with that melancholy atmosphere +of places over which misfortune has passed.</p> + +<p>Batiste, alone under the vine-arbour, still in his attitude of an +impressive Arab, bit his cigar and followed the course of the procession +which began to wind along the highway, the coffin and its catafalque +looking like an enormous white<a name="page_231" id="page_231"></a> dove among the black robes and green +branches which marked the cortège.</p> + +<p>Auspiciously did the poor "Bishop" set out upon his way to the heaven of +the innocents. The plain, stretching out voluptuously under the kiss of +the springtime sun, enveloped the dead child with its fragrance, +accompanied him to the tomb, and covered him with an imperceptible +shroud of perfumes. The old trees, which had germinated, filled with the +sap of new life, seemed to greet the little corpse as they moved in the +breeze, their branches heavy-laden with flowers. Never had Death passed +over the earth so beautiful a mask.</p> + +<p>Dishevelled and screaming like madwomen, waving their arms furiously, +the two unhappy women appeared in the door of the farm-house, their +voices prolonged like an interminable moan in the quiet atmosphere of +the plain, pervaded with soft light.</p> + +<p>"My son!... My soul!..." moaned poor Teresa and her daughter.</p> + +<p>Nnnnn! nnnnn! howled the dog, stretching out his muzzle in a long groan, +which set the nerves on edge and seemed to send a funereal shiver over +all the plain.<a name="page_232" id="page_232"></a></p> + +<p>"Good-bye, Pascualet!... Good-bye!" cried the little ones, swallowing +their tears.</p> + +<p>And from afar, among the foliage, borne over the green waves of the +fields, replied the echoes of the valley, accompanying the poor "Bishop" +to eternity, as he swayed back and forth in his white barge trimmed with +gold. The complicated scales of the cornet, with its diabolic capers, +seemed like a happy outburst of laughter from Death, who with the child +in her arms, departed amid the sunset resplendencies of the plain.</p> + +<p>At evening-fall, the procession returned home.</p> + +<p>The little ones, sleepy from the excitement of the preceding night, when +Death had visited them, slept in their chairs. Teresa and her daughter, +overcome by weeping, their energy exhausted after so many sleepless +nights, were prostrated. They fell on the bed which still showed signs +of the poor child's body, while Batistet snored in the stable near the +sick horse.</p> + +<p>The father, still silent and impassive, received visitors, shook hands, +and gave thanks with movements of the head to the offers and consolatory +expressions.</p> + +<p>When the night shut in, all had gone.<a name="page_233" id="page_233"></a></p> + +<p>The farm-house remained dark and silent. Through the murky open door +there came, like a far-off whisper, the weary breathing of the tired +family, all of whom had fallen exhausted as though slain in the battle +of grief.</p> + +<p>Batiste, still motionless, gazed stupefied at the stars which twinkled +in the dark blue of night.</p> + +<p>Solitude brought him to his senses; he began to realize his situation.</p> + +<p>The plain had its usual aspect, but to him it appeared more beautiful, +more tranquillizing, like a frowning face which unbends and smiles.</p> + +<p>The people, whose shouts resounded in the distance in the doors of the +farm-houses, no longer hated him and would no longer persecute his +children. They had been beneath his roof and had blotted out with their +footsteps the curse that lay on the lands of old Barret. He would begin +a new life. But at what a price!</p> + +<p>And suddenly facing the exact realization of his misfortune, thinking of +poor Pascualet, who now lay crushed by a heavy weight of damp and fetid +earth, his white vestment contaminated by the corruption of other +bodies, ambushed by the filthy worm, the beautiful boy with the delicate +skin over which his calloused hand had been<a name="page_234" id="page_234"></a> wont to glide, the blond +hair which he had so often caressed, he felt a leaden wave which rose +from his stomach to his throat.</p> + +<p>The crickets which sang on the nearby slope grew silent, frightened by +the strange hiccough which broke the stillness, and sounded in the +darkness for the greater part of the night like the stertorous breathing +of a wounded beast.<a name="page_235" id="page_235"></a></p> + +<h2><a name="IX" id="IX"></a>IX</h2> + +<p class="nind"><span class="letra">S</span>T. JOHN'S day arrived, the greatest period of the year; the time of +harvest and abundance.</p> + +<p>The air vibrated with light and colour. An African sun poured torrents +of gold upon the earth, cracking it with its ardent caresses, and its +arrows of gold slipped in between the compressed foliage, an awning of +verdure under which the <i>vega</i> protected its babbling canals and its +humid furrows, as though fearful of the heat which generated life +everywhere.</p> + +<p>The trees showed their branches loaded with fruit. The medlar trees bent +over under the weight of the yellow clusters covered with glazed leaves; +apricots glowed among the foliage like the rosy cheeks of a child; the +boys scanned the corpulent fig-trees with impatience, greedily seeking +the early first fruit, and in the gardens on top of the walls, the +jasmines exhaled their suave fragrance, and the magnolias, like +incensories of ivory, scattered their perfume in the<a name="page_236" id="page_236"></a> burning +atmosphere, impregnated with the odour of ripe fruit.</p> + +<p>The gleaming sickles were shearing the fields, felling low the golden +heads of wheat, the heavy ears of grain, which oppressed with +superabundance of life, were bending toward the ground, their slender +stalks doubling beneath them.</p> + +<p>On the threshing-floor the straw was mounting up, forming hills of gold +which reflected the light of the sun; the wheat was fanned amid the +whirling clouds of dust, and in the fields whose tops were lopped off, +along the stubble, the sparrows hopped about, seeking the forgotten +grains.</p> + +<p>Every one was happy, all worked joyfully. The carts creaked on all the +roads, bands of boys ran over the fields, or gambled on the +threshing-floors, thinking of the cakes of new wheat, of the life of +abundance and satisfaction which began in the farm-house upon the +filling of the lofts; even the old nags seemed to look on with happy +eyes, and to walk with more alacrity, as though stimulated by the odour +of the mounds of straw which, like rivers of gold, would slip through +their cribs during the course of the year.</p> + +<p>The money, hoarded in the bedrooms during the winter, hidden away in the +chest or in the<a name="page_237" id="page_237"></a> depth of a stocking, began to circulate through the +<i>vega</i>. Toward the close of the day, the taverns began to fill with men, +reddened and bronzed by the sun, their rough shirts soaked with sweat, +who talked about the harvest and the payment of Saint John, the +half-year's rent which they had to pay over to the masters of the land.</p> + +<p>The abundance had also brought happiness to the farm-house of Batiste. +The crops had made them forget the little "Abbot." Only the mother, with +sudden tears and some profound sighs, revealed the fleeting remembrance +of the little one.</p> + +<p>It was the wheat, the full sacks which Batiste and his son carried up to +the granary, and which made the floor tremble, and the whole house shake +as they fell from their shoulders, that interested all the family.</p> + +<p>The good season began. Their good fortune now was as extreme as their +past misfortune. The days slipped by in saintly calm and much work, but +without the slightest incident to disturb the monotony of a laborious +existence.</p> + +<p>The affection which all the neighbours had shown at the burial of the +little one had somewhat cooled down. As the remembrance of this<a name="page_238" id="page_238"></a> +misfortune became deadened, the people seemed to repent of the +spontaneous impulse of tenderness and recalled once more the catastrophe +of old Barret and the arrival of the intruders.</p> + +<p>But the peace spontaneously made before the white casket of the little +one was not disturbed by this. Somewhat cold and suspicious, yes; but +all exchanged salutations with the family; the sons were able to go +through the plain without being annoyed, and even Pimentó when he met +Batiste, would nod his head in a friendly manner, mumbling something +which was like an answer to his salutation.</p> + +<p>In short, those who did not like them, left them alone, which was all +that they could desire.</p> + +<p>And in the interior of the farm-house, what abundance ... what +tranquillity! Batiste was surprised at the harvest. The lands, rested, +untouched by cultivation for a long time, seemed to have sent forth at +one time all the life accumulated in their depths after ten years of +repose. The grain was heavy and abundant. According to the news which +circulated through the plain, it was going to command a good price, and +what was better (Batiste smiled on thinking of this), he did not need to +pay out the profit as rent, for<a name="page_239" id="page_239"></a> he was exempt for two years. He had +paid well for this advantage by many months of alarm and struggle and by +the death of poor Pascualet.</p> + +<p>The prosperity of the family seemed to be reflected in the farm-house, +clean and brilliant as never before. Seen at a distance, it stood out +from the neighbouring houses, as though revealing that it had in it more +prosperity and peace. Nobody would have recognized in it the tragic +house of old Barret.</p> + +<p>The red bricks of the pavement in front of the door shone, polished by +the daily rubbings; the flower-beds of sweet-basil and morning-glories +and the bind-weeds formed pavilions of green, on top of which, outlined +against the sky, stood out the sharp, triangular pediment of the +farm-house, of immaculate whiteness; within might be seen the fluttering +of the white curtains which covered the windows of the bedrooms, the +shelves with piles of plates and concave platters leaning against the +wall, showing big fantastic birds, and flowers like tomatoes painted on +the background, and on the pitcher-shelf, which looked like an altar of +glazed tile, there appeared, like divinities against thirst, the fat +enamelled pitchers,<a name="page_240" id="page_240"></a> and the jars of china and greenish glass, hanging +from nails in a row.</p> + +<p>The ancient and ill-treated furniture, which was a continuous reminder +of the old wanderings and fleeing from misery, began to disappear, +leaving space for others, which the diligent Teresa bought on her trips +to the city. The money from the harvest was invested in repairing the +breaches in the furniture of the farm-house made by the months of +waiting.</p> + +<p>The family smiled at times, recalling the threatening words of Pimentó. +This wheat, which according to the bully, nobody should reap, began to +fatten all the family. Roseta had two more skirts, and Batistet and the +little ones strutted about on Sundays, dressed anew from head to foot.</p> + +<p>While crossing the plain during the sunniest hours, when the atmosphere +burned, and the flies and bees buzzed heavily, one felt a sensation of +comfort before this farm-house, which was so fresh and clean. The corral +through its walls of mud and stakes, revealed the life which it +enclosed. The hens clucked, the cock crowed, the rabbits leaped forth +from the burrows of a great pile of new kindling; the ducks, watched<a name="page_241" id="page_241"></a> by +the two little sons of Teresa, swam upon the nearby canal, and the +flocks of chickens ran over the stubble, peeping without ceasing, moving +their little rosy bodies, scarcely covered with fine down.</p> + +<p>To say nothing of the fact that Teresa shut herself up in her bedroom +more than once, and opening a drawer of the dresser, untied handkerchief +after handkerchief, in order to go into ecstasies before a little heap +of silver coins, the first money which her husband had been able to make +the fields yield. This was just a beginning, and if times should be +good, more and more money would be added to this, and who knows if when +the time came these savings might not free the little ones from military +service.</p> + +<p>The concentrated and silent joy of the mother was noted also in Batiste.</p> + +<p>One should have seen him on a Sunday afternoon, smoking a cuarto-stogie +in honour of the festival, passing before the house, and watching his +fields lovingly. Two days before, he had planted corn and beans in them, +as almost all of his neighbours had, since the earth must not be allowed +to remain idle.</p> + +<p>He could hardly manage with the two fields<a name="page_242" id="page_242"></a> which he had broken up and +cultivated. But like old Barret, he felt the intoxication of the land; +he wished to take in more and more with his labour, and though it was +somewhat late, he planned on the following day to break up that part of +the uncultivated earth which remained behind the farm-house, and plant +melons there, an unsurpassed crop, from which his wife might make a very +good profit, taking them as others did to the market at Valencia.</p> + +<p>He should thank God for finally permitting him to live at peace in this +paradise. What lands were these of the plain! According to history, even +the Moorish dogs had wept upon being ejected from them.</p> + +<p>The reaping had cleared the countryside, bringing low the masses of +wheat variegated with poppies which shut in the view on all sides like +ramparts of gold; now the plain seemed to be much larger, infinite; it +stretched out and out until the large patches of red earth, cut up by +paths and canals, disappeared from view.</p> + +<p>Over all the plain the Sunday holiday was rigorously observed, and as +there was a recent harvest, and not a little money, nobody thought of +violating the rule. There was not a single<a name="page_243" id="page_243"></a> man to be seen working in +the fields, nor a horse upon the roads. The old women passed over the +paths with the snowy mantle over their eyes, and their little chair upon +their arm, as if the bells which were ringing in the distance, very far +away, over the tiled roofs of the village, were calling them; along a +cross-road, a numerous group of children were screaming, pursuing one +another; over the green of the sloping-banks stood out the red trousers +of some soldiers who were taking advantage of the holiday, to spend an +hour in their homes; there sounded in the distance, like the sharp +ripping of cloth, the reports of shot-guns fired at flocks of swallows +which were wheeling about from one side to the other in a capricious +quadrille, emitting mellow whistles, so high it seemed they would graze +their wings against the crystal blue of the sky; over the canals buzzed +clouds of mosquitoes, almost invisible; and in a green farm-house, under +the old vine-arbour, there stirred about, in a kaleidoscopic maze of +colours, flowered skirts and showy handkerchiefs, and the guitars +sounded with a dreamy rhythm, lulling to sleep at last the cornet which +was shrieking, pouring forth to every end of the plain, as it slept +beneath the<a name="page_244" id="page_244"></a> sun, the Moorish sounds of the <i>jota</i>, the Valencian dance.</p> + +<p>This tranquil landscape was the idealization of laborious and happy +Arcadia. There could be no evil people here. Upon awakening, Batiste +stretched himself with a pleasurable feeling of laziness, yielding to +the tranquil comfort with which the atmosphere seemed to be impregnated. +Roseta had gone away with the little ones to a dance at a farm-house: +his wife was taking her siesta, and he was walking back and forth from +his house to the road over the bit of uncultivated land which served as +an entrance for vehicles.</p> + +<p>Standing on the little bridge, he answered the salutations of the +neighbours, who passed by laughing, as if they were going to witness a +very funny spectacle.</p> + +<p>They were going to Copa's tavern to see at close range the famous +contest between Pimentó and the two brothers, Terrerola, two bad +characters like the husband of Pepeta, who also had sworn hatred to +work, and passed the whole day in the tavern. Among them sprung up no +end of rivalry and bets, especially when a time like this arrived, when +the gatherings at the establishment swelled. The three bullies outdid +one another<a name="page_245" id="page_245"></a> in brutality, each one anxious to acquire more renown than +the others.</p> + +<p>Batiste had heard of this bet, which was drawing people to the famous +tavern as though it were a public festivity.</p> + +<p>The proposition was to see who could remain seated longest playing at +cards, and drinking nothing but brandy.</p> + +<p>They started Friday evening, and on Sunday afternoon, the three were +still in their little rope-chairs, playing the hundredth game of cards, +with the jug of <i>aguardiente</i> on the little table before them, leaving +the cards only to swallow the savoury blood-pudding which gave great +fame to Copa, because he knew so well how to preserve it in oil.</p> + +<p>And the news, spreading itself throughout all the plain, made all the +people come in a procession from a league roundabout. The three bullies +were not alone for a moment. They had their supporters, who assumed the +duty of occupying the fourth place in the game, and upon the coming of +the night, when the mass of spectators retired to their farms, they +remained there, watching them play in the light of the candle dangling +from a black poplar-tree, for Copa was<a name="page_246" id="page_246"></a> an impatient fellow, incapable +of putting up with the tiresome wager, and so when the hour for sleep +arrived, he would close the door, and after renewing their supply of +brandy leave the players in the little square.</p> + +<p>Many feigned indignation at the brutal contest, but at bottom they all +felt satisfaction in having such men for neighbours. Such men were +reared by the <i>huerta</i>! The brandy passed through their bodies as if it +were water.</p> + +<p>All the neighbourhood seemed to have an eye fixed upon the tavern, +spreading the news about the course of the bet with prodigious celerity. +Two pitchers had already been drunk, and no effect at all. Then three +... and still they were steady. Copa kept account of the drinking. And +the people, according to their preference, bet for one or the other of +the three contestants.</p> + +<p>This event, which for two days had stirred up so much interest in the +<i>vega</i>, and did not yet seem to have any end, had reached the ears of +Batiste. He, a sober man, incapable of drinking without feeling +nauseated and having a headache, could not avoid feeling a certain +astonishment, bordering on admiration, for these brutes whose<a name="page_247" id="page_247"></a> stomachs, +it seemed to him, must be lined with tin-plate. It would be a spectacle +worth seeing.</p> + +<p>And with a look of envy, his eyes followed those who were going toward +the tavern. Why should he not go also? He had never entered the house of +Copa, in other times the den of his enemies: but now the extraordinary +nature of the event justified his presence ... and, the devil! after so +much work and such a good harvest, an honest man could allow himself a +little self-indulgence.</p> + +<p>And crying out to his sleeping wife to tell her where he was going, he +set out on the road toward the tavern.</p> + +<p>The mass of people which filled the little plaza in front of the house +of Copa were like a swarm of human ants. All the men of the +neighbourhood were there without any coats or waistcoats, with corduroy +trousers, bulging black sash and a handkerchief wound around their heads +in the form of a mitre. The old people were leaning upon their heavy +staffs of yellow Lira-wood, with black arabesque work; the young people +with shirt-sleeves rolled up, displayed sinewy and ruddy arms, and as +though in contrast moved slender wands of ash between their thick, +calloused<a name="page_248" id="page_248"></a> fingers. The tall black poplars which surrounded the tavern +gave shade to the animated groups.</p> + +<p>Batiste noticed attentively for the first time the famous tavern with +its white walls, its painted blue windows, and its hinges inset with +showy tiles of Manises.</p> + +<p>It had two doors. One was to the wine-cellar. Through the open doors +could be seen two rows of enormous casks, which reached up to the +ceiling, heaps of empty and wrinkled skin-sacks, large funnels and +enormous measures tinged red by the continuous flow of liquid; there at +the back of the room stood the heavy cart which went to the very ends of +the province to deliver purchases of wine. This dark and damp room +exhaled the fumes of alcohol, the perfume of grape-juice which so +intoxicated the sense of smell and disturbed the sight that one had the +feeling that both earth and air would soon be drenched with wine.</p> + +<p>Here were the treasures of Copa, which were spoken of with unction and +respect by all the drunkards of the <i>huerta</i>. He alone knew the secret +of the casks; his vision, penetrating the old staves, estimated the +quality of the red liquid<a name="page_249" id="page_249"></a> which they contained; he was the high priest +of this temple of alcohol; when he wished to treat some one, he would +draw forth a glass in which sparkled liquid the colour of topaz, and +which was topped by a rainbow-hued crown of brilliants, as piously as +though he held the monstrance in his hands.</p> + +<p>The other door was that of the tavern itself, which was open from an +hour before daybreak until ten at night; through this the light of the +oil-lamp which hung above the counter cast over the black road a large +and luminous square.</p> + +<p>The walls and wainscots were of red, glazed bricks to the height of a +man, and were bordered by a row of flowered tiles. From there up to the +ceiling, the wall was dedicated to the sublime art of the painter, for +Copa, although he seemed to be a coarse man, whose only thought was to +have his cash drawer full at night, was a true Mæcenas. He had brought a +painter from the city, and kept him there more than a week, and this +caprice of the great protector of the arts had cost him, as he himself +declared, some five dollars, more or less.</p> + +<p>It was really true that one could not shift his gaze about without +meeting with some masterful<a name="page_250" id="page_250"></a> work of art, whose loud colours seemed to +gladden the customers and stimulate them to drink. Blue trees over +purple fields, yellow horizons, houses larger than trees, and people +larger than houses; hunters with shot-guns which looked like brooms, and +Andalusian gallants with blunderbusses thrown over their legs, and +mounted upon spirited steeds which had all the appearance of gigantic +rats. A prodigy of originality which filled the drinkers with +enthusiasm! And over the doors of the rooms, the artist, referring +discreetly to the establishment, had painted astonishing paintings of +edible delicacies; pomegranates like open hearts, and bleeding melons +which looked like enormous pimientoes, and balls of red worsted which +were supposed to represent peaches.</p> + +<p>Many maintained that the importance of the house over the other taverns +of the <i>huerta</i> was due to such astonishing adornment, and Copa cursed +the flies which dimmed such beauty.</p> + +<p>Close to this door was the counter, grimy and sticky: behind it the +three rows of little casks, crowned with battlements of bottles, all the +diversified and innumerable liquors of the establishment. From the +beams, like grotesque<a name="page_251" id="page_251"></a> babies, hung sheets of long sausages and +black-puddings, clusters of peppers as red and pointed as devils' +fingers; and relieving the monotony of the scene, some red hams and +majestic bunches of pork-sausage. The free-lunch for delicate palates +was kept in a closet of turbid glass close to the counter. There were +the <i>estrellas de pastaflora</i>,<a name="FNanchor_H_8" id="FNanchor_H_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_H_8" class="fnanchor">[H]</a> the raisin-cakes, the sugar-frosted +rolls, the <i>magdalenas</i><a name="FNanchor_I_9" id="FNanchor_I_9"></a><a href="#Footnote_I_9" class="fnanchor">[I]</a> all of a certain dark tinge and with +suspicious spots which showed old age; the cheese of Murviedo, tender +and fresh, pieces like soft white loaves still dripping whey.</p> + +<p>Also the tavern-keeper counted on his larder, where in monumental tins +were the green split olives and the black-puddings of onion preserved in +oil, which had the greatest sale.</p> + +<p>At the back of the tavern opened the door of the yard, vast and spacious +with its half dozen fireplaces to cook the <i>paellas</i><a name="FNanchor_J_10" id="FNanchor_J_10"></a><a href="#Footnote_J_10" class="fnanchor">[J]</a>; its white +pillars propping up an old wall-vine, which gave shade to the large +enclosure; and piled along one side of the wall, stools and small zinc +tables of such<a name="page_252" id="page_252"></a> prodigious quantity that Copa seemed to have foreseen +the invasion of his house by the whole population of the plain.</p> + +<p>Batiste, scanning the tavern, perceived the owner, a big man whose +breast was bare, but whose cap with ear-laps was drawn down even in +midsummer over his face, which was enormous, chubby-cheeked and livid. +He was the first customer of his establishment: he would never lie down +satisfied if he had not drunk a half-pitcher of wine during his three +meals.</p> + +<p>On this account, doubtless, this bet which stirred up the entire plain +as it spread abroad, scarcely took his attention.</p> + +<p>His counter was the watch-tower from which, as an expert critic, he +watched the drunkenness of his customers. And in order that no outsider +should assume the rôle of bully in his house, he always put his hand +before speaking upon a club which he kept under the counter, a species +of ace of clubs, the sight of which made Pimentó and all the bullies of +the neighbourhood tremble. In his house there was no trouble. If they +were going to kill each other, out into the road! And when claspknives +began to be opened and raised aloft on Sunday nights, Copa, without +speaking<a name="page_253" id="page_253"></a> a word, nor losing his composure, would rush in between the +combatants, seize the bravest by the arm, carry him through space to the +door and put him out upon the very highroad; then barring the door, he +would calmly begin to count the money in the drawer before going to bed, +while blows and the tumult of the renewed quarrel resounded outside. It +was all just a matter of closing the tavern an hour early, but within +it, there would never need to be a judge while he should be behind the +counter.</p> + +<p>Batiste, after glancing furtively from the door to the saloonkeeper, +who, aided by his wife and a servant, waited on the customers, returned +to the little plaza, and joined a group of old people, who were +discussing which of the three supporters of the bet seemed most serene.</p> + +<p>Many farmers, tired of admiring the three bullies, were playing cards on +their own account, or lunched, forming a group around the little tables. +The jug circulated, pouring forth a red stream which emitted a faint +<i>glu-glu</i> as it gushed into the open mouths. Some gave others handfuls +of peanuts and lupines. The maids of the tavern served in hollow plates +from Manises the dark and oily black-puddings, the fresh cheese<a name="page_254" id="page_254"></a> and the +split olives in their broth, on whose surface floated fragrant herbs; +and on the little tables appeared the new wheat bread, the rolls of +ruddy crust, inside of which the dark and succulent substance of the +thick flour of the <i>huerta</i> was visible. All these people, eating, +drinking, and gesticulating, raised such a buzzing that one would have +thought the little <i>plaza</i> occupied by a colossal wasp's nest. In the +atmosphere floated the vapours of alcohol, the suffocating fumes of +olive-oil, the penetrating odour of must, mingled with the fresh perfume +of the neighbouring fields.</p> + +<p>Batiste drew near the large group which surrounded those involved in the +wager.</p> + +<p>At first he did not see anything; but gradually, pushed ahead by the +curiosity of those who were behind him, he opened a space between the +sweaty and compressed bodies, until he found himself in the first row. +Some spectators were seated on the floor, with their chin supported on +both hands, their nose over the edge of the little table, and their eyes +fixed upon the players, as though they did not wish to lose one detail +of the famous event. Here it was that the odour of alcohol proved to be +most intolerable. The<a name="page_255" id="page_255"></a> breath and the clothing of all the people seemed +impregnated with it.</p> + +<p>Batiste looked at Pimentó and his opponents seated upon stools of strong +carob-wood, with the cards before their eyes, the jar of brandy within +easy reach, and on the zinc the little heap of corn which was equivalent +to chips for the game. And at each play, one of the three grasped the +jar, drank deliberately, then passed it on to his companions, who took a +long draft with no less ceremony.</p> + +<p>The onlookers nearest by looked at the cards over their shoulders in +order to be sure they were well played. But the heads of the players +were as steady as if they had drunk nothing more than water: no one +became careless or made a poor play.</p> + +<p>And the game continued, although those in the wager never ceased to talk +with their friends, or to joke over the outcome of the contest.</p> + +<p>Pimentó, upon seeing Batiste, mumbled a "Hello!" which he intended for a +salutation, and returned to his cards.</p> + +<p>Unmoved outwardly he might be; but his eyes were red; a bluish unsteady +spark, similar to the flame of alcohol, glowed in their pupils, and<a name="page_256" id="page_256"></a> his +face at times took on a dull pallor. The others were no better; but they +laughed and joked among themselves: the onlookers, as though infected by +this madness, passed from hand to hand the jug which they paid for in +shares, and there was a regular inundation of brandy which, overflowing +the tavern, descended like a wave of fire into the stomachs of all.</p> + +<p>Even Batiste, urged by the others of the group, had to drink. He did not +like it, but a man ought to try everything; and he began to hearten +himself with the same reflections which had brought him to the tavern. +When a man has worked and has his harvest in the granary, he can well +afford to permit himself his bit of folly.</p> + +<p>He felt a warmth in his stomach, and a delicious confusion in his head: +he began to grow accustomed to the atmosphere of the tavern, and found +the contest more and more entertaining.</p> + +<p>Even Pimentó seemed to him to be a notable man ... after a fashion.</p> + +<p>They had ended the game with a score of ... (nobody knew how much) and +they were now discussing the approaching supper with their friends. One +of the Terrerolas was losing ground visibly. The two days of +brandy-drinking<a name="page_257" id="page_257"></a> without food, the two nights passed in a haze, began to +affect him in spite of himself. He closed his eyes and let his head fall +back heavily upon his brother, who revived him with tremendous blows on +the sides secretly given under the table.</p> + +<p>Pimentó smiled craftily. He already had one of them down. And he +discussed the supper with his admirers. It ought to be sumptuous without +regard for expense: in any event, he did not have to pay for it. A meal +which would be a worthy climax to the exploit, for on that same night, +the bet would surely be ended.</p> + +<p>And like a glorious trumpet announcing beforehand Pimentó's triumph, the +snores of Terrerola the younger began to be heard; he had collapsed face +downward over the table, and was almost on the point of falling from the +stool, as if all the brandy which had gone into his stomach were by the +law of gravity seeking the floor.</p> + +<p>His brother spoke of arousing him with slaps, but Pimentó intervened +good-naturedly, like a magnanimous conqueror. They would awaken him at +the supper-hour. And pretending to give but little importance to the +contest and to his own prowess, he spoke of his lack of appetite as<a name="page_258" id="page_258"></a> of +a great misfortune, after having passed two days in this place eating +and drinking brutally.</p> + +<p>A friend ran to the tavern to carry over a long string of red +pepper-pods. This would bring his appetite back to him. The jest +provoked great laughter; and Pimentó, in order to amaze his admirers the +more, offered the infernal titbit to Terrerola, who still remained firm, +and he, on his part, began to devour it with the same indifference as +though it were bread.</p> + +<p>A murmur of admiration ran through the group. For each pod which was +eaten by the other, the husband of Pepeta gulped down three, and thus +made an end of the string, a regular rosary of red demons. The brute +must have an iron-plate stomach!</p> + +<p>And he went on, just as firm, just as impassive, though growing +continually paler and with eyes red and swollen, asking if Copa had +killed a pair of chickens for the supper, and giving instructions about +the manner of cooking them.</p> + +<p>Batiste gazed at this with amazement and vaguely felt a desire to go +away. The afternoon began to wane; in the little square the sound of +voices was rising, the tumult of every Sunday evening beginning, and +Pimentó gazed at him too<a name="page_259" id="page_259"></a> often, with his strange and troubling eyes, +the eyes of a habitual drinker. But without knowing why, he remained +here, as though the attraction of this spectacle, so novel to him, were +stronger than his will.</p> + +<p>The friends of the bully jested with him on seeing that he was draining +the jar after the red pepper-pods, without even heeding whether his +weary rival was imitating him. He ought not to drink so much: he would +lose, and he would not have the money to pay. He was not as rich now as +he had been in other years, when the masters of the lands had agreed not +to charge him any rent.</p> + +<p>An imprudent fellow said this without realizing what he was saying, and +it produced a painful silence, as in the bedroom of an invalid, when the +injured part has been laid bare.</p> + +<p>To speak of rents and of payments in this place, when brandy had been +drunk by pitchersful both by actors and spectators!</p> + +<p>Batiste received a disagreeable impression. It seemed to him that +suddenly there passed through the atmosphere something hostile, +threatening; without any great urging, he would have started to run; but +he remained, feeling<a name="page_260" id="page_260"></a> that all were looking fixedly at him. He feared +that he would be held by insults if he fled before he was attacked; and +with the hope of being unmolested, he remained motionless, overcome by a +feeling which was not fear, but something more than prudence.</p> + +<p>These people, whom Pimentó filled with admiration, made him repeat the +method which he had made use of, all these years, to avoid paying his +rent to the masters of the lands, and greeted it with loud bursts of +laughter, and tremors of malignant joy, like slaves who rejoice at the +misfortunes of a master.</p> + +<p>The bully modestly related his glorious achievements. Every year at +Christmas and St. John's Day, he had set out on the road to Valencia at +full speed to see his landlord. Others carried a fine brace of chickens, +a basket of cakes or fruits as a means to persuade the masters to accept +incomplete payment, and would weep and promise to complete the sum +before long. He alone carried words and not many of them.</p> + +<p>The mistress, a large, imposing woman, received him in the dining-room. +The daughters, proud young ladies, all dressed up with bows of<a name="page_261" id="page_261"></a> ribbons +and bright colours, came and went nearby.</p> + +<p>Doña Manuela turned to the memorandum book, to look up the half-years +that Pimentó was behind. He came to pay, eh?... And the crafty rogue, +upon hearing the question of the lady of the "Hay-Lofts" always answered +the same. No, señora, he could not pay because he hadn't a copper. He +was not ignorant of the fact that by this he was proving himself a +scamp. His grandfather, who was a man of great wisdom, had told him so. +"For whom were chains forged? For men. Do you pay? You are an honest +man. Do you not pay? You are a rogue." And following this short +discourse on philosophy, he had recourse to the second argument. He drew +forth a black stogie and a pocket-knife from his sash, and began to pick +tobacco in order to roll a cigarette.</p> + +<p>The sight of the weapon sent chills through the lady, made her nervous; +and for this very reason the crafty fellow cut the tobacco slowly and +was deliberate about putting it away. Always repeating the same +arguments of the grandfather, in order to explain his tardiness about +the payment.<a name="page_262" id="page_262"></a></p> + +<p>The children with the little bows of ribbon called him "the man of the +chains"; the mamma felt uneasy in the presence of this rough fellow of +black reputation, who smelt vilely of wine, and gesticulated with the +knife as he talked; and convinced that nothing could be gotten from him, +she told him that he might go; but he felt a deep joy in being +troublesome, and tried to prolong the interview. They even went so far +as to say that if he could not pay anything, he could even spare them +his visits and not appear there further; they would forget that they had +those lands. Ah, no, señora. Pimentó fulfilled his obligations +punctually, and as a tenant, he should visit his landlord at Christmas +and San Juan, in order to show that though he was not paying, he +remained nevertheless their very humble servant.</p> + +<p>And there he would go, twice a year, smelling of wine, and stain the +floor with his sandals, clay covered, and repeat that chains were made +for men, making sabre-thrusts the while with his knife. It was the +vengeance of the slave, the bitter pleasure of the mendicant who appears +in the midst of a feast of rich men, with his foul tatters.<a name="page_263" id="page_263"></a></p> + +<p>All the farmers laughed, commenting on the conduct of Pimentó with his +landlord.</p> + +<p>And the bully justified his conduct with arguments. Why should he pay? +Come now, why? His grandfather had cultivated his lands before him; at +his father's death they had been divided among the brothers at their +pleasure, following the custom of the <i>huerta</i>, and without consulting +the landlord in any way. They were the ones who had worked them; they +had made them produce, they had worn away their lives upon their fields.</p> + +<p>Pimentó, speaking with vehemence of his work, showed such shamelessness +that some smiled.... Good: he was not working much now, because he was +shrewd and had recognized the farce of living. But at one time he had +worked, and this was enough to make the lands more justly his own than +they were of that big, fat woman of Valencia. When she would come to +work them; when she would take the plough with all its weight, and the +two little girls with the bows yoked together would draw it after them, +then she would legitimately be the mistress.</p> + +<p>The coarse jokes of the bully made the people<a name="page_264" id="page_264"></a> roar with laughter. The +bad flavour of the payment of St. John remained with them and they took +much pleasure in seeing their masters treated so cruelly. Ah! The joke +about the plough was very funny; and each one imagined that he could see +the master, the stout and timid landlord, or the señora, old and proud, +hitched up to the ploughshare pulling and pulling, while they, the +farmers, those under the heel, were cracking the whip.</p> + +<p>And all winked at each other, laughed and clapped their hands, in order +to express their approbation. Oh! It was very comfortable in the house +of Copa listening to Pimentó. What ideas the man had!</p> + +<p>But the husband of Pepeta became gloomy, and many noticed that often he +would cast a side-long look about him, that look of murder which was +long known in the tavern to be a certain sign of immediate aggression. +His voice became thick, as if all the alcohol which was swelling his +stomach had ascended like a hot wave and burned his throat.</p> + +<p>They might laugh until they burst, but their laughs would be the last. +Already the <i>huerta</i> was not the same as it had been for ten years.<a name="page_265" id="page_265"></a> The +masters, who had been timid rabbits, had again become unruly wolves. +They were showing their teeth again. Even his mistress had taken +liberties with him. With him who was the terror of all the landowners of +the <i>huerta</i>! During his visit last St. John's day she had laughed at +his saying about the chains, and even at the knife, announcing to him +that he might prepare either to leave the lands or pay his rent, not +forgetting the back payments either.</p> + +<p>And why had they turned in such a manner? Because already they no longer +feared them.... And why did they not fear them? Christ! Because now the +fields of old Barret were no longer abandoned and uncultivated, a +phantom of desolation to awe the landlords and make them sweet and +reasonable. So the charm had been broken. Since a half-starved thief had +succeeded in imposing himself upon them, the landlords had laughed, and +wishing to take revenge for ten years of enforced meekness, had grown +worse than the infamous Don Salvador.</p> + +<p>"True ... it is true," said all the group, supporting the arguments of +Pimentó, with furious nods.</p> + +<p>All confessed that their landlords had changed<a name="page_266" id="page_266"></a> as they recalled the +details of their last interview; the threats of ejection, the refusal to +accept the incomplete payments, the ironical way in which they had +spoken of the lands of old Barret, cultivated again in spite of the +hatred of all the <i>huerta</i>. And now, all at once, after the sweet +laziness of ten years of triumph, with the reins on their shoulders and +the master at their feet, had come the cruel pull, the return to other +times, the finding of the bread bitter and the wine more sour, thinking +of the accursed half-year, and all on account of an outsider, a lousy +fellow who had not even been born in the <i>huerta</i>, and who had hung +himself upon them to interfere in their business and make life harder +for them. And should this rogue still live? Did the <i>huerta</i> not have +any men?</p> + +<p>Good-bye, new friendships, respect born by the side of the coffin of a +poor child! All the consideration created by misfortune went tumbling +down like a stock of playing-cards, vanishing like a nebulous cloud, and +the old hatred reappeared at a single bound—the solidarity of all the +<i>huerta</i>, which in combating the intruder was defending its very life.</p> + +<p>And at what a moment the general animosity<a name="page_267" id="page_267"></a> arose! The eyes fixed upon +him burned with the fire of hatred; heads muddled with alcohol seemed to +feel a horrible itching for murder; instinctively they all started +toward Batiste, who felt himself pushed about from all sides as if the +circle were tightening in order to devour him.</p> + +<p>He repented now of having remained. He felt no fear, but he cursed the +hour in which the idea of going to the tavern occurred to him—an alien +place which seemed to rob him of his strength, that self-possession +which animated him when he felt the earth beneath his feet—the earth +which he had cultivated at the cost of so much sacrifice, and in whose +defence he was ready to lose his very life.</p> + +<p>Pimentó, as he gave way to his anger, felt all the brandy he had drunk +during the past two days fall suddenly like a heavy blow upon his brain. +He had lost the serenity of an unshakable drunkard; he arose staggering, +and it was necessary for him to make an effort to sustain himself upon +his legs. His eyes were inflamed as though they were dripping blood; his +voice was laboured as though the alcohol and anger were drawing it back +and not letting it come forth.<a name="page_268" id="page_268"></a></p> + +<p>"Go," he said imperiously to Batiste, threateningly, extending a hand, +till it almost touched his face. "Go, or I will kill you!"</p> + +<p>Go!... It was this that Batiste desired; he grew paler and paler, +repenting more and more that he was here. But he well divined the +significance of that imperious "Go!" of the bully, supported by signs of +approval on the part of all the others.</p> + +<p>They did not demand that he should leave the tavern, ridding them of his +odious presence; they were ordering him with threats of death to abandon +the fields, which were like the blood of his body; to give up for ever +the farm-house where his little one had died, and in which every corner +bore a record of the struggles and the joys of the family in their +battle with poverty. And swiftly he had a vision of himself and all his +furniture piled on the cart, wandering over the roads, in search of the +unknown, in order to create another existence: carrying along with them +like a gloomy companion, that ugly phantom of famine which would be ever +following at their heels....</p> + +<p>No! He shunned quarrels, but let them not put a finger on his children's +bread!</p> + +<p>Now he felt no disquietude. The image of<a name="page_269" id="page_269"></a> his family, hungry and without +a hearth, enraged him; he even felt a desire to attack all these people +who demanded of him such a monstrous thing.</p> + +<p>"Will you go? Will you go?" asked Pimentó, ever darker and more +threatening.</p> + +<p>No: he would not go. He said it with his head, with his smile of scorn, +with his firm glance and the challenging look which he fixed upon the +group.</p> + +<p>"Scoundrel!" roared the bully; and his hand fell upon the face of +Batiste, giving it a terrible resounding slap.</p> + +<p>As though stirred by this aggression, all the group rushed upon the +odious intruder, but above the line of heads a muscular arm arose, +grasping a rush-grass stool, the same perhaps upon which Pimentó had +been seated.</p> + +<p>For the strong Batiste it was a terrible weapon, this seat of strong +cross-pieces, with heavy legs of carob-wood, its corners polished by +usage.</p> + +<p>The little table and the jars of brandy rolled away, the people backed +instinctively, terrified by the gesture of this man, always so peaceful, +who seemed now a giant in his madness. But before any one could recede a +step, Plaf! a noise<a name="page_270" id="page_270"></a> resounded like a bursting kettle, and Pimentó, his +head broken, fell to the ground.</p> + +<p>In the <i>plaza</i>, it produced an indescribable confusion.</p> + +<p>Copa, who from his lair seemed to pay attention to nothing, and was the +first to scent a quarrel, no sooner saw the stool in the air than he +drew out the "ace of clubs" which was under the counter, and with a few +quick blows, in a jiffy cleared the tavern of its customers and +immediately closed the door in accordance with his usual salutary +custom.</p> + +<p>The people remained outside, running around the little square; the +tables rolled about. Sticks and clubs were brandished in the air, each +one placing himself on guard against his neighbour, ready for whatever +might come; and in the meantime Batiste, the cause of all the trouble, +stood motionless, with hanging arms, grasping the stool now stained with +spots of blood, terrified by what had just occurred.</p> + +<p>Pimentó, face downward on the ground, uttered groans which sounded like +snarls, as the blood gushed forth from his broken head.</p> + +<p>Terrerola, the elder, with the fraternal feeling of one drunkard for +another ran to the aid<a name="page_271" id="page_271"></a> of his rival, looking with hostility at Batiste. +He insulted him, looking in his sash for a weapon with which to wound +him.</p> + +<p>The most peaceful fled away through the paths, looking back with morbid +curiosity, and the others remained motionless, on the defensive, each +one capable of dispatching his neighbour, without knowing why, but not +one wishing to be the first aggressor. The clubs remained raised aloft, +the clasp knives gleamed in the group, but no one approached Batiste, +who slowly backed away, still holding the blood-stained tabouret aloft.</p> + +<p>Thus he left the little plaza, ever looking with challenging eyes at the +group which surrounded the fallen Pimentó, all brave fellows but +evidently intimidated by this man's strength.</p> + +<p>Upon finding himself on the road, at some distance from the tavern, he +began to run, and drawing near his farm-house, he dropped the heavy +stool in a canal, looking with horror at the blackish stain of the dry +blood upon the water.<a name="page_272" id="page_272"></a></p> + +<h2><a name="X" id="X"></a>X</h2> + +<p class="nind"><span class="letra">B</span>ATISTE lost all hope of living peacefully on his land.</p> + +<p>The entire <i>huerta</i> once more arose against him. Again he had to isolate +himself in his farm-house, to live in perpetual solitude like one cursed +by a plague, or like some caged wild-beast, at whom every one shook his +fist from afar.</p> + +<p>His wife told him on the following day how the wounded bully was +conducted to his house. He himself, from his home, had heard the shouts +and the threats of the people, who had solicitously accompanied the +wounded Pimentó.... It was a real manifestation. The women, already +aware of what had happened through the marvellous rapidity with which +news spreads over the <i>huerta</i>, ran out on the road to see Pepeta's +brave husband at close range, and to express compassion for him as for +some hero sacrificed for the good of others.</p> + +<p>The same ones who had spoken insultingly of<a name="page_273" id="page_273"></a> him some hours before, +scandalized by his wager of drunkenness, now pitied him, inquired +whether he was seriously hurt, and clamoured for revenge against that +starving pauper, that thief, who not content with taking possession of +that which was not his, tried to win respect by terror, and by attacking +good men.</p> + +<p>Pimentó was magnificent. He suffered great pain, and went about +supported by his friends with his head bandaged, transformed into an +<i>eccehomo</i>, as the indignant gossips declared; but he made an effort to +smile, and answered every incitement to revenge with an arrogant +gesture, declaring that he took the castigation of the enemy upon +himself.</p> + +<p>Batiste did not doubt that these people would seek vengeance. He was +familiar with the usual methods of the <i>huerta</i>. The courts of the city +were not made for this land; prison was a small matter when a question +of satisfying a grudge was concerned. Why should a man make use of a +judge or a civil guard, if he had a good eye and a shotgun in his house? +The affairs of men should be settled by the men themselves.</p> + +<p>And as all the <i>huerta</i> thought thus, vainly on the day following the +quarrel did two guards with<a name="page_274" id="page_274"></a> enamelled tricorns pass and repass over the +paths leading from Copa's tavern to the farm-house of Pimentó, making +sly inquiries of the people who were in the fields. No one had seen +anybody; no one knew anything. Pimentó related with brutal bursts of +laughter how he had broken his own head coming home from the tavern, +declaring it to be the consequence of his bet; the brandy had made him +stagger, and strike his head against the trees on the road. So the rural +police had to turn back to their little barracks at Alboraya without any +clear information concerning the vague rumours of quarrel and bloodshed +which had reached them.</p> + +<p>This magnanimity of the victim and his friends alarmed Batiste, who made +up his mind to live perpetually on the defensive.</p> + +<p>The family, shrinking from contact with the <i>huerta</i>, withdrew within +the house as a timid snail withdraws within its shell.</p> + +<p>The little ones did not even go to school. Roseta stopped going to the +factory, and Batistet did not go a pace away from the fields. Only the +father went out, showing himself as calm and confident about his +security as he was careful and prudent for the others.<a name="page_275" id="page_275"></a></p> + +<p>But he made no trips to the city without carrying the shotgun with him, +which he left with a friend in the suburbs. He literally lived with his +weapon. The most modern thing in his house, it was always clean, shining +and cared for with that affection which the Valencian farmer, like the +Barbary tribesman, bestows upon his gun.</p> + +<p>Teresa was as sad as she had been upon the death of the little one. +Every time that she saw her husband cleaning the double-barrelled +shotgun, changing the cartridges, or making the trigger play up and down +to be sure it would work smoothly, there arose in her mind the image of +the prison, the terrible tale of old Barret; she saw blood and cursed +the hour in which they had thought of settling upon these accursed +lands. And then came the hours of fear on account of the absence of her +husband, those long afternoons spent awaiting the man who did not +return, going out to the door of the farm-house to explore the road, +trembling each time that there sounded from the distance some report +from the hunters of sparrows, fearing that it was the beginning of a +tragedy, the shot which shattered the head of the father of the family +or which would take him<a name="page_276" id="page_276"></a> to prison. And when Batiste finally appeared, +the little ones would shout with joy, Teresa would smile, wiping her +eyes, the daughter would run out to embrace her father, and even the dog +leaped close to him, sniffing restlessly, as though he scented about his +person the danger which he had just encountered.</p> + +<p>And Batiste, serene and firm, but without arrogance, laughed at his +family's anxiety, and became bolder and bolder as the famous quarrel +receded into the past.</p> + +<p>He considered himself secure. As long as he carried "the bird with the +two voices," as he called his shotgun, he could calmly walk throughout +all the <i>huerta</i>. When he went out in such good company, his enemies +pretended not to know him. At times he had even seen Pimentó from a +distance, walking through the <i>huerta</i>, exhibiting like a flag of +vengeance his bandaged head, but the bully, in spite of his recovery +from the blow had fled, fearing the encounter perhaps even more than +Batiste.</p> + +<p>All were watching him from the corner of their eye, but he never heard +from the fields adjoining the road a single word of insult. They +shrugged their shoulders with scorn, bent over<a name="page_277" id="page_277"></a> the earth, and worked +feverishly until he was lost from sight.</p> + +<p>The only person who spoke to him was old Tomba, the crazy shepherd, who +recognized him despite his sightless eyes, as though he could scent the +atmosphere of calamity around Batiste. And it was ever the same.... Was +he not going to abandon the accursed lands?</p> + +<p>"You are making a mistake, my son; they will bring you misfortune."</p> + +<p>Batiste received the refrain of the old man with a smile.</p> + +<p>Grown familiar with peril, he had never feared it less than he did now. +He even felt a certain secret joy in provoking it, in marching directly +toward it. His tavern exploit had changed his character, previously so +peaceful and long-suffering; awakened in him a boastful brutality. He +wished to show all these people that he did not fear them, that even as +he had burst open Pimentó's head, so was he ready to take up arms +against the whole <i>huerta</i>. Since they had driven him to it, he would be +a bully and a braggart long enough for them to respect him and allow him +to live peacefully ever afterward.</p> + +<p>And possessed of this dangerous determination,<a name="page_278" id="page_278"></a> he even abandoned his +lands, passing the afternoons along the roads of the <i>huerta</i> under the +pretext of hunting, but in reality to exhibit his shotgun and his look +of a man who has few friends.</p> + +<p>One afternoon, while hunting swallows in the ravine of Carraixet, the +darkness surprised him.</p> + +<p>The birds seemed to be following the mazes of some capricious quadrille +as they flew about restlessly, reflected in the deep and quiet pools +bordered with tall rushes. This ravine, which cut across the <i>huerta</i> +like a deep crack, gloomy, with stagnant water, and muddy shores, where +there bobbed up and down some rotting, half-submerged canoe, presented a +desolate and wild aspect. No one would have suspected that behind the +slope of the high banks, farther on beyond the rushes and the +cane-brake, lay the plain with its smiling atmosphere and its green +vistas. Even the light of the sun seemed dismal, as it sank to the +depths of the ravine, sifting through the wild vegetation and pallidly +reflecting itself in the dead waters.</p> + +<p>Batiste spent the afternoon firing at the wheeling swallows. A few +cartridges still remained<a name="page_279" id="page_279"></a> in his belt, and at his feet, forming a mound +of blood-stained feathers, he already had two dozen birds. What a +supper! How happy the family would be!</p> + +<p>It grew dark in the deep ravine: from the pools, a fetid vapour came +forth, the deadly respiration of malarial fever. The frogs croaked by +the thousand, as though saluting the stars, contented at not hearing the +firing which interrupted their song, and obliged them to dive head-long, +disturbing the smooth crystal of the stagnant pools.</p> + +<p>Batiste picked up his "bag" of birds, hanging them from the belt, and +ascending the bank with two leaps, set out over the paths on his return +trip to the farm-house.</p> + +<p>The sky, still permeated with the faint glow of twilight, had the soft +tone of violet; the stars gleamed, and over the immense <i>huerta</i> there +rose the many sounds of rustic life which would soon with the arrival of +night die away. Over the paths passed the girls returning from the city; +and men coming from the fields, the tired horses dragging the heavy +carts; and Batiste answered their "Good night," the greeting of all who<a name="page_280" id="page_280"></a> +passed near him, people from Alboraya, who did not know him or did not +have the motives of his neighbours for hating him.</p> + +<p>He left the village behind him, and as he drew nearer to his farm, the +hostility stood out more plainly with every step. The people hissed him +without any greeting.</p> + +<p>He was in strange country, and like a soldier who prepares to fight as +soon as he crosses the hostile frontier, Batiste sought in his sash for +the munitions of war, two cartridges with ball and bird-shot, made by +himself, and loaded his shotgun.</p> + +<p>The big man laughed after doing this. Whoever tried to cut off his way +would receive a good shower of lead.</p> + +<p>He walked along without haste, calmly, as though enjoying the freshness +of the spring night. But this tranquillity did not prevent him from +thinking of the risk he was taking, with the enemies he had, in being +abroad in the <i>huerta</i> at such an hour.</p> + +<p>His keen ear, that of a countryman, seemed to perceive a sound at his +shoulder. He turned about quickly, and in the pale star-light, he +thought he saw a dark figure, leaping from the<a name="page_281" id="page_281"></a> road with a stealthy +bound and hiding behind a bank.</p> + +<p>Batiste laid hold of his shotgun, and lifting the hammer, approached +cautiously. No one.... Only at some distance it seemed to him that the +plants were waving in the darkness, as though a body were dragging +itself among them.</p> + +<p>They were following him: some one intended to surprise him treacherously +from behind. But this suspicion lasted but a short time. It might be +some vagabond dog which fled upon his approach.</p> + +<p>Well, it was certain that whatever it was, it was fleeing from him, and +so there was nothing for him to do.</p> + +<p>He went along over the dark road, walking silently like a man who knows +the country in the dark, and for the sake of prudence does not wish to +attract attention. As he approached the farm, he felt a certain +uneasiness. This was his neighbourhood, but here also were his most +tenacious enemies.</p> + +<p>Some minutes before arriving at the farm, near the blue farm-house where +the girls danced on Sundays, the road became narrow, forming various +curves. At one side, a high bank was<a name="page_282" id="page_282"></a> crowned by a double row of +mulberry-trees; on the other, was a narrow canal whose sloping shores +were thickly covered with tall cane-brake.</p> + +<p>It looked in the darkness like an Indian thicket, a vault of bamboos +bending over the road. It was completely dark here; the mass of +cane-brake trembled in the light wind of the night, giving forth a +mournful sound; the place, so cool and agreeable during the hours of +sunlight, seemed to smell of treason.</p> + +<p>Batiste, laughing at his uneasiness, mentally exaggerated the danger. A +magnificent place to fire a safe shot at him. If Pimentó should come +along here, he would not scorn such a beautiful chance.</p> + +<p>And scarcely had he thought of this, when there came forth from among +the cane-brake a straight and fleeting tongue of fire, a red arrow which +vanished, followed by a report; and something passed, hissing close to +his ear. Some one was firing upon him. Instinctively he stooped down, +wishing to fuse with the darkness of the ground, so as not to present a +target to the enemy. In the same moment a new flash glowed, another +report sounded, mingling with the echoes still reverberating from the +first, and Batiste<a name="page_283" id="page_283"></a> felt a tearing sensation in the left shoulder, +something like the scratch of steel, scraping him superficially.</p> + +<p>But his attention scarcely stopped at this. He felt a savage joy. Two +shots ... the enemy was disarmed.</p> + +<p>"Christ! Now I've got you!"</p> + +<p>He rushed out through the cane-brake, plunged, almost rolling down the +slope, and entered the water up to the waist, his feet in the mud and +his arms aloft, very high, in order to prevent his shotgun from getting +wet, guarding like a miser the two shots until the moment should arrive +when he could safely deal them out.</p> + +<p>Before his eyes the cane-brake met, forming a close arch almost level +with the water. Before him in the darkness, he heard a splashing like +that of a dog fleeing down through the canal. Here was the enemy: after +him!</p> + +<p>And in the stream-bed, he entered on a mad race, plunging along groping +through the shadows, leaving his sandals behind him, lost in the mud: +his trousers, clinging to his body, and dragging heavily, retarded his +movements: and the stiff sharp stalks of the broken cane-brake struck +and scratched his face.<a name="page_284" id="page_284"></a></p> + +<p>At one moment Batiste thought he saw something dark clinging to the +cane-brake, striving to rise above the bank. He was attempting to run +away: he must fire.... His hands, which felt the itching of murder, +carried the shotgun to his face, pulled the trigger, ... the report +sounded, and the body fell into the canal, among a shower of leaves and +rotting cane.</p> + +<p>At him! At him!... Again, Batiste heard the splashing of a fleeing dog: +but now with more effort, as though the fugitive, spurred on by +desperation, were straining every effort to escape.</p> + +<p>It was a dizzy flight, that race amid darkness, through the cane-brake +and water. The two kept slipping on the soft ground, unable to cling to +the brake without loosening their hold on their guns; the water eddied +about them, lashed by their reckless haste, but Batiste, who fell +several times on his knees, thought only of reaching out his arms, in +order to keep his weapon dry and save the shot which remained.</p> + +<p>And thus the human hunters went on, groping through the dismal darkness, +until in a turn of the canal, they came out to an open space, where the +banks were clear of reeds.</p> + +<p>The eyes of Batiste, accustomed to the gloom<a name="page_285" id="page_285"></a> of the vault, saw with +perfect clearness a man who, leaning on his firearm, climbed staggering +out of the canal, with difficulty moving mud-clogged legs.</p> + +<p>It was he ... he! he as usual!</p> + +<p>"Thief!... thief! you shall not escape," roared Batiste, and he +discharged his second shot from the bottom of the canal, with the +certainty of the marksman who is able to aim well and knows he brings +down his booty.</p> + +<p>He saw him fall heavily headlong over the bank, and climb on all-fours +in order to roll into the water. Batiste wanted to catch him, but his +haste was so great that it was he who, making a false step, fell +full-length into the midst of the canal.</p> + +<p>His head sunk in the mud, and he swallowed the earthy, ruddy liquid; he +thought he would die, and remain buried in that miry marsh; but finally, +by a powerful effort, he succeeded in standing upright, drawing his eyes +blinded by the slime out of the water, then his mouth, panting as it +breathed in the night air.</p> + +<p>As soon as he recovered his sight, he looked for his enemy. He had +disappeared.</p> + +<p>He came out of the canal, dripping water and<a name="page_286" id="page_286"></a> mud, and climbed the slope +at the same place where his enemy had emerged: but on reaching the top, +he could not see him.</p> + +<p>On the dry earth, however, he noticed some black stains, and touched +them with his hands: they smelled of blood. Now he knew that he had not +missed his aim. But, though he looked about, hoping to see his enemy's +corpse, he sought in vain.</p> + +<p>That Pimentó had a tough skin. Dripping mud and mire, he would go along +dragging himself up to his own farm-house. Perhaps that vague rustle +which he believed he heard in the immediate fields, as though a great +reptile were dragging itself over the furrows, came from him. All the +dogs were barking at him, filling the <i>huerta</i> with desperate howlings. +He had heard him crawling along in the same manner a quarter of an hour +before, when doubtless he was intending to kill him from behind. But on +seeing himself discovered, he had fled on all-fours along the road, in +order to take his stand further on in the leafy cane and to lie in +ambush without any risk.</p> + +<p>Batiste felt suddenly afraid. He was alone, in the midst of the plain, +completely disarmed;<a name="page_287" id="page_287"></a> his shotgun, without cartridges, was no more now +than a weak club. Pimentó couldn't return, but he had friends.</p> + +<p>And overcome by sudden fear, he began to run, seeking as he crossed the +fields the road which led to his farm.</p> + +<p>The plain trembled with alarm. The four shots in the darkness of the +evening had thrown all the neighbourhood into commotion. The dogs barked +more and more furiously; the doors of the farm-houses opened, emitting +black figures, who certainly did not come forth with empty hands.</p> + +<p>With whistling and shouts of alarm, the neighbours summoned each other +from a great distance. Shots at night might be signals of fire, of +thieves, of who knows what? certainly nothing good. And the men sallied +forth from their homes ready for anything, with the forgetfulness of +self and solidarity of those who live in solitude.</p> + +<p>Batiste, terrified by this movement, ran toward his farm, bending over, +in order to pass unnoticed along the shelter of the banks or the high +mounds of straw.</p> + +<p>He already saw his home, with the open door<a name="page_288" id="page_288"></a> illumined, and in the +centre of the red square, the black forms of his family.</p> + +<p>The dog sniffed him and was the first to salute him. Teresa and Roseta +gave shouts of joy.</p> + +<p>"Batiste, is it you?"</p> + +<p>"Father! Father!"</p> + +<p>And all rushed toward him, toward the entrance of the farm-house, under +the old vine-arbour, through whose vines the stars shone like +glow-worms.</p> + +<p>The mother, with the woman's keen ear, restless and alarmed by the +tardiness of her husband, had heard from far, far off, the four shots, +and her heart "had given a leap," as she expressed it. All the family +had rushed toward the door, anxiously scanning the dark horizon, +convinced that the reports which alarmed the plain had some connection +with the father's absence.</p> + +<p>Mad with joy upon seeing him and hearing his voice, they did not notice +his mud-stained face, his unshod feet, or his clothing, dirty and +dripping mire.</p> + +<p>They drew him within. Roseta hung herself upon his neck, breathing +lovingly, with her eyes still moist.</p> + +<p>"Father!... Father!"<a name="page_289" id="page_289"></a></p> + +<p>But he was not able to restrain a grimace of pain, an ay! suppressed but +full of suffering. Roseta had flung her arm about his left shoulder, in +the same place where he had felt the tearing of steel, and which he now +felt more and more crushingly heavy.</p> + +<p>When he entered the house, and came into the full candlelight, the woman +and the children gave a cry of astonishment. They saw the blood-stained +shirt....</p> + +<p>Roseta and her mother burst out crying. "Most holy queen! Sovereign +mother! They have killed him!"</p> + +<p>But Batiste, who felt the pain in his shoulder growing more and more +insufferable, hushed their lamentations and ordered them with a dark +gesture to see at once what had happened to him.</p> + +<p>Roseta, who was the bravest, tore open the coarse rough shirt, leaving +the shoulder uncovered. How much blood! The girl grew pale, trying not +to faint; Batistet and the little ones began to weep, and Teresa +continued her howlings as though her husband were in his death agony.</p> + +<p>But the wounded man would not tolerate their lamentations and protested +rudely. Less weeping: it was nothing: not serious, and the<a name="page_290" id="page_290"></a> proof of +this was that he could move his arm, although he felt, all the time, a +greater weight in his shoulder. It was just a scratch, an abrasion, +nothing more. He felt too strong for the wound to be deep. Look ... +water, cloth, lint, the bottle of arnica which Teresa was guarding as a +miraculous remedy in her room ... move about quickly! This was no time +to stand gaping with open mouths.</p> + +<p>Teresa, returning to her room, searched the depths of her chests, +tearing up linen cloths, untying bandages, while the girl washed and +washed again the lips of the bleeding wound, which was cut like a +sabre-slash across the fleshy shoulder.</p> + +<p>The two women checked the hemorrhage as best they could, bandaged the +wound, and Batiste breathed with satisfaction, as though he were already +cured. Worse blows than this had descended upon him in this life.</p> + +<p>And he began to admonish the little ones to be prudent. Of what they had +seen, not a word to anybody. There are subjects which it is best to +forget. And he repeated the same to his wife, who talked of sending word +to the doctor; it would amount to the same thing as attracting the<a name="page_291" id="page_291"></a> +attention of the court. It would cure itself. His constitution was +wonderful. What was important was that no one should get mixed up in +what occurred down below. Who knows in what condition the other man was +by this time?</p> + +<p>While his wife was helping him to change his clothes and prepared his +bed, Batiste told her all that had occurred. The good woman opened her +eyes with a frightened expression, sighed, thinking of the danger +encountered by her husband, and cast anxious glances at the closed door +of the farm-house, as if the rural police were about to enter through +it.</p> + +<p>Batistet, meanwhile, with precocious prudence, picked up the gun, and +dried it in the candlelight, striving to wipe away from it all signs of +recent usage, of that which had occurred.</p> + +<p>The night was a bad one for all the family; Batiste was delirious; he +had a fever, and tossed about furiously as if he still were running +along the bed of the canal, pursuing the man. He terrified the little +ones with his cries, so they were not able to sleep, as well as the +women who, seated close to his bed, and offering him every moment some +sugared water, the only domestic<a name="page_292" id="page_292"></a> remedy which they could invent, passed +a white night.</p> + +<p>On the following day, the door of the farm-house was closed all morning. +The wounded man seemed to be better: the children, their eyes reddened +from lack of sleep, remained motionless in the corral, seated on the +manure-heap, following dully the motions of the animals which were being +raised there.</p> + +<p>Teresa watched the plain through the closed door, and entered afterward +into her husband's room.... How many people! All the neighbourhood was +passing over the road in the direction of Pimentó's house; a swarm of +men could be seen thronging around it. And all of them with sad and +frowning faces shouting with energetic motions, from a distance, and +casting glances of hatred toward old Barret's farm-house.</p> + +<p>Batiste received this news with grunts. Something itched in his breast, +hurting him. The movement of the plain toward the house of his enemy +meant that Pimentó was in a serious condition; perhaps he was dead! He +was sure that the two shots from his gun were in his body.</p> + +<p>And now, what was going to happen? Would<a name="page_293" id="page_293"></a> he die in prison like poor +Barret? No; the customs of the <i>huerta</i> would be respected; faith in +justice obtained by one's own hand. The dying man would be silent, +leaving it to his friends, the Terrerolas and the others, to avenge him. +And Batiste did not know which to fear more, the justice of the city, or +that of the <i>huerta</i>.</p> + +<p>It was drawing toward evening, when the wounded man, despite the +protests and cries of the two women, sprang out of bed.</p> + +<p>He was stifling; his athletic body, accustomed to fatigue, was not able +to stand so many hours of inactivity. The weight in his shoulder forced +him to change his position, as if this would free him from pain.</p> + +<p>With a hesitating step, benumbed by lying in bed so long, he went forth +from his house and seated himself on the brick-bench beneath the +vine-arbour.</p> + +<p>The afternoon was disagreeable; the wind blew too freshly for the +season; heavy dark clouds covered the sun, and the light was sinking +under them, closing up the horizon like a curtain of pale gold.</p> + +<p>Batiste looked uncertainly in the direction of the city, turning his +back toward the farm-house<a name="page_294" id="page_294"></a> of Pimentó, which could be seen clearly now +that the fields were stripped of the golden grain which hid it before +the harvest.</p> + +<p>There might be noted in the wounded man both the impulse of curiosity +and the fear of seeing too much; but at last his will was conquered, and +he slowly turned his gaze toward the house of his enemy.</p> + +<p>Yes; many people swarmed before the door; men, women, children; all the +people of the plain who were anxiously running to visit their fallen +liberator.</p> + +<p>How they must hate him!... They were distant, but nevertheless he +guessed that his name must be on the lips of all; in the buzzing of his +ears, in the throbbing of his feverish temples he thought he perceived +the threatening murmur of that wasp's nest.</p> + +<p>And yet, God knew that he had done nothing more than defend himself; +that he wished only to keep his own without harming any one. Why should +<i>he</i> take the blame of being in conflict with these people, who, as Don +Joaquín, the master, said, were very good but very stupid?</p> + +<p>The afternoon closed in; the twilight, grey and sad, sifted over the +plain. The wind, growing<a name="page_295" id="page_295"></a> continually stronger, carried toward the +farm-house the distant echo of lamentations and furious voices.</p> + +<p>Batiste saw the people eddying in the door of the distant farm-house, +saw arms extended with a sorrowful expression, clenched hands which +snatched handkerchief from head and cast it in fury to the ground.</p> + +<p>The wounded man felt all his blood mounting toward his heart, which +stopped beating for some instants, as if paralysed, and afterward began +to thump with more fury, shooting a hot, red wave to his face.</p> + +<p>He guessed what was happening yonder: his heart told him. Pimentó had +just died.</p> + +<p>Batiste felt cold and afraid, with a sensation of weakness as if +suddenly all his strength had left him; and he went into his farm-house, +not breathing easily until he saw the door closed and the candle lit.</p> + +<p>The evening was dismal. Sleep overwhelmed the family, dead tired from +the vigil of the preceding night. Almost immediately after supper, they +retired: before nine, all were in bed.</p> + +<p>Batiste felt that his wound was better. The<a name="page_296" id="page_296"></a> weight in the shoulder +diminished: the fever was not so fierce; but now a strange pain in his +heart was tormenting him.</p> + +<p>In the darkness of the bedroom, still awake, he saw a pale figure rising +up, at first indefinite, then little by little taking form and colour, +till it became Pimentó as he had seen him the last few days, with his +head bandaged and the threatening gesture of one stubbornly bent upon +revenge.</p> + +<p>The vision bothered him and he closed his eyes in order to sleep. +Absolute darkness; sleep was overpowering him, but his closed eyes were +beginning to fill the dense gloom with red points which kept growing +larger, forming spots of various colours; and the spots, after floating +about capriciously, joined themselves together, amalgamated, and again +there stood Pimentó, who approached him slowly, with the cautious +ferocity of an evil beast which fascinates its victim.</p> + +<p>Batiste tried to free himself from the nightmare.</p> + +<p>He did not sleep; he heard his wife snoring close to him, and his sons +overcome with weariness, but all the while he was hearing them<a name="page_297" id="page_297"></a> lower +and lower, as if some mysterious force were carrying the farm-house +away, far away, to a distance: and he there inert, unable to move, no +matter how hard he tried, saw the face of Pimentó close to his own, and +felt in his nostrils his enemy's hot breath.</p> + +<p>But was he not dead?... His dulled brain kept asking this question, and +after many efforts, he answered himself that Pimentó had died. Now he +did not have a broken head as before: his body was exposed, torn by two +wounds, though Batiste was not able to determine where they were; but +two wounds he had, two inexhaustible fountains of blood, which opened +livid lips. The two gunshots, he already knew it: he was not one to miss +his aim.</p> + +<p>And the phantom, enveloping his face with its burning breath, fixed a +glance upon him which pierced his eyes, and descended lower and lower +until it tore his very vitals.</p> + +<p>"Pardon, Pimentó!" groaned the wounded man, terrified by the nightmare, +and trembling like a child.</p> + +<p>Yes, he ought to forgive him. He had killed him, it was true; but he +should consider that he had been the first to attack him. Come! Men<a name="page_298" id="page_298"></a> who +are men ought to be reasonable! It was he who was to blame!</p> + +<p>But the dead do not listen to reason, and the spectre, behaving like a +bandit, smiled fiercely, and with a bound, landed on the bed, and seated +himself upon him, pressing upon the sick man's wound with all his +weight.</p> + +<p>Batiste groaned painfully, unable to move and cast off the heavy mass. +He tried to persuade him, calling him Toni with familiar tenderness, +instead of designating him by his nickname.</p> + +<p>"Toni, you are hurting me!"</p> + +<p>That was just what the phantom wished, to hurt him, and not satisfied +with this, he snatched from him with his glance alone his rags and +bandages, and afterward sank his cruel nails into the deep wound, and +pulled apart the edges, making him scream with pain.</p> + +<p>"Ay! Ay!... Pimentó, pardon me!"</p> + +<p>Such was his pain that his tremblings, surging up from the shoulder to +his head, made his cropped hair bristle, and stand erect, and then it +began to curl with the contraction of the pain until it turned into a +horrible tangle of serpents.</p> + +<p>Then a horrible thing happened. The ghost, seizing him by his strange +hair, finally spoke.<a name="page_299" id="page_299"></a></p> + +<p>"Come ... come...." it said, pulling him along.</p> + +<p>It dragged him along with superhuman swiftness, led him flying or +swimming, he did not know which, across a space both light and slippery; +dizzily they seemed to float toward a red spot which stood out in the +far, far distance.</p> + +<p>The stain grew larger, it looked in shape like the door of his bedroom, +and after it poured out a dense, nauseating smoke, a stench of burning +straw which prevented him from breathing.</p> + +<p>It must be the mouth of hell: Pimentó would hurl him into it, into the +immense fire whose splendour lit up the door. Fear conquered his +paralysis. He gave a fearful cry, finally moved his arms, and with a +back stroke of his hand, hurled Pimentó and the strange hair away from +him.</p> + +<p>Now he had his eyes well opened; the phantom had disappeared. He had +been dreaming: it was doubtless a feverish nightmare: now he found +himself again in bed with poor Teresa, who, still dressed, was snoring +laboriously at his side.</p> + +<p>But no; the delirium continued. What strange light was illumining his +bedroom? He<a name="page_300" id="page_300"></a> still saw the mouth of hell, which was like the door of his +room, ejecting smoke and ruddy splendour. Was he asleep? He rubbed his +eyes, moved his arms, and sat up in bed.</p> + +<p>No: he was awake and wide awake.</p> + +<p>The door was growing redder all the time, the smoke was denser, he heard +muffled cracklings as of cane-brake bursting, licked by tongues of +flame, and even saw the sparks dance, and cling like flies of fire to +the cretonne curtain which closed the room. He heard a desperate steady +barking, like a furiously tolling bell sounding an alarm.</p> + +<p>Christ!... The conviction of reality suddenly leaped to his mind, and +maddened him.</p> + +<p>"Teresa! Teresa!... Up!"</p> + +<p>And with the first push, he flung her out of bed. Then he ran to the +children's room, and with shouts and blows pulled them out in their +shirts, like an idiotic, frightened flock which runs before the stick +without knowing where it is going. The roof of his room was already +burning, casting a shower of sparks over the bed.</p> + +<p>To Batiste, blinded by the smoke, the minutes seemed like centuries till +he got the door open; and through it, maddened with terror, all the<a name="page_301" id="page_301"></a> +family rushed out in their nightclothes and ran to the road.</p> + +<p>Here, a little more serene, they took count.</p> + +<p>All; they were all there, even the poor dog which howled sadly as it +watched the burning house.</p> + +<p>Teresa embraced her daughter, who, forgetting her danger, trembled with +shame, upon seeing herself in her chemise in the middle of the <i>huerta</i>, +and seated herself upon a sloping bank, shrinking up with modesty, +resting her chin upon the knees, and drawing down her white linen +night-robe in order to cover her feet.</p> + +<p>The two little ones, frightened, took refuge in the arms of their elder +brother, and the father rushed about like a madman, roaring +maledictions.</p> + +<p>Thieves! How well they had known how to do it! They had set fire to the +farm-house from all four sides, it had burst into flames from top to +bottom; even the corral with its stable and its sheds was crowned with +flames.</p> + +<p>From it there came forth desperate neighings, cacklings of terror, +fierce gruntings; but the farm-house, insensible to the wails of those +who were roasting in its depths, went on sending up<a name="page_302" id="page_302"></a> curved tongues of +fire through the door and the windows; and from its burning roof there +rose an enormous spiral of white smoke, which reflecting the fire took +on a rosy transparency.</p> + +<p>The weather had changed: the night was calm, the wind did not blow and +the blue of the sky was dimmed only by the columns of smoke, between +whose white wisps the curious stars appeared.</p> + +<p>Teresa was struggling with her husband, who, recovered from his painful +surprise, and spurred on by his interests, which incited him to commit +follies, wished to enter the fiery inferno. Just one moment, nothing +more: only the time necessary to take from the bedroom the little sack +of money, the profit of the harvest.</p> + +<p>Ah! Good Teresa! Even now it was no longer necessary to restrain the +husband, who endured her violent grasp. A farm-house soon burns; straw +and canes love fire. The roof came down with a crash,—that erect roof +which the neighbours looked upon as an insult—and out of the enormous +bed of live-coals arose a frightful column of sparks, in whose uncertain +and vacillating light the <i>huerta</i> seemed to move with fantastic +grimaces.</p> + +<p>The sides of the corral stirred heavily as if<a name="page_303" id="page_303"></a> within them a legion of +demons were rushing about and striking them. Engarlanded with flame the +fowls leaped forth, trying to fly, though burning alive.</p> + +<p>A piece of wall of mud and stakes fell, and through the black breach +there came forth like a lightning flash, a terrible monster, ejecting +smoke through its nostrils, shaking its mane of sparks, desperately +beating its tail like a broom of flame, which scattered a stench of +burning hair.</p> + +<p>It was the horse. With a prodigious bound, he leaped over the family, +and ran madly through the fields, instinctively seeking the canal, into +which he fell with the sizzling hiss of red-hot iron when it strikes +water.</p> + +<p>Behind him, dragging itself along like a drunken demon emitting +frightful grunts, came another spectre of fire, the pig, which fell to +the ground in the middle of the field, burning like a torch of grease.</p> + +<p>There remained now only the walls and the grape-vines with their twisted +runners distorted by fire, and the posts, which stood up like bars of +ink over the red background.</p> + +<p>Batistet, in his longing to save something, ran<a name="page_304" id="page_304"></a> recklessly over the +paths, shouting, beating at the doors of the neighbouring farm-houses, +which seemed to wink in the reflection of the fire.</p> + +<p>"Help! Help! Fire! Fire!"</p> + +<p>His shouts died away, raising a funereal echo, like that heard amid +ruins and in cemeteries.</p> + +<p>The father smiled cruelly. He was calling in vain. The <i>huerta</i> was deaf +to them. There were eyes within those white farm-houses, which looked +curiously out through the cracks; perhaps there were mouths which +laughed with infernal glee, but not one generous voice to say "Here I +am!"</p> + +<p>Bread! At what a cost it is earned! And how evil it makes man!</p> + +<p>In one farm-house there was burning a pale light, yellowing and sad. +Teresa, confused by her misfortune, wished to go there to implore help, +with the hope of some relief, of some miracle which she longed for in +their misfortune.</p> + +<p>Her husband held her back with an expression of terror. No: not there. +Anywhere but there.</p> + +<p>And like a man who has fallen low, so low that he already is unable to +feel any remorse, he shifted his gaze from the fire and fixed it on that +pale light, yellowish and sad; the light of a taper<a name="page_305" id="page_305"></a> which glows without +lustre, fed by an atmosphere in which might almost be perceived the +fluttering of the dead.</p> + +<p>Good-bye, Pimentó! You were departing from the world well-served. The +farm-house and the fortune of the odious intruder were lighting up your +corpse with merrier splendour than the candles bought by the bereaved +Pepeta, mere yellowish tears of light.</p> + +<p>Batistet returned desperate from his useless trip. Nobody had answered.</p> + +<p>The plain, silent and scowling, had said good-bye to them for ever.</p> + +<p>They were more alone than if they had been in the midst of a desert; the +solitude of hatred was a thousand times worse than that of Nature.</p> + +<p>They must flee from there; they must begin another life, with hunger +ever treading at their heels: they must leave behind them the ruin of +their work, and the small body of one of their own, the poor little +fellow who was rotting in the earth, an innocent victim of the mad +battle.</p> + +<p>And all of them, with Oriental resignation, seated themselves upon the +bank, and there awaited the day, their shoulders chilled with cold, but +toasted from the front by the bed of live<a name="page_306" id="page_306"></a> coals, which tinged their +stupefied faces with the reflection of blood; following with the +unchangeable passivity of fatalism the course of the fire, which was +devouring all their efforts, and changing them into embers as fragile +and tenuous as their old illusions of work and peace.</p> + +<p> +<br /> +<br /> +</p> + +<p class="c">THE END</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><p class="cb">FOOTNOTES:</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_A_1" id="Footnote_A_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_A_1"><span class="label">[A]</span></a> Get up!</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_B_2" id="Footnote_B_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_B_2"><span class="label">[B]</span></a> A <i>huerta</i> is a cultivated district divided usually into +tiny, fertile, truck-garden and fruit farms.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_C_3" id="Footnote_C_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_C_3"><span class="label">[C]</span></a> Translator's Note:—Asensis Nebot, a Franciscan monk, +surnamed El Fraile (The Friar), leader of a band of foot soldiers and +cavalry in the War of Independence (1810-12): he waged a guerilla +warfare against the French around Valencia until the city was taken.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_D_4" id="Footnote_D_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_D_4"><span class="label">[D]</span></a> Barrete means "a round hat without a visor." Translator's +note.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_E_5" id="Footnote_E_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_E_5"><span class="label">[E]</span></a> "Dawn-Songs," serenades at dawn. Translator's note.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_F_6" id="Footnote_F_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_F_6"><span class="label">[F]</span></a> A term of contempt, meaning barbarians.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_G_7" id="Footnote_G_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_G_7"><span class="label">[G]</span></a> One in charge of the <i>tanda</i>, or turn in irrigating.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_H_8" id="Footnote_H_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_H_8"><span class="label">[H]</span></a> Star-cakes—a local provincial dainty.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_I_9" id="Footnote_I_9"></a><a href="#FNanchor_I_9"><span class="label">[I]</span></a> Long, boat-shaped rolls.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_J_10" id="Footnote_J_10"></a><a href="#FNanchor_J_10"><span class="label">[J]</span></a> A Valencian dish of rice, meat and vegetables.</p></div> + +</div> +<hr class="full" /> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Cabin, by +Vicente Blasco Ibáñez and John Garrett Underhill + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CABIN *** + +***** This file should be named 38165-h.htm or 38165-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/8/1/6/38165/ + +Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images available at The Internet Archive) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Cabin + [La barraca] + +Author: Vicente Blasco Ibanez + John Garrett Underhill + +Translator: Francis Haffkine Snow + Beatrice M. Mekota + +Release Date: November 29, 2011 [EBook #38165] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CABIN *** + + + + +Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images available at The Internet Archive) + + + + + + + + + +THE CABIN + +[LA BARRACA] + + + + + THE BORZOI + + SPANISH TRANSLATIONS + + + THE CABIN [LA BARRACA] + _By V. Blasco Ibanez_ + + THE CITY OF THE DISCREET + _By Pio Baroja_ + + MARTIN RIVAS + _By Alberto Blest-Gana_ + + THE THREE-CORNERED HAT + _By Pedro A. de Alarcon_ + + CAESAR OR NOTHING + _By Pio Baroja_ + + + + +THE CABIN + +[LA BARRACA] + +BY +VICENTE BLASCO IBANEZ + +TRANSLATED FROM THE SPANISH BY +FRANCIS HAFFKINE SNOW +AND BEATRICE M. MEKOTA +WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY +JOHN GARRETT UNDERHILL + +[Illustration: colophon] + +NEW YORK +ALFRED A. KNOPF +1919 + +COPYRIGHT, 1917, BY +ALFRED A. KNOPF + +COPYRIGHT, 1919, BY +ALFRED A. KNOPF, INC. + +_Second Printing, February, 1919_ +_Third Printing, February, 1919_ +_Fourth Printing, March, 1919_ +_Fifth Printing, November, 1919_ + +PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA + + + + +INTRODUCTION + + +Senor Blasco Ibanez has asked me to say a few words by way of +introduction to _The Cabin_ which shall be both simple and true. + +He has watched with conflicting emotions the reception of his words in +this country--pleasure as he has realized the warmth of their welcome +and the general consensus of critical approval, pleasure not unmixed +with other feelings as he has read the notices in which these opinions +have been expressed and the accounts of his career which have +accompanied them. Few writers during the past twenty years have lived so +much in the public eye; the facts of his life are accessible and clear. +Then why invent new ones? "It is necessary," he writes, "to correct all +this, to give an account of my life which shall be accurate and +authentic, and which shall not lead the public into further error." + +Why is the American press entirely ignorant in matters pertaining to +Spain? It is guiltless even of the shadow of learning. Not one editor in +the United States knows anything about the intellectual life of the +peninsula. Why print as information the veriest absurdities? A liberal +use of the word _perhaps_ is not a substitute for good faith with the +reader. Here is one of the great dramatic literatures of the world, +which by common consent is unrivalled except by the English and the +Greek, which today is as vigorous as it ever was in its Golden Age +during the seventeenth century, yet a fastidious and reputable review +published in this city is able to say when the plays of Benavente are +first translated in this country, that it "feels that Jacinto Benavente +has dramatic talent." Dramatic talent!--a man who has revolutionized the +theatre of a race, and whose works are the intellectual pride of tens of +millions of people over two continents? Ignorance ceases to be +ridiculous at a certain point and becomes criminal. The Irishman who +perpetrated this bull should be deported for it. Again, Spain has +produced the greatest novel of all time in _Don Quixote_, she has +originated the modern realistic novel, yet the publications may be +counted upon the fingers of one hand which can command the services of a +reviewer who is able even to name the two leading Spanish novelists of +today, much less to distinguish Pio Baroja from Blasco Ibanez or Ricardo +Leon. This condition must cease, or it will become wilful. + +The author of _The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse_ is not a regional +novelist. + +He is not a literary disciple of the late Don Juan Valera. + +He is not a literary anarchist, nor a follower of the Catalan Ferrer. + +He has not reformed Spain. + +He is not associated with a group of novelists or other writers who have +done so. + +Had this desirable end been attained, and attained through the efforts +of a novelist, that novelist would have been Don Benito Perez Galdos. + +The author of _The Cabin_ cannot in modesty accept of foreigners the +laurels of all the writers of Spain. The Spanish is an ancient, complex, +strongly characteristic civilization, of which he happily is a product. +It is his hope that Americans may become some day better acquainted with +the spirit and rich heritage of a great national literature through his +pages. As his works have long been translated into Russian and have been +familiar for many years in French, perhaps it is not too early to +anticipate the attention of the enterprising American public. + +Unfortunately standards of translation do not exist in this country. +Many believe that there is no such thing as translation, that the +essence of a book cannot be conveyed. The professor seizes his +dictionary, the lady tourist her pen; the ingenious publisher knows that +none is so low that he will not translate--the less the experience, the +more the translator, a maxim in the application of which Blasco Ibanez +has suffered appalling casualties. When _Sangre y arena_ ("Blood and +Sand") comes from the press as _The Blood of the Arena_, the judicious +pause--this is to thunder on the title page, not in the index--but when +we meet the eunuch of Sonnica transformed into an "old crone," error +passes the bounds of decency and deserves punishment which is +callipygian. Nor are these translations worse than their fellows. + +Blunders of this sort ought no longer to be possible. If American +scholarship is not a sham, this reform, which is imperative, must be +immediate. + +Blasco Ibanez was born in Valencia, that most typical of the cities of +the eastern littoral along the Mediterranean, known as the Spanish +Levant. The Valencian dialect is directly affiliated with the +neighboring Catalan, and through it with the Provencal rather than with +the Castilian of the interior plateau. In the character of the people +there is a facility which suggests the French, while an oriental element +is distinctly evident, persisting not only from the days of the Moorish +kingdoms, but eloquent of the shipping of the East and the _lingua +franca_ of the inland sea. Blasco Ibanez is a Levantine touched with a +suggestion of Cyprus, of Alexandria, with an adaptability and mobility +of temperament which have endowed him with a faculty of literary +improvisation which is extraordinary. He has been a novelist, a +controversialist, a politician, a member of the Cortes, a republican, an +orator, a traveller, an expatriate, a ranchman, a duellist, a +journalist. "He writes," says the Argentine Manuel Ugarte, "as freely as +other men talk. This is the secret of the freshness and charm of the +unforgettable pages of _The Cabin_, of the sense of fraternity and +_camaraderie_ which springs up immediately, uniting the author and his +readers. He seems to be telling us a story between cigarettes at the +cafe table. In these times when mankind is shaking itself free from +stupid snobbery to return to nature and to simple sincerity, this gift +of free and lucid expression is the highest of merits." + +Ibanez's first stories dealt with the life of the Valencian plain, whose +marvellous fertility has become proverbial: + + "Valencia is paradise; + Wheat today, tomorrow rice." + +Swift with the movement of the born story-teller and the vitality of a +mind which is always at white heat, these tales are remarkable for vivid +descriptive power in which each successive picture conveys an impression +of the subject so intense that it seems plastic. He is a painter of +sunshine, not as it idly falls on the slumberous streets of the +Andalusian cities, but turbulent with the surging of the spirit, welling +up and pressing on. + +In the novel of a more intellectual, introspective feature, he has also +met with rare success, as Mr. Howells has well shown in one of the few +articles upon this author in English which are of value. The vein is +more complex but not less copious, remaining instinct with power. It is +indeed less national, an excursion into the processes of the northern +mind. Ibanez, however, was never an aesthete; no phase of art could +detain him long. He sailed for Argentina to deliver a series of lectures +on national themes at a time when Anatole France was upholding the +Gallic tradition in that country. Argentine life attracted him and he +became a ranchman on the Pampas, bought an American motor tractor, and +settled down to create the Argentine novel. South America, it must be +confessed, for some reason has been incontinently unproductive of great +novels, nor was Ibanez to find its atmosphere more propitious than it +had proved to its native sons. Besides, the Spaniards, who are a +religious people, were praying for his return. He took ship as suddenly +as he had arrived and has since resided chiefly at Paris, a city which +has been to him from early youth a second home. + +In the cosmopolitan vortex of the great war capital, he has interpreted +the spirit of the vast world conflict in terms of the imagination with a +breadth and force of appeal such as has been given, perhaps, to no other +man. While Spain has remained neutral, under compulsion of material +conditions which those who best understand her will appreciate at their +true weight, in a single volume Ibanez has been able to abrogate this +neutrality of the land, and to marshal his people publically where their +heart has always been secretly, in line with the progressive opinion of +the world. + +If in _The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse_ he has rendered his greatest +service to humanity, in _The Cabin_ he has made his chief contribution +to art. It is the most nicely rounded of his stories, the most perfect. +Spanish and Latin-American opinion is here unanimous. Nevertheless, +primarily it is a human document. Ruben Dario, than whom, certainly, +none is better qualified to speak, emphasizes this crusading bias: "The +soul of a gladiator, a robust teller of tales _a la_ Zola is +externalized in _The Cabin_. The creative flood proceeds without +faltering with a rapidity of invention which proclaims the riches of the +source. Books such as this are not written purely for love of art, they +embody profound human aspirations. They are beautiful pages not only, +but generous deeds and apostolic exploits as well." The ambient blends +admirably with the action and the characters to present a picture which +is satisfying and which appeals to the eye as complete. _The Cabin_ is a +rarely visual story, and directly so, affording in this respect an +interesting contrast to the imaginative suggestion of the present-day +Castilian realists. In no other work has the author combined so +effectively the broad swish of his valiant style with the homely, even +crass detail which lends it significance. "A book like this," to quote +Iglesias Hermida, "is written only once in a life-time, and one book +like this is sufficient." + +A favorite anecdote of Blasco Ibanez is so illuminative that it deserves +to be told in his own words: + +"When I go to the Bull Ring, as I do from time to time with a foreigner, +I enjoy the polychromatic animated spectacle of the crowded +amphitheatre, the theatric entrance of the fighters and the encounters +with the first bull. The second diverts me less, at the third I begin to +yawn, and when the fourth appears, I reach for the book or newspaper +which I have forehandedly brought along in my pocket. And I suspect +that half of the spectators feel very much as I do. + +"A number of years ago a professor in one of the celebrated universities +of the United States came to visit me at Madrid, and I took him, as is +customary, to see a bull-fight. + +"This learned gentleman was also a man of action, a Roosevelt of the +professorial chair; he rode, he boxed, he was devoted to hunting big +game as well as to the exploration of unknown lands. He watched intently +every incident of the fight, knitting his blond eyebrows above his +spectacles--for he was near-sighted--as he did so. Occasionally he +muttered a word of approbation: 'Very good!' 'Truly interesting!' I saw, +however, that some new, original idea was crystallizing in his mind. + +"When we came out, he expressed himself: + +"'Very interesting entertainment, but somewhat monotonous. Would it not +be better to turn the six bulls loose simultaneously and then kill them +all at once? It might shorten the exhibition, but how much more +exciting! It would give those chaps an opportunity to show off their +courage.' + +"I looked upon that Yankee as upon a great sage. He had formulated +definitely the vague dissatisfaction with the bull-fight which had +lurked in my mind ever since, as a boy, I had suffered at the tiresome +spectacle. Yes! Six bulls at one time!" + +In the novel of Blasco Ibanez, it is always six bulls at one time. + + + + +THE CABIN + +[LA BARRACA] + + + + +THE CABIN + + + + +I + + +The vast plain stretched out under the blue splendour of dawn, a broad +sash of light which appeared in the direction of the sea. + +The last nightingales, tired of animating with their songs this autumn +night, which seemed like spring in the balminess of its atmosphere, +poured forth their final warble, as if the light of dawn wounded them +with its steely reflections. + +Flocks of sparrows arose like crowds of pursued urchins from the +thatched roofs of the farm-houses, and the tops of the trees trembled at +the first assault of these gamins of the air, who stirred up everything +with the flurry of their feathers. + +The sounds which fill the night had gradually died away: the babbling of +the canals, the murmur of the cane-plantations, the bark of the watchful +dog. + +The _huerta_ was awaking, and its yawnings were growing ever noisier. +The crowing of the cock was carried on from farm-house to farm-house; +the bells of the village were answering, with noisy peals, the ringing +of the first mass which floated from the towers of Valencia, blue and +hazy in the distance. From the corrals came a discordant animal-concert; +the whinnying of horses, the lowing of gentle cows, the clucking of +hens, the bleating of lambs, the grunting of pigs, ... all the noisy +awakening of creatures who, upon feeling the first caress of dawn, +permeated with the pungent perfume of vegetation, long to be off and run +about the fields. + +Space became saturated with light; the shadows dissolved as though +swallowed up by the open furrows and the masses of foliage; and in the +hazy mist of dawn, humid and shining rows of mulberry-trees, waving +lines of cane-brake, large square beds of garden vegetables like +enormous green handkerchiefs, and the carefully tilled red earth, became +gradually more and more defined. + +Along the high-road there came creeping rows of moveable black dots, +strung out like files of ants, all marching toward the city. From all +the ends of the _vega_, resounded the creaking of wheels mingled with +idle songs interrupted by shouts urging on the beasts; and from time to +time, like the sonorous heralding of dawn, the air was rent by the +furious braying of the donkey protesting so to speak against the heavy +labour which fell upon him with break of day. + +Along the canals, the glassy sheet of ruddy crystal was disturbed by +noisy plashings and loud beating of wings which silenced the frogs as +the ducks advanced like galleys of ivory, moving their serpentine necks +like fantastic prows. + +The plain was flooded with light, and life penetrated into the interior +of the farm-houses. + +Doors creaked as they opened; under the grape-arbours white figures +could be seen, which upon awakening stretched out, hands clasped behind +their heads, and gazed toward the illumined horizon. + +The stables stood with doors wide-open, vomiting forth a stream of +milch-cows, herds of goats, and the nags of the cart-drivers, all bound +for the city. From behind the screen of dwarfish trees which concealed +the road, came the jingle of cow-bells, while mingling with their gay +notes, there sounded the shrill _arre, aca!_[A] urging on the stubborn +beasts. + +At the doorways of the farm-houses stood those who were city-bound and +those who remained to work in the fields, saluting each other. + +May the Lord give us a good-day! + +Good-day! + +And after this salutation, exchanged with all the gravity of country +folk who carry the blood of Moors in their veins, and who speak the name +of God only with solemn gesture, silence fell again if the passer-by +were one unknown; but if he were an intimate, he was commissioned with +the purchase, in Valencia, of small objects for the house or wife. + +The day had now completely dawned. + +The air was already cleared of the tenuous mist that rose during the +night from the damp fields and the noisy canals. The sun was coming out; +in the ruddy furrows the larks hopped about with the joy of living one +day more, and the mischievous sparrows, alighting at the still-closed +windows, pecked away at the wood, chirping to those within, with the +shrill cry of the vagabond used to living at the expense of others: + +"Up, you lazy drones! Work in the fields so we may eat!" + +Pepeta, wife of Toni, known throughout the neighbourhood as Pimento, had +just entered their _barraca_. She was a courageous creature, and despite +her pale flesh, wasted white by anaemia while still in full youth, the +most hard working woman in the entire _huerta_.[B] + +At daybreak, she was already returning from market. She had risen at +three, loaded herself with the baskets of garden-truck gathered by Toni +the night before, and groping for the paths while she cursed the vile +existence in which she was worked so hard, had guided herself like a +true daughter of the _huerta_ through the darkness to Valencia. +Meanwhile her husband, that good fellow who was costing her so dearly, +continued to snore in the warm bed-chamber, bundled in the matrimonial +blankets. + +The wholesalers who bought the vegetables were well acquainted with this +woman, who, even before the break of day, was already in the +market-place of Valencia. Seated amid her baskets, she shivered beneath +her thin, thread-bare shawl while she gazed, with an envy of which she +was not aware, at those who were drinking a cup of coffee to combat the +morning chill the better. She hoped with a submissive, animal-like +patience to get the money she had reckoned upon, in her complicated +calculations, in order to maintain Toni and run the house. + +When she had sold her vegetables, she returned home, running all the +way, to save an hour on the road. + +A second time she set forth to ply another trade; after the vegetables +came the milk. And dragging the red cow by the halter, followed along by +the playful calf which clung like an amorous satellite to its tail, +Pepeta returned to the city, carrying a little stick under her arm, and +a measuring-cup of tin with which to serve her customers. + +_La Rocha_, as the cow was called on account of her reddish coat, mooed +gently and trembled under her sackcloth cover as she felt the chill of +morning, while she rolled her humid eyes toward the _barraca_, which +remained behind with its black stable and its heavy air, and thought of +the fragrant straw with the voluptuous desire of sleep that is not +satisfied. + +Meanwhile, Pepeta urged her on with the stick: it was growing late, and +the customers would complain. And the cow and little calf trotted along +the middle of the road of Alboraya, which was muddy and furrowed with +deep ruts. + +Along the sloping banks passed interminable rows of cigarette-girls and +silk-mill workers, each with a hamper on one arm, while the other swung +free. The entire virginity of the _huerta_ went along this way toward +the factories, leaving behind, with the flutter of their skirts, a wake +of harsh, rough chastity. + +The blessing of God was over all the fields. + +The sun rising like an enormous red wafer from behind the trees and +houses which hid the horizon, shot forth blinding needles of gold. The +mountains in the background and the towers of the city took on a rosy +tint; the little clouds which floated in the sky grew red like crimson +silk; the canals and the pools which bordered the road seemed to become +filled with fiery fish; the swishing of the broom, the rattle of china, +and all the sounds of the morning's cleaning came from within the +_barracas_. + +The women squatted by the edges of the pools, with baskets of clothes +for the wash at their sides; dark-grey rabbits came hopping along the +paths with their deceiving smile, showing, in their flight, their +reddish quarters, parted by the stub of a tail; with an eye red and +flaming with anger, the cock mounted the heap of reddish manure with his +peaceful odalisks about him and sent forth the cry of an irritated +sultan. + +Pepeta, oblivious to this awakening of dawn which she witnessed every +day, hurried on her way, her stomach empty, her limbs aching, her poor +clothing drenched with the perspiration characteristic of her pale, thin +blood, which flowed for weeks at a time contrary to the laws of Nature. + +The crowds of labouring people who were entering Valencia filled all the +bridges. Pepeta passed the labourers from the suburbs who had come with +their little breakfast-sacks over their shoulders, and stopped at the +_octroi_ to get her receipt,--a few coins which grieved her soul anew +each day,--then went on through the deserted streets, whose silence was +broken by the cowbells of _La Rocha_, a monotonous pastoral melody, +which caused the drowsy townsman to dream of green pastures and idyllic +scenery. + +Pepeta had customers in all parts of the city. She went her intricate +way through the streets, stopping before the closed doors; it was a blow +on a knocker here, three or more repeated raps there, and ever the +continuation of the strident, high-pitched cry, which it seemed could +not possibly come from a chest so poor and flat: + +_La lleeet!_ + +And the dishevelled, sunken-eyed servant came down in slippers, jug in +hand, to receive the milk; or the aged concierge appeared, still wearing +the mantilla which she had put on to go to mass. + +By eight all the customers had been served. Pepeta was now near the +Fishermen's quarter. + +Here she had business also, and the poor farmer's wife bravely +penetrated the dirty alleys which, at this hour, seemed to be dead. She +always felt at first a certain uneasiness,--the instinctive repugnance +of a delicate stomach: but her spirit, that of a woman who, though ill, +was respectable, succeeded in rising above it, and she went on with a +certain proud satisfaction--the pride of a chaste woman who consoles +herself by remembering that though bent and weakened by her poverty, she +is still superior to others. + +From the closed and silent houses came forth the breath of the cheap, +noisy, shameless rabble mingled with an odour of heated, rotting flesh; +and through the cracks of the doors, there seemed to escape the gasping +and brutal breathing of heavy sleep, after a night of wild-beast +caresses and amorous, drunken desires. + +Pepeta heard some one calling her. At the entrance to a narrow stairway +stood a sturdy girl, making signs to her. She was ugly, without any +other charm than that of youth disappearing already; her eyes were +humid, her hair twisted in a topknot, and her cheeks, still stained by +the rouge of the preceding night, seemed like a caricature of the red +daubs on the face of a clown,--a clown of vice. + +The peasant woman, tightening her lips with a grimace of pride and +disdain, in order that the distance between them might be well-marked, +began to fill a jar which the girl gave her with milk from La Rocha's +udders. The latter, however, did not take her eyes from the farmer's +wife. + +"Pepeta,"--she said, in an indecisive voice, as though she were +uncertain if it were really she. + +Pepeta raised her head; she fixed her eyes for the first time upon the +girl; then she also appeared to be in doubt. + +"Rosario,--is it you?" + +Yes, it was; with sad nods of the head she confirmed it. Pepeta +immediately showed her surprise. She here! A daughter of such honourable +parents! God! What shame! + +The prostitute, through professional habit, tried to receive those +exclamations of the scandalized farmer's wife with a cynical smile and +the sceptical expression of one who has been initiated into the secret +of life, and who believes in nothing; but Pepeta's clear eyes seemed to +shame the girl, and she dropped her head as though she were about to +weep. + +No: she was not bad. She had worked in the factories, she had been a +servant, but finally, her sisters, tired of suffering hunger, had given +her the example. So here she was, sometimes receiving caresses, and +sometimes receiving blows, and here she would stay till she ceased to +live forever. It was natural: any family may end thus where there is no +mother nor father left. The cause of it all was the master of the land; +he was to blame for everything, that Don Salvador, who assuredly must be +burning in hell! Ah, thief! How he had ruined the entire family! + +Pepeta forgot her frigid attitude and cold reserve in order to join in +the girl's indignation. It was the truth, the whole truth! That +avaricious old miser was to blame. The entire _huerta_ knew it! Heaven +save us! How easily a family may be ruined! And poor old Barret had been +so good! If he could only raise his head and see his daughters!... It +was well-known yonder that the poor father had died in Ceuta two years +before; and as for the mother, the poor widow had ended her suffering on +a hospital-bed. + +What changes take place in the world in ten years! Who would have said +to her, and her sisters, who were reigning like queens in their homes at +the time, that they would come to such an end? Oh Lord! Lord! Deliver us +from evil! + +Rosario became animated during this conversation; she seemed rejuvenated +by this friend of her childhood. Her eyes, previously dead, sparkled as +she recalled the past. + +And the _barraca_? And the land? They were still deserted. Truly? That +pleased her;--let them go to smash,--let them go to rack and +ruin,--those sons of the rascally don Salvador. + +That alone seemed to console her: she was very grateful to Pimento and +to all the others, because they had prevented those people yonder from +coming to work the land which rightfully belonged to the family. And if +any one wished to take possession of it, he knew only too well the +remedy.... Bang! A report from a gun which would blow his head off! + +The girl grew bolder; her eyes gleamed fiercely; within the passive +breast of the prostitute, accustomed to blows, there came to life the +daughter of the _huerta_, who, from very birth, has seen the musket hung +behind the door, and breathed in the smell of gunpowder on feast-days +with delight. + +After speaking of the sad past Rosario, whose curiosity was awakened, +went on inquiring about all the folks at home, and ended by noticing how +badly Pepeta looked. Poor thing! It was perfectly apparent that she was +not happy. Although still young, her eyes, clear, guileless, and timid +as a virgin's, alone revealed her real age. Her body was a mere +skeleton, and her reddish hair, the colour of a tender ear of corn, was +streaked with grey though as yet she had not reached her thirtieth year. + +What kind of a life was Pimento giving her? Always drunk and averse to +work? She had brought it upon herself, marrying him contrary to every +one's advice. He was a strapping fellow, that was true; every one feared +him in the tavern of Copa on Sunday evenings, when he played cards with +the worst bullies of the _huerta_; but in the house, he was bound to +prove an insufferable husband. Still, after all, men are all alike! +Perhaps she didn't know it! Dogs, all of them, not worth the trouble of +being looked after! Great Heavens! how ill poor Pepeta was looking! + +The loud, deep voice of a virago resounded like a clap of thunder down +the narrow stairway. + +"Elisa! Bring up the milk at once! The gentleman is waiting!" + +Rosario began to laugh as though mad. "I am called Elisa now! You didn't +know that!" + +It was a requirement of her business to change her name, as well as to +speak with an Andalusian accent. And she began to imitate the voice of +the virago upstairs with a species of rough humour. + +But in spite of her mirth, she was in a hurry to get away. She was +afraid of those upstairs. The owner of the rough voice or the gentleman +who wanted the milk might give her some memento of the delay. So she +hurried up after urging Pepeta to stop again some other time to tell her +the news of the _huerta_. + +The monotonous tinkling of the bell of La Rocha continued for more than +an hour through the streets of Valencia; the wilted udders yielded up +their last drop of insipid milk, produced by a miserable diet of +cabbage-leaves and garbage, and Pepeta finally was ready to start back +toward the _barraca_. + +The poor labouring-woman walked along sadly deep in thought. The +encounter had impressed her; she remembered, as though it had just +happened the day before, the terrible tragedy which had swallowed up old +Barret and his entire family. + +Since then, the fields, which his ancestors had tilled for more than a +hundred years, had lain abandoned at the edge of the high road. + +The uninhabited _barraca_ was slowly crumbling to pieces without any +merciful hand to mend the roof or to cast a handful of clay upon the +chinks in the wall. + +Ten years of passing and re-passing had accustomed people to the sight +of this ruin, so they paid no further attention to it. It had been some +time since even Pepeta had looked at it. It now interested only the boys +who, inheriting the hatred of their fathers, trampled down the nettles +of the abandoned fields in order to riddle the deserted house with +rocks, which split great gaps in the closed door, or to fill up the well +under the ancient grape-arbour with earth and stones. + +But this morning Pepeta, under the spell of the recent meeting, not only +looked at the ruin, but stopped at the edge of the highway to see it the +better. + +The fields of old Barret, or rather, of the Jew, Don Salvador, and his +excommunicated heirs, were an oasis of misery and abandonment in the +midst of the _huerta_, so fertile, well-tilled, and smiling. + +Ten years of desolation had hardened the soil, causing all the parasitic +plants, all the nettles which the Lord has created to chasten the +farmer, to spring up out of its sterile depths. A dwarfish forest, +tangled and deformed, spread itself out over those fields in waving +ranks of strange green tones, varied here and there by flowers, +mysterious and rare, of the sort which thrive only amid cemeteries and +ruins. + +Here, in the rank maze of this thicket, fostered by the security of +their retreat, there bred and multiplied all species of loathsome +vermin, which spread out into the neighbouring fields; green lizards +with corrugated loins, enormous beetles with shells of metallic +reflection, spiders with short and hairy legs, and even snakes, which +slid off to the adjoining canals. Here they thrived in the midst of the +beautiful and cultivated plain, forming a separate estate, and devouring +one another. Though they caused some damage to the farmers, the latter +respected them even with a certain veneration, for the seven plagues of +Egypt would have seemed but a trifle to the dwellers of the _huerta_ had +they descended upon those accursed fields. + +The lands of old Barret never had been destined for man, so let the +most loathsome pests nest among them, and the more, the better. + +In the midst of these fields of desolation, which stood out in the +beautiful plain like a soiled patch on a royal robe of green velvet, the +_barraca_ rose up, or one should rather say fell away, its straw roof +bursting open, showing through the gaps, which the rain and wind had +pierced, the worm-eaten framework of wood within. + +The walls, rotted away by the rains, laid bare the clay-adobe. Only some +very light stains revealed the former whitewash; the door was ragged +along the lower edge which rats had gnawed, with wide cracks that ran, +full length, from end to end. The two or three little windows, gaping +wide, hung loosely on one hinge exposed to the mercy of the south-west +winds, ready to fall as soon as the first gust should shake them. + +This ruin hurt the spirit and weighed upon the heart. It seemed as +though phantoms might sally forth from the wretched and abandoned hut as +soon as darkness closed in; that from the interior might come the cries +of the assassinated, rending the night; that all this waste of weeds +might be a shroud to conceal hundreds of tragic corpses from sight. + +Horrible were the visions which were conjured up by the contemplation of +these desolate fields; and their gloomy poverty was sharpened by the +contrast with the surrounding fields, so red and well-cultivated, with +their orderly rows of garden-truck and their little fruit-trees, to +whose leaves the autumn gave a yellowish transparency. + +Even the birds fled from these plains of death, perhaps from fear of the +hideous reptiles which stirred about under the growth of weeds, or +possibly because they scented the vapour of abandonment. + +If anything were seen to flutter over the broken roof of straw, it was +certain to be of funereal plumage with black and treacherous wings, +which as they stirred, cast silence over the joyful flappings and +playful twitterings in the trees, leaving the _huerta_ deathly still, as +though no sparrows chirped within a half-league roundabout. + +Pepeta was about to continue on her way toward her farm-house, which +peered whitely among the trees some distance across the fields; but she +had to stand still at the steep edge of the highroad in order to permit +the passing of a loaded wagon, which seemed to be coming from the city, +and which advanced with violent lurches. + +At the sight of it, her feminine curiosity was aroused. + +It was the poor cart of a farmer drawn by an old and bony nag, which was +being helped over the deep ruts by a tall man, who marched alongside the +horse, encouraging him with shouts and the cracking of a whip. + +He was dressed like a labourer; but his manner of wearing the +handkerchief knotted around the head, his corduroy trousers, and other +details of his costume, indicated that he was not from the _huerta_, +where personal adornment had gradually been corrupted by the fashions of +the city. He was a farmer from some distant _pueblo_; he had come, +perhaps, from the very centre of the province. + +Heaped high upon the cart, forming a pyramid which mounted higher even +than the side-poles, was piled a jumble of domestic objects. This was +the migration of an entire family. Thin mattresses, straw-beds, filled +with rustling leaves of corn, rush-seats, frying-pans, kettles, plates, +baskets, green bed-slats: all were heaped upon the wagon, dirty, worn, +and miserable, speaking of hunger, of desperate flight, as if disgrace +stalked behind the family, treading at its heels. And on top of this +disordered mass were three children, embracing each other as they looked +out across the fields with wide-open eyes, like explorers visiting a +country for the first time. + +Treading close at the heels of the wagon, watching vigilantly to see +that nothing might fall, trudged a woman with a slender girl, who +appeared to be her daughter. At the other side of the nag, aiding him +whenever the cart stuck in a rut, stalked a boy of some eleven years. +His grave exterior was that of a child accustomed to struggle with +misery. He was already a man at an age when others were still playing. A +little dog, dirty and panting, brought up the rear. + +Pepeta, leaning on the flank of her cow, and possessed with growing +curiosity, watched them pass on. Where could these poor people be going? + +This road, running into the fork of Alboraya, did not lead anywhere; it +was lost in the distance as though exhausted by the innumerable +forkings of its lanes and paths, which gave entrance to the various +_barracas_. + +But her curiosity had an unexpected gratification. Holy Virgin! The +wagon turned away from the road, crossed the tumbledown little bridge +made of tree-trunks and sod which gave access to the accursed fields, +and went on through the meadows of old Barret, crushing the hitherto +respected growth of weeds beneath its wheels. + +The family followed behind, manifesting by gestures and confused words, +the impression which this miserable poverty and decay were making upon +them, but all the while going directly in a straight line toward the +ruined _barraca_ like those who are taking possession of their own. + +Pepeta did not stop to see more; she fairly flew toward her own home. In +order to arrive the sooner, she abandoned the cow and little calf, who +tranquilly pursued their way like animals who have a good, safe stable +and are not worried about the course of human affairs. + +Pimento was lazily smoking, as he lay stretched out at the side of his +_barraca_ with his gaze fixed upon three little sticks smeared with +bird-lime, which shone in the sun, and about which some birds were +fluttering,--the occupation of a gentleman. + +When he saw his wife arrive with astonished eyes and her weak chest +panting, Pimento changed his position in order to listen the better, at +the same time warning her not to come near the little sticks. + +What was up now? Had the cow been stolen from her? + +Pepeta, between weariness and emotion, was scarcely able to utter two +consecutive words. + +The lands of Barret, ... an entire family, ... were going to work; they +were going to live in the ruined _barraca_,--she had seen it herself! + +Pimento, a hunter with bird-lime, an enemy of labour, and the terror of +the entire community, was no longer able to preserve his composure, the +impressive gravity of a great lord, before such unexpected news. + +_Cordons!_ + +And with one bound, he raised his heavy, muscular frame from the ground, +and set out on a run without awaiting further explanations. + +His wife watched him as he hurried across the fields until he reached a +cane-brake adjoining the accursed land. Here he knelt down, threw +himself face forward, crawling upon his belly as he spied through the +cane-brake like a Bedouin in ambush. After a few minutes, he began to +run again, and was soon lost to sight amid the labyrinth of paths, each +of which led off to a different _barraca_, to a field where bending +figures wielded large steel hoes, which glittered as the light struck +upon them. + +The _huerta_ lay smiling and rustling, filled with whisperings and with +light, drowsy under the cascade of gold reflected from the morning sun. + +But soon there came, from the distance, the mingled sound of cries and +halloes. The news passed on from field to field. With loud shouts, with +a trembling of alarm, of surprise, of indignation, it ran on through all +the plain as though centuries had not elapsed, and the report were being +spread that an Algerian galley was about to land upon the beach, seeking +a cargo of white flesh. + + + + +II + + +At harvest time, when old Barret gazed at the various plots into which +his fields were divided, he was unable to restrain a feeling of pride. +As he gazed upon the tall wheat, the cabbage-heads with their hearts of +fleecy lace, the melons showing their green backs on a level with the +earth, the pimentoes and tomatoes, half-hidden by their foliage, he +praised the goodness of the earth as well as the efforts of all his +ancestors for working these fields better than the rest of the _huerta_. + +All the blood of his forefathers was here. Five or six generations of +Barrets had passed their lives working this same soil. They had turned +it over and over, taking care that its vital nourishment should not +decrease, combing and caressing it with ploughshare and hoe; there was +not one of these fields which had not been watered by the sweat and +blood of the family. + +The farmer loved his wife dearly, and even forgave her the folly of +having given him four daughters and no son, to help him in his work. Not +that he loved his daughters any the less, angels sent from God who +passed the day singing and sewing at the door of their farm-house, and +who sometimes went out into the fields in order to give their poor +father a little rest. But the supreme passion of old Barret, the love of +all his loves, was the land upon which the silent and monotonous history +of his family had unrolled. + +Many years ago, many indeed, in those days when old Tomba, an aged man +now nearly blind, who took care of the poor herd of a butcher at +Alboraya, went roaming about in the band of The Friar,[C] shooting at +the French, these lands had belonged to the monks of San Miguel de los +Reyes. + +They were good, stout gentlemen, sleek and voluble, who were not in a +hurry to collect their rentals, and appeared to be satisfied if when +they passed the cabin of an evening, the grand-mother, who was a +generous soul, would treat them to deep cups of chocolate, and the first +fruits of the season. Before, long before, the owner of all this land +had been a great lord, who upon dying, had unloaded both his sins and +his estates upon the bosom of the community. Now, alas! they belonged to +Don Salvador, a little, dried-up old man of Valencia, who so tormented +old Barret, that he even dreamed of him at night. + +The poor farmer kept his trouble hidden from his family. He was a +courageous man of clean habits. If he went to the tavern of Copa for a +while on Sundays, when all the people of the neighbourhood were gathered +there together, it was in order to watch the card-players, to laugh +heartily at the absurdities and brutalities of Pimento, and the other +strapping young fellows who played "cock o' the walk" about the +_huerta_; but never did he approach a counter to buy a glass; he always +kept his sash-purse tight around the waist, and if he drank at all, it +was only when one of the winners was treating all the crowd. + +Averse to discussing his difficulties, he always seemed to be smiling, +good-natured and calm, with the blue cap which had won for him his +nickname,[D] pulled well down over his ears. + +He worked from daylight until dusk. While the rest of the _huerta_ still +slept, he tilled his fields in the uncertain light of dawn, but more and +more convinced, all the time, that he could not go on working them +alone. + +It was too great a burden for one man. If he only had a son! When he +sought aid, he took on servants who robbed him, worked but little, and +whom he discharged when he surprised them asleep in the stable during +the sunny hours. + +Obsessed with his respect for his ancestors, he would rather have died +in his fields, overcome by fatigue, than rent a single acre to strange +hands. And since he could not manage all the work alone, half of his +fertile land remained fallow and unproductive, while he tried to +maintain his family and pay off his landlord by the cultivation of the +other half. + +A silent struggle was this, desperate and obstinate, to earn enough for +the necessities of life and overcome the ebbing of his vitality. + +He now had only one wish. It was that his little girls should not know; +that no one should give them an inkling of the worries and troubles +which harassed their father; that the sacred joy of this household, the +joy enlivened at all hours by the songs and laughter of the four +sisters, who had been born in four successive years, should not be +broken. + +And they, in the meantime, had already begun to attract the attention of +the young swains of the _huerta_, when they went to the merrymakings of +the village in their new and showy silk handkerchiefs and their rustling +ironed skirts. And while they were getting up at dawn and slipping off +barefooted in their chemises in order to look down, through the cracks +of the little windows, at the suitors who were singing the _albaes_,[E] +or who wooed them with thrummings of the guitar, poor old Barret, trying +harder and harder to balance his accounts, drew out ounce by ounce the +handful of gold which his father had amassed for him farthing by +farthing, and tried in vain to appease Don Salvador, the old miser who +never had enough, and who, not content with squeezing him, kept talking +of the bad times, the scandalous increase in taxes, and the need of +raising his rent. + +Barret could not possibly have had a worse landlord. He bore a +detestable reputation throughout the entire _huerta_, since there was +hardly a district where he did not own property. Every evening he passed +over the roads, visiting his tenants, wrapped up even in springtime in +his old cloak, shabby and looking like a beggar, while maledictions and +hostile gestures followed after him. It was the tenacity of avarice +which desired to be in contact with its property at all hours; the +persistency of the usurer, who has pending accounts to settle. + +The dogs howled from a distance when they saw him, as though Death +itself were approaching; the children looked after him with frowning +faces; men hid themselves in order to avoid painful excuses, and the +women came to meet him at the door of the cabin with their eyes upon the +ground and the lie ready to entreat him to be patient, while they +answered his blustering threats with tears. + +Pimento who, as the public bully, interested himself in the misfortunes +of his neighbours, and who was the knight-errant of the _huerta_, +muttered something through his teeth which sounded like the promise of a +thrashing, with a cooling-off later in a canal. But the very victims of +the miser held him back, telling him of the influence of Don Salvador, +warning him that he was a man who spent his mornings in court and had +powerful friends. With such, the poor are always losers. + +Of all his tenants, the best was Barret, who at the cost of great effort +owed him nothing at all. And the old miser, even while pointing him out +as a model to the other tenants, carried his cruelty toward him to the +utmost extreme. Aroused by the very meekness of the farmer he showed +himself more exacting, and was evidently pleased to find a man upon whom +he could vent without fear all his instincts of robbery and oppression. + +Finally he raised the rent of the land. Barret protested, even wept as +he recited to him the merits of the family who had worked the skin from +their hands in order to make these fields the best of the _huerta_. But +Don Salvador was inflexible. Were they the best? Then he ought to pay +more. And Barret paid the increase; he would give up his last drop of +blood before he would abandon those fields which little by little were +taking his very life. + +At last he had no money left to tide him over. He could count only upon +the produce from the fields. And completely alone, poor Barret +concealed the real situation from his family. He forced himself to smile +when his wife and daughters begged him not to work so hard, and he kept +on like a veritable madman. + +He did not sleep; it seemed to him that his garden-truck was growing +less quickly than that of his neighbours; he made up his mind that he, +and he alone, should cultivate all the land; he worked at night, groping +in the darkness; the slightest threatening cloud would make him tremble, +and be fairly beside himself with fear; and finally, honourable and good +as he was, he even took advantage of the carelessness of his neighbours +and robbed them of their share of water for the irrigation. + +But if his family were blind, the neighbouring farmers understood his +situation and pitied him for his meekness. He was a big, good-natured +fellow, who did not know how to put on a bold front before the repellent +miser, who was slowly draining him dry. + +And this was true. The poor fellow, exhausted by his feverish existence +and mad labour, became a mere skeleton of skin and bones, bent over like +an octogenarian, with sunken eyes. That characteristic cap, which had +given him his nickname, no longer remained settled upon his ears, but as +he grew leaner, drooped toward his shoulders, like the funereal +extinguisher of his existence. + +But the worst of it was that this insufferable excess of fatigue only +served to pay half of what the insatiable monster demanded. The +consequences of his mad labours were not slow in coming. Barret's nag, a +long-suffering animal, the companion of all his frantic toil, tired of +working both day and night, of drawing the cart with loads of +garden-truck to the market at Valencia, and of being hitched to the +plough without time to breathe or to cool off, decided to die rather +than to attempt the slightest rebellion against his poor master. + +Then indeed the poor farmer saw himself lost! He gazed with desperation +at his fields which he could no longer cultivate; the rows of fresh +garden-truck which the people in the city devoured indifferently without +suspecting the anxiety the produce had caused the poor farmer, in the +constant battle with his poverty and with the land. + +But Providence, which never abandons the poor, spoke to him through the +mouth of Don Salvador. Not vainly do they say that God often derives +good from evil. + +The insufferable miser, the voracious usurer, offered his assistance +with touching and paternal kindness on hearing of Barret's misfortune. +How much did he need to buy another beast? Fifty dollars? Then here he +was, ready to aid him, and to show him how unjust was the hatred of +those who despised and spoke ill of him. + +And he loaned money to Barret, although with the insignificant detail of +demanding that he place his signature (since business is business), at +the foot of a certain paper in which he mentioned interest, the +accumulation of interest, and security for the debt, listing to cover +this last detail, the furniture, the implements, all that the farmer +possessed on his farm, including the animals of the corral. + +Barret, encouraged by the possession of a new and vigorous young horse, +returned to his work with more spirit, to kill himself again over those +lands which were crushing him, and which seemed to grow in proportion as +his efforts diminished until they enveloped him like a red shroud. + +All that his fields produced was eaten by his family, and the handful of +copper which he made by his sales in the market of Valencia was soon +scattered; he could never eke out enough to satisfy the avarice of Don +Salvador. + +The anguish of old Barret over his struggle to pay his debt and his +failure to do so aroused in him a certain instinct of rebellion which +caused all sorts of confused ideas of justice to surge through his crude +reasoning. Why were not the fields his own? All his ancestors had spent +their lives upon these lands; they were sprinkled with the sweat of his +family; if it were not for them, the Barrets, these lands would be as +depopulated as the sands of the seashore. And now this inhuman old man, +who was the master here, though he did not know how to pick up a hoe and +had never bent his back in toil in his whole life, was putting the +screws on him and crushing him with all his "reminders." Christ! How the +affairs of men are ordered! + +But these revolts were only momentary; the resigned submission of the +labourer returned to him; with his traditional and superstitious respect +for property. He must work and be honest. + +And the poor man, who considered that failure to pay one's obligation +was the greatest of all dishonours, returned to his work, growing ever +weaker and thinner, and feeling within himself the gradual sagging of +his vitality. Convinced that he would not be able to drag out the +situation much longer, he was yet indignant at the mere possibility of +abandoning a handful of the lands of his forefathers. + +When Christmas came, he was able to pay Don Salvador only a small part +of the half-year's rent that fell due; Saint John's day arrived, and he +had not a _centime_; his wife was sick; he had even sold their wedding +jewelry in order to meet expenses; ... the ancient pendant earrings, and +the collar of pearls, which were the family treasure, and the future +possession of which had given rise to discussions among the four +daughters. + +The avaricious old miser proved himself to be inflexible. No, Barret, +this could not continue. Since he was kind-hearted (however unwilling +people were to believe it), he would not permit the farmer to kill +himself in his determination to cultivate more land than his efforts +were equal to. No, he would not consent to it; he was too kind-hearted. +And as he had received another offer of rental, he notified Barret to +relinquish the fields as soon as possible. He was very sorry, but he +also was poor. Ah! And at the same time, he reminded him that it would +be necessary to pay back the loan for the purchase of the horse, ... a +sum which with the interest amounted to.... + +The poor farmer did not even pay attention to the sum of some thousand +reals to which his debt had aggregated with the blessed interest, so +agitated and confused did he become by this order to abandon his lands. + +His weakness and the inner erosion produced by the crushing struggle of +two years showed themselves suddenly. + +He, who had never wept, now sobbed like a child. All of his pride, his +Moorish gravity, disappeared all at once, and kneeling down before the +old man, he begged him not to forsake him since he looked upon him as a +father. + +But a fine father poor Barret had picked! Don Salvador proved to be +relentless. He was sorry, but he could not help it: he himself was poor; +he had to provide a living for his sons. And he continued to cloak his +cruelty with sentences of hypocritical sentimentality. + +The farmer grew tired of asking for mercy. He made several trips to +Valencia to the house of the master to remind him of his forefathers, of +his moral right to those lands, begging him for a little patience, +declaring with frenzied hope that he would pay him back. But at last the +miser refused to open his door to him. + +Then desperation gave Barret new life. He became again the son of the +_huerta_, proud, spirited, intractable, when he is convinced that he is +in the right. The landlord did not wish to listen to him? He refused to +give him any hope? Very well; he was in his own house; if Don Salvador +desired anything, he would have to seek him there. He would like to see +the bully who could make him leave his farm. + +And he went on working, but with misgiving, gazing anxiously about if +any one unknown to him happened to be approaching over the adjoining +roads, as though expecting at any moment to be attacked by a band of +bandits. + +They summoned him to court, but he did not appear. + +He already knew what this meant: the snares that men set in order to +ruin the honourable. If they were going to rob him, let them seek him +out on these lands which had become a part of his very flesh and blood, +for as such he would defend them. + +One day they gave him notice that the court was going to begin +proceedings to expel him from his land that very afternoon; furthermore, +they would attach everything he had in his cabin to meet his debts. He +would not be sleeping there that night. + +This news was so incredible to poor old Barret that he smiled with +incredulity. This might happen to others, to those cheats who had never +paid anything; but he, who had always fulfilled his duty, who had even +been born here, who owed only a year's rent,--nonsense! Such a thing +could not happen, even though one were living among savages, without +charity or religion! + +But in the afternoon, when he saw certain men in black coming along the +road, big funereal birds with wings of paper rolled under the arm, he no +longer was in doubt. This was the enemy. They were coming to rob him. + +And suddenly there was awakened within old Barret the blind courage of +the Moor who will suffer every manner of insult but who goes mad when +his property is touched. Running into the cabin, he seized the old +shot-gun, always hung loaded behind the door, and raising it to his +shoulder, took his stand under the vineyard, ready to put two bullets +into the first bandit of the law to set foot upon his fields. + +His sick wife and four daughters came running out, shouting wildly, and +threw themselves upon him, trying to wrest away the gun, pulling at the +barrel with both hands. And such were the cries of the group, as they +struggled and contended for it, reeling from one pillar of the +grape-arbour to the other, that people from the neighbourhood began to +run out, arriving in an anxious crowd, with the fraternal solidarity of +those who live in deserted places. + +It was Pimento who prudently made himself master of the shot-gun and +carried it off to his house. Barret staggered behind, trying to pursue +him but restrained and held fast by the strong arms of some strapping +young fellows, while he vented his madness upon the fool who was keeping +him from defending his own. + +"Pimento,--thief! Give me back my shot-gun!" + +But the bully smiled good-naturedly, satisfied that he was behaving both +prudently and paternally with the old madman. Thus he brought him to his +own farm-house, where he and Barret's friends watched him and advised +him not to do a foolish deed. Have a care, old Barret! These people are +from the court, and the poor always lose when they pick a quarrel with +_it_! Coolness and evil design succeed above everything. + +And at the same time, the big black birds were writing papers, and yet +more papers in the farm-house of Barret; impassively they turned over +the furniture and the clothing, making an inventory even of the corral +and the stable, while the wife and the daughters wept in despair, and +the terrified crowd, gathering at the door, followed all the details of +the deed, trying to console the poor woman, or breaking out into +suppressed maledictions against the Jew, Don Salvador, and these fellows +who yielded obedience to such a dog. + +Toward nightfall, Barret, who was like one overwhelmed, and who, after +the mad crisis, had fallen into a stony stupor, saw some bundles of +clothing at his feet, and heard the metallic sound of a bag which +contained his farming implements. + +"Father! Father!" whimpered the tremulous voices of his daughters, who +threw themselves into his arms; behind them the old woman, sick, +trembling with fever, and in the rear, invading the _barraca_ of +Pimento, and disappearing into the background through the dark door, all +the people of the neighbourhood, the terrified chorus of the tragedy. + +He had already been driven away from his farm-house. The men in black +had closed it, taking away the keys; nothing remained to them there +except the bundles which were on the floor; the worn clothing, the iron +implements; this was all which they were permitted to take out of the +house. + +Their words were broken by sobs; the father and the daughters embraced +again, and Pepeta, the mistress of the house, as well as other women, +wept and repeated the maledictions against the old miser until Pimento +opportunely intervened. + +There would be time left to speak of what had occurred; now it was time +for supper. What the deuce! Grieve like this because of an old Jew! If +he could but see all this, how his evil heart would rejoice! The people +of the _huerta_ were kind; all of them would help to care for the family +of old Barret, and would share with them a loaf of bread if they had +nothing more. + +The wife and daughters of the ruined farmer went off with some +neighbours to pass the night in their houses. Old Barret remained +behind, under the vigilance of Pimento. + +The two men remained seated until ten in their rush-chairs, smoking +cigar after cigar in the candle-light. + +The poor old farmer appeared to be crazy. He answered in short +monosyllables the reflections of this bully, who now assumed the role of +a good-natured fellow; and when he spoke it was always to repeat the +same words: + +"Pimento! Give me my shot-gun!" + +And Pimento smiled with a sort of admiration. The sudden ferocity of +this little old man, who was considered a good-natured fool by all the +_huerta_, astounded him. Return him the shot-gun! At once! He well +divined by the straight wrinkles which stood out between his eyebrows, +his firm intention of blowing the author of his ruin to atoms. + +Barret grew more and more vexed with the young fellow. He went so far as +to call him a thief: he had refused to give him his weapon. He had no +friends; he could see that well enough; all of them were only ingrates, +equal to don Salvador in avarice; he did not wish to sleep here; he was +suffocating. And searching in the bag of implements, he selected a +sickle, shoved it through his sash, and left the farm-house. Nor did +Pimento attempt to bar his way. + +At such an hour, he could do no harm; let him sleep in the open if it +suited his pleasure. And the bully, closing the door, went to bed. + +Old Barret started directly toward the fields, and like an abandoned +dog, began to make a detour around his farm-house. + +Closed! Closed forever! These walls had been raised by his grandfather +and renovated by himself through all these years. Even in the darkness, +the pallor of the neat whitewash, with which his little girls had coated +them three months before, stood out plainly. + +The corral, the stable, the pigsties were all the work of his father; +and this straw-roof, so slender and high, with the two little crosses at +the ends, he had built himself as a substitution for the old, which had +leaked everywhere. + +And the curbstone at the well, the post of the vineyard, the cane-fences +over which the pinks and the morning-glories were showing their tufts of +bloom;--these too were the work of his hands. And all this was going to +become the property of another, because--yes, because men had arranged +it so. + +He searched in his sash for the pasteboard strip of matches in order to +set fire to the straw-roof. Let the devil fly away with it all; it was +his own, anyway, as God knew, and he could destroy his own property and +would do so before he would see it fall into the hands of thieves. + +But just as he was going to set fire to his old house, he felt a +sensation of horror, as if he saw the ghosts of all his ancestors rising +up before him; and he hurled the strip of matches to the ground. + +But the longing for destruction continued roaring through his head, and +sickle in hand, he set forth over the fields which had been his ruin. + +Now at a single stroke he would get even with the ungrateful earth, the +cause of all his misfortunes. + +The destruction lasted for entire hours. Down they came tumbling to his +heels, the arches of cane upon which the green tendrils of the tender +kidney-beans and peas were climbing; parted by the furious sickle, the +beans fell, and the cabbages and lettuce, driven by the sharp steel, +flew wide like severed heads, scattering their rosettes of leaves all +around. No one should take advantage of his labour. + +And thus he went on mowing until the break of dawn, trampling under foot +with mad stampings, shouting curses, howling blasphemies, until +weariness finally deadened his fury, and casting himself down upon a +furrow, he wept like a child, thinking that the earth henceforth would +be his real bed, and his only occupation begging in the streets. + +He was awakened by the first rays of the sun striking his eyes, and the +joyful twitter of the birds which hopped around his head, availing +themselves of the remnants of the nocturnal destruction for their +breakfast. + +Benumbed with weariness and chilled with the dampness, he rose from the +ground. Pimento and his wife were calling him from a distance, inviting +him to come and take something. Barret answered them with scorn. Thief! +After taking away his shot-gun! And he set out on the road toward +Valencia, trembling with cold, without even knowing where he was going. + +He stopped at the tavern of Copa and entered. Some teamsters of the +neighbourhood spoke to him, expressing sympathy for him in his +misfortune, and invited him to have a drink. He accepted gratefully. He +craved something which would counteract this cold, which had penetrated +his very bones. And he who had always been so sober, drank, one after +the other, two glasses of brandy, which fell into his weakened stomach +like waves of fire. + +His face flushed, then became deadly pale; his eyes grew bloodshot. To +the teamsters who sympathized with him, he seemed expressive and +confiding, almost like one who is happy. He called them his sons, +assuring them that he was not fretting over so little. Nor had he lost +everything. There still remained in his possession the best thing in his +house, the sickle of his grandfather, a jewel which he would not +exchange, no, not for fifty measures of grain. + +And from his sash he drew forth the curved steel, an implement brilliant +and pure, of fine temper and very keen edge, which, as Barret declared, +would cut a cigarette-paper in the air. + +The teamsters paid up, and urging on their beasts, set off for Valencia, +filling the air with the creaking of wheels. + +The old man stayed in the tavern for more than an hour, talking to +himself, feeling more and more dizzy, until, made ill at ease by the +hard glances of the landlord, who divined his condition, he experienced +a vague feeling of shame, and set out with unsteady steps without saying +good-bye. + +But he was unable to dispel from his mind a tenacious remembrance. He +could see, as he closed his eyes, a great orchard of oranges which was +about an hour's distance, between Benimaclet and the sea. There he had +gone many times on business, and there he would go now to see if the +devil would be so good as to let him come across the master, as there +was hardly a day that his avaricious glance did not inspect the +beautiful trees as though he had the oranges counted on every one. + +He arrived after two hours of walking, during which he stopped many +times to balance his body, which was swaying back and forth upon his +unsteady legs. + +The brandy had now taken complete possession of him. He could no longer +remember for what purpose he had come here, so far from that part of the +_huerta_ in which his own family lived, and finally he let himself fall +into a field of hemp at the edge of the road. In a short time, his +laboured snores of drunkenness sounded among the green straight stalks. + +When he awoke, the afternoon was well advanced. He felt heavy of head +and his stomach was faint. There was a humming in his ears, and he had a +horrible taste in his coated mouth. What was he doing here, near the +_huerta_ of the Jew? Why had he come so far? His instinctive sense of +honour arose; he felt ashamed at seeing himself in such a state of +debasement, and he tried to get on his feet to go away. The pressure on +his stomach caused by the sickle which lay crosswise in his sash, gave +him chills. + +On standing up, he thrust his head out from among the hemp, and he saw, +in a turn of the road, a little man who was walking slowly along +enveloped in a cape. + +Barret felt all his blood suddenly rise to his head; his drunkenness +came back on him again. He stood up, tugging at his sickle. And yet they +say that the devil is not good? Here was his man; here was the one whom +he had been wanting to see since the day before. + +The old usurer had hesitated before leaving his house. The affair of old +Barret had pricked his conscience; it was a recent event and the +_huerta_ was treacherous; but the fear that his absence might be taken +advantage of in the _huerta_ was stronger even than his cowardice, and +remembering that the orange estate was distant from the attached +farm-house, he set out on the road. + +He was already in sight of the _huerta_, scoffing inwardly at his past +fears, when he saw Barret bound out from the plot of cane-brake: like an +enormous demon he seemed to him with his red face and extended arms, +impeding all flight, cutting him off at the edge of the canal which ran +parallel to the road. He thought he must be dreaming; his teeth +chattered, his face turned green, and his cape fell off, revealing his +old overcoat and the dirty handkerchiefs rolled around his neck. So +great was his terror, his agitation, that he spoke to him in Spanish. + +"Barret! My son!" he said, in a broken voice. "The whole thing has been +a joke; never mind. What happened yesterday was only to make you a +little afraid ... nothing more. You may stay on your land; come tomorrow +to my house ... we will talk things over: you shall pay me whenever you +wish." + +And he bent backward to avoid the approach of old Barret: he attempted +to sneak away, to flee from that terrible sickle, upon whose blade a ray +of sun broke, and where the blue of the sky was reflected. But with the +canal behind him, he could not find a place to retreat, and he threw +himself backward, trying to shield himself with his clenched hands. + +The farmer, showing his sharp white teeth, smiled like a hyena. + +"Thief! thief!" he answered in a voice which sounded like a snarl. + +And waving his weapon from side to side, he sought for a place where he +might strike, avoiding the thin and desperate hands which the miser held +before him. + +"But, Barret, my son! what does this mean? Lower your weapon, do not +jest! You are an honest man ... think of your daughters! I repeat to +you, it was only a joke. Come tomorrow and I will give you the key.... +Aaaay!..." + +There came a horrible howl; the cry of a wounded beast. The sickle, +tired of encountering obstacles, had lopped off one of the clenched +hands at a blow. It remained hanging by the tendons and the skin, and +from the red stump blood spurted violently, spattering Barret, who +roared as the hot stream struck his face. + +The old man staggered on his legs, but before he fell to the ground the +sickle cut horizontally across his neck, and ... zas! severed the +complicated folds of the neckerchief, opening a deep gash which almost +separated the head from the trunk. + +Don Salvador fell into the canal; his legs remained on the sloping bank, +twitching, like a slaughtered steer giving its last kicks. And meanwhile +his head, sunken into the mire, poured out all of his blood through the +deep breach, and the waters following their peaceful course with a +tranquil murmur which enlivened the solemn silence of the afternoon, +became tinged with red. + +Barret, stupefied, stood stock still on the shore. How much blood the +old thief had! The canal grew red, it seemed more copious! Suddenly the +farmer, seized with terror, broke into a run, as if he feared that the +little river of blood would overflow and drown him. + +Before the end of the day, the news had circulated like the report of a +cannon which stirred all the plain. Have you ever seen the hypocritical +gesture, the silent rejoicing, with which a town receives the death of a +governor who has oppressed it? All guessed that it was the hand of old +Barret, yet nobody spoke. The farm-houses would have opened their last +hiding-places for him; the women would have hidden him under their +skirts. + +But the assassin roamed like a madman through the fields, fleeing from +people, lying low behind the sloping banks, concealing himself under the +little bridges, running across the fields, frightened by the barking of +the dogs, until on the following day, the rural police surprised him +sleeping in a hayloft. + +For six weeks, they talked of nothing in the _huerta_ but old Barret. + +Men and women went on Sundays to the prison of Valencia as though on a +pilgrimage, in order to look through the bars at the poor liberator, +who grew thinner and thinner, his eyes more sunken, and his glance more +troubled. + +The day of his trial arrived and he was sentenced to death. + +The news made a deep impression in the plain; parish priests and mayors +started a movement to avoid such a shame.... A member of the district to +find himself on the scaffold! And as Barret had always been among the +docile, voting as the political bosses ordered him to vote, and +passively obeying as he was commanded, they made trips to Madrid in +order to save his life, and his pardon was opportunely granted. + +The farmer came forth from the prison as thin as a mummy, and was +conducted to Ceuta, where he died after a few years. + +His family scattered; disappearing like a handful of straw in the wind. + +The daughters, one after the other, left the families which had taken +them in, and went to Valencia to earn their living as servants; and the +poor widow, tired of troubling others with her infirmities, was taken to +the hospital, and died there in a short time. + +The people of the _huerta_, with that facility which every one displays +in forgetting the misfortune of others, scarcely ever spoke of the +terrible tragedy of old Barret, and then only to wonder what had become +of his daughters. + +But nobody forgot the fields and the farm-house, which remained exactly +as on the day when the judge ejected the unfortunate farmer from them. + +It was a silent agreement of the whole district; an instinctive +conspiracy which few words prepared but in which the very trees and +roads seemed to have a part. + +Pimento had given expression to it the very day of the catastrophe. We +will see the fine fellow who dares take possession of those lands! + +And all the people of the _huerta_, even the women and children, seemed +to answer with their glances of mute understanding. Yes; they would see. + +The parasitic plants, the thistles, began to spring up from the accursed +land which old Barret had stamped upon and cut down with his sickle on +that last night, as though he had a presentiment that he would die in +prison through its fault. + +The sons of Don Salvador, men as rich and avaricious as their father, +cried poverty because this piece of land remained unproductive. + +A farmer who lived in another district of the _huerta_, a man who +pretended to be a bully and never had enough land, was tempted by their +low price, and tackled these fields which inspired fear in all. + +He set out to work the land with a gun on his shoulder; he and his +farm-hands laughed among themselves at the isolation in which the +neighbours left them; the farm-houses were closed to them as they +passed, and hostile glances followed from a distance. + +The tenant, having the presentiment of an ambush, was vigilant. But his +caution served him to no purpose. As he was leaving the fields alone one +afternoon, before he had even finished breaking up the ground, two +musket-shots were fired at him by some invisible aggressor, and he came +forth miraculously uninjured by the handful of birdshot which passed +close to his ear. + +No one was found in the fields,--not even a fresh foot-print. The +sharpshooter had fired from some canal, hidden behind the cane-brake. + +With enemies such as these, one has no chance to fight, and on the same +night, the Valencian delivered the keys of the farm-house to its +masters. + +One should have heard the sons of Don Salvador. Was there no law or +security for property, ... nor for anything? + +No doubt Pimento was the instigator of this attack. It was he who was +preventing these fields from being cultivated. So the rural police +arrested the bully of the _huerta_, and took him off to prison. + +But when the moment of taking oath arrived, all of the district filed by +before the judge declaring the innocence of Pimento, and from these +cunning rustics not one contradictory word could be forced. + +One and all told the same story. Even failing old women who never left +their farm-houses declared that on that day, at the very hour when the +two reports were heard, Pimento was in a tavern of Alboraya, enjoying a +feast with his friends. + +Nothing could be done with these people of imbecile expression and +candid looks, who lied with such composure as they scratched the back of +their heads. Pimento was set free, and a sigh of triumph and of +satisfaction came from all the houses. + +Now the proof was given: now it was known that the cultivation of these +lands was paid for with men's lives. + +The avaricious masters would not yield. They would cultivate the land +themselves. And they sought day-labourers among the long-suffering and +submissive people, who, smelling of coarse sheep-wool and poverty, and +driven by hunger, descended from the ends of the province, from the +mountainous frontiers of Aragon, in search of work. + +The _huerta_ pitied the poor _churros_.[F] Unfortunate men! They wanted +to earn a day's pay; what guilt was theirs? And at night, as they were +leaving with their hoes over the shoulder, there was always some good +soul to call to them from the door of the tavern of Copa. They made them +enter, drink, talked to them confidentially with frowning faces but with +the paternal and good-natured tone of one who counsels a child to avoid +danger; and the result was that on the following day these docile +_churros_, instead of going to the field, presented themselves en masse +to the owners of the land. + +"Master: we have come to get our pay." + +All the arguments of the two old bachelors, furious at seeing themselves +opposed in their avarice, were useless. + +"Master," they responded to everything, "we are poor, but we were not +born like dogs behind a barn." + +And not only did they leave their work, but they passed the warning on +to all their countrymen, to avoid earning a day's wages in those fields +of Barret's as they would flee from the devil. + +The owners of the land even asked for protection in the daily papers. +And the rural police went out over the _huerta_ in pairs, stopping along +the roads to surprise gestures and conversations, but always without +results. + +Every day they saw the same thing. The women sewing and singing under +the vine-arbours; the men bending over in the fields, their eyes upon +the ground, their active arms never resting; Pimento, stretched out like +a grand lord under the little wands of bird-lime, waiting for the birds, +or torpidly and lazily helping Pepeta; in the tavern of Copa, a few old +men, sunning themselves or playing cards. The countryside breathed forth +peace, and honourable stolidity; it was a Moorish Arcadia. But those of +the "_Union_" were on their guard; not a farmer wanted the land, not +even gratuitously; and at last, the owners had to abandon their +undertaking, let the weeds cover the place and the house fall into +decay, while they hoped for the arrival of some willing man, capable of +buying or working the farm. + +The _huerta_ trembled with satisfaction, seeing how this wealth was +lost, and the heirs of Don Salvador were being ruined. + +It was a new and intense pleasure. Sometimes, after all, the will of the +poor must triumph, and the rich must get the worst of it. And the hard +bread seemed more savoury, the wine better, the work less burdensome, as +they thought of the fury of the two misers, who with all their money had +to endure the rustics of the _huerta_ laughing at them. + +Furthermore, this patch of desolation and misery in the midst of the +_vega_, served to make the other landlords less exacting. Taking this +neighbourhood as an example, they did not increase their rents and even +agreed to wait when the half year's rent was late in being paid. + +Those desolate fields were the talisman which kept the dwellers of the +_huerta_ intimately united, in continuous contact: a monument which +proclaimed their power over the owners; the miracle of the solidarity of +poverty against the laws and the wealth of those who were the lords of +the land without working it or sweating over their fields. + +All this, which they thought out confusedly, made them believe that on +the day when the fields of old Barret should be cultivated, the _huerta_ +would suffer all manner of misfortunes. And they did not expect, after a +triumph of ten years, that any person would dare to enter those +abandoned fields except old Tomba, a blind and gibbering shepherd, who +in default of an audience daily related his deeds of prowess to his +flock of dirty sheep. + +Hence the exclamations of astonishment, the gestures of wrath, over all +the _huerta_, when Pimento published the news from field to field, from +farm-house to farm-house, that the lands of Barret now had a tenant, a +stranger, and that he ... he ... (whoever he might be), was here with +all his family, installing himself without any warning, ... as if they +were his own! + + + + +III + + +When he inspected the uncultivated land, Batiste told himself that here +he would have work for some time. + +Nor did he feel dismayed over the prospect. He was an energetic, +enterprising man, accustomed to working hard to earn a livelihood, and +there was hard work here, and plenty of it, furthermore, he consoled +himself by remembering that he had been even worse off. + +His life had been a continuous change of profession, always within the +circle of rural poverty; but though he had changed his occupation every +year, he had never succeeded in obtaining for his family the modest +comfort which was his only aspiration. + +When he first became acquainted with his wife, he was a millhand in the +neighbourhood of Sagunto. He was then working like a dog (as he +expressed it) to provide for his family; and the Lord rewarded his +labours by sending him every year a child, all sons,--beautiful +creatures who seemed to have been born with teeth, judging by the haste +with which they deserted the mother's breast, and began to beg +continually for bread. + +The result was that in his search for higher wages, he had to give up +the mill and become a teamster. + +But bad luck pursued him. And yet no one tended the live stock and +watched the road as well as he: though nearly dead from fatigue, he had +never like his companions dared to sleep in the wagon, letting the +beasts, guided by their instinct, find their own way: wakeful at all +hours, he always walked beside the nag ahead to avoid the holes and the +bad places. Nevertheless, if a wagon upset, it was always his; if an +animal fell ill of the rains, it was of course one of Batiste's, in +spite of the paternal care with which he hastened to cover the flanks of +the horses with trappings of sackcloth, as soon as a few drops had +fallen. + +During some years of tiresome wanderings over highroads of the province, +eating poorly, sleeping in the open, and suffering the torment of +passing entire months away from his family, whom he adored with the +concentrated affection of a rough and silent man, Batiste experienced +only losses, and saw his position getting worse and worse. + +His nags died, and he had to go into debt to buy others; the profit that +he should have had from the continuous carrying of bags of skin bulged +out with wine or oil, would disappear in the hands of hucksters and +owners of carts, until the moment arrived when, seeing his impending +ruin, he gave up the occupation. + +Then he took some land near Sagunto; arid fields, red and eternally +thirsty, in which the century-old carob-trees writhed their hollow +trunks, and the olive-trees raised their round and dusty heads. + +His life was one continuous battle with the drought, an incessant gazing +at the sky; whenever a small dark cloud showed itself on the horizon, he +trembled with fear. + +It rained but little, the crops were bad for four consecutive years, and +at last Batiste did not know what to do nor where to turn. Then, in a +trip to Valencia, he made the acquaintance of the sons of Don Salvador, +excellent gentlemen (the Lord bless them), who offered to let him use +these beautiful fields rent-free for two years, until they could be +brought back completely to their old condition. + +He had heard rumours of what had happened at the farm-house; of the +causes which had compelled the owner to keep these beautiful lands +unproductive; but such a long time had elapsed! Furthermore, poverty has +no ears; the fields suited him, and in them he would remain. What did he +care for the story of don Salvador and old Barret? + +All of which was scorned and forgotten as he looked over the land. And +Batiste felt himself filled with sweet ecstasy at finding himself the +cultivator of the fertile _huerta_, which he had envied so many times as +he passed along the high-road of Valencia to Sagunto. + +This was fine land; always green; of inexhaustible fertility, producing +one harvest after another; the red water circulating at all hours like +life-giving blood through the innumerable canals and irrigation trenches +which furrowed its surface like a complicated network of veins and +arteries; so fertile that entire families were supported by patches so +small that they looked like green handkerchiefs. The dry fields off +there near Sagunto reminded him of an inferno of drought, from which he +fortunately had liberated himself. + +Now he was sure that he was on the right road. To work! The fields were +ruined; there was much work to be done; but when one is so willing! And +this big, robust, muscular fellow, with the shoulders of a giant, +closely cropped round head, and good-natured countenance supported by +the heavy neck of a monk, extended his powerful arms, accustomed to +raising sacks of flour and the heavy skin sacks of the teamster's trade, +aloft in the air, and stretched himself. + +He was so absorbed in his lands that he scarcely noticed the curiosity +of his neighbours. + +Restless heads appeared between the cane-brake; men, stretched out at +full-length on the sloping banks, were watching him; even the women and +the children of the adjoining _huertas_ followed his movements. + +Batiste did not mind them. It was curiosity, the hostile expectation +which recent arrivals always inspire. Well did he know what that was; +they would get accustomed to it. Furthermore, perhaps they were +interested in seeing how that desolate growth burned, which ten years of +abandonment had heaped upon the fields of Barret. + +And aided by his wife and children, he went about on the day after his +arrival, burning up all the parasitic vegetation. + +The shrubs writhed in the flames; they fell like live coals from whose +ashes the loathsome vermin escaped all singed, and the farm-house seemed +lost amid the clouds of smoke from these fires, which awakened silent +anger in all the _huerta_. + +The fields once cleared, Batiste without losing time proceeded to +cultivate them. They were somewhat hard; but like an expert farmer, he +planned to work them little by little, in sections, and marking out a +plot near his farm-house, he began to break up the earth, aided by all +his family. + +The neighbours made sport of them with an irony which betrayed their +irritation. A pretty family! They were gipsies, like those who sleep +under the bridges. They lived in that old farm-house like shipwrecked +sailors who are holding out in a ruined boat; plugging a hole here, +shoring there, doing real wonders to sustain the straw roof, and +distributing their poor furniture, carefully polished, in all the rooms +which had been before the burrowing place of rats and vermin. + +In their industry, they were like a nest of squirrels, unable to keep +idle while the father was working. Teresa, the wife, and Roseta, the +eldest daughter, with their skirts tucked in between their legs, and hoe +in hand, dug with more zeal than day-labourers, resting only to throw +back the locks of hair which kept straggling over their red, perspiring +foreheads. The eldest son made continuous trips to Valencia with the +rush-basket on his shoulder, carrying manure and rubbish which he piled +up in two heaps like columns of honour at the entrance to the +farm-house; and the three little tots, grave and laborious, as if they +understood the situation of the family, went down on all fours behind +the diggers, tearing up the hard roots of the burned shrubs from the +earth. + +This preparatory work lasted more than a week, the family sweating and +panting from dawn till night. + +Half of the land having been broken up, Batiste fenced in the plot and +tilled it with the aid of the willing nag, which was like one of the +family. + +He had only to proceed to cultivate. They were then in Saint Martin's +summer, the time of sowing, and the labourer divided the broken-up +earth into three parts. The greater part was for wheat, a smaller patch +for beans, and another part for fodder, for it would not do to forget +Morrut, the dear old horse: well had he earned it. + +And with the joy of those who discover a port after a hard voyage, the +family proceeded to the sowing. The future was assured. The fields of +the _huerta_ never failed; here bread for all the year would be +forthcoming. + +On the afternoon which completed the sowing, they saw coming over the +adjoining road some sheep with dirty wool, which stopped timidly at the +end of the field. + +Behind them walked an old man, like dried up parchment, yellowish, with +deep sunken eyes and a mouth surrounded by a circle of wrinkles. He was +walking with firm steps, but with his shepherd's crook ahead of him, as +though feeling his way along the road. + +The family looked at him with attention; he was the only person who had +ventured to approach the land within the two weeks they were here. On +noticing the hesitation of the sheep, he shouted to them to go on. + +Batiste went out to meet the old man; he could not pass through; the +fields were now under cultivation. Did he not know? + +Old Tomba had heard something, but during the two preceding weeks, he +had taken out his flock to graze upon the rank grass in the ravine of +Carraixet, without concerning himself about the fields. So indeed they +now were cultivated? + +And the old shepherd raised his head, and with his almost sightless eyes +made an effort to see the bold man who dared to do that which was held +to be impossible in all the _huerta_. + +He was silent for a long while. Then at last he began to mutter sadly: +Too bad. He had also been daring in his youth; he had liked to go +counter to everything. But when the enemies are so many! Very bad! He +had put himself into an awkward position. These lands, since the time of +old Barret, had been accursed. He could take his, Tomba's, word for it; +he was old and experienced; they would bring him misfortune. + +And the shepherd called his flock and made them start out again along +the road, but before departing, he threw back his cloak, raised his +emaciated arms, and with a certain intonation characteristic of a seer +who forecasts the future, or of a prophet who scents disaster, he cried +to Batiste: + +"Believe me, my son, they will bring you misfortune!" + +This encounter gave the _huerta_ another cause for anger. + +Old Tomba could not bring his sheep back into those lands, after +enjoying the peaceful use of their fodder for ten years! + +Not a word was said as to the legitimacy of the refusal, inasmuch as the +land was now under cultivation; they spoke only of the respect which the +old shepherd deserved, a man who in his youth had "eaten up" the French +alive, who had seen much of the world, and whose wisdom, demonstrated by +half-spoken words and incoherent advice, inspired a superstitious +respect among the people of the _huerta_. + +After Batiste and his family saw the bosom of the earth well-filled with +fertile seed, they began, for lack of work more pressing, to think of +the house. The fields would do their duty; now the time had arrived to +think about themselves. + +And for the first time since his coming to the _huerta_, Batiste left +his land for Valencia to load into his cart all the rubbish of the city +which might be useful to him. + +This man was like a lucky ant. The mounds started by Batiste increased +considerably with the expeditions of the father. The heap of manure +which formed a defensive screen before the farm-house, grew rapidly, and +beyond, there was piling up a mound of hundreds of broken bricks, +worm-eaten wood, broken-down doors, windows reduced to splinters, all +the refuse of the demolished buildings of the city. + +The people of the _huerta_ looked with astonishment at the dispatch and +clever skill of these laborious ants as they worked to prepare their +home. + +The straw roof of the house stood erect again; some of the rafters of +the roof, corroded by the rains, were reinforced, others substituted. A +new layer of straw now covered the two hanging planes of the exterior; +even the little crosses at the ends were supplanted by others which +Batiste had daintily made with his clasp knife, decorating their corners +with notched grooves: and in all the neighbourhood, there was not a roof +which rose more trimly. + +The neighbours, on noticing how Barret's house was improved when the +roof was placed erect, saw in it something to mock and to challenge. + +Then the work below was started. What ways and means of utilizing the +rubbish of Valencia! The chinks disappeared, and the plastering of the +walls being finished, the wife and daughters white-washed them a +dazzling white. The door, new and painted blue, seemed to be the mother +of all the little windows, which showed their four square faces of the +same colour through the openings of the walls; under the vine-arbour, +Batiste made a little enclosure paved with red bricks, so the women +might sew there during the afternoon. The well, after a week of descents +and laborious carryings, was cleared of all the rocks and the refuse +with which the rascals of the _huerta_ had filled it for the last ten +years, and its water, fresh and clear, began to rise once more in the +mossy bucket, with joyful creakings of the pulley, which seemed to laugh +at the district with the strident peals of laughter of a malicious old +woman. + +The neighbours chocked down their fury in silence. Thief! More than +thief! A fine way to work! This man, in his robust arms, seemed to +possess two magic wands that transformed all that he touched! + +Two months had passed since his arrival, yet he had not left his land a +half-dozen times; he was always there, his head between his shoulders, +intoxicated with work. And the house of Barret began to present a +smiling and coquettish aspect, such as it had never possessed in the +days of its former master. + +The corral, previously enclosed with rotting cane-brake, now had sides +of pickets and clay painted white, along whose edges strutted the ruddy +hens, and the cock, excited, shook his red comb. In the little square in +front of the house, beds of morning-glories and climbing plants +blossomed; a row of chipped jars painted blue served as flower-pots on +the bench of red bricks; and through the half-open door, oh vain fellow! +the new pitcher-shelf might be seen, with its enamelled tiling, and its +glazed green pitchers, casting insolent reflections which blinded the +eyes of the passerby who went along the adjoining road. + +All the _huerta_ with increasing fury ran to Pimento. "Could it possibly +be permitted? What did the terrible husband of Pepeta think of doing?" + +And Pimento, scratching his forehead, listened to them with a certain +confusion. + +What was he going to do? He would say just two little words to this +stranger who had set himself to cultivate that which was not his; he +would give him a hint, a very serious hint, not to be a fool, but to let +the land go, as he had no business there. But that accursed man would +not come forth from his fields, and it would never do to go to him and +threaten him in his own house. It would mean the giving of a foundation +for that which must follow. He had to be cautious and watch till he came +out. In short, a little patience. He was able to assure them that the +man in question would not reap the wheat, nor gather the beans, nor +anything which had been planted in the fields of Barret. That should be +for the devil. + +Pimento's words calmed the neighbours, who followed the progress of the +accursed family with attentive glances, wishing silently that the hour +of their ruin would soon arrive. + +One afternoon, Batiste returned from Valencia very well pleased with the +result of his trip. He wanted no idle hands in his house. Batiste, when +the work in the field did not take his time, was occupied in going to +the city for manure. The little girl, a willing youngster, who once they +were settled was of small use at home, had, thanks to the patronage of +the sons of Don Salvador, who seemed very well satisfied with his new +tenant, just succeeded in getting taken into a silk factory. + +On the following day, Roseta would be one of the string of girls who, +awakening with the dawn, marched with waving skirts and their little +baskets on their arm, over all the paths, on their way to the city to +spin the silky cocoon with the thick fingers of the daughters of the +_huerta_. + +When Batiste arrived near the tavern of Copa, a man appeared in the +road, emerging from an adjoining path, and walked slowly toward him, +giving him to understand that he desired to speak to him. + +Batiste stopped, regretting inwardly that he did not have with him so +much as a clasp knife or a hoe; but calm and quiet, he raised his round +head with the imperious expression so much feared by his family and +crossed his muscular arms, the arms of a former millhand, on his +breast. + +He knew this man, although he had never spoken with him; it was Pimento. + +The meeting which he had dreaded so much finally occurred. + +The bully measured this odious intruder with a glance, and spoke to him +in a bland voice, striving to give an accent of good-natured counsel to +his ferocity and evil intention. + +He wished to say to him just two words: he had been wanting to do so for +some time, but how? did he never come forth from his land? + +Two little words, no more. + +And he gave him the couple of words, counselling him to leave the lands +of old Barret as soon as possible. He should believe the people who +wished him well, those who knew the _huerta_. His presence there was an +offence, and the farm-house, which was almost new, was an insult to the +poor people. He ought to believe him, and with his family go away to +other parts. + +Batiste smiled ironically on hearing Pimento, who seemed confused by the +serenity of the intruder, humbled by meeting a man who did not seem +afraid of him. + +Go away? There was not a bully in all the _huerta_ who could make him +abandon that which was now his; that which was watered by his sweat; +moreover he had to earn bread for his family. He was a peaceful man, +understand! but if they trifled with him, he had just as much manly +spirit as most. Let every one attend to his own business, for he thought +that he would do enough if he attended to his own, and failed nobody. + +And scornfully turning his back upon the Valencian, he went his way. + +Pimento, accustomed to making all the _huerta_ tremble, was more and +more disconcerted by the serenity of Batiste. + +"Is that your last word?" he shouted to him when he was already at some +distance. + +"Yes, the last," answered Batiste without turning. + +And he went ahead, disappearing in a curve of the road. At some +distance, on the old farm of Barret, the dog was barking, scenting the +approach of his master. + +On finding himself alone, Pimento again recovered his arrogance. +_Cristo!_ How this old fellow had mocked him! He muttered some curses, +and clenching his fist, shook it threateningly at the bend in the road +where Batiste had disappeared. + +"You shall pay for this,--you shall pay for this, you thug!" + +In his tone which trembled with madness, there vibrated all the +condensed hatred of the _huerta_. + + + + +IV + + +It was Thursday, and according to a custom which dated back for five +centuries, the Tribunal of the Waters was going to meet at the doorway +of the Cathedral named after the Apostles. + +The clock of the Miguelete pointed to a little after ten, and the +inhabitants of the _huerta_ were gathering in idle groups or seating +themselves about the large basin of the dry fountain which adorned the +_plaza_, forming about its base an animated wreath of blue and white +cloaks, red and yellow handkerchiefs, and skirts of calico prints of +bright colours. + +Others were arriving, drawing up their horses, with their rush-baskets +loaded with manure, satisfied with the collection they had made in the +streets; still others, in empty carts, were trying to persuade the +police to allow their vehicles to remain there; and while the old folks +chatted with the women, the young went into the neighbouring cafe, to +kill time over a glass of brandy, while chewing at a three-centime +cigar. + +All those of the _huerta_ who had grievances to avenge were here, +gesticulating and scowling, speaking of their rights, impatient to let +loose the interminable chain of their complaints before the syndics or +judges of the seven canals. + +The bailiff of the tribunal, who had been carrying on this contest with +the insolent and aggressive crowd for more than fifty years, placed a +long sofa of old damask which was on its last legs within the shadow of +the Gothic portal, and then set up a low railing, thereby closing in the +square of sidewalk which had to serve the purpose of an +audience-chamber. + +The portal of the Apostles, old, reddish, corroded by the centuries, +extending its gnawed beauty to the light of the sun, formed a background +worthy of an ancient tribunal; it was like a canopy of stone devised to +protect an institution five centuries old. + +In the tympanum appeared the Virgin with six angels, with stiff white +gowns and wings of fine plumage, chubby-cheeked, with heavy curls and +flaming tufts of hair, playing violas and flutes, flageolets and +tambourines. Three garlands of little figures, angels, kings, and +saints, covered with openwork canopies, ran through three arches +superposed over the three portals. In the thick, solid walls, forepart +of the portal, the twelve apostles might be seen, but so disfigured, so +ill-treated, that Jesus himself would not have known them; the feet +gnawed, the nostrils broken, the hands mangled; a line of huge figures +who, rather than apostles, looked like sick men who had escaped from a +clinic, and were sorrowfully displaying their shapeless stumps. Above, +at the top of the portal, there opened out like a gigantic flower +covered with wire netting, the coloured rose-window which admitted light +to the church; and on the lower part the stone along the base of the +columns adorned with the shields of Aragon, was worn, the corners and +foliage having become indistinct through the rubbing of innumerable +generations. + +By this erosion of the portals the passing of riot and revolt might be +divined. A whole people had met and mingled beside these stones; here, +in other centuries, the turbulent Valencian populace, shouting and red +with fury, had moved about; and the saints of the portal, mutilated and +smooth as Egyptian mummies, gazing at the sky with their broken heads, +appeared to be still listening to the Revolutionary bell of the Union, +or the arquebus shots of the Brotherhood. + +The bailiff finished arranging the Tribunal, and placed himself at the +entrance of the enclosure to await the judges. The latter arrived +solemnly, dressed in black, with white sandals, and silken handkerchiefs +under their broad hats, they had the appearance of rich farmers. Each +was followed by a cortege of canal-guards, and by persistent supplicants +who, before the hour of justice, were seeking to predispose the judges' +minds in their favour. + +The farmers gazed with respect at these judges, come forth from their +own class, whose deliberations did not admit of any appeal. They were +the masters of the water: in their hands remained the living of the +families, the nourishment of the fields, the timely watering, the lack +of which kills a harvest. And the people of these wide plains, separated +by the river, which is like an impassable frontier, designated the +judges by the number of the canals. + +A little, thin, bent, old man, whose red and horny hands trembled as +they rested on the thick staff, was Cuart de Faitanar; the other, stout +and imposing, with small eyes scarcely visible under bushy white brows, +was Mislata. Soon Roscana arrived; a youth who wore a blouse that had +been freshly ironed, and whose head was round. After these appeared in +sequence the rest of the seven:--Favara, Robella, Tornos and Mestalla. + +Now all the representatives of the four plains were there; the one on +the left bank of the river; the one with the four canals; the one which +the _huerta_ of Rufaza encircles with its roads of luxuriant foliage +ending at the confines of the marshy Albufera; and the plain on the +right bank of the Turia, the poetic one, with its strawberries of +Benimaclet, its _cyperus_ of Alboraya and its gardens always overrun +with flowers. + +The seven judges saluted, like people who had not seen each other for a +week; they spoke of their business beside the door of the Cathedral: +from time to time, upon opening the wooden screens covered with +religious advertisements, a puff of incense-laden air, somewhat like the +damp exhalation from a subterranean cavern, diffused itself into the +burning atmosphere of the _plaza_. + +At half-past eleven, when the divine offices were ended and only some +belated devotee was still coming from the temple, the Tribunal began to +operate. + +The seven judges seated themselves on the old sofa; then the people of +the _huerta_ came running up from all sides of the _plaza_, to gather +around the railing, pressing their perspiring bodies, which smelled of +straw and coarse sheep's wool, close together, and the bailiff, rigid +and majestic, took his place near the pole topped with a bronze crook, +symbolic of aquatic majesty. + +The seven syndics removed their hats and remained with their hands +between the knees and their eyes upon the ground, while the eldest +pronounced the customary sentence: + +"Let the Tribunal begin." + +Absolute stillness. The crowd, observing religious silence, seemed here, +in the midst of the _plaza_, to be worshipping in a temple. The sound of +carriages, the clatter of tramways, all the din of modern life passed +by, without touching or stirring this most ancient institution, which +remained tranquil, like one who finds himself in his own house, +insensible to time, paying no attention to the radical change +surrounding it, incapable of any reform. + +The inhabitants of the _huerta_ were proud of their tribunal. It +dispensed justice; the penalty without delay, and nothing done with +papers, which confuse and puzzle honest men. + +The absence of stamped paper and of the clerk of court who terrifies, +was the part best liked by these people who were accustomed to looking +upon the art of writing of which they were ignorant with a certain +superstitious terror. Here were no secretary, no pens, no days of +anxiety while awaiting sentence, no terrifying guards, nor anything more +than words. + +The judges kept the declarations in their memory, and passed sentence +immediately with the tranquillity of those who know that their decisions +must be fulfilled. On him who would be insolent with the tribunal, a +fine was imposed; from him who had refused to comply with the verdict, +the water was taken away forever, and he must die of hunger. + +Nobody played with this tribunal. It was the simple patriarchal justice +of the good legendary king, coming forth mornings to the door of his +palace in order to settle the disputes of his subjects; the judicial +system of the Kabila chief, passing sentences at his tent-entrance. Thus +are rascals punished, and the honourable triumph, and there is peace. + +And the public, men, women, and children, fearful of missing a word, +pressed close together against the railing, moving, sometimes, with +violent contortions of their shoulders, in order to escape from +suffocation. + +The complainants would appear at the other side of the railing, before +the sofa as old as the tribunal itself. + +The bailiff would take away their staffs and shepherds' crooks, which he +regarded as offensive arms incompatible with the respect due the +tribunal. He pushed them forward until with their mantle folded over +their hands they were planted some paces distant from the judges, and if +they were slow in baring their head, the handkerchief was wrested from +it with two tugs. It was hard, but with this crafty people it was +necessary to act thus. + +The line filing by brought a continuous outburst of intricate questions, +which the judges settled with marvellous facility. + +The keepers of the canals and the irrigation-guards, charged with the +establishment of each one's turn in the irrigation, formulated their +charges, and the defendants appeared to defend themselves with +arguments. The old men allowed their sons, who knew how to express +themselves with more energy, to speak; the widow appeared, accompanied +by some friend of the deceased, a devoted protector, who acted as her +spokesman. + +The passion of the south cropped out in every case. + +In the midst of the accusation, the defendant would not be able to +contain himself. "You lie! What you say is evil and false! You are +trying to ruin me!" + +But the seven judges received these interruptions with furious glances. +Here nobody was permitted to speak before his own turn came. At the +second interruption, he would have to pay a fine of so many _sous_. And +he who was obstinate, driven by his vehement madness, which would not +permit him to be silent before the accuser, paid more and more _sous_. + +The judges, without giving up their seats, would put their heads +together like playful goats, and whisper together for some seconds; +then the eldest, in a composed and solemn voice, pronounced the +sentence, designating the fine in _sous_ and pounds, as if money had +suffered no change, and majestic Justice with its red robe and its +escort of plumed crossbowmen were still passing through the centre of +the _plaza_. + +It was after twelve, and the seven judges were beginning to show signs +of being weary of such prodigious outpouring of the stream of justice, +when the bailiff called out loudly to Bautista Borrull, denouncing him +for infraction and disobedience of irrigation-rights. + +Pimento and Batiste passed the railing, and the people pressed up even +closer against the bar. + +Here were many of those who lived near the ancient land of Barret. + +This trial was interesting. The hated new-comer had been denounced by +Pimento, who was the "_atandador_"[G] of that district. + +The bully, by mixing up in elections, and strutting about like a +fighting cock all over the neighbourhood, had won this office which gave +him a certain air of authority and strengthened his prestige among the +neighbours, who made much of him and treated him on irrigation days. + +Batiste was amazed at this unjust denunciation. His pallor was that of +indignation. He gazed with eyes full of fury at all the familiar mocking +faces, which were pressing against the rail, and at his enemy Pimento, +who was strutting about proudly, like a man accustomed to appearing +before the tribunal, and to whom a small part of its unquestionable +authority belonged. + +"Speak," said the eldest of the judges, putting one foot forward, for +according to a century-old custom, the tribunal, instead of using the +hands, signalled with the white sandal to him who should speak. + +Pimento poured forth his accusation. This man who was beside him, +perhaps because he was new in the _huerta_, seemed to think that the +apportionment of the water was a trifling matter, and that he could suit +his own blessed will. + +He, Pimento, the _atandador_, who represented the authority of the +canals in his district, had set for Batiste the hour for watering his +wheat. It was two o'clock in the morning. But doubtless the senor, not +wishing to arise at that hour, had let his turn go, and at five, when +the water was intended for others, he had raised the flood-gate without +permission from anybody (the _first_ offence), and attempted to water +his fields, resolving to oppose, by main force, the orders of the +_atandador_, which constituted the _third_ and last offence. + +The thrice-guilty delinquent, turning all the colours of the rainbow, +and indignant at the words of Pimento, was not able to restrain himself. + +"You lie, and lie doubly!" + +The tribunal became indignant at the heat and the lack of respect with +which this man was protesting. + +If he did not keep silent he would be fined. + +But what was a fine for the concentrated wrath of a peaceful man! He +kept on protesting against the injustice of men, against the tribunal +which had, as its servants, such rogues and liars as Pimento. + +The tribunal was stirred up; the seven judges became excited. + +Four _sous_ for a fine! + +Batiste, realizing his situation, suddenly grew silent, terrified at +having incurred a fine, while laughter came from the crowd and howls of +joy from his enemies. + +He remained motionless, with bowed head, and his eyes dimmed with tears +of rage, while his brutal enemy finished formulating his denunciation. + +"Speak," the tribunal said to him. But little sympathy was noted in the +looks of the judges for this disturber, who had come to trouble the +solemnity of their deliberations with his protests. + +Batiste, trembling with rage, stammered, not knowing how to begin his +defence because of the very fact that it seemed to him perfectly just. + +The court had been misled; Pimento was a liar and furthermore his +declared enemy. He had told him that his time for irrigation came at +five, he remembered it very well, and was now affirming that it was two; +just to make him incur a fine, to destroy the wheat upon which the life +of his family depended.... Did the tribunal value the word of an honest +man? Then this was the truth, although he was not able to present +witnesses. It seemed impossible that the honourable syndics, all good +people, should trust a rascal like Pimento! + +The white sandal of the president struck the square tile of the +sidewalk, as if to avert the storm of protests and the lack of respect +which he saw from afar. + +"Be silent." + +And Batiste was silent, while the seven-headed monster, folding itself +up again on the sofa of damask, was whispering, preparing the sentence. + +"The tribunal decrees ..." said the eldest judge, and there was absolute +silence. + +All the people around the roped space showed a certain anxiety in their +eyes, as if they were the sentenced. They were hanging on the lips of +the eldest judge. + +"Batiste Borrull shall pay two pounds for a penalty, and four _sous_ for +a fine." + +A murmur of satisfaction arose and spread, and one old woman even began +to clap her hands, shouting "Hurrah! hurrah!" amid the loud laughter of +the people. + +Batiste went out blindly from the tribunal, with his head lowered as +though he were about to fight, and Pimento prudently stayed behind. + +If the people had not parted, opening the way, for him, it is certain +that he would have struck out with his powerful fists, and given the +hostile rabble a beating on the spot. + +He departed. He went to the house of his masters to tell them of what +had happened, of the ill will of this people, pledged to embitter his +existence for him; and an hour later, already more composed by the kind +words of the _senores_, he set forth on the road toward his home. + +Insufferable torment! Marching close to their carts loaded with manure +or mounted on their donkeys above the empty hampers, he kept meeting on +the low road of Alboraya many of those who had been present at the +trial. + +They were hostile people, neighbours whom he never greeted. + +When he passed beside them, they remained silent, and made an effort to +keep their gravity, although a malicious joy glowed in their eyes; but +as soon as he had gone by, they burst into insolent laughter behind his +back, and he even heard the voice of a lad who shouted, mimicking the +grave tone of the president: + +"Four _sous_ for a fine!" + +In the distance he saw, in the doorway of the tavern of Copa, his enemy +Pimento, with an earthen jug in hand, in the midst of a circle of +friends, gesticulating and laughing as if he were imitating the protests +and complaints of the one denounced. His sentence was the theme of +rejoicing for the _huerta_: all were laughing. + +God! Now he, a man of peace and a kind father, understood why it is that +men kill. + +His powerful arms trembled, and he felt a cruel itching in the hands. He +slackened his pace on approaching the house of Copa; he wanted to see +whether they would mock him to his face. + +He even thought, a strange novelty, of entering for the first time to +drink a glass of wine face to face with his enemies; but the two pound +fine lay heavy on his heart and he repented of his generosity. This was +a conspiracy against the footwear of his sons; it would take all the +little pile of farthings hoarded together by Teresa to buy new sandals +for the little ones. + +As he passed the front of the tavern, Pimento hid with the excuse of +filling the jug, and his friends pretended not to see Batiste. + +His aspect of a man ready for anything inspired respect in his +neighbours. + +But this triumph filled him with sadness. How hateful the people were +to him! The entire _vega_ arose before him, scowling and threatening at +all hours. This was not living. Even in the daytime, he avoided coming +out of his fields, shunning all contact with his neighbours. + +He did not fear them, but like a prudent man, avoided disputes. + +At night, he slept restlessly, and many times, at the slightest barking +of the dogs, he leaped out of bed, rushed from the house, shotgun in +hand, and even believed on more than one occasion that he saw black +forms which fled among the adjoining paths. + +He feared for his harvest, for the wheat which was the hope of the +family and whose growth was followed in silence but with envious glances +from the other farm-houses. + +He knew of the threats of Pimento, who supported by all the _huerta_, +swore that this wheat should not be cut by him who had sowed it, and +Batiste almost forgot his sons in thinking about his fields, of the +series of green waves which grew and grew under the rays of the sun and +which must turn into golden piles of ripe wheat. + +The silent and concentrated hatred followed him out upon the road. The +women drew away, with curling lips, and did not deign to salute him, as +is the custom in the _huerta_; the men who were working in the fields +adjoining the road, called to each other with insolent expressions which +were directed indirectly at Batiste; and the little children shouted +from a distance, "Thug! Jew!" without adding more to such insults, as if +they alone were applicable to the enemy of the _huerta_. + +Ah! If he had not had the fists of a giant, those enormous shoulders and +that expression of a man who has few friends, how soon the entire _vega_ +would have settled with him! Each one hoping that the other would be the +first to dare, they contented themselves with insulting him from a +distance. + +Batiste, in the midst of the sadness which this solitude inspired in +him, experienced one slight satisfaction. Already close to the +farm-house, when he heard the barkings of the dog who had scented his +approach, he saw a boy, an overgrown youth, seated on a sloping bank +with the sickle between his legs, and holding some piles of cut +brushwood at his side, who stood up to greet him. + +"Good day, Senor Batiste!" + +And the salutation, the trembling voice of a timid boy with which he +spoke to him, impressed him pleasantly. + +The friendliness of this child was a small matter, yet he experienced +the impression of a feverish man upon feeling the coolness of water. + +He gazed with tenderness at the blue eyes, the smiling face covered by a +coat of down, and searched his memory as to who the boy might be. +Finally he remembered that he was the grandson of old Tomba, the blind +shepherd whom all the _huerta_ respected; a good boy who was serving as +a servant to a butcher at Alboraya, whose herd the old man tended. + +"Thanks, little one, thanks," he murmured, acknowledging the salute. + +And he went ahead, and was welcomed by his dog, who leaped before him, +and rubbed himself against his corduroy trousers. + +In the door of the cabin stood his wife surrounded by the little ones, +waiting impatiently, for the supper hour had already passed. + +Batiste looked at the fields, and all the fury he had suffered an hour +ago before the Tribunal of the Waters, returned at a stroke and like a +furious wave flooded his consciousness. + +His wheat was thirsty. He had only to see it; its leaves shrivelled, the +green colour, before so lustrous, now of a yellow transparency. The +irrigation had failed him; the turn of which Pimento, with his sly and +evil tricks, had robbed him, would not belong to him until fifteen days +had passed, because the water was scarce; and on top of this misfortune +all that damned string of pounds and _sous_ for a fine. Christ! + +He ate without any appetite, telling his wife the while of the +occurrence at the Tribunal. + +Poor Teresa listened to her husband, pale with the emotion of the +countrywoman who feels a pang in her heart when there must be a +loosening of the knot of the stocking which guards the money in the +bottom of the chest. Sovereign queen! They had determined to ruin them! +What sorrow at the evening-meal! + +And letting her spoon fall into the frying-pan of rice, she wept, +swallowing her tears. Then she became red with sudden passion, looked +out at the expanse of plain with she saw in front of her door, with its +white farm-houses and its waves of green, and stretching out her arms, +she cried: "Rascals! Rascals!" + +The little folks, frightened by their father's scowl, and the cries of +their mother, were afraid to eat. They looked from one to the other with +indecision and wonder, picked at their noses to be doing something, and +all of them ended by imitating their mother and weeping over the rice. + +Batiste, agitated by the chorus of sobs, arose furiously, and almost +kicked over the little table as he flung himself out of the house. + +What an afternoon! The thirst of his wheat and the remembrance of the +fine were like two fierce dogs tearing at his heart. When one, tired of +biting him, was going to sleep, the other arrived at full speed and +fixed his teeth in him. + +He wanted to distract his thoughts, to forget himself in work, and he +gave himself over with all his will to the task he had in hand, a pigsty +which he was putting up in the corral. + +But the work did not progress. He was suffocating between the mud-walls; +he wanted to look at the fields, he was like those who feel the need to +look upon their misfortune, to yield utterly and drink the cup of sorrow +to the dregs. And with his hands full of clay, he came out from the +farm-yard, and remained standing before the oblong patch of shrivelled +wheat. + +A few steps away, at the edge of the road, the murmuring canal brimmed +with red water ran by. + +The life-giving blood of the _huerta_ was flowing far away, for other +fields whose masters did not have the misfortune of being hated; and +here was his poor wheat, shrivelled, languishing, bowing its green head +as if it were making signs to the water to come near and caress it with +its cool kiss. + +To poor Batiste, it seemed that the sun was burning hotter than on other +days. The sun was at the horizon, yet the poor man imagined that its +rays were vertical, and that everything was burning up. + +His land was cracking open, it parted in tortuous grooves, forming a +thousand mouths which vainly awaited a swallow of water. + +Nor would the wheat hold its thirst until the next irrigation. It would +die, it would become dried up, the family would not have bread; and +besides so much misery, a fine on top of everything. And people even +find fault if men go to ruin! + +Furious he walked back and forth along the border of his oblong plot. +Ah, Pimento! Greatest of scoundrels! If there were no Civil Guards! + +And like shipwrecked mariners, agonizing with hunger and thirst, who in +their delirium see only interminable banquet-tables, and the clearest +springs, Batiste confusedly saw fields of wheat whose stalks were green +and straight, and the water entering, gushing from the mouths of the +sloping-banks, extending itself with a luminous rippling, as if it +laughed softly at feeling the tickling of the thirsty earth. + +At the sinking of the sun, Batiste felt a certain relief, as though it +had gone out forever, and his harvest was saved. + +He went away from his fields, from his farm-house, and unconsciously, +with slow steps, took the road below, toward the tavern of Copa. The +thought of the rural police had left his mind, and he accepted the +possibility of a meeting with Pimento, who should not be very far away +from the tavern, with a certain feeling of pleasure. + +Along the borders of the road, there were coming toward him swift rows +of girls, hamper on arm, and skirts flying, returning from the factories +of the city. + +Blue shadows were spreading over the _huerta_; in the background, over +the darkening mountains, the clouds were growing red with the splendour +of some far distant fire; in the direction of the sea, the first stars +were trembling in the infinite blue; the dogs were barking mournfully; +and with the monotonous singing of the frogs and the crickets, was +mingled the confused creaking of invisible wagons, departing over all +the roads of the immense plain. + +Batiste saw his daughter coming, separated from all the girls, walking +with slow steps. But not alone. It seemed to him that she was talking +with a man who followed in the same direction as herself, although +somewhat apart, as the betrothed always walk in the _huerta_, for whom +approach is a sign of sin. + +When he saw Batiste in the middle of the road, the man slackened his +pace and remained at a distance as Roseta approached her father. + +The latter remained motionless, as he wanted the stranger to advance so +that he might recognize him. + +"Good night, Senor Batiste." + +It was the same timid voice which had saluted him at midday. The +grandson of old Tomba. That scamp seemed to have nothing to do but +wander over the roads, and greet him, and thrust himself before his eyes +with his bland sweetness. + +He looked at his daughter, who grew red under the gaze, and lowered her +eyes. + +"Go home; home, ... I will settle with you!" + +And with all the terrible majesty of the Latin father, the absolute +master of his children, and more inclined to inspire fear than +affection, he started after the tremulous Roseta, who, as she drew near +the farm, anticipated a sure cudgeling. + +She was mistaken. At that moment the poor father had no other children +in the world but his crops, the poor sick wheat, shrivelling, drying, +and crying out to him, begging for a swallow in order not to die. + +And of this he thought while his wife was getting the supper ready. +Roseta was bustling about pretending to be busy, in order not to attract +attention and expecting from one moment to the next an outburst of +terrible anger. But Batiste, seated before the little dwarfish table, +surrounded by all the young people of his family, who were gazing +greedily by the candle-light at the earthenware dish, filled with +smoking hake and potatoes, went on thinking of his fields. + +The woman was still sighing, pondering the fine; making comparisons, +without doubt, between the fabulous sum which they were going to wrest +from her, and the ease with which the entire family were eating. + +Batiste, contemplating the voracity of his children, scarcely ate. +Batistet, the eldest son, even appropriated with feigned abstraction of +the pieces of bread belonging to the little ones. To Roseta, fear gave a +fierce appetite. + +Never until then did Batiste comprehend the load which was weighing upon +his shoulders. These mouths which opened to swallow up the meagre +savings of the family would be without food if that land outside should +dry. + +And all for what? On account of the injustice of men, because there are +laws made to molest honest workmen.... He should not stand this. His +family before everything else. Did he not feel capable of defending his +own from even greater dangers? Did he not owe them the duty of +maintaining them? He was capable of becoming a thief in order to give +them food. Why then, did he have to submit, when he was not trying to +steal, but to give life to his crops, which were all his own? + +The image of the canal, which at a short distance was dragging along its +murmuring supply for others, was torturing him. It enraged him that life +should be passing by at his very door without his being able to profit +by it, because the laws wished it so. + +Suddenly he arose, like a man who has adopted a resolution and who in +order to fulfil it, stamps everything under foot. + +"To irrigate! To irrigate!" + +The woman was terrified, for she quickly guessed all the danger of the +desperate resolution. For Heaven's sake, Batiste!... They would impose +upon him a greater fine; perhaps the Tribunal, offended by his +rebellion, would take the water away from him forever! He ought to +consider it.... It was better to wait. + +But Batiste had the enduring wrath of phlegmatic and slow men, who, when +they once lose their composure, are slow to recover it. + +"Irrigate! Irrigate!" + +And Batistet, gaily repeating the words of his father, picked up the +large hoes, and started from the house, followed by his sister and the +little ones. + +They all wished to take part in this work, which seemed like a holiday. + +The family felt the exhilaration of a people which, by a revolution, +recovers its liberty. + +They approached the canal, which was murmuring in the shade. The immense +plain was lost in the blue shadow, the cane-brake undulated in dark and +murmuring masses, and the stars twinkled in the heavens. + +Batiste went into the canal knee-deep, lowering the gates which held the +water, while his son, his wife and even his daughter attacked the +sloping banks with the hoes, opening gaps, through which the water +gushed. + +All the family felt a sensation of coolness and of well-being. + +The earth sung merrily with a greedy glu-glu, which touched the heart. +"Drink, drink, poor thing!" And their feet sank in the mud, as bent over +they went from one side to the other of the field, looking to see if the +water had reached every part. + +Batiste muttered with the cruel satisfaction which the joy of the +prohibited produces. What a load was lifted from him! The Tribunal might +come now, and do whatever it wished. His field had drunk; this was the +main thing. + +And as with the acute hearing of a man accustomed to the solitude, he +thought that he perceived a certain strange noise in the neighbouring +cane-brake, he ran to the farm, and returned immediately, holding a new +shotgun. + +With the weapon over his arm, and his finger on the trigger, he stood +more than an hour close to the bars of the canal. + +The water did not flow ahead; it spread itself out in the fields of +Batiste, which drank and drank with the thirst of a dropsical man. + +Perhaps those down below were complaining; perhaps Pimento, notified as +an _atandador_, was prowling in the vicinity, outraged at this insolent +breach of the law. + +But here was Batiste, like a sentinel of his harvest, a hero made +desperate by the struggle of his family, guarding his people who were +moving about in the field, extending the irrigation; ready to deal a +blow at the first who might attempt to raise the bars, and re-establish +the water's course. + +So fierce was the attitude of this great fellow who stood out motionless +in the midst of the canal; in this black phantom there might be divined +such a resolution of shooting at whoever might present himself, that no +one ventured forth from the adjoining cane-brake, and the fields drank +for an hour without any protest. + +And this is what is yet stranger: on the following Thursday the +_atandador_ did not have him summoned before the Tribunal of the Waters. + +The _huerta_ had been informed that in the ancient farm-house of Barret +the only object of worth was a double-barreled shotgun, recently bought +by the intruder, with that African passion of the Valencian, who +willingly deprives himself of bread in order to have behind the door of +his house a new weapon which excites envy and inspires respect. + + + + +V + + +Every morning, at dawn, Roseta, Batiste's daughter, leaped out of bed, +her eyes heavy with sleep, and after stretching out her arms in graceful +writhings which shook all her body of blonde slenderness, opened the +farm-house door. + +The pulley of the well creaked, the ugly little dog, which passed the +night outside the house, leaped close to her skirts, barking with joy, +and Roseta, in the light of the last stars, cast over her face and hands +a pail of cold water drawn from that round and murky hole, crowned at +the top by thick clumps of ivy. + +Afterward, in the light of the candle, she moved about the house +preparing for her journey to Valencia. + +The mother followed her without seeing her from the bed with all kinds +of suggestions. She could take away what was left from the supper: that +with three sardines which she would find on the shelf would be +sufficient. And take care not to break the dish as she did the other +day. Ah! And she should not forget to buy thread, needles and some +sandals for the little one. Destructive child!... She would find the +money in the drawer of the little table. + +And while the mother turned over in bed, sweetly caressed by the warmth +of the bedroom, planning to sleep a half-hour more close to the enormous +Batiste, who snored noisily, Roseta continued her evolutions. She placed +her poor meal in a basket, passed a comb through her light-blond hair, +which looked as though the sun had absorbed its colour, and tied the +handkerchief under her chin. Before going out, she looked with the +tender solicitousness of an elder sister, to see if the little ones who +slept on the floor, all in the same room, were well covered. They lay +there in a row from the eldest to the youngest, from the overgrown +Batistet to the little tot who as yet could hardly talk, like a row of +organ pipes. + +"Good-bye, until tonight!" shouted the brave girl, and passing her arm +through the handle of the basket, she closed the door of the farm-house, +placing the key underneath. + +It was already daylight. In the bluish light of dawn the procession of +workers could be seen passing over the paths and roads, all walking in +the same direction, drawn by the life of the city. + +Groups of graceful spinning-mill girls passed by, marching with an even +step, swinging with jaunty grace their right arms which cut the air like +a strong oar, and all screaming in chorus every time that any strapping +young fellow saluted them from the neighbouring fields with coarse +jests. + +Roseta walked to the city alone. Well did the poor child know her +companions, daughters and sisters of those who hated her family so +bitterly. + +Several of them were working in the factory, and the poor little +yellow-haired girl, making a show of courage more than once, had to +defend herself by sheer scratching. Taking advantage of her +carelessness, they threw dirty things into her lunch-basket; made her +break the earthenware dish of which she was reminded so many times, and +never passed near her in the mill without trying to push her over the +smoking kettle where the cocoon was being soaked while they called her a +pauper, and applied similar eulogies to her and her family. + +On the way she fled from them as from a throng of furies, and felt safe +only when she was inside the factory, an ugly old building close to the +market, whose facades, painted in water-colours the century before, +still preserved between peeling paint and cracks certain groups of +rose-coloured legs, and profiles of bronzed colour, remnants of +medallions, and mythological paintings. + +Of all the family, Roseta was the most like her father: a fury for work, +as Batiste said of himself. The fiery vapour of the caldron where the +cocoon is soaked mounted about her head, burning her eyes; but, in spite +of this, she was always in her place, fishing in the depths of the +boiling water for the loosened ends of those capsules of soft silk of +the mellow colour of caramel, in whose interior the laborious worm, the +larva of precious exudation, had just perished for the offence of +creating a rich dungeon for its transformation into the butterfly. + +Throughout the large building reigned the din of work, deafening and +tiresome for the daughters of the _huerta_, who were used to the calm of +the immense plain, where the voice carries a great distance. Below +roared the steam-engine, giving forth frightful roaring sounds which +were transmitted through the multiple tubing: pulleys and wheels +revolved with an infernal din, and as though there were not noise +enough, the spinning-mill girls, according to traditional custom, sang +in chorus with a nasal voice, the _Padre nuestro_, the _Ave Maria_, and +the _Gloria Patri_, with the same musical interludes as the chorus which +roamed about the _huerta_ Sunday mornings at dawn. + +This did not prevent them from laughing as they sang, nor from insulting +each other in an undertone between prayers, and threatening each other +with four long scratches on coming out, for these dark-complexioned +girls, enslaved by the rigid tyranny which rules in the farmer's family, +and obliged by hereditary conventions to lower their eyes in the +presence of men, when gathered together without restraint were regular +demons, and took delight in uttering everything they had heard from the +cart-drivers and labourers on the roads. + +Roseta was the most silent and industrious of them all. In order not to +distract her attention from her work, she did not sing; she never +provoked quarrels and she learned everything with such facility, that +in a few weeks she was earning three reals, almost the maximum for the +day's work, to the great envy of the others. + +At the lunch-hour these bands of dishevelled girls sallied forth from +the factory to gobble up the contents of their earthen-ware dishes. As +they formed a loafing group on the side-walk or in the immediate +porches, and challenged the men with insolent glances to speak to them, +only falsely scandalized, to fire back shameless remarks in return, +Roseta remained in a corner of the mill, seated on the floor with two or +three good girls who were from another _huerta_, from the right side of +the river, and who did not care a rap for the story of old Barret and +the hatred of their companions. + +During the first weeks, Roseta saw with a certain terror the arrival of +dusk, and with it, the hour for departure. + +Fearing her companions, who took the same road as herself, she stayed in +the factory for a time, letting them set out ahead like a cyclone, with +scandalous bursts of laughter, flauntings of skirts, daring vulgarisms, +and the odour of health, of hard and rugged limbs. + +She walked lazily through the streets of the city in the cold twilight +of winter, making purchases for her mother, stood open-mouthed before +the shop windows which began to be illumined, and at last, passing over +the bridge, she entered the dark narrow alleys of the suburbs to set +forth upon the road of Alboraya. + +So far, all was well. But after she came to the dark _huerta_ with its +mysterious noises, its dark and alarming forms which passed close to her +saluting with a deep "Good night," fear set in, and her teeth chattered. + +And it was not that the silence and the darkness intimidated her. Like a +true daughter of the country, she was accustomed to these. If she had +been certain that she would encounter no one on the road, it would have +given her confidence. In her terror, she never thought, as did her +companions, of death, nor of witches and phantasms; it was the living +who disturbed her. + +She recalled with growing fear certain stories of the _huerta_ that she +had heard in the factory; the fear that the little girls had of Pimento, +and other bullies who congregated in the tavern of Copa: heartless +fellows who pinched the girls wherever they could, and pushed them into +the canals, or made them fall behind the haylofts. And Roseta, who was +no longer innocent after entering the factory, gave free rein to her +imagination, till it reached the utmost limits of the horrible; and she +saw herself assassinated by some one of these monsters, her stomach +ripped up and soaked in blood, like those children of the legends of the +_huerta_ whose fat sinister and mysterious murderers extracted and used +in making wonderful salves and potions for the rich. + +In the twilight of winter, dark and oftentimes rainy, Roseta passed over +more than half of the road all a tremble. But the most cruel crisis, the +most terrible obstacle was almost at the end, and close to the farm--the +famous tavern of Copa. + +Here was the den of the wild beast. This was the most frequented and the +brightest bit of road. The sound of voices, the outbursts of laughter, +the thrumming of a guitar, and couplets of songs with loud shouting came +forth from the door which, like the mouth of a furnace, cast forth a +square of reddish light over the black road, in which grotesque shadows +moved about. And nevertheless, the poor mill girl, on arriving near this +place, stopped undecided, trembling like the heroines of the fairy-tales +before the den of the ogre, ready to set out through the fields in +order to make a detour around the rear of the building, to sink into the +canal which bordered the road, and to slip away hidden behind the +sloping banks; anything rather than to pass in front of this red gullet +which gave forth the din of drunkenness and brutality. + +Finally she decided; made an effort of will like one who is going to +throw himself over a high cliff, and passed swiftly before the tavern, +along the edge of the canal, with a very light step, and the marvellous +poise which fear lends. + +She was a breath, a white shadow which did not give the turbid eyes of +the customers of Copa time to fix themselves upon it. + +And the tavern passed, the child ran and ran, believing that some one +was just behind her, expecting to feel the tug of his powerful paw at +her skirt. + +She was not calm until she heard the barking of the dog at the +farm-house, that ugly animal, who by way of antithesis no doubt, was +called The Morning Star, and who came bounding up to her in the middle +of the road with bounds and licked her hands. + +Roseta never told those at home of the terrors encountered on the road. +The poor child composed herself on entering the house, and answered the +questions of her anxious mother quietly, meeting the situation +valorously by stating that she had come home with some companions. + +The spinning-mill girl did not want her father to come out nights to +accompany her on the road. She knew the hatred of the neighbourhood: the +tavern of Copa with its quarrelsome people inspired her with fear. + +And on the following day she returned to the factory to suffer the same +fears upon returning, enlivened only by the hope that the spring would +soon come with its longer days and its luminous twilights, which would +permit her to return to the house before it grew dark. + +One night, Roseta experienced a certain relief. While she was still +close to the city, a man came out upon the road and began to walk at the +same pace as herself. + +"Good evening!" + +And while the mill-girl was walking over the high bank which bordered +the road, the man walked below, among the deep cuts opened by the +wheels of the carts, stumbling over the red bricks, chipped dishes, and +even pieces of glass with which farsighted hands wished to fill up the +holes of remote origin. + +Roseta showed no disquietude. She had recognized her companion even +before he saluted her. It was Tonet, the nephew of old Tomba, the +shepherd: a good boy, who served as an apprentice to a butcher of +Alboraya, and at whom the mill-girls laughed when they met him upon the +road, taking delight in seeing how he blushed, and turned his head away +at the least word. + +Such a timid boy! He was alone in the world without any other relatives +than his grandfather, worked even on Sundays, and not only went to +Valencia to collect manure for the fields of his master, but also helped +him in the slaughter of cattle and tilled the earth, and carried meat to +the rich farmers. All in order that he and his grandfather might eat, +and that he might go dressed in the old ragged clothes of his master. He +did not smoke; he had entered the tavern of Copa only two or three times +in his life, and on Sundays, if he had some hours free, instead of +squatting on the Plaza of Alboraya, like the others to watch the +bullies playing hand-ball, he went out into the fields and roamed +aimlessly through the tangled net-work of paths. If he happened to meet +a tree filled with birds, he would stop there fascinated by the +fluttering and the cries of these vagrants of the air. + +The people saw in him something of the mysterious eccentricities of his +grandfather, the shepherd: all regarded him as a poor fool, timid and +docile. + +The mill-girl became enlivened with company. She was safer if a man +walked with her, and more so if it were Tonet, who inspired confidence. + +She spoke to him, asking him whence he came, and the youth answered +vaguely, with his habitual timidity: "From there ... from there...." and +then became silent as if those words cost him a great effort. + +They followed the road in silence, parting close to the _barraca_. + +"Good night and thanks!" said the girl. + +"Good night," and Tonet disappeared, walking toward the village. + +It was an incident of no importance, an agreeable encounter which had +banished her fear, nothing more. And nevertheless, Roseta ate supper +that night and went to bed thinking of old Tomba's nephew. + +Now she recalled the times that she had met him mornings on the road, +and it seemed to her that Tonet always tried to keep the same pace as +herself, although somewhat apart so as not to attract the attention of +the sarcastic mill-girls. It even seemed to her that at times, on +turning her head suddenly, she had surprised him with his eyes fixed +upon her. + +And the girl, as if she were spinning a cocoon, grasped these loose ends +of her memory, and drew and drew them out, recalling everything in her +existence which related to Tonet: the first time that she saw him, and +her impulse of sympathetic compassion on account of the mockery of the +mill-girls which he suffered crestfallen and timid, as though these +harpies in a troop inspired him with fear; then the frequent encounters +on the road, and the fixed glances of the boy, who seemed to wish to say +something to her. + +The following day, when she went to Valencia, she did not see him, but +at night, upon starting to return to the _barraca_, the girl was not +afraid in spite of the twilight being dark and rainy. She foresaw that +the companion who gave her such courage would put in an appearance, and +true enough he came out to meet her at almost the same spot as on the +preceding day. + +He was as expressive as usual: "Good night!" and went on walking at her +side. + +Roseta was more loquacious. Where did he come from? What a chance to +meet on two succeeding days! And he, trembling, as though the words cost +him a great effort, answered as usual: "From there ... from there ..." + +The girl, just as timid, felt nevertheless a temptation to laugh at his +agitation. She spoke of her fear, and the scares which she had met with +on the road during the winter, and Tonet, comforted by the service which +he was lending to her, unglued his lips at last, in order to tell her +that he would accompany her frequently. He always had business for his +master in the _huerta_. + +They took leave of each other with the brevity of the preceding day; but +that night the girl went to her bed restless and nervous, and dreamed a +thousand wild things; she saw herself on a black road, very black, +accompanied by an enormous dog which licked her hands and had the same +face as Tonet; and afterward there came a wolf to bite her, with a snout +which vaguely reminded her of the hateful Pimento; and the two fought +with their teeth, and her father came out with a club, and she was +weeping as if the blows which her faithful dog received were falling on +her own shoulders; and thus her imagination went on wandering. But in +all the confused scenes of her dream she saw the grandson of old Tomba, +with his blue eyes, and his boyish face covered with light down, first +indication of his manhood. + +She arose weak and broken as if she were coming out of a delirium. This +was Sunday, and she was not going to the factory. The sun came in +through the little window of her bedroom, and all the people of the +farm-house were already out of their beds. Roseta began to get ready to +go with her mother to church. + +The diabolical dream still upset her. She felt differently, with +different thoughts, as though the preceding night were a wall which +divided her existence into two parts. + +She sang gaily like a bird while she took her clothes out of the chest, +and arranged them upon the bed, which, still warm, held the impress of +her body. + +She liked these Sundays with her freedom to arise late, with her hours +of leisure, and her little trip to Alboraya to hear mass; but this +Sunday was better than the others; the sun shone more brightly, the +birds were singing with more passion, through the little window the air +entered gloriously balsamic; how should one express it! in short, this +morning had something new and extraordinary about it. + +She reproached herself now for having up to that time paid no attention +to her personal appearance. It is time, at sixteen, to think about +fixing oneself up. How stupid she had been, always laughing at her +mother who called her a dowdy! And as though it were new attire which +she looked on for the first time, she drew over her head as carefully as +if it were thin lace, the calico petticoat which she wore every Sunday; +and laced her corset tightly, as though that armour of high whalebones, +a real farmer-girl's corset, which crushed the budding breasts cruelly, +were not already tight enough. For in the _huerta_ it is considered +immodest for unmarried girls not to hide the alluring charms of nature, +so that no one might sinfully behold in the virgin the symbols of her +future maternity. + +For the first time in her life, the mill-girl passed more than a quarter +of an hour before the four inches of looking-glass, in its frame of +varnished pine, which her father had presented to her, a mirror in which +she had to look at her face by sections. + +She was not beautiful, and she knew it; but uglier ones she had met by +the dozen in the _huerta_. And without knowing why, she took pleasure in +contemplating her eyes, of a clear green; the cheeks spotted with +delicate freckles which the sun had raised upon the tanned skin; the +whitish blond hair, which had the wan delicacy of silk; the little nose +with its palpitating nostrils, projecting over the mouth; the mouth +itself, shadowed by soft down, tender as that on a ripe peach, her +strong and even teeth, of the flashing whiteness of milk, and a gleam +which seemed to light up the whole face: the teeth of a poor girl! + +The mother had to wait; the poor woman was in a hurry, moving about the +house impatiently as though spurred on by the bell which sounded from a +distance. They were going to miss mass: and meanwhile Roseta was calmly +combing her hair, constantly undoing her work, which did not satisfy +her; she went on arranging the mantle with tugs of vexation, never +finding it to her liking. + +In the _plaza_ of Alboraya, upon entering and leaving the church, +Roseta, hardly raising her eyes, scanned the door of the meat-market, +where the people were crowding in, coming from mass. + +There he was, assisting his master, giving him the flayed pieces of +meat, and driving away the swarms of flies which were covering it. + +How the big simpleton flushed on seeing her. + +As she passed the second time, he remained like one who has been +charmed, with a leg of mutton in his hand, while his stout employer, +waiting in vain for him to pass it to him, poured forth a round volley +of oaths, threatening the youth with a cleaver. + +She was sad that afternoon. Seated at the door of the farm-house, she +believed she saw him several times prowling about the distant paths, and +hiding in the cane-brake to watch her. The mill-girl wished that Monday +might arrive soon, so she might go back to the factory, and come home +over the horrible road accompanied by Tonet. + +The boy did not fail her at dusk on the following day. + +Even nearer to the city than upon the other nights, he came forth to +meet her. + +"Good evening!" + +But after the customary salutation, he was not silent. The rogue had +made progress on the day of rest. + +And slowly, accompanying his expressions with grimaces, and scratches +upon his trousers legs, he tried to explain himself, although at times a +full two minutes passed between his words. He was happy at seeing her +well. (A smile from Roseta and a "thanks," murmured faintly.) "Had she +enjoyed herself Sunday?" ... (Silence.) "He had had quite a dull time. +It had bored him. Doubtless, the custom ... then ... it seemed that +something had been lacking ... naturally he had taken a fancy for the +road ... no, not the road: what he liked was to accompany her...." + +And here he stopped high and dry: it even seemed to him that he bit his +tongue nervously to punish it for its boldness and pinched himself for +having gone so far. + +They walked some distance in silence. The girl did not answer; she went +along her way with the gracefully affected air of the mill-girls, the +basket at the left hip, and the right arm cutting the air with the +swinging motion of a pendulum. + +She was thinking of her dream; she imagined herself again to be in the +midst of that delirium, seeing wild phantasies; several times she turned +her head, believing that she saw in the twilight the dog which had +licked her hands, and which had the face of Tonet, a remembrance which +even made her laugh. But no; he who was at her side was a good fellow +capable of defending her; somewhat timid and bashful, yes, with his head +drooping, as though it hurt him to bring forth the words which he had +just spoken. + +Roseta even confused him the more. Come now; why did he go out to meet +her on the way? What would the people say? If her father should be +informed, how annoyed he would be! + +"Why? Why?" asked the girl. + +And the youth, sadder and sadder, and more and more timid, like a +convicted culprit who hears his accusation, answered nothing. He walked +along at the same pace as the girl, but apart from her, stumbling along +the edge of the road. Roseta almost believed that he was going to cry. + +But when they were near the _barraca_, and as they were about to +separate, Tonet had an impulse: as he had been intensely silent, so now +he was intensely eloquent, and as though many minutes had not elapsed, +he answered the question of the girl: + +"Why?... because I love you." + +As he said it he approached her so closely that she even felt his breath +on her face and his eyes glowed as if through them all the truth must go +out to her; and after this, repenting again, afraid, terrified by his +words, he began to run like a child. + +So then he loved her!... For two days the girl had been expecting the +word, and nevertheless, it gave her the effect of a sudden, unexpected +revelation. She also loved him, and all that night, even in dreams, she +heard him murmuring a thousand times, close to her ears, the same words: + +"Because I love you." + +Tonet did not await her the following night. At dawn Roseta saw him on +the road, almost hidden behind the trunk of a mulberry-tree, watching +her with anxiety, like a child who fears a reprimand and has repented, +ready to flee at the first gesture of displeasure. + +But the mill-girl smiled blushingly, and there was need of nothing more. + +All was said: they did not tell each other again that they loved each +other, but this matter decided their betrothal, and Tonet no longer +failed a single time to accompany her on the road. + +The stout butcher of Alboraya blustered with anger at the sudden change +in his servant, so far so diligent, and now ever inventing pretexts to +pass hours and ever more hours in the _huerta_, especially at night. + +But with the selfishness of happiness, Tonet cared no more for the oaths +and threats of his master than the mill-girl did for her father, for +whom she felt more fear than respect. + +Roseta always had some nest or other in her bedroom, which she claimed +to have found upon the road. This boy did not know how to present +himself with empty hands, and explored all the cane-brake and the trees +of the _huerta_ in order to present her, his betrothed, with round mats +of straw and twigs, in whose depths were some little rogues of +fledgelings whose rosy skin was covered with the finest down, peeping +desperately as they opened their monstrous beaks, always hungry for more +crumbs of bread. + +Roseta guarded the gift in her room, as though it were the very person +of her betrothed, and wept when her brothers, the little people who had +the farm-house for a nest, showed their admiration for the birds so +strenuously that they ended by stifling them. + +At other times, Tonet appeared with his clothes bulging, his sash filled +with lupines and peanuts bought in the tavern of Copa, and as they +walked along the road, they would eat and eat, gazing into each other's +eyes, smiling like fools, without knowing why, often seating themselves +upon a bank, without realizing it. + +She was the more sensible and scolded him. Always spending money! There +were two reals or a little less, which, in a week's time, he had left at +the tavern for such treats. And he showed himself to be generous. For +whom did he want the money if not for her? When they would be +married--which had to happen some day--he would then take care of his +money. That, however, would not be for ten or twelve years; there was +no need of haste; all the betrothals of the _huerta_ lasted for some +time. + +The matter of the wedding brought Roseta back to reality. The day her +father would learn of it.... Most holy Virgin! he would break her back +with a club. And she spoke of the future thrashing with serenity, +smiling like a strong girl accustomed to this parental authority, rigid, +imposing, and respected, which manifested itself in cuffs and cudgels. + +Their relations were innocent. Never did there arise between them the +poignant and rebellious desire of the flesh. They walked along the +almost deserted road in the dusk of the evening-fall, and solitude +seemed to drive all impure thoughts from their minds. + +Once when Tonet involuntarily and lightly touched Roseta's waist, he +blushed as if he, not she, were the girl in question. + +They were both very far from thinking that their daily meeting might +result in something more than words and glances. It was the first love, +the budding of scarcely awakened youth, content with seeing, speaking, +laughing, without a trace of sensual desire. + +The mill-girl, who on the nights of fear, had longed so for the coming +of spring, saw with anxiety the arrival of the long and luminous +twilights. + +Now she met her betrothed in full daylight, and there were never lacking +companions of the factory or some neighbour along the road, who on +seeing them together smiled maliciously, guessing the truth. + +In the factory, jokes were started by all her enemies, who asked her +with sarcasm when the wedding was to take place and nicknamed her The +Shepherdess, for being in love with the grandson of old Tomba. + +Poor Roseta trembled with anxiety. What a thrashing she was going to +bring upon herself! Any day the news might reach her father's ears. And +then it was that Batiste, on the day of his sentence in the Tribunal of +the Waters, saw her on the road, accompanied by Tonet. + +But nothing happened. The happy incident of the irrigation saved her. +Her father, contented at having saved the crops, limited himself to +looking at her several times, with his eyebrows puckered, and to +notifying her in a slow voice, forefinger raised in air, and with an +imperative accent, that henceforth she should take care to return alone +from the factory, or otherwise she would learn who he was. + +And she came back alone during all the week. Tonet had a certain respect +for Senor Batiste, and contented himself with hiding in the cane-brake, +near the road, to watch the mill-girl pass by, or to follow her from a +distance. + +As the days now were longer, there were more people on the road. + +But this separation could not be prolonged for the impatient lovers, and +one Sunday afternoon, Roseta, inactive, tired of walking in front of the +door of her house, and believing she saw Tonet in all who were passing +over the neighbouring paths, seized a green-varnished pitcher, and told +her mother that she was going to bring water from the fountain of the +Queen. + +The mother allowed her to go. She ought to divert herself; poor girl! +she did not have any friends and you must let youth claim its own. + +The fountain of the Queen was the pride of all that part of the +_huerta_, condemned to the water of the wells and the red and muddy +liquid which ran through the canals. + +It was in front of an abandoned farm-house, and was old and of great +merit, according to the wisest of the _huerta_; the work of the Moors, +according to Pimento; a monument of the epoch when the apostles were +baptizing sinners as they went about the world, so that oracle, old +Tomba, declared with majesty. + +In the afternoons, passing along the road, bordered by poplars with +their restless foliage of silver, one might see groups of girls with +their pitchers held motionless and erect upon their heads, reminding one +with their rhythmical step and their slender figures of the Greek +basket-bearers. + +This defile gave to the Valencian _huerta_ something of a Biblical +flavour; it recalled Arabic poetry, which sings of the woman beside the +fountain with the pitcher on her head, uniting in the same picture the +two most vehement passions of the Oriental: beauty and water. + +The fountain of the Queen was a four-sided pool, with walls of red +stone, and the water below at the level of the ground. One descended by +a half-dozen steps, always slippery and green with humidity. On the +surface of the rectangle of stone facing the stairs a bas-relief +projected, but the figures were indistinct; it was impossible to make +them out beneath the coat of whitewash. + +It was probably the Virgin surrounded by angels; a work of the rough and +simple art of the Middle Ages; some votive offering of the time of the +conquest: but with some generations picking at the stones, in order to +mark better the figures obliterated by the years, and others +white-washing them with the sudden impulse of barbaric curiosity, had +left the slab in such condition that nothing except the shapeless form +of a woman could be distinguished, the queen who gave her name to the +fountain: the queen of the Moors, as all queens necessarily must be in +all country-tales. + +Nor was the shouting and the confusion a small matter here on Sunday +afternoons. More than thirty girls would crowd together with their +pitchers, desiring to be the first to fill them, but then in no hurry to +go away. They pushed each other on the narrow stairway, with their +skirts tucked in between their limbs, in order to bend over and sink the +pitcher into the pool, whose surface trembled with the bubbles of water +which incessantly surged up from the bottom of the sand, where clumps of +gelatinous plants were growing, green tufts of hair-like fibres, waving +in the prison of crystal liquid, trembling with the impulse of the +current. The restless water-skippers streaked across the clear surface +with their delicate legs. + +Those who had already filled their pitchers sat down on the edge of the +pool, hanging their legs over the water and drawing them in with +scandalized screams whenever a boy came down to drink and looked up at +them. + +It was a reunion of turbulent gamin. All were talking at the same time; +they insulted each other, they flayed those who were absent, revealing +all the scandal of the _huerta_, and the young people, free from +parental severity, cast off the hypocritical expression assumed for the +house, revealing an aggressiveness characteristic of the uncultured who +lack expansion. These angelic brunettes, who sang songs to the Virgin +and litanies in the church of Alboraya so softly when the festival of +the unmarried women was celebrated, now on being alone, became bold and +enlivened their conversation with the curses of a teamster, speaking of +secret things with the calmness of old women. + +Roseta arrived here with her pitcher, without having met her betrothed +upon the road, in spite of the fact that she had walked slowly and had +turned her head frequently, hoping at every moment to see him come +forth from a path. + +The noisy party at the fountain became silent on seeing her. The +presence of Roseta at first caused stupefaction: somewhat like the +apparition of a Moor in the church of Alboraya in the midst of high +mass. Why did this pauper come here? + +Roseta greeted two or three who were from the factory, but they pinched +their lips with an expression of scorn and hardly answered her. + +The others, recovered from their surprise, and not wishing to concede to +the intruder even the honour of silence, went on talking as though +nothing had happened. + +Roseta descended to the fountain, filled the pitcher and stood up, +casting anxious glances above the wall, around over all the plain. + +"Look away, look away, but he won't come!" + +It was a niece of Pimento who said this; the daughter of a sister of +Pepeta, a dark, nervous girl, with an upturned and insolent nose, proud +of being an only daughter, and of the fact that her father was nobody's +tenant, as the four fields which he was working were his own. + +Yes; she might go on looking as much as she pleased, but he would not +come. Didn't the others know whom she was expecting? Her betrothed, the +nephew of old Tomba: a fine arrangement! + +And the thirty cruel mouths laughed and laughed as though every laugh +were a bite; not because they considered it a great joke, but in order +to crush the daughter of the hated Batiste. + +The shepherdess!... The divine shepherdess! + +Roseta shrugged her shoulders with indifference. She was expecting this: +moreover, the jokes of the factory had blunted her susceptibility. + +She took the pitcher and went down the steps, but at the bottom the +little mimicking voice of the niece of Pimento held her. How that small +insect could sting! + +"She would not marry the grandson of old Tomba. He was a poor fool, +dying of hunger, but very honourable and incapable of becoming related +to a family of thieves." + +Roseta almost dropped her pitcher. She grew red as if the words, tearing +at her heart, had made all the blood rise to her face; then she became +deathly pale. + +"Who is a thief? Who?" she asked with trembling voice, which made all +the others at the fountain laugh. + +Who? Her father. Pimento, her uncle, knew it well, and in the tavern of +Copa nothing else was discussed. Did they believe that the past could be +hidden? They had fled from their own _pueblo_ because they were known +there too well: for that reason they had come here, to take possession +of what was not theirs. They had even heard that Senor Batiste had been +in prison for ugly crimes. + +And thus the little viper went on talking, pouring forth everything that +she had heard in her house and in the _huerta_: the lies forged by the +dissolute fellows at the tavern of Copa, all invented by Pimento, who +was growing less and less disposed to attack Batiste face to face, and +was trying to annoy him, to persecute and wound him with insults. + +The determination of the father suddenly surged up in Roseta. Trembling, +stammering with fury, and with bloodshot eyes, she dropped the pitcher, +which broke into pieces drenching the nearest girls, who protested in a +chorus, calling her a stupid creature. But she was in no mood to take +notice of such things! + +"My father ..." she cried, advancing toward the one who had insulted +her. "My father a thief? Say that again and I will smash your face!" + +But the dark-haired girl did not have to repeat it, for before she could +open her lips, she received a blow in the mouth, and the fingers of +Roseta fixed themselves in her hair. Instinctively, impelled by pain, +she seized the blond hair of the mill-girl in turn, and for some time +the two could be seen struggling together, bent over, pouring forth +cries of pain and madness, with their foreheads almost touching the +ground, dragged this way and that by the cruel tugs which each one gave +to the head of the other. The hair-pins fell out, loosening the braids; +the heavy heads of hair seemed like banners of war, not floating and +victorious, but crumpled and torn by the hands of the opponent. + +But Roseta, either stronger or more furious, succeeded in disengaging +herself, and was going to drag her enemy to her, perhaps to give her a +spanking, for she was trying to take off her slipper with her free hand, +when there occurred an irritating, brutal, unheard-of scene. + +Without any spoken agreement, as if all the hatred of their families, +all the words and maledictions heard in their homes, had surged up in +them at a bound, all threw themselves together upon the daughter of +Batiste. + +"Thief! Thief!" + +In the twinkling of an eye, Roseta disappeared under the wrathful arms. +Her face was covered with scratches; she was carried down by the shower +of blows, though unable to fall, for the very crush of her enemies +impeded her; but driven from one side to the other, she ended by rolling +down head-long on the slippery stones, striking her forehead on an angle +of the stone. + +Blood! It was like the casting of a stone into a tree covered with +sparrows. They flew away, all of them, running in different directions, +with their pitchers on their heads, and in a short time no one could be +seen in the vicinity of the fountain of the Queen but poor Roseta, who +with loosened hair, skirts torn, face dirty with dust and blood, went +crying home. + +How her mother screamed when she saw her come in! How she protested +upon being told of what had occurred! Those people were worse than Jews! +Lord! Lord! Could such crimes occur in a land of Christians? + +It was impossible to live. They had not done enough already with the men +attacking poor Batiste, persecuting him and slandering him before the +Tribunal, and imposing unjust fines upon him. Now here were these girls +persecuting her poor Roseta, as though that unfortunate child had done +anything wrong. And why was it all? Because they wished to earn a living +and work, without offending anybody, as God commanded. + +Batiste turned pale as he looked at his daughter. He took a few steps +toward the road, looking at Pimento's farm-house, whose roof stood out +behind the canes. + +But he stopped and finally began to reproach his daughter mildly. What +had occurred would teach her not to go walking about the _huerta_. They +must avoid all contact with others: live together and united in the +farm-house and never leave these lands which were their life. + +His enemies would take good care not to seek him out in his own home. + + + + +VI + + +A wasp-like buzzing, the murmur of a bee-hive, was what the dwellers in +the _huerta_ heard as they passed before the Cadena mill by the road +leading to the sea. + +A thick curtain of poplar-trees closed in the little square formed by +the road as it widened before the heap of old tiled roofs, cracked walls +and small black windows of the mill, the latter an old and tumble-down +structure erected over the canal and based on thick buttresses, between +which poured the water's foaming cascade. + +The slow, monotonous noise that seemed to issue from between the trees +came from Don Joaquin's school, situated in a farm-house hidden by the +row of poplar-trees. + +Never was knowledge worse-lodged, though wisdom does not often, to be +sure, dwell in palaces. + +An old farm-house, with no other light than from the door and that which +filtered in through the cracks of the roofs: the walls of doubtful +whiteness, for the master's wife, a stout lady who lived in her +rush-chair, passed the day listening to her husband and admiring him; a +few benches, three grimy alphabets, torn at the ends, fastened to the +wall with bits of chewed bread, and in the room adjoining the school +some few old pieces of furniture which seemed to have knocked about half +of Spain. + +In the whole _barraca_ there was one new object: the long cane which the +master kept behind the door and which he renewed every couple of days +from the nearby cane-brake; it was very fortunate that the material was +so cheap, for it was rapidly used up on the hard, close-clipped heads of +those small savages. + +Only three books could be seen in the school; the same primer served for +all. Why should there be more? There reigned the Moorish method; +sing-song and repetition, till with continual pounding you got things +into their hard heads. + +Hence from morning to night the old farm-house sent from its door a +wearisome sing-song which all the birds of the neighbourhood made fun +of. + +"Our ... fa ... ther, who ... art ... in heaven." + +"Holy ... Mary ..." + +"Two times two ... fo ... up...." + +And the sparrows, the linnets, and the calendar larks who fled from the +youngsters when they saw them in a band on the roads, alighted with the +greatest confidence on the nearest trees, and even hopped up and down +with their springy little feet before the door of the school, laughing +scandalously at their fierce enemies on seeing them thus caged up, under +the threat of the rattan, condemned to gaze at them sideways, without +moving, and repeating the same wearisome and unlovely song. + +From time to time the chorus stilled and the voice of Don Joaquin rose +majestically, pouring out his fund of knowledge in a stream. + +"How many works of mercy are there?" + +"Two times seven are how many?" + +And rarely was he satisfied with the answers. + +"You are a lot of dunces. You sit there listening as though I were +talking Greek. And to think that I treat you with all courtesy, as in a +city college, so you may learn good forms and know how to talk like +persons of breeding!... In short, you have some one to imitate. But you +are as rough and ignorant as your parents, who are also dishonest: they +have money left to go to the tavern and they invent a thousand excuses +to avoid giving me Saturdays the two coppers that are due me." + +And he walked up and down indignant as he always was when he complained +of the Saturday omissions. You could see it in his hair and in his +figure, which seemed to be divided into two parts. + +Below, his torn hempen-sandals always stained with mud: his old cloth +trousers; his rough, scaly hands, which retained in the fissures of the +skin the dirt of his little orchard, a square of garden-truck which he +owned in front of the school-house, and many times this produce was all +that went into his stew. + +But from the waist upward his nobility was shown, "the dignity of the +priest of knowledge," as he would say; that which distinguished him from +all the population of the farm-houses, worms fastened to the glebe; a +necktie of loud colours over his dirty shirt-front, a grey and bristly +moustache, cutting his chubby and ruddy face, and a blue cap with an +oilcloth visor, souvenir of one of the many positions he had filled in +his chequered career. + +This was what consoled him for his poverty; especially the necktie, +which no one else in the whole district wore, and which he exhibited as +a sign of supreme distinction, a species of golden fleece, as it were, +of the _huerta_. + +The people of the farm-houses respected Don Joaquin, though as regards +the assistance of his poverty they were remiss and slothful. What that +man had seen! How he had travelled over the world! Several times a +railway employe; other times helping to collect taxes in the most remote +provinces of Spain; it was even said that he had been a policeman in +America. In short, he was a "somebody" in reduced circumstances. + +"Don Joaquin," his stout wife would say, who was always the first to +give him his title, "has never seen himself in the position he is in +today; we are of a good family. Misfortune has brought us to this, but +in our time we have made a mint of money." + +And the gossips of the _huerta_, despite the fact that they sometimes +forgot to send the two coppers for the instruction Saturdays, respected +Don Joaquin as a superior being, reserving the right to make a little +sport of his short jacket, which was green and had square tails; and +which he wore on holidays, when he sang at high mass in the choir of +Alboraya church. + +Driven by poverty, he had landed there with his obese and flabby +better-half as he might have landed anywhere else. He helped the +secretary of the village with extra work; he prepared with herbs known +only to himself certain brews which accomplished wonders in the +farm-houses, where they all admitted that that old chap knew a lot; and +without the title of schoolmaster, but with no fear that any one else +would try to take away from him a school which did not bring in enough +even to buy bread, he succeeded by much repetition and many canings, in +teaching all the urchins of five or ten, who on holidays threw stones at +the birds, stole fruit, and chased the dogs on the roads of the +_huerta_, to spell and to keep quiet. + +Where had the master come from? All the wives of the neighbours knew, +from beyond the _churreria_. And vainly were further explanations asked, +for as far as the geography of the _huerta_ was concerned, all those who +do not speak Valencian are of the _churreria_. + +Don Joaquin had no small difficulty in making his pupils understand him +and preventing them from being afraid of Castilian. There were some who +had been two months in school and who opened their eyes wide and +scratched the backs of their heads without understanding what the master +who used words never heard before in his school said to them. + +How the good man suffered! He who attributed all the triumphs of his +teaching to his refinement, to his distinction of manners, to his use of +good language, as his wife declared! + +Every word which his pupils pronounced badly (and they did not pronounce +one well), made him groan and raise his hands indignantly till they +touched the smoky ceiling of his school-house. Nevertheless he was proud +of the urbanity with which he treated his pupils. + +"You should look upon this humble school-house," he would say to the +twenty youngsters who crowded and pushed one another on the narrow +benches, listening to him half-bored and half-afraid of his rattan, "as +a temple of courtesy and good-breeding. Temple, did I say? It is the +torch that shines and dissolves the barbaric darkness of this _huerta_. +Without me, what would you be? Beasts, and pardon me the word; the same +as your worthy fathers whom I do not wish to offend! But with God's aid +you must leave here educated, able to present yourselves anywhere, since +you have had the good fortune to find a master like me. Isn't that so?" + +And the boys replied with furious noddings, some knocking their heads +against their neighbours' heads; and even his wife, moved by the temple +and the torch, stopped knitting her stocking and pushed back the +rush-chair to envelop her husband in a glance of admiration. + +He would question all the band of dirty urchins whose feet were bare and +whose shirt-tails were in the air, with astonishing courtesy: + +"Let's see, Senor de Lopis; rise." + +And Senor de Lopis, a mucker of seven with short knee trousers held up +by one suspender, tumbled off his bench and stood at attention before +the master, gazing askance at the terrible cane. + +"For some time, I've been watching you picking your nose and making +little balls of it. An ugly habit, Senor de Lopis. Believe your master. +I will let it pass this time because you are industrious and know your +multiplication table; but knowledge is nothing when good-breeding is +lacking; don't forget that, Senor de Lopis." + +And the boy who made the little balls agreed with everything, overjoyed +to get off without a caning. But another big boy who sat beside him on +the bench and who must have been nourishing some old grudge, seeing him +standing, gave him a treacherous pinch. + +"Oh, oh, master!" cried the boy. "'_'Orse-face_' pinched me!" + +What was not Don Joaquin's indignation? What most excited his anger was +the fondness the boys had for calling each other by their father's +nicknames and even for inventing new ones. + +"Who is '_'Orse_-Face'? Senor de Peris, you probably mean. What mode of +address is that, great heavens! One would think you were in a +drinking-house! If at least you had said _Horse_-Face! Wear yourself out +teaching such idiots! Brutes!" + +And raising his cane, he began to distribute resounding blows to each; +to the one for the pinch and to the other for the "impropriety of +language," as Don Joaquin expressed it, without stopping his whacks. And +his blows were so blind that the other boys on the benches shrank +together, each one hiding his head on his neighbour's shoulder; and one +little fellow, the younger son of Batiste, frightened by the noise of +the cane, had a movement of the bowels. + +This appeased the master, made him recover his lost majesty, while the +well-thrashed audience picked their noses. + +"Dona Pepa," he said to his wife, "take Senor de Borrull away, for he is +ill, and clean him after school." + +And the old woman, who had a certain consideration for the three sons of +Batiste, because they paid her husband every Saturday, seized the hand +of _Senor de Borrull_, who left the school walking unsteadily on his +weak little legs, still weeping with fear, and showing somewhat more +than his shirttail through the rear-opening of his trousers. + +These incidents concluded, the lesson-chanting was continued, and the +grove trembled with displeasure, its monotonous whisper filtering +through the foliage. + +Sometimes a melancholy sound of bells was heard and the whole school was +filled with joy. It was the flock of old Tomba approaching; all knew +that when the old man arrived with his flock, there were always a couple +of hours of freedom. + +If the shepherd was talkative, the master was no whit behind him; both +launched out on an interminable conversation, while the pupils left the +benches and came close to listen, or slipping quietly away, went to play +with the sheep who were grazing on the grass of the nearby slopes. + +Don Joaquin liked the old man. He had seen the world, showed him the +respect of speaking to him in Castilian, had a knowledge of medicinal +herbs, and yet did not take from him his own customers; in short, he was +the only person in the _huerta_ worthy of enjoying friendly relations +with him. + +His appearance was always attended by the same circumstances. First the +sheep arrived at the school-door, stuck their heads in, sniffed +curiously and withdrew with a certain contempt, convinced that there was +no food here other than intellectual, and that of small value; +afterwards old Tomba appeared walking along confidently in this +well-known region, holding his shepherd's crook, the only aid of his +failing sight, in front of him. + +He would sit down on the brick bench next to the master's door, and +there the master and the shepherd would talk, silently admired by Dona +Josefa and the bigger boys of the school, who would approach slowly and +form a group around them. + +Old Tomba, who would even talk with his sheep along the roads, spoke +slowly at first like a man who fears to reveal his limitations, but the +chat of the master would give him courage and soon he would plunge into +the vast sea of his eternal stories. He would lament over the bad state +of Spain, over what those who came from Valencia said in the _huerta_, +over bad governments in general which are to blame for bad harvests, and +he always would end by repeating the same thing: + +"Those times, Don Joaquin, those times of mine were different. You did +not know them, but your own were better than these. It's getting worse +and worse. Just think what all these youngsters will see when they are +men!" + +This was always the introduction of his story. + +"If you had only seen the followers of the Fliar!" (The shepherd could +never say friar.) "_They_ were true Spaniards; now there are only +boasters in Copa's tavern. I was eighteen years old; I had a helmet with +a copper eagle which I took from a dead man, and a gun bigger than +myself. And the Fliar!... What a man! They talk now of General +So-and-So. Lies, all lies! Where Father Nevot was, there was no one +else! You should have seen him with his cassock tucked up, on his nag, +with his curved sabre and pistols! How we galloped! Sometimes here, +sometimes in Alicante-province, then near Albacete: they were always at +our heels; but we made mince-meat of every Frenchman we caught. It seems +to me I can see them still: _musiu_ ... mercy! and I, slash, slash, and +a clean bayonet-thrust!" + +And the wrinkled old man grew bolder and rose; his dim eyes shone like +dull embers and he brandished his shepherd's staff as though he were +still piercing the enemy with his bayonet. Then came the advice; behind +the kind old fellow there arose a man all fierceness, with a hard, +relentless heart, the product of a war to the death. His fierce +instincts appeared, instincts which had, as it were, become petrified in +his youth, and thus made impervious to the flight of time. He addressed +the boys in Valencian, sharing with them the fruit of his experience. +They must believe what he told them, for he had seen much. In life, +patience to take revenge upon the enemy; to wait for the ball, and when +it comes, to hit it hard. And as he gave these counsels, he winked his +eyes, which in the hollows of the deep sockets seemed like dying stars +on the point of flickering out. He related with senile malice a past of +struggles in the _huerta_, a past of ambuscades and stratagems, and of +complete contempt for the life of one's fellow-beings. + +The master, fearing the moral effect of this on his pupils, would divert +the course of the conversation, speaking of France, which was old +Tomba's greatest memory. + +It was an hour-long topic. He knew that country as well as though he had +been born there. When Valencia surrendered to Marshal Suchet, he had +been taken prisoner with several thousand more to a great +city--Toulouse. And he intermingled in the conversation the horribly +mutilated French words which he still remembered after so many years. +What a country! There men went about with white plush hats, coloured +coats with collars reaching up to the back of their heads, high boots +like riding-boots; and the women with skirts like flute-sheaths, so +narrow that they showed all they encased; and so he went on talking of +the costumes and customs of the time of the Empire, imagining that it +all still continued and that France of today was as it was at the +beginning of the century. + +And while he related in detail all his recollections, the master and his +wife listened attentively, and some of the boys, profiting by the +unexpected recess, slipped away from the school-house, attracted by the +sheep, who fled from them as from the devil in person. For they pulled +their tails and grabbed them by the legs, forcing them to walk on their +fore-feet, and they sent them rolling down the slopes or tried to mount +on their dirty fleece; the poor creatures protested with gentle +bleatings in vain, for the shepherd did not hear them, absorbed as he +was in telling with great relish of the agony of the last Frenchman who +had died. + +"And how many fell?" the master would ask at the end of the story. + +"A matter of a hundred and twenty or thirty. I don't remember exactly." + +And the husband and wife would exchange a smile. Since the last time the +total had risen by twenty. As the years passed, his deeds of prowess +and the number of victims increased. + +The lamentations of the flock would attract the master's attention. + +"Gentlemen," he would call out to the rash youths as he reached for his +rattan, "come here, all of you. Do you imagine you can spend the day +enjoying yourself? This is the place for work." + +And to demonstrate this by example, he would brandish his cane so that +it was a delight to see it driving back all the flock of playful +youngsters into the sheep-fold of knowledge with blows. + +"With your leave, Uncle Tomba: we've been talking over two hours. I must +go on with the lesson." + +And while the shepherd, courteously dismissed, guided his sheep toward +the mill to repeat his stories there, there began once again in the +school the chant of the multiplication-table which was Don Joaquin's +great symbol of learning. + +At sunset, the boys sang their last song, thanking the Lord "because He +had helped them with His light," and each one took up again his +dinner-bag. As the distances in the _huerta_ were not small, the +youngsters would leave their homes in the morning with provisions enough +to pass the whole day in school; and the enemies of Don Joaquin even +said that one of his favourite punishments was to take away their +rations in order thus to supplement the deficiencies of Dona Pepa's +cooking. + +Fridays, when school was out, the pupils invariably heard the same +oration. + +"Gentlemen: tomorrow is Saturday: remind your mothers and tell them that +the one who does not bring his two coppers won't be let into the school. +I tell you this particularly, Mr. de ... So and So, and you, Mr. de ... +So and So" (and he would enumerate about a dozen names). "For three +weeks now you have not brought the sum agreed upon, and if this goes on, +it will prove that instruction is impossible, and learning impotent to +combat the innate barbarity of these rustic regions. I contribute +everything: my erudition, my books" (and he would glance at the three +primer-charts, which his wife picked up carefully to put them away in +the old bureau), "and you contribute nothing. Well, what I said, I +said: Any one who comes tomorrow empty-handed will not pass that +threshold. Notify your mothers." + +The boys would form in couples, holding each other's hands (the same as +in the schools of Valencia; what do you suppose?), and depart, after +kissing the horny hand of Don Joaquin and repeating glibly as they +passed near him: + +"Good-bye, until tomorrow, by God's grace." + +The master would accompany them to the little mill-square which was as a +star for roads and paths; and there the formation was broken up into +small groups and dispersed over different sections of the plain. + +"Take care, my masters, I've got an eye on you," cried Don Joaquin as a +last warning. "Look out when you steal fruit, throw stones or jump over +canals. I have a little bird who tells me everything and if tomorrow I +hear anything bad, my rattan will play the very deuce with you." + +And standing in the little square, he followed with his gaze the largest +group which was departing up the Alboraya road. + +These paid the best. Among them walked the three sons of Batiste, for +whom many a time the road had been turned into a way of suffering. + +Hand in hand the three tried to follow the other boys, who because they +lived in the farm-house next to old Batiste, felt the same hatred as +their fathers for him and for his family and never lost an opportunity +to torment them. + +The two elder ones knew how to defend themselves, and with a scratch +more or less even came out victorious at times. + +But the smallest, Pascualet, a fat-stomached little chap who was only +five years old and whom his mother adored for his sweetness and +gentleness, and hoped to make a chaplain, broke into tears the moment he +saw his brothers involved in deadly conflict with their fellow-pupils. + +Many a time the two elder boys would reach home covered with sweat and +dust as though they had been wallowing in the road, with their trousers +torn and their shirts unfastened. These were the signs of combat; the +little fellow told it all with tears. And the mother had to minister to +one or another of the larger boys, which she did by pressing a +penny-piece on the bump raised by some treacherous stone. + +Teresa was much upset on hearing of the attacks to which her son were +subjected. But she was a rough, courageous woman who had been born in +the country, and when she heard that her boys had defended themselves +well and given a good thrashing to the enemy, she would again regain her +calm. + +Good heaven! let them take care of Pascualet first of all. And the +oldest brother, indignant, would promise a thrashing to all the lousy +crew when he met them on the roads. + +Hostilities began every afternoon, as soon as Don Joaquin lost sight of +them. + +The enemies, sons or nephews of those in the tavern who threatened to +put an end to Batiste, began to walk more slowly, lessening the distance +between themselves and the three brothers. + +The words of the master, however, and the threat of the accursed bird +who saw and told everything, would still be ringing in their ears; some +laughed but on the wrong side of their mouths. That old fellow knew such +a lot! + +But the farther off they got, the less effective became the master's +threat. + +They would begin to prance around the three brothers, and laughingly +chase each other, a mere malicious pretext, inspired by the instinctive +hypocrisy of youth, to push them as they ran by, with the pious desire +of landing them in the canal that ran along the road. + +Afterwards when this manoeuvre proved unsuccessful, they would resort +to slaps on the head and sudden pulls as they ran by at full speed. + +"Thieves! Thieves!" + +And as they hurled this insult, they would pull their ears and run off, +only to turn after a little and repeat the same words. + +This calumny, invented by the enemies of their father, made the boys +absolutely frantic. The two older ones, abandoning Pascualet, who took +refuge weeping behind a tree, would seize stones and a battle would +begin in the middle of the road. + +The cobbles whistled between the branches, making the leaves fall in +showers, and bounce against the trunks and slopes: the dogs drawn by the +noise of the battle, would rush out from the farm-houses barking +fiercely, and the women from the doors of their houses would raise their +arms to heaven, crying indignantly-- + +"Rascals! Devils!" + +These scandals touched Don Joaquin to the quick and gave impetus next +day to the relentless cane. What would people say of his school, the +temple of good-breeding! + +The battle would not end until some passing carter would brandish his +whip, or until some old chap would come from the farm-houses, cudgel in +hand, when the aggressors would flee, and disperse, repenting of their +deed on seeing themselves alone, thinking fearfully, with the rapid +shifting of impressions characteristic of childhood, of that bird who +knew everything and of what Don Joaquin would have in store for them the +following day. + +And meanwhile, the three brothers would continue on their way, rubbing +the bruises they had received in the battle. + +One afternoon, Batiste's poor wife sent up a cry to heaven on seeing the +state in which her young ones arrived. + +The battle had been a fierce one! Ah! the bandits! The two older ones +were bruised as usual; nothing to worry about. + +But the little boy, the Bishop, as his mother called him caressingly, +was wet from head to foot, and the poor little fellow was crying and +trembling from cold and fear. + +The savage young rascals had thrown him into a canal of stagnant water +and his brothers had fished him out covered with disgusting black mud. + +The mother put him to bed, for the poor little chap was still trembling +in her arms, clinging around her neck, and murmuring with a voice that +sounded like the bleating of a lamb, + +"Mother! Mother!" + +"Lord God! give us patience!" All that base rabble, big and little, had +resolved to put an end to the whole family. + + + + +VII + + +Sad and frowning as though he were going to a funeral, Batiste started +forth one Thursday morning on the road to Valencia. It was horse-market +day at the river-bed and the little bag of sackcloth containing the +remainder of his savings bulged out his sash. + +Misfortunes were pouring on the family in a steady stream. The last and +fitting climax now would be that the roof should fall on their heads and +crush them to death. What people! What a place had they got into! + +The little boy was steadily getting worse, and trembled with fever in +his mother's arms, while the latter wept continually. He was visited +twice a day by the doctor; in short, it was a sickness which was going +to cost twelve or fifteen dollars,--a mere trifle, so to speak. + +The oldest boy, Batistet, could hardly go about. His head was still +swathed in bandages and his face crisscrossed with scratches, after a +big battle which he had had one morning with other boys of his own age +who were going like himself to gather manure in Valencia. All the +_fematers_ (manure-gatherers) of the district had banded against +Batistet and the poor boy could not show himself upon the road. + +The two younger ones had stopped going to school through fear of the +fights that would be forced on them on the way home. + +And Roseta, poor girl! she was the saddest of all. Her father put on a +gloomy countenance in the house, casting severe glances at her to remind +her that she must not show her feelings and that her sufferings were an +outrage on paternal authority. But when he was alone, the worthy Batiste +felt grieved over the poor girl's sadness. For he had once been young +himself and knew how heavy the sufferings of love may be. + +Everything had been discovered. After the famous quarrel at the fountain +of the Queen, the whole _huerta_ gossiped for days about Roseta's +love-affair with old Tomba's grandson. + +The fat-bellied butcher of Alboraya stormed angrily at his hired-man. +Ah, the big rascal! Now he knew why he forgot all his duties, why he +passed his afternoons wandering over the _huerta_ like a gipsy. The +young gentleman indulged himself in a fiancee, as though he had the +means to support her. And what a fiancee, great Heaven! All he had to do +was to listen to his customers as they chatted before his butcher's +table. They all said the same: they were surprised that a man like him, +religious and respectable, whose only defect was to cheat a little in +the weight, should allow his hired-man to keep company with the daughter +of the _huerta's_ enemy, an evil man who, it was said, had been in the +penitentiary. + +And as all this to the mind of the fat boss was a dishonour to his +establishment, he would become furious at every murmur of the gossiping +women and threaten his timid hired-man with his knife, or reproach old +Tomba as he tried to persuade him to reform his rascally grandson. + +Finally the butcher discharged the boy and his grandfather found him a +position in Valencia in another butcher-shop, where he asked them not to +give him any time off even on holidays, so that he would not be able to +wait for Batiste's daughter on the road. + +Tonet departed submissively, his eyes wet like one of the young lambs +whom he had so often dragged before the master's knife. He would not +return. The poor girl remained in the farm-house, hiding herself in her +bedroom to weep, making efforts not to show her suffering to her mother, +who, exasperated by so many vexations, was very intolerant, and before +her father, who threatened to kill her if she had another lover and gave +their enemies in the district any more chance to talk. + +Poor Batiste, who seemed so severe and threatening, was more grieved +than by anything else at the girl's inconsolable sorrow, her lack of +appetite, her yellow complexion and hollow eyes, and by the efforts she +made to feign indifference, in spite of the fact that she scarcely slept +at all: this, however, did not prevent her from trudging off punctually +every day to the factory with a vagueness in her eyes which showed that +her mind was far afield, and that she lived perpetually in a state of +inward dream. + +Though they did not succeed in crushing Batiste, they undoubtedly cast +on him the evil eye, for his poor Morrut, the old horse who was like a +member of the family, who had drawn the poor furniture and the +youngsters over the roads in the various peregrinations of poverty, +gradually grew weaker and weaker in his new stable, the best lodging he +had ever known in his long life of labour. + +He had behaved like a respectable equine in the worst period, when the +family had just moved to the farm, and he had had to plough up the land +accursed and petrified by ten years' neglect; when he had had to plod +continuously to Valencia to bring back debris and old boards from +buildings being torn down; when the food was not plentiful and the work +heavy. And now, when before the little window of the stable there +stretched out a large field of grass, cool, high and waving, all for +him; now that he had his table set with that green and juicy covering +which smelled gloriously, now that he was growing fat, that his angular +haunches and his bony back were rounding out, he died without even a +reason, perhaps in the exercise of his perfect right to rest, after +having helped the family through its time of trouble and tribulation. + +He lay down one day on his straw and refused to go out, gazing at +Batiste with glassy yellow eyes which silenced all angry oaths and +threats upon the master's lips. Poor Morrut seemed to be a human being! +Batiste, remembering his glance, felt like weeping. The farm-house was +all upset, and this misfortune for the time being made the family forget +poor Pascualet, who was trembling with fever in his bed. + +Batiste's wife was weeping. That poor beast whose gentle face lay there +flat on the ground had seen almost all her children come into the world. +She still remembered as though it were yesterday when they bought him in +the Sagunto-market, small, dirty, covered with scabs, a nag condemned. +It was a member of the family that was passing now. And when some +repellent old men came in a cart to take the corpse of the old worker to +the "boneyard" where they would convert his skeleton into bones of +polished brilliancy and his flesh into fertilizer, the children wept, +and called interminable farewells to poor Morrut who was carried away +with his feet stretched out stiffly and his head swaying, while the +mother, as though she felt some terrible presentiment, threw herself +with open arms upon her sick little boy. + +She saw her little son when he entered the stable to pull Morrut's tail, +Morrut, who endured all the youngster's pranks with affectionate +submission. She saw the little fellow when his father placed him on the +animal's hard spine, beating his little feet against the shining flanks +and crying, "Get up! Get up!" with his stammering child's voice. And she +felt that the death of the poor animal had somehow opened up a way for +others. Oh God! grant that her sorrowful mother's fears might be +mistaken; that only the long-suffering horse should die; and that he +should not, on his road to heaven, carry away upon his flanks the poor +little fellow now as in other times he used to carry him along the paths +of the _huerta_ grasping his mane, walking slowly so as not to make him +lose his balance! + +And poor Batiste, his mind preoccupied by so many misfortunes, confusing +all together in his fancy the sick child, the dead horse, the wounded +son and the daughter with her concentrated grief, reached the outskirts +of the city and passed over the bridge of Serranos. + +At the end of the bridge, on the esplanade between the two gardens in +front of the octagonal towers whose Gothic arcades, projecting barbicans +and noble crown of battlements rose above the grove, Batiste stopped +and passed his hands over his face. + +He had to visit the masters, the sons of Don Salvador, and ask them to +loan him a small sum to make up the necessary amount to buy a horse to +take poor Morrut's place. And as cleanliness is the poor man's luxury, +he sat down on a stone-bench, waiting his turn to have his beard +shaved,--a two weeks' growth, stiff and bristly like porcupine-quills, +which blackened his whole face. + +In the shade of the high plane-trees, the barber-shops of the district, +the open-air barbers as they were called, plied their trade. A couple of +arm-chairs with rush-seats and arms made shiny by use, a portable +furnace on which boiled the pot of water, towels of doubtful colour, and +nicked razors which scraped the hard skin of the customers with raspings +that made you shiver, constituted all the stock-in-trade of those +open-air establishments. + +Clumsy boys who aspired to be apprentices in the barber-shops of the +town were there learning how to use their arms; and while they learned +by inflicting cuts or by covering the victims' heads with clips and +bald-spots, the master conversed with the customers on the +promenade-bench or read the newspaper aloud to the group who listened +impassively. + +As for those who sat on the chair of torment, a piece of hard soap was +nibbed over their jaws, until the lather came. Then the cruel razor, and +cuts endured stoically by the customer, whose face was tinged with +blood. A little further on resounded the enormous scissors in continuous +movement passing back and forth over the round head of some vain youth, +who was left shaved like a poodle; the height of elegance, with a long +lock falling over the brow, and half the head behind carefully cropped. + +Batiste, swallowed up in the rush-chair, listened with closed eyes to +the head-barber as he read in a nasal and monotonous voice, and +commented and glossed like a man well versed in public affairs. His +shave resulted quite fortunately: all he got was three scrapes and a cut +on his ear. Other times there had been more. He paid his half-real and +departed; and entered the city through the Serranos gate. + +Two hours later he came out again and sat down on the stone-bench among +the group of customers to listen to the head-barber until the time of +the market arrived. + +The masters had just loaned him the small amount he needed to buy the +horse. The important thing now was to have a good eye in making his +choice; to keep his temper and not let himself be cheated by the cunning +gipsies who passed before him with their animals and went down the slope +to the river-bed. + +Eleven o'clock. The horse-market had evidently reached its moment of +greatest animation. There came to Batiste's ears the confused sound of +something like an invisible ebullition; the neighs of horses and voices +of men rose from the river-bed. He hesitated, hung back, like a man who +wants to put off an important resolution, and at last decided to go down +to the market. + +The river-bed as usual was dry. Some pools of water which had escaped +from the water-wheels and dams which irrigated the plain wound in and +out like serpents, forming curves and islands in a soil which was dusty, +hot and uneven, more like an African desert than a river-bed. + +At such times it was all white with sunlight, without the slightest spot +of shade. + +The carts of the farmers with their white awnings formed an encampment +in the middle of the river-bed, and along the railing, placed in a row, +stood the horses which were for sale; the black, kicking mules with +their red caparisons and their shining flanks all aquiver with +nervousness; the plough horses, strong and sad, like slaves condemned to +eternal labour, gazing with glassy eyes at all those who passed as +though they divined in them the new tyrant, and the small and lively +nags, pawing up the dust and dragging on the halter fastened to their +nose-pieces. + +Near the descent were the cast-off animals; earless dirty donkeys; sad +horses whose coat seemed to be pierced by the sharp angles of their +fleshless bones; blind mules with long stork-like necks; all the +castaways of the market, the wrecks of labour, whose hide had been +well-tanned by the stick and who awaited the arrival of the contractor +of bullfights or of the beggar who still put them to some use. + +Near the currents of water in the centre of the river-bed, on the shores +which dampness had covered with a thin cloak of grassy sod, trotted the +colts who had not been broken, their long manes flying in the wind, and +their tails sweeping the ground. Beyond the bridges, through the round +stone "eyes" could be seen the herds of bulls with their legs drawn up, +tranquilly ruminating the grass which the shepherds threw them, or +stepping lazily over the hot ground, feeling the longing for green +pastures and taking a fierce pose whenever the youngsters whistled to +them from the railings. + +The animation of the market was increasing. Around each horse whose sale +was being arranged crowded groups of gesticulating and loquacious +farmers in their shirt sleeves, their ash-sticks in their hands. The +thin, bronzed gipsies, with their long bowed legs, in sheepskin jackets +covered with patches, and fur-caps beneath which their black eyes shone +feverishly, talked ceaselessly, breathing into the faces of the +customers as though they wished to hypnotize them. + +"But just look at the horse! Notice her lines,--why, she's a beauty!" + +And the farmer, impervious to the gipsy's honeyed phrases, reserved, +thoughtful and uncertain, gazed at the ground, looked at the animal, +scratched his head and finally said with a species of obstinate energy: + +"All right ... but I won't give any more." + +To arrange the terms and solemnize the sales, the protection of a shed +was sought, under which a big woman sold small cakes or filled sticky +glasses with the contents of half a dozen bottles lined up on a +zinc-covered table. + +Batiste passed back and forth among the horses, paying no attention to +the venders who pursued him, divining his intention. + +Nothing pleased him. Alas, poor Morrut! How hard it was to find his +successor! If he had not been compelled by necessity, he would have left +without purchasing: he felt that it was an offence to the dead horse to +fix his attention on these repellent beasts. + +At last he stopped before a white nag, not very fat or sleek, with a few +galls on his legs and a certain air of fatigue; a beast of burden who, +though dejected, looked strong and willing. + +But scarcely had he passed his hand over the animal's haunches when he +found at his side the gipsy, obsequious, familiar, treating him as +though he had known him all his life. + +"That animal is a treasure; it is easy to see that you know good horses +when you see them.... And cheap: I don't think we'll quarrel over the +price ... Monote! Walk him out so this gentleman can see what a graceful +swing he has!" + +And the Monote referred to, a little gipsy, took the horse by the halter +and ran off with him over the uneven sand. The poor beast trotted after +him reluctantly, as though bored by an operation that was so frequently +repeated. + +The curious people ran up and gathered around Batiste and the gipsy, who +were gazing at the horse as it ran. When Monote returned with the animal +Batiste examined it in detail; he put his fingers between the yellow +teeth, passed his hands over his whole body, raised his hoofs to inspect +them, and looked carefully between his legs. + +"Look, look!" said the gipsy, ... "he's just made for it.... Cleaner +than the plate of the Eucharist. No one is cheated here; everything open +and aboveboard. I don't fix up horses the way the others do who +disfigure a burro before you can take your breath. I bought him last +week and I even didn't fix up those trifles he has on the legs. You saw +what a graceful swing he has. And for drawing a wagon? Why an elephant +wouldn't have the push to him that he has! You can see the signs of it +there on his neck." + +Batiste did not look dissatisfied with his examination, but he tried to +look displeased and made grimaces and rasped his throat. His misfortunes +as a carter had given him knowledge of horses and he laughed inwardly at +some of the curious ones who, influenced by the bad looks of the horse, +were arguing with the gipsy, telling him that the horse was fit only to +be sent to the boneyard. His sad and weary appearance was that of beasts +of labour who obey as long as they can stand on their legs. + +The moment of decision came. He would buy him. How much? + +"Since it's for a friend," said the gipsy, touching his shoulder +caressingly, "since it's for a nice fellow like you who will treat this +jewel of a horse well, I'll let him go for forty dollars and the +bargain's made." + +Batiste received this broadside calmly, like a man well used to such +discussions, and smiled slyly. + +"Well, since it's you I'm dealing with. I won't offer you much less. Do +you want twenty-five?" + +The gipsy stretched out his arms with dramatic indignation, retreated a +few steps, pulled at his fur cap, and made all kinds of extravagant and +grotesque gestures to express his amazement. + +"Mother of God! Twenty-five dollars! But did you look at the animal? +Even if I had stolen him, I couldn't sell him at that price!" + +But Batiste, to all his extravagant talk, always made the same reply: + +"Twenty-five. Not a cent more." + +And the gipsy, after exhausting all his persuasions, which were by no +means few, fell back on the supreme argument. + +"Monote ... walk the horse out ... so the gentleman can get a good look +at him." + +And away trotted Monote again, pulling the horse by the halter, more and +more bored by all these promenadings. + +"What a gait, hey?" said the gipsy. "You'd think he was a prince. Isn't +he worth twenty-five dollars to you?" + +"Not a penny more," repeated the hard-headed Batiste. + +"Monote ... come back. That's enough." + +And feigning indignation, the gipsy turned his back on the purchaser, +intimating thereby that all the bargaining was off, but on seeing that +Batiste was really leaving, his seriousness disappeared. + +"Come, sir.... What's your name?... Ah! Well, look, Mr. Batiste, so that +you can see that I like you and want you to own this treasure, I'm going +to do for you what I wouldn't do for any one else. Do you agree to +thirty-five dollars? Come now, say yes. I swear to you on your life that +I wouldn't do as much for my own father." + +This time his protestations, on seeing that the farmer was not moved by +the reduction and offered him a beggarly two dollars more, were even +livelier and more gesticulatory than before. Why, did that jewel of a +horse inspire him with no more liking than that? But man alive, hadn't +he eyes in his head to see his value? Come, Monote; take him out again. + +But Monote didn't have to tire himself out again, for Batiste departed, +pretending that he had given up the purchase. + +He wandered through the market looking at other horses from afar, but +always gazing out of the tail of his eye at the gipsy, who similarly +feigning indifference, was following and watching him. + +He approached a big, strong, sleek horse which he did not think of +buying, divining his high price. He had scarcely passed his hand over +the haunches when he felt a warm breath on his face, and heard the +gipsy's voice murmuring:-- + +"Thirty-three.... On your children's lives, don't say no; you see I'm +reasonable." + +"Twenty-eight," said Batiste, without turning around. + +When he grew tired of admiring that beautiful beast, he went on, and to +have something to do, watched an old farmer's wife haggling over a +donkey. + +The first gipsy had gone back to his horse again, and was gazing at him +from afar, and shaking the halter-rope as though he were calling him. +Batiste slowly drew near him, pretending absent-mindedness, looking at +the bridges over which passed the parasols of the women of the city, +like many-coloured movable cupolas. + +It was now noon. The sand of the river-bed grew hot; not the slightest +breath of wind passed over the space between the railings. In that hot +and sticky atmosphere, the sun beat down vertically penetrating the skin +and burning the lips. + +The gipsy advanced a few steps toward Batiste, offering him the end of +the rope, as a kind of taking of possession. + +"Neither your offer nor mine. Thirty, and God knows I get no profit on +it. Thirty ... don't say no, or you'll make me wild. Come, put it +there!" + +Batiste took the rope and offered his hand to the vender who pressed it +with much feeling. The bargain was concluded. + +The former began to take from his sash all that plethora of savings +which swelled out his stomach like an undigested meal: a bank-note that +the master had loaned him, a few silver dollars, a handful of small +change wrapped up in a paper-cone. When the count was completed, he +could not get out of going with the gipsy to the shed to invite him to +take a drink, and giving a few pennies to Monote for all his trottings. + +"You're carrying off the treasure of the market. It's a lucky day for +you, Mist' Bautista: you crossed yourself with your right hand, and the +Virgin came out to look at you." + +And he had to drink a second glass, the gipsy's treat, but at last, +cutting short his torrent of offers and flatteries, he seized the +halter of his new horse and helped by the obliging Monote, mounted on +the steed's bare back and left the noisy market at a trot. + +He departed well satisfied with the animal; he had not lost his day. He +scarcely remembered poor Morrut, and he felt the pride of ownership when +on the bridge and on the road, some one from the _huerta_ turned around +to examine the white steed. + +But his greatest satisfaction came when he passed before the house of +Copa. He made the beast break into an arrogant little trot as though he +were a horse of pedigree, and he saw how Pimento and all the loafers of +the _huerta_ came to the door to look after him; the wretches! Now they +would be convinced that it was difficult to crush him, and that by his +unaided efforts, he could defend himself. Now they saw that he had a new +horse. If only the trouble within the home could be as easily adjusted! + +His high, green wheat formed a kind of lake of restless waves by the +roadside; the alfalfa-grass grew luxuriantly and had a perfume which +made the horse's nostrils dilate. Batiste could not complain of his +land, but it was inside the house that he feared to meet misfortune, +eternal companion of his existence, waiting to dig its claws into him. + +On hearing the trotting of the horse, Batistet came out with his +bandaged head, and ran to hold the animal while his father dismounted. +The boy waxed enthusiastic over the new animal. He caressed him, put his +hands between his lips, and in his eagerness to get on his back, he put +one foot on the hook, seized his tail and mounted with the agility of an +Arab on his crupper. + +Batiste entered the house. As white and clean as usual, with its shining +tiles and all the furniture in its place, it seemed to be enveloped in +the sadness of a clean and shining sepulchre. + +His wife came out to the door of the room, her eyes red and swollen and +her hair dishevelled, revealing in her tired aspect the long, sleepless +nights she had spent. + +The doctor had just gone away: as usual, little hope. His manner was +forbidding, he spoke in half-words, and after examining the boy a +little, he went out without leaving any new prescription. Only when he +mounted his horse, he had said that he would return at night. And the +child was the same, with a fever that consumed his little body, which +grew thinner and thinner. + +It was the same thing every day. They had grown accustomed now to that +misfortune; the mother wept automatically, and the others went about +their usual occupations with sad faces. + +Then Teresa, who had a business head, asked her husband about the result +of his journey; she wanted to see the horse; and even sad Roseta forgot +her sorrows of love and inquired about the new acquisition. + +All, large and small, went to the barnyard to see the horse in his +stable; Batistet full of enthusiasm had brought him there. The child +remained abandoned in the big bed of the bedroom where he tossed about, +his eyes glazed with sickness, bleating weakly: "Mother! Mother!" + +Teresa examined her husband's purchase with a grave expression, +calculating in detail whether he was worth more than thirty dollars; the +daughter sought out the differences between the new horse and Morrut of +happy memory, and the two youngsters, with sudden confidence, pulled his +tail and stroked his belly, and vainly begged their older brother to put +them up on his white back. + +Everybody was decidedly pleased with this new member of the family, who +sniffed the manger in an odd way as though he found there some trace, +some remote odour of his dead companion. + +The whole family had dinner, and the excitement and enthusiasm over the +new acquisition was such that several times Batistet and the little ones +slipped away from the table to go and take a look in the stable, as +though they feared the horse had sprouted wings and flown away. + +The afternoon passed without anything happening. Batiste had to plough +up a part of the land which he was keeping uncultivated, preparing the +crop of garden-truck, and he and his son put the horse in harness, proud +to see the gentleness with which he obeyed and the strength with which +he drew the plough. + +At nightfall, when they were about to return, Teresa called them, +screaming from the farm-house door, and her voice was like that of one +who is crying for help. + +"Batiste!--Batiste!--Come quickly!" + +And Batiste ran across the field, frightened by the tone of his wife's +voice and by her wild actions; for she was tearing her hair and +moaning. + +The child was dying; you had only to see him to be convinced of it. +Batiste entered the bedroom and leaning over the bed, felt a shudder of +cold go over him, a sensation as though some one had just thrown a +stream of cold water on him from behind. The poor little Bishop scarcely +moved; he breathed stertorously and with difficulty; his lips grew +purple; his eyes, almost closed, showed the glazed and motionless pupil; +they were eyes which saw no more; and his little brown face seemed to be +darkened by a mysterious sadness as though the wings of death cast their +shadow on it. The only bright thing in that countenance was the blond +hair streaming over the pillows like a skein of curly silk; the flame of +the candle shone on it strangely. + +The mother's groans were desperate; they were like the howlings of a +maddened beast. Her son, weeping silently, had to check her, to hold her +in order to keep her from throwing herself on the little one or dashing +her head against the wall. Outside the youngsters were weeping, not +daring to come in, as though the lamentations of the mother frightened +them, and by the side of the bed stood Batiste, absorbed, clenching his +fists, biting his lips, his eyes fixed on that little body, which it was +costing so much anguish, so many shudders, to give up its hold on life. +The calm of that giant, his dry eyes winking nervously, his head bent +down toward his son, gave an even more painful impression than the +lamentations of the mother. + +Suddenly, he noticed that Batistet stood by his side; he had followed +him, alarmed by his mother's cries. Batiste was angry when he found out +that his son had left the horse alone in the middle of the field, and +the boy, drying his eyes, ran out to bring the horse back to the stable. + +In a short while, new cries awakened Batiste from his stupor. + +"Father! Father!" + +It was Batistet calling him from the door of the farm-house. The father, +foreseeing some new misfortune, ran after him, not understanding his +confused words. "The horse ... the poor white horse ... lay on the +ground ... blood...." + +And after a few steps he saw him lying on his haunches, still harnessed +to the plough but trying in vain to rise, stretching out his neck and +neighing dolorously, while from his side, near one of his forelegs, a +black liquid trickled slowly, soaking the freshly opened furrows. + +They had wounded him; perhaps he was going to die. God! A beast that he +needed like his own life and which had cost him money borrowed from the +master. + +He looked around as though seeking the perpetrator of the deed. There +was no one on the plain, which was growing purple in the twilight; +nothing could be heard but the far-off rumbling of wheels, the rustling +noise of the canebrakes, and the cries of people calling from one +farm-house to another. In the nearby roads, on the paths, there was not +a single soul. + +Batistet tried to excuse himself to his father for negligence. While he +was running toward the farm-house, he had seen a group of men coming +along the road, gay people who were laughing and singing, returning +doubtless from the inn. Perhaps it was they. + +The father would not listen to anything more.... Pimento, who else could +it be? The hatred of the district had caused his son's death, and now +that thief was killing his horse, guessing how much he needed it. God! +Was that not enough to make a Christian turn to evil ways? + +And he argued no more. Scarcely realizing what he was doing, he returned +to the farm-house, seized his musket from behind the door, and ran out, +mechanically opening the breech to see if the two barrels were loaded. + +Batistet remained near the horse, trying to staunch the blood with the +bandage from his own head. He was fear-stricken when he saw his father +running along the road with his musket cocked, longing to give vent to +his rage by slaying. + +It was terrible to see that big, quiet, slow man in whom the wild beast, +tired of being daily harassed, was now awakened. In his bloodshot eyes +burned a murderous light; all his body trembled with anger, that +terrible anger of the peaceful man who, when he passes the boundaries of +gentleness, becomes ferocious. + +Like a furious wild boar, he entered the fields, trampling down the +plants, jumping over the irrigation streams, breaking off the canes; if +he diverged from the road, it was only to reach Pimento's farm more +quickly. + +Some one was at the door. The blindness of anger and the twilight +shadows prevented him from distinguishing if it was a man or a woman, +but he saw how the person with one leap sprang in and closed the door +suddenly, frightened by that vision on the point of raising his gun and +firing. + +Batiste stopped before the closed door of the farm-house: + +"Pimento!... Thief! Come out!" + +And his voice amazed him as though it was another's. + +It was a voice which was trembling and shrill, high-pitched and +suffocated by anger. + +No one answered. The door remained closed; closed the windows and the +three loop-holes at the top which lighted the upper story, the _cambra_, +where the crops were kept. + +The scoundrel was probably gazing at him through some crack, perhaps +even cocking his gun to fire some treacherous shot from one of the high +small windows. And instinctively, with that foresight of the Moor always +alert in suspecting all kinds of evil tricks of the enemy, he hid behind +the trunk of a giant fig-tree which cast its shade over Pimento's +house. + +The latter's name resounded ceaslessly in the silence of the twilight +accompanied by all kinds of insults. + +"Come down! You coward! Come out, you thug!" + +And the farm-house remained silent and closed, as though it had been +abandoned. + +Batiste thought he heard a woman's stifled cries; the noise of a +struggle; something which made him suppose a fight was going on between +poor Pepeta and Pimento, whom she was trying to prevent from going out +to answer the insults; but after that he heard nothing, and his insults +reverberated in a silence which made him desperate. + +This infuriated him more than if the enemy had shown himself. He felt +himself going mad. It seemed to him that the mute house was mocking him, +and abandoning his hiding-place, he threw himself against the door, +striking it with the butt of his gun. + +The timbers trembled with the pounding of the infuriated giant. He +wished to vent his rage on the dwelling, since he could not annihilate +the master, and not only did he beat the door, but he also struck his +gun against the walls, dislodging enormous pieces of plaster. Several +times, he even raised the weapon to his face, wishing to fire his two +shots at the two little windows of the _cambra_, and was deferred from +this only by his fear that he would remain disarmed. + +His anger increased; he roared forth insults; his bloodshot eyes could +scarcely see; he staggered like a drunken man. He was almost on the +point of falling to the ground in a fit of apoplexy, agonized with +anger, choked by fury, when suddenly the red clouds which surrounded him +tore themselves apart, his fury gave way to weakness, he saw all his +misfortune, felt himself crushed; his anger, broken by the terrible +tension, vanished, and Batiste, amidst the torrent of insults, felt his +voice grow stifled till it became a moan, and at last he burst out +crying. + +And he stopped insulting Pimento. He began gradually to retreat, till he +reached the road, and sat down on a bank, his musket at his feet. There +he wept and wept, feeling a great relief, caressed by the shadows of +night which seemed to share his sorrow, for they became deeper, deeper, +hiding his childish weeping. + +How unfortunate he was! Alone against all! He would find the little +fellow dead when he returned to the farm; the horse which was his +livelihood made useless by those traitors; trouble coming on him from +every direction, surging up from the roads, from the houses, from the +cane-brakes, profiting by all occasions to wound him and his; and he +defenceless, could not protect himself from these enemies who vanished +the moment, weary of suffering, he tried to turn on them. + +Lord! what had he done to deserve such sufferings? Was he not an honest +man? + +He felt himself more and more crushed by grief. Unable to move he +remained seated on the bank; his enemies might come; he had not even the +strength to pick up the musket that lay at his feet. + +Over the road resounded the slow tolling of a bell which filled the +darkness with mysterious vibrations. Batiste thought of his little boy, +of the poor "Bishop" who probably had died by now. Perhaps that sweet +chime was made by the angels who came down from heaven to bear the +child's soul away; and who unable to find his farm were flying over the +_huerta_. If only the others did not remain, those who needed the +strength of his arm to support them!... The poor man longed for +annihilation; he thought of the happiness of leaving down there on that +bank, that ugly body, the life of which it cost him so much to sustain, +and embracing the innocent little soul of his boy, of flying away like +the blessed ones whom he had seen guided by angels in the paintings of +the church. + +The chimes seemed to approach and dark figures which his tear-wet eyes +could not distinguish passed by on the road. He felt some one touch him +with the end of a stick and, raising his head, he saw a solitary figure, +a kind of spectre leaning toward him. + +And he recognized old Tomba, the only one of the _huerta_ to whom he +owed no suffering. + +The shepherd, considered as a sorcerer, possessed the amazing intuition +of the blind. Scarcely had he recognized Batiste when he seemed to +understand all his misfortune. He felt with his stick the musket lying +at his feet, and turned his head, as though looking for Pimento's farm +in the darkness. + +He spoke slowly, with a quiet sadness, like a man accustomed to the +miseries of a world which he must soon leave. He divined that Batiste +was weeping. + +"My son ... my son...." + +He had expected everything that had occurred. He had warned him the +first day when he saw him settled on the accursed lands. They would +bring him misfortune. + +He had just passed by Batiste's farm and had seen lights through the +open door ... he had heard cries of despair; the dog was howling ... the +little boy had died, hadn't he? And he yonder, thinking he was seated on +a bank, when in reality he sat with one foot in prison. Thus men are +lost and their families broken up. He would end with some mad and +foolish murder, like poor Barret, and would die like him, in prison. It +was inevitable; those lands were cursed by the poor and could give forth +only accursed fruits. + +And muttering his terrible prophecies, the shepherd went his way behind +his sheep on the village road, advising poor Batiste to leave also, and +go away, very far away, where he could earn his bread without having to +struggle against the hatred of the poor. And now invisible, shrouded in +the shadows, Batiste still heard his slow, sad voice which made him +shudder: + +"Believe me, my son ... they will bring you misfortune!" + + + + +VIII + + +Batiste and his family did not realize how the unheard-of, unexpected +event began; who was the first who decided to pass the bridge that +joined the road to the hated fields. + +In the farm-house they were in no condition to notice such details. +Exhausted with suffering, they saw that the people of the _huerta_ had +suddenly begun to come to them, and they did not protest, for misfortune +needs counsel, nor did they offer thanks for the unexpected impulse to +approach. + +The news of the little boy's death had been transmitted through all the +neighbourhood with the strange swiftness with which all news spreads in +the _huerta_, flying from farm to farm on the wings of scandal, which is +the swiftest of all telegraphs. + +Many slept poorly that night. It seemed as though the little boy, as he +departed, had left a thorn fixed in the consciences of the neighbours. +More than one woman tossed about in bed, disturbing with her +restlessness her husband's sleep, making him protest indignantly. "But +curse you! will you go to sleep?..." No, she couldn't; that child +prevented her from sleeping. Poor little fellow! What would he tell the +Lord when he reached Heaven? + +All shared the responsibility of that death, but each one with +hypocritical egotism attributed to his neighbour the chief blame for the +bitter persecution whose consequences had fallen on the little fellow's +head; each gossiping woman blamed her enemy for the deed. And at last +she went to sleep with the intention of undoing all the evil done, of +going in the morning to offer her aid to the family, of weeping over the +poor child; and amid the mists of sleep they thought they saw Pascualet, +as white and resplendent as an angel, looking with reproachful eyes at +those who had been so hard with him and his family. + +All the people of the neighbourhood rose meditating as to how they could +approach and enter Batiste's house. It was an examination of conscience, +an explosion of repentance which burst on the poor farm-house from every +end of the plain. + +It had scarcely dawned when two old women who lived in a neighbouring +farm-house entered Batiste's home. The family, crushed with grief, felt +almost no wonder at seeing those two women appear in the house which no +one had entered for more than six months. They wanted to see the child, +the poor little "Bishop," and entering the bedroom they gazed at him +still lying there in the bed; the edge of the sheet pulled up to his +chin scarcely outlining the shape of his body, his blond head inert and +heavy on the pillow. The mother could only weep in her corner, all +shrunken and crouched together, as small as a child, as though she were +trying to annihilate herself and disappear. + +After these women came others and still others; it was a stream of +weeping old women who arrived from all parts of the plain; surrounding +the bed, they kissed the little corpse and seemed to take possession of +him as their own, leaving Teresa and her daughter aside; the latter, +exhausted by lack of sleep and weeping, seemed imbecile as they hung +their red and tear-wet faces on their breasts. + +Batiste, seated in a rush-chair, in the middle of the farm-house, gazed +stupidly at that procession of people who had so ill-treated him. He +did not hate them, but neither did he feel gratitude. He had come forth +from the crisis of the day before crushed, and he gazed at all this with +indifference, as though the farm-house were not his, as though the poor +little fellow on the bed were not his son. + +Only the dog curling up at his feet seemed to remember and feel hatred: +he sniffed hostilely at all the procession of petticoats that came and +went, and growled as though he wanted to bite and only refrained from +doing so in order not to displease his masters. + +The young people shared the dog's resentment. Batistet scowled at all +those old women who had made fun of him so often when he passed before +their houses, and he took refuge in the stable so as not to lose sight +of the poor horse, whom he was curing according to the instructions of +the veterinary, called in the night before. He was very fond of his +little brother; but death has no remedy, and what he was anxious about +now was that the horse should not be permanently lame. + +The two little ones, pleased in their hearts at a misfortune which +attracted to their house the attention of the whole plain, kept watch +over the door, barring the way to the small boys who like bands of +sparrows arrived by all roads and paths with morbid and excited +curiosity to see the little body of the dead child. Now _their_ turn had +come; now _they_ were the masters. And with the courage of those who are +in their own homes, they threatened and drove away some and let others +enter, giving them their favour according to the treatment they had +received from them in the bloody vicissitudes of their peregrinations on +their way home from school.... Rascals! There were even some who +insisted on entering after having played a part in the battle during +which poor Pascualet had fallen into the canal, thus catching the +illness which had been his death. + +The appearance of a weak, pale little woman seemed to bring suddenly on +the whole family a host of painful recollections. It was Pepeta, +Pimento's wife! Even she came! + +An impulse of protestation came over both Batiste and his wife. But to +what purpose? Welcome, and if she entered to enjoy their misfortune, she +could laugh as much as she wished. There they were all inert, crushed by +grief. God, the all-seeing, would give to every one his deserts. + +But Pepeta went straight to the bed, pushing the other women aside. She +bore in her arms an enormous bunch of flowers and leaves which she +spread out upon the bed. The first perfumes of the nascent springtime +spread through the room which smelled of medicine, and in whose heavy +atmosphere insomnia and sighs of desperation seemed to be inhaled. + +Pepeta, the poor beast of burden, dead for maternity though married with +the hope of becoming a mother, lost her calm on seeing that little +marble face, framed in the turned-back hair as in a nimbus of gold. + +"My son!... my poor little boy!" + +And she wept with all her soul, as she bent over the little corpse, +barely grazing with her lips the pale, cold brow, as though she feared +to awaken him. + +On hearing her sobs, Batiste and his wife raised their heads in +astonishment. They knew now that she was a good woman: _he_ was the bad +one. And a mother's and father's gratitude shone in their eyes. + +Batiste even trembled when he saw how poor Pepeta embraced Teresa and +her daughter, and mingled her tears with theirs. No; here was no +duplicity. She herself was a victim; that was why she could understand +the misfortunes of others who were also victims. + +The little woman wiped away her tears, and became again the brave, +strong woman accustomed to the labour of a beast of burden to keep up +her house. She cast an amazed glance around. Things could not stay like +that. The child in the bed and everything in disorder! The "Bishop" must +be laid out for his last journey, he must be dressed in white, pure and +resplendent as the dawn, whose name he bore. + +And with the instinct of a superior being born for practical life, with +the power of imposing obedience on others, she began to give orders to +all the women who vied in doing some service for the family they had +hitherto cursed so vehemently. + +She would go to Valencia with two companions to buy the shroud and the +coffin. Others went to the village, or scattered about among the +neighbouring farm-houses in search of the objects which Pepeta charged +them to procure. + +Even the hateful Pimento who remained invisible, had to contribute to +these preparations. His wife met him on the road and ordered him to look +for some musicians for the evening. They were, like himself, vagabonds +and drunkards; he would certainly find them at Copa's. And the bully, +who seemed preoccupied that day, listened to his wife's words without +reply and endured the imperious tone in which she spoke to him, gazing +down at the ground as though ashamed. + +Since the previous night he felt himself transformed. That man who had +defied and insulted him and kept him shut up in his own house like a +timid hen; his wife, who for the first time had imposed her will upon +him and taken his musket away; his lack of courage to face his victim, +who was wholly in the right; all these reasons kept him confused and +crushed. + +He was no longer the Pimento of other days; he began to know himself and +even to suspect that all the things done against Batiste and his family +amounted to a crime. There even came a moment when he despised himself. +What a man he was!... All the mean tricks of himself and the other +neighbours had served only to take the life of a poor child. And as was +his custom in dark days, when some trouble made him frown, he marched +off to the tavern, seeking the consolations that Copa kept in his famous +wine-barrel in the corner. + +At ten in the morning, when Pepeta and her two companions returned from +the city, the house was filled with people. + +Some men who were very slow and heavy and domestic, who had taken little +part in the crusade against the strangers, formed a group with Batiste +in the door of the farm-house; some squatting, in Moorish fashion, +others seated in rush-chairs, smoking and speaking slowly of the weather +and the crops. + +Inside, women and more women, pressing around the bed, deafening the +mother with their talk; some speaking of the sons they had lost, others +installed in corners as though they were in their own homes, gossiping +about all the rumours of the neighbourhood. That day was extraordinary; +it made no difference that their houses were dirty and that dinner must +be cooked; there was an excuse. The children clinging to their skirts +wept and deafened everybody with their cries, some wanting to return +home, others begging to be shown the "Bishop." + +Some old women took possession of the cupboard and every moment prepared +big glasses of sugared wine and water, offering them to Teresa and her +daughter so they could weep more comfortably, and when the poor +creatures, swollen by this sugary inundation, declined to drink, the +officious old gossips took turns in swallowing the refreshments +themselves, for they also needed to recover from their sorrow. + +Pepeta began to shout, desirous of inspiring respect in this confusion. +"Go away, all of you!" Instead of staying here and bothering people, +they ought to take the two poor women away with them, for they were +exhausted with sorrow and driven crazy by so much noise. + +Teresa objected to abandoning her son even for a short time; she would +soon see him no more; they should not steal from her any of the time +that remained to her to look upon her treasure. And bursting out into +even greater lamentations, she threw herself on the cold corpse, wishing +to embrace it. + +But the supplications of her daughter and Pepeta's will were stronger, +and Teresa, escorted by a great number of women, left the farm-house +with her apron over her face, moaning, staggering, heedless of those +who pulled her away with them, each one vying with the other as to who +should take her home. + +Pepeta began to arrange the funeral ceremony. She placed in the centre +of the entrance the little white table on which the family ate, and +covered it with a sheet, fastening the ends with pins. On it they placed +a quilt which was starched and lace-trimmed, and there they placed the +little coffin brought from Valencia, a jewel of a coffin which the +neighbours admired; a white casket trimmed with gold braid, padded +inside like a baby's cradle. + +Pepeta took out of a bundle the last finery of the dead child; the +shroud of gauze woven of silver thread, the sandals, the garland of +flowers, all white, whose purity was symbolic of that of the poor little +"Bishop." + +Slowly, with maternal care, Pepeta shrouded the corpse. She pressed the +cold little body against her breast, introduced into the shroud, with +the greatest care, the rigid little arms, as though they were bits of +glass which might be broken at the least shock, and kissed the icy feet +before putting them into the sandals. + +In her arms, like a white dove stiff with cold, she carried Pascualet +to the casket; to that altar raised in the middle of the farm-house +before which the whole _huerta_, drawn by curiosity, would defile. + +Nor was this all: the best was still lacking, the garland, a bonnet of +white flowers with festoons which hung over the ears; a barbaric +adornment like those worn by savages at the opera. Pepeta's pious hand, +engaged in a terrible struggle with death, stained the pale cheeks a +rosy colour; the mouth, blackened by death, she toned up with a layer of +bright scarlet, but her efforts to open the weak eyelids wide were vain; +they kept falling, covering the dull filmed eyes, eyes without lustre, +which had the grey sadness of death. + +Poor Pascualet ... unhappy little Bishop! With his grotesque garland and +his painted face, he was turned into a ridiculous scarecrow. He had +inspired more sorrowful tenderness when his pale little face had been +livid in death on his mother's pillow, adorned only with his own blond +hair. + +But all this did not prevent the good women of the _huerta_ from +admiring Pepeta's work enthusiastically. Look at him, ... why, he +seemed to be asleep! So beautiful, so pinkly flushed!... never had such +a little Abbot been seen before. + +And they filled the hollows of his casket with flowers; flowers on the +white vestment, scattered on the table, piled up in clusters at the +ends; the whole plain's luxuriance embraced the child's body, which it +had so often seen running along its paths like a bird; enveloped it with +a wave of colour and perfume. + +The two small brothers gazed on Pascualet astonished, piously, as on a +superior being who might take flight at any time; the dog prowled around +the catafalque stretching out his muzzle to lick the cold, waxen, little +hands, and burst out into an almost human lamentation, a moan of despair +which made the women nervous and impelled them to chase the poor beast +away with kicks. + +At noon, Teresa, escaping almost by main force from the captivity in +which her neighbours kept her, returned home. Her mother-love filled her +with a feeling of deep satisfaction when she beheld the little fellow's +finery; she kissed his painted mouth and redoubled her lamentations. + +It was dinner-time. Batistet and the little ones, whose grief did not +succeed in killing their appetites, devoured a broken crust, hidden in +the corners. Teresa and her daughter had no thought of food. The father, +still seated in his rush-chair, smoked cigar after cigar, impassive as +an Oriental, turning his back on his dwelling as if he feared to see the +white catafalque which served as an altar for his son's body. + +In the afternoon, the visitors were more numerous. The women arrived, +decked out in holiday attire, and wearing their mantillas for the +funeral; the girls disputed energetically as to who should be one of the +four to carry the poor little Bishop to the cemetery. + +Walking slowly by the edge of the road and avoiding the dust as though +it were a deadly danger, some distinguished visitors arrived: Don +Joaquin and Dona Josefa, the schoolmaster and the "lady." That +afternoon, because of the unhappy event (as he declared), there was no +school, as was very evident, from the crowd of bold and sticky boys who +slipped into the farm-house, and tired of contemplating the corpse of +their erstwhile companion as they picked at their noses, came out to +run around on the nearby road or to jump over the canals. + +Dona Josefa, in a threadbare woollen dress and a large yellow mantilla, +entered the farm-house silently, and after a few pompous phrases caught +from her husband, seated her robust self in a large rope-chair and +remained as mute as if asleep, in contemplation of the coffin. The good +woman, accustomed to hearing and admiring her husband, could not carry +on a conversation by herself. + +The schoolmaster, who was showing off his short green jacket which he +wore on days of ceremony, and his necktie of gigantic proportions, sat +down outside by the father's side. His big farmer's hands were encased +in black gloves which had grown grey in the course of years, till now +they were the colour of a fly's wing; he moved them constantly, desirous +of drawing attention to the garments he wore on occasions of great +solemnity. + +For Batiste's benefit, he brought out the most flowery and high-sounding +phrases of his repertory. The latter was his best customer; not a single +Saturday had he failed to give his sons the two coppers for the school. + +"It's life, Mr. Bautista; resignation. We never know God's plans. Often +he turns evil into good for his creatures." + +And interrupting his string of commonplaces, uttered pompously as though +he were in school, he lowered his voice and added, blinking his eyes +maliciously: + +"Did you notice, Mr. Batiste, all these people? Yesterday they were +cursing you and your family; and God knows how many times I have +censured them for this wickedness; today they enter your house as though +they were entering their own, and overwhelm you with manifestations of +affection. Misfortune makes them forget, brings them close to you." + +And after a pause, during which he stood with lowered head, he added +with conviction, striking his breast: + +"Believe me, for I know them well; at bottom they are very good people. +Very stupid, certainly. Capable of the most barbarous actions, but with +hearts which are moved by misfortune and which make them draw in their +claws.... Poor people! Whose fault is it that they were born stupid and +that no one tries to help them to overcome it?" + +He was silent for some time, and then he added with the fervour of a +merchant praising his article: + +"What is necessary here is education, much education. Temples of wisdom +to spread the light of knowledge over this plain; torches which ... +which.... In short, if more youngsters came to my temple, I mean to my +school, and if the fathers, instead of getting drunk paid punctually +like you, Mr. Bautista, things would be different. And I say nothing +more, for I don't like to offend." + +There was danger of this, for many of the fathers who sent him pupils +unballasted by the two pennies were near. + +Other farmers, those who had shown the family the most hostility, did +not dare to approach the house, and remained grouped together on the +road. + +Among them was Pimento, who had just arrived from the tavern with five +musicians, his conscience easy after remaining a few hours near Copa's +counter. + +More and more people poured into the farm-house. There was no free space +left in it, and the women and children sat on the brick-benches beneath +the vine-arbour or on the slopes, waiting for the hour set for the +funeral. + +Within were heard lamentations, counsels energetically uttered, the +noise of a struggle. It was Pepeta, trying to separate Teresa from her +son's body. Come!... she must be reasonable; the "Bishop" could not stay +there for ever, it was getting late, and it was better to drink the +bitter cup down and get it over with. + +And she struggled with the mother to make her leave the coffin and enter +the bedroom, so as not to be present at the terrible moment of +departure, when the "Bishop" would rise and take flight on the white +wings of his shroud never to return. + +"My son! his mother's darling!" moaned poor Teresa. + +She would see him no more; one kiss, another; and the head, more and +more marblelike and livid despite the paint, moved from one side of the +pillow to the other, making the diadem of flowers shake in the anxious +hands of the mother and sister who disputed the last kiss. + +At the end of the village the vicar would be found with the sacristan +and the acolytes: they must not be kept waiting. Pepeta was growing +impatient. Inside! Inside! And aided by other women, Teresa and her +daughter were installed almost by main force in the bedroom, and walked +up and down with dishevelled hair and eyes, red with weeping, their +breasts heaving with a protest of sorrow which expressed itself not with +moans but with howls. + +Four girls with hoop-skirts, their silk mantillas falling over their +eyes, and who had a modest and nun-like expression, seized the legs of +the little table, raising all the white catafalque. Like the salvos +saluting the flag as it is raised, there resounded a strange, prolonged, +terrifying moan, which made chills run down the backs of many. It was +the dog taking leave of the poor "Bishop," uttering an interminable +lamentation, tears in his eyes and paws outstretched as if he wished +himself to follow his very cry. + +Outside, Don Joaquin was clapping his hands to command attention. Come +now ... let the whole school form! The people on the road had approached +the farm-house. Pimento captained the musicians; the latter prepared +their instruments to salute the "Bishop" as soon as the coffin should +pass the threshold, and amid the disorder and shouts with which the +procession formed, the clarinet trilled, the cornet played, and the +trombone blew like a fat, asthmatic old man. + +The youngsters started out, raising high great bunches of sweet basil. +Don Joaquin knew how to do things properly. Afterward, breaking through +the crowd, appeared the four damsels holding the light, white altar on +which the poor "Bishop," lying in his coffin, moved his head with a +slight movement from side to side as though he were taking leave of the +farm-house. + +The musicians burst forth into a playful, merry waltz, taking up their +position behind the bier, and behind them, all the curious people ran +along the little road to the farm in compact groups. + +The farm-house remained mute and dark, with that melancholy atmosphere +of places over which misfortune has passed. + +Batiste, alone under the vine-arbour, still in his attitude of an +impressive Arab, bit his cigar and followed the course of the procession +which began to wind along the highway, the coffin and its catafalque +looking like an enormous white dove among the black robes and green +branches which marked the cortege. + +Auspiciously did the poor "Bishop" set out upon his way to the heaven of +the innocents. The plain, stretching out voluptuously under the kiss of +the springtime sun, enveloped the dead child with its fragrance, +accompanied him to the tomb, and covered him with an imperceptible +shroud of perfumes. The old trees, which had germinated, filled with the +sap of new life, seemed to greet the little corpse as they moved in the +breeze, their branches heavy-laden with flowers. Never had Death passed +over the earth so beautiful a mask. + +Dishevelled and screaming like madwomen, waving their arms furiously, +the two unhappy women appeared in the door of the farm-house, their +voices prolonged like an interminable moan in the quiet atmosphere of +the plain, pervaded with soft light. + +"My son!... My soul!..." moaned poor Teresa and her daughter. + +Nnnnn! nnnnn! howled the dog, stretching out his muzzle in a long groan, +which set the nerves on edge and seemed to send a funereal shiver over +all the plain. + +"Good-bye, Pascualet!... Good-bye!" cried the little ones, swallowing +their tears. + +And from afar, among the foliage, borne over the green waves of the +fields, replied the echoes of the valley, accompanying the poor "Bishop" +to eternity, as he swayed back and forth in his white barge trimmed with +gold. The complicated scales of the cornet, with its diabolic capers, +seemed like a happy outburst of laughter from Death, who with the child +in her arms, departed amid the sunset resplendencies of the plain. + +At evening-fall, the procession returned home. + +The little ones, sleepy from the excitement of the preceding night, when +Death had visited them, slept in their chairs. Teresa and her daughter, +overcome by weeping, their energy exhausted after so many sleepless +nights, were prostrated. They fell on the bed which still showed signs +of the poor child's body, while Batistet snored in the stable near the +sick horse. + +The father, still silent and impassive, received visitors, shook hands, +and gave thanks with movements of the head to the offers and consolatory +expressions. + +When the night shut in, all had gone. + +The farm-house remained dark and silent. Through the murky open door +there came, like a far-off whisper, the weary breathing of the tired +family, all of whom had fallen exhausted as though slain in the battle +of grief. + +Batiste, still motionless, gazed stupefied at the stars which twinkled +in the dark blue of night. + +Solitude brought him to his senses; he began to realize his situation. + +The plain had its usual aspect, but to him it appeared more beautiful, +more tranquillizing, like a frowning face which unbends and smiles. + +The people, whose shouts resounded in the distance in the doors of the +farm-houses, no longer hated him and would no longer persecute his +children. They had been beneath his roof and had blotted out with their +footsteps the curse that lay on the lands of old Barret. He would begin +a new life. But at what a price! + +And suddenly facing the exact realization of his misfortune, thinking of +poor Pascualet, who now lay crushed by a heavy weight of damp and fetid +earth, his white vestment contaminated by the corruption of other +bodies, ambushed by the filthy worm, the beautiful boy with the delicate +skin over which his calloused hand had been wont to glide, the blond +hair which he had so often caressed, he felt a leaden wave which rose +from his stomach to his throat. + +The crickets which sang on the nearby slope grew silent, frightened by +the strange hiccough which broke the stillness, and sounded in the +darkness for the greater part of the night like the stertorous breathing +of a wounded beast. + + + + +IX + + +St. John's day arrived, the greatest period of the year; the time of +harvest and abundance. + +The air vibrated with light and colour. An African sun poured torrents +of gold upon the earth, cracking it with its ardent caresses, and its +arrows of gold slipped in between the compressed foliage, an awning of +verdure under which the _vega_ protected its babbling canals and its +humid furrows, as though fearful of the heat which generated life +everywhere. + +The trees showed their branches loaded with fruit. The medlar trees bent +over under the weight of the yellow clusters covered with glazed leaves; +apricots glowed among the foliage like the rosy cheeks of a child; the +boys scanned the corpulent fig-trees with impatience, greedily seeking +the early first fruit, and in the gardens on top of the walls, the +jasmines exhaled their suave fragrance, and the magnolias, like +incensories of ivory, scattered their perfume in the burning +atmosphere, impregnated with the odour of ripe fruit. + +The gleaming sickles were shearing the fields, felling low the golden +heads of wheat, the heavy ears of grain, which oppressed with +superabundance of life, were bending toward the ground, their slender +stalks doubling beneath them. + +On the threshing-floor the straw was mounting up, forming hills of gold +which reflected the light of the sun; the wheat was fanned amid the +whirling clouds of dust, and in the fields whose tops were lopped off, +along the stubble, the sparrows hopped about, seeking the forgotten +grains. + +Every one was happy, all worked joyfully. The carts creaked on all the +roads, bands of boys ran over the fields, or gambled on the +threshing-floors, thinking of the cakes of new wheat, of the life of +abundance and satisfaction which began in the farm-house upon the +filling of the lofts; even the old nags seemed to look on with happy +eyes, and to walk with more alacrity, as though stimulated by the odour +of the mounds of straw which, like rivers of gold, would slip through +their cribs during the course of the year. + +The money, hoarded in the bedrooms during the winter, hidden away in the +chest or in the depth of a stocking, began to circulate through the +_vega_. Toward the close of the day, the taverns began to fill with men, +reddened and bronzed by the sun, their rough shirts soaked with sweat, +who talked about the harvest and the payment of Saint John, the +half-year's rent which they had to pay over to the masters of the land. + +The abundance had also brought happiness to the farm-house of Batiste. +The crops had made them forget the little "Abbot." Only the mother, with +sudden tears and some profound sighs, revealed the fleeting remembrance +of the little one. + +It was the wheat, the full sacks which Batiste and his son carried up to +the granary, and which made the floor tremble, and the whole house shake +as they fell from their shoulders, that interested all the family. + +The good season began. Their good fortune now was as extreme as their +past misfortune. The days slipped by in saintly calm and much work, but +without the slightest incident to disturb the monotony of a laborious +existence. + +The affection which all the neighbours had shown at the burial of the +little one had somewhat cooled down. As the remembrance of this +misfortune became deadened, the people seemed to repent of the +spontaneous impulse of tenderness and recalled once more the catastrophe +of old Barret and the arrival of the intruders. + +But the peace spontaneously made before the white casket of the little +one was not disturbed by this. Somewhat cold and suspicious, yes; but +all exchanged salutations with the family; the sons were able to go +through the plain without being annoyed, and even Pimento when he met +Batiste, would nod his head in a friendly manner, mumbling something +which was like an answer to his salutation. + +In short, those who did not like them, left them alone, which was all +that they could desire. + +And in the interior of the farm-house, what abundance ... what +tranquillity! Batiste was surprised at the harvest. The lands, rested, +untouched by cultivation for a long time, seemed to have sent forth at +one time all the life accumulated in their depths after ten years of +repose. The grain was heavy and abundant. According to the news which +circulated through the plain, it was going to command a good price, and +what was better (Batiste smiled on thinking of this), he did not need to +pay out the profit as rent, for he was exempt for two years. He had +paid well for this advantage by many months of alarm and struggle and by +the death of poor Pascualet. + +The prosperity of the family seemed to be reflected in the farm-house, +clean and brilliant as never before. Seen at a distance, it stood out +from the neighbouring houses, as though revealing that it had in it more +prosperity and peace. Nobody would have recognized in it the tragic +house of old Barret. + +The red bricks of the pavement in front of the door shone, polished by +the daily rubbings; the flower-beds of sweet-basil and morning-glories +and the bind-weeds formed pavilions of green, on top of which, outlined +against the sky, stood out the sharp, triangular pediment of the +farm-house, of immaculate whiteness; within might be seen the fluttering +of the white curtains which covered the windows of the bedrooms, the +shelves with piles of plates and concave platters leaning against the +wall, showing big fantastic birds, and flowers like tomatoes painted on +the background, and on the pitcher-shelf, which looked like an altar of +glazed tile, there appeared, like divinities against thirst, the fat +enamelled pitchers, and the jars of china and greenish glass, hanging +from nails in a row. + +The ancient and ill-treated furniture, which was a continuous reminder +of the old wanderings and fleeing from misery, began to disappear, +leaving space for others, which the diligent Teresa bought on her trips +to the city. The money from the harvest was invested in repairing the +breaches in the furniture of the farm-house made by the months of +waiting. + +The family smiled at times, recalling the threatening words of Pimento. +This wheat, which according to the bully, nobody should reap, began to +fatten all the family. Roseta had two more skirts, and Batistet and the +little ones strutted about on Sundays, dressed anew from head to foot. + +While crossing the plain during the sunniest hours, when the atmosphere +burned, and the flies and bees buzzed heavily, one felt a sensation of +comfort before this farm-house, which was so fresh and clean. The corral +through its walls of mud and stakes, revealed the life which it +enclosed. The hens clucked, the cock crowed, the rabbits leaped forth +from the burrows of a great pile of new kindling; the ducks, watched by +the two little sons of Teresa, swam upon the nearby canal, and the +flocks of chickens ran over the stubble, peeping without ceasing, moving +their little rosy bodies, scarcely covered with fine down. + +To say nothing of the fact that Teresa shut herself up in her bedroom +more than once, and opening a drawer of the dresser, untied handkerchief +after handkerchief, in order to go into ecstasies before a little heap +of silver coins, the first money which her husband had been able to make +the fields yield. This was just a beginning, and if times should be +good, more and more money would be added to this, and who knows if when +the time came these savings might not free the little ones from military +service. + +The concentrated and silent joy of the mother was noted also in Batiste. + +One should have seen him on a Sunday afternoon, smoking a cuarto-stogie +in honour of the festival, passing before the house, and watching his +fields lovingly. Two days before, he had planted corn and beans in them, +as almost all of his neighbours had, since the earth must not be allowed +to remain idle. + +He could hardly manage with the two fields which he had broken up and +cultivated. But like old Barret, he felt the intoxication of the land; +he wished to take in more and more with his labour, and though it was +somewhat late, he planned on the following day to break up that part of +the uncultivated earth which remained behind the farm-house, and plant +melons there, an unsurpassed crop, from which his wife might make a very +good profit, taking them as others did to the market at Valencia. + +He should thank God for finally permitting him to live at peace in this +paradise. What lands were these of the plain! According to history, even +the Moorish dogs had wept upon being ejected from them. + +The reaping had cleared the countryside, bringing low the masses of +wheat variegated with poppies which shut in the view on all sides like +ramparts of gold; now the plain seemed to be much larger, infinite; it +stretched out and out until the large patches of red earth, cut up by +paths and canals, disappeared from view. + +Over all the plain the Sunday holiday was rigorously observed, and as +there was a recent harvest, and not a little money, nobody thought of +violating the rule. There was not a single man to be seen working in +the fields, nor a horse upon the roads. The old women passed over the +paths with the snowy mantle over their eyes, and their little chair upon +their arm, as if the bells which were ringing in the distance, very far +away, over the tiled roofs of the village, were calling them; along a +cross-road, a numerous group of children were screaming, pursuing one +another; over the green of the sloping-banks stood out the red trousers +of some soldiers who were taking advantage of the holiday, to spend an +hour in their homes; there sounded in the distance, like the sharp +ripping of cloth, the reports of shot-guns fired at flocks of swallows +which were wheeling about from one side to the other in a capricious +quadrille, emitting mellow whistles, so high it seemed they would graze +their wings against the crystal blue of the sky; over the canals buzzed +clouds of mosquitoes, almost invisible; and in a green farm-house, under +the old vine-arbour, there stirred about, in a kaleidoscopic maze of +colours, flowered skirts and showy handkerchiefs, and the guitars +sounded with a dreamy rhythm, lulling to sleep at last the cornet which +was shrieking, pouring forth to every end of the plain, as it slept +beneath the sun, the Moorish sounds of the _jota_, the Valencian dance. + +This tranquil landscape was the idealization of laborious and happy +Arcadia. There could be no evil people here. Upon awakening, Batiste +stretched himself with a pleasurable feeling of laziness, yielding to +the tranquil comfort with which the atmosphere seemed to be impregnated. +Roseta had gone away with the little ones to a dance at a farm-house: +his wife was taking her siesta, and he was walking back and forth from +his house to the road over the bit of uncultivated land which served as +an entrance for vehicles. + +Standing on the little bridge, he answered the salutations of the +neighbours, who passed by laughing, as if they were going to witness a +very funny spectacle. + +They were going to Copa's tavern to see at close range the famous +contest between Pimento and the two brothers, Terrerola, two bad +characters like the husband of Pepeta, who also had sworn hatred to +work, and passed the whole day in the tavern. Among them sprung up no +end of rivalry and bets, especially when a time like this arrived, when +the gatherings at the establishment swelled. The three bullies outdid +one another in brutality, each one anxious to acquire more renown than +the others. + +Batiste had heard of this bet, which was drawing people to the famous +tavern as though it were a public festivity. + +The proposition was to see who could remain seated longest playing at +cards, and drinking nothing but brandy. + +They started Friday evening, and on Sunday afternoon, the three were +still in their little rope-chairs, playing the hundredth game of cards, +with the jug of _aguardiente_ on the little table before them, leaving +the cards only to swallow the savoury blood-pudding which gave great +fame to Copa, because he knew so well how to preserve it in oil. + +And the news, spreading itself throughout all the plain, made all the +people come in a procession from a league roundabout. The three bullies +were not alone for a moment. They had their supporters, who assumed the +duty of occupying the fourth place in the game, and upon the coming of +the night, when the mass of spectators retired to their farms, they +remained there, watching them play in the light of the candle dangling +from a black poplar-tree, for Copa was an impatient fellow, incapable +of putting up with the tiresome wager, and so when the hour for sleep +arrived, he would close the door, and after renewing their supply of +brandy leave the players in the little square. + +Many feigned indignation at the brutal contest, but at bottom they all +felt satisfaction in having such men for neighbours. Such men were +reared by the _huerta_! The brandy passed through their bodies as if it +were water. + +All the neighbourhood seemed to have an eye fixed upon the tavern, +spreading the news about the course of the bet with prodigious celerity. +Two pitchers had already been drunk, and no effect at all. Then three +... and still they were steady. Copa kept account of the drinking. And +the people, according to their preference, bet for one or the other of +the three contestants. + +This event, which for two days had stirred up so much interest in the +_vega_, and did not yet seem to have any end, had reached the ears of +Batiste. He, a sober man, incapable of drinking without feeling +nauseated and having a headache, could not avoid feeling a certain +astonishment, bordering on admiration, for these brutes whose stomachs, +it seemed to him, must be lined with tin-plate. It would be a spectacle +worth seeing. + +And with a look of envy, his eyes followed those who were going toward +the tavern. Why should he not go also? He had never entered the house of +Copa, in other times the den of his enemies: but now the extraordinary +nature of the event justified his presence ... and, the devil! after so +much work and such a good harvest, an honest man could allow himself a +little self-indulgence. + +And crying out to his sleeping wife to tell her where he was going, he +set out on the road toward the tavern. + +The mass of people which filled the little plaza in front of the house +of Copa were like a swarm of human ants. All the men of the +neighbourhood were there without any coats or waistcoats, with corduroy +trousers, bulging black sash and a handkerchief wound around their heads +in the form of a mitre. The old people were leaning upon their heavy +staffs of yellow Lira-wood, with black arabesque work; the young people +with shirt-sleeves rolled up, displayed sinewy and ruddy arms, and as +though in contrast moved slender wands of ash between their thick, +calloused fingers. The tall black poplars which surrounded the tavern +gave shade to the animated groups. + +Batiste noticed attentively for the first time the famous tavern with +its white walls, its painted blue windows, and its hinges inset with +showy tiles of Manises. + +It had two doors. One was to the wine-cellar. Through the open doors +could be seen two rows of enormous casks, which reached up to the +ceiling, heaps of empty and wrinkled skin-sacks, large funnels and +enormous measures tinged red by the continuous flow of liquid; there at +the back of the room stood the heavy cart which went to the very ends of +the province to deliver purchases of wine. This dark and damp room +exhaled the fumes of alcohol, the perfume of grape-juice which so +intoxicated the sense of smell and disturbed the sight that one had the +feeling that both earth and air would soon be drenched with wine. + +Here were the treasures of Copa, which were spoken of with unction and +respect by all the drunkards of the _huerta_. He alone knew the secret +of the casks; his vision, penetrating the old staves, estimated the +quality of the red liquid which they contained; he was the high priest +of this temple of alcohol; when he wished to treat some one, he would +draw forth a glass in which sparkled liquid the colour of topaz, and +which was topped by a rainbow-hued crown of brilliants, as piously as +though he held the monstrance in his hands. + +The other door was that of the tavern itself, which was open from an +hour before daybreak until ten at night; through this the light of the +oil-lamp which hung above the counter cast over the black road a large +and luminous square. + +The walls and wainscots were of red, glazed bricks to the height of a +man, and were bordered by a row of flowered tiles. From there up to the +ceiling, the wall was dedicated to the sublime art of the painter, for +Copa, although he seemed to be a coarse man, whose only thought was to +have his cash drawer full at night, was a true Maecenas. He had brought a +painter from the city, and kept him there more than a week, and this +caprice of the great protector of the arts had cost him, as he himself +declared, some five dollars, more or less. + +It was really true that one could not shift his gaze about without +meeting with some masterful work of art, whose loud colours seemed to +gladden the customers and stimulate them to drink. Blue trees over +purple fields, yellow horizons, houses larger than trees, and people +larger than houses; hunters with shot-guns which looked like brooms, and +Andalusian gallants with blunderbusses thrown over their legs, and +mounted upon spirited steeds which had all the appearance of gigantic +rats. A prodigy of originality which filled the drinkers with +enthusiasm! And over the doors of the rooms, the artist, referring +discreetly to the establishment, had painted astonishing paintings of +edible delicacies; pomegranates like open hearts, and bleeding melons +which looked like enormous pimientoes, and balls of red worsted which +were supposed to represent peaches. + +Many maintained that the importance of the house over the other taverns +of the _huerta_ was due to such astonishing adornment, and Copa cursed +the flies which dimmed such beauty. + +Close to this door was the counter, grimy and sticky: behind it the +three rows of little casks, crowned with battlements of bottles, all the +diversified and innumerable liquors of the establishment. From the +beams, like grotesque babies, hung sheets of long sausages and +black-puddings, clusters of peppers as red and pointed as devils' +fingers; and relieving the monotony of the scene, some red hams and +majestic bunches of pork-sausage. The free-lunch for delicate palates +was kept in a closet of turbid glass close to the counter. There were +the _estrellas de pastaflora_,[H] the raisin-cakes, the sugar-frosted +rolls, the _magdalenas_[I] all of a certain dark tinge and with +suspicious spots which showed old age; the cheese of Murviedo, tender +and fresh, pieces like soft white loaves still dripping whey. + +Also the tavern-keeper counted on his larder, where in monumental tins +were the green split olives and the black-puddings of onion preserved in +oil, which had the greatest sale. + +At the back of the tavern opened the door of the yard, vast and spacious +with its half dozen fireplaces to cook the _paellas_[J]; its white +pillars propping up an old wall-vine, which gave shade to the large +enclosure; and piled along one side of the wall, stools and small zinc +tables of such prodigious quantity that Copa seemed to have foreseen +the invasion of his house by the whole population of the plain. + +Batiste, scanning the tavern, perceived the owner, a big man whose +breast was bare, but whose cap with ear-laps was drawn down even in +midsummer over his face, which was enormous, chubby-cheeked and livid. +He was the first customer of his establishment: he would never lie down +satisfied if he had not drunk a half-pitcher of wine during his three +meals. + +On this account, doubtless, this bet which stirred up the entire plain +as it spread abroad, scarcely took his attention. + +His counter was the watch-tower from which, as an expert critic, he +watched the drunkenness of his customers. And in order that no outsider +should assume the role of bully in his house, he always put his hand +before speaking upon a club which he kept under the counter, a species +of ace of clubs, the sight of which made Pimento and all the bullies of +the neighbourhood tremble. In his house there was no trouble. If they +were going to kill each other, out into the road! And when claspknives +began to be opened and raised aloft on Sunday nights, Copa, without +speaking a word, nor losing his composure, would rush in between the +combatants, seize the bravest by the arm, carry him through space to the +door and put him out upon the very highroad; then barring the door, he +would calmly begin to count the money in the drawer before going to bed, +while blows and the tumult of the renewed quarrel resounded outside. It +was all just a matter of closing the tavern an hour early, but within +it, there would never need to be a judge while he should be behind the +counter. + +Batiste, after glancing furtively from the door to the saloonkeeper, +who, aided by his wife and a servant, waited on the customers, returned +to the little plaza, and joined a group of old people, who were +discussing which of the three supporters of the bet seemed most serene. + +Many farmers, tired of admiring the three bullies, were playing cards on +their own account, or lunched, forming a group around the little tables. +The jug circulated, pouring forth a red stream which emitted a faint +_glu-glu_ as it gushed into the open mouths. Some gave others handfuls +of peanuts and lupines. The maids of the tavern served in hollow plates +from Manises the dark and oily black-puddings, the fresh cheese and the +split olives in their broth, on whose surface floated fragrant herbs; +and on the little tables appeared the new wheat bread, the rolls of +ruddy crust, inside of which the dark and succulent substance of the +thick flour of the _huerta_ was visible. All these people, eating, +drinking, and gesticulating, raised such a buzzing that one would have +thought the little _plaza_ occupied by a colossal wasp's nest. In the +atmosphere floated the vapours of alcohol, the suffocating fumes of +olive-oil, the penetrating odour of must, mingled with the fresh perfume +of the neighbouring fields. + +Batiste drew near the large group which surrounded those involved in the +wager. + +At first he did not see anything; but gradually, pushed ahead by the +curiosity of those who were behind him, he opened a space between the +sweaty and compressed bodies, until he found himself in the first row. +Some spectators were seated on the floor, with their chin supported on +both hands, their nose over the edge of the little table, and their eyes +fixed upon the players, as though they did not wish to lose one detail +of the famous event. Here it was that the odour of alcohol proved to be +most intolerable. The breath and the clothing of all the people seemed +impregnated with it. + +Batiste looked at Pimento and his opponents seated upon stools of strong +carob-wood, with the cards before their eyes, the jar of brandy within +easy reach, and on the zinc the little heap of corn which was equivalent +to chips for the game. And at each play, one of the three grasped the +jar, drank deliberately, then passed it on to his companions, who took a +long draft with no less ceremony. + +The onlookers nearest by looked at the cards over their shoulders in +order to be sure they were well played. But the heads of the players +were as steady as if they had drunk nothing more than water: no one +became careless or made a poor play. + +And the game continued, although those in the wager never ceased to talk +with their friends, or to joke over the outcome of the contest. + +Pimento, upon seeing Batiste, mumbled a "Hello!" which he intended for a +salutation, and returned to his cards. + +Unmoved outwardly he might be; but his eyes were red; a bluish unsteady +spark, similar to the flame of alcohol, glowed in their pupils, and his +face at times took on a dull pallor. The others were no better; but they +laughed and joked among themselves: the onlookers, as though infected by +this madness, passed from hand to hand the jug which they paid for in +shares, and there was a regular inundation of brandy which, overflowing +the tavern, descended like a wave of fire into the stomachs of all. + +Even Batiste, urged by the others of the group, had to drink. He did not +like it, but a man ought to try everything; and he began to hearten +himself with the same reflections which had brought him to the tavern. +When a man has worked and has his harvest in the granary, he can well +afford to permit himself his bit of folly. + +He felt a warmth in his stomach, and a delicious confusion in his head: +he began to grow accustomed to the atmosphere of the tavern, and found +the contest more and more entertaining. + +Even Pimento seemed to him to be a notable man ... after a fashion. + +They had ended the game with a score of ... (nobody knew how much) and +they were now discussing the approaching supper with their friends. One +of the Terrerolas was losing ground visibly. The two days of +brandy-drinking without food, the two nights passed in a haze, began to +affect him in spite of himself. He closed his eyes and let his head fall +back heavily upon his brother, who revived him with tremendous blows on +the sides secretly given under the table. + +Pimento smiled craftily. He already had one of them down. And he +discussed the supper with his admirers. It ought to be sumptuous without +regard for expense: in any event, he did not have to pay for it. A meal +which would be a worthy climax to the exploit, for on that same night, +the bet would surely be ended. + +And like a glorious trumpet announcing beforehand Pimento's triumph, the +snores of Terrerola the younger began to be heard; he had collapsed face +downward over the table, and was almost on the point of falling from the +stool, as if all the brandy which had gone into his stomach were by the +law of gravity seeking the floor. + +His brother spoke of arousing him with slaps, but Pimento intervened +good-naturedly, like a magnanimous conqueror. They would awaken him at +the supper-hour. And pretending to give but little importance to the +contest and to his own prowess, he spoke of his lack of appetite as of +a great misfortune, after having passed two days in this place eating +and drinking brutally. + +A friend ran to the tavern to carry over a long string of red +pepper-pods. This would bring his appetite back to him. The jest +provoked great laughter; and Pimento, in order to amaze his admirers the +more, offered the infernal titbit to Terrerola, who still remained firm, +and he, on his part, began to devour it with the same indifference as +though it were bread. + +A murmur of admiration ran through the group. For each pod which was +eaten by the other, the husband of Pepeta gulped down three, and thus +made an end of the string, a regular rosary of red demons. The brute +must have an iron-plate stomach! + +And he went on, just as firm, just as impassive, though growing +continually paler and with eyes red and swollen, asking if Copa had +killed a pair of chickens for the supper, and giving instructions about +the manner of cooking them. + +Batiste gazed at this with amazement and vaguely felt a desire to go +away. The afternoon began to wane; in the little square the sound of +voices was rising, the tumult of every Sunday evening beginning, and +Pimento gazed at him too often, with his strange and troubling eyes, +the eyes of a habitual drinker. But without knowing why, he remained +here, as though the attraction of this spectacle, so novel to him, were +stronger than his will. + +The friends of the bully jested with him on seeing that he was draining +the jar after the red pepper-pods, without even heeding whether his +weary rival was imitating him. He ought not to drink so much: he would +lose, and he would not have the money to pay. He was not as rich now as +he had been in other years, when the masters of the lands had agreed not +to charge him any rent. + +An imprudent fellow said this without realizing what he was saying, and +it produced a painful silence, as in the bedroom of an invalid, when the +injured part has been laid bare. + +To speak of rents and of payments in this place, when brandy had been +drunk by pitchersful both by actors and spectators! + +Batiste received a disagreeable impression. It seemed to him that +suddenly there passed through the atmosphere something hostile, +threatening; without any great urging, he would have started to run; but +he remained, feeling that all were looking fixedly at him. He feared +that he would be held by insults if he fled before he was attacked; and +with the hope of being unmolested, he remained motionless, overcome by a +feeling which was not fear, but something more than prudence. + +These people, whom Pimento filled with admiration, made him repeat the +method which he had made use of, all these years, to avoid paying his +rent to the masters of the lands, and greeted it with loud bursts of +laughter, and tremors of malignant joy, like slaves who rejoice at the +misfortunes of a master. + +The bully modestly related his glorious achievements. Every year at +Christmas and St. John's Day, he had set out on the road to Valencia at +full speed to see his landlord. Others carried a fine brace of chickens, +a basket of cakes or fruits as a means to persuade the masters to accept +incomplete payment, and would weep and promise to complete the sum +before long. He alone carried words and not many of them. + +The mistress, a large, imposing woman, received him in the dining-room. +The daughters, proud young ladies, all dressed up with bows of ribbons +and bright colours, came and went nearby. + +Dona Manuela turned to the memorandum book, to look up the half-years +that Pimento was behind. He came to pay, eh?... And the crafty rogue, +upon hearing the question of the lady of the "Hay-Lofts" always answered +the same. No, senora, he could not pay because he hadn't a copper. He +was not ignorant of the fact that by this he was proving himself a +scamp. His grandfather, who was a man of great wisdom, had told him so. +"For whom were chains forged? For men. Do you pay? You are an honest +man. Do you not pay? You are a rogue." And following this short +discourse on philosophy, he had recourse to the second argument. He drew +forth a black stogie and a pocket-knife from his sash, and began to pick +tobacco in order to roll a cigarette. + +The sight of the weapon sent chills through the lady, made her nervous; +and for this very reason the crafty fellow cut the tobacco slowly and +was deliberate about putting it away. Always repeating the same +arguments of the grandfather, in order to explain his tardiness about +the payment. + +The children with the little bows of ribbon called him "the man of the +chains"; the mamma felt uneasy in the presence of this rough fellow of +black reputation, who smelt vilely of wine, and gesticulated with the +knife as he talked; and convinced that nothing could be gotten from him, +she told him that he might go; but he felt a deep joy in being +troublesome, and tried to prolong the interview. They even went so far +as to say that if he could not pay anything, he could even spare them +his visits and not appear there further; they would forget that they had +those lands. Ah, no, senora. Pimento fulfilled his obligations +punctually, and as a tenant, he should visit his landlord at Christmas +and San Juan, in order to show that though he was not paying, he +remained nevertheless their very humble servant. + +And there he would go, twice a year, smelling of wine, and stain the +floor with his sandals, clay covered, and repeat that chains were made +for men, making sabre-thrusts the while with his knife. It was the +vengeance of the slave, the bitter pleasure of the mendicant who appears +in the midst of a feast of rich men, with his foul tatters. + +All the farmers laughed, commenting on the conduct of Pimento with his +landlord. + +And the bully justified his conduct with arguments. Why should he pay? +Come now, why? His grandfather had cultivated his lands before him; at +his father's death they had been divided among the brothers at their +pleasure, following the custom of the _huerta_, and without consulting +the landlord in any way. They were the ones who had worked them; they +had made them produce, they had worn away their lives upon their fields. + +Pimento, speaking with vehemence of his work, showed such shamelessness +that some smiled.... Good: he was not working much now, because he was +shrewd and had recognized the farce of living. But at one time he had +worked, and this was enough to make the lands more justly his own than +they were of that big, fat woman of Valencia. When she would come to +work them; when she would take the plough with all its weight, and the +two little girls with the bows yoked together would draw it after them, +then she would legitimately be the mistress. + +The coarse jokes of the bully made the people roar with laughter. The +bad flavour of the payment of St. John remained with them and they took +much pleasure in seeing their masters treated so cruelly. Ah! The joke +about the plough was very funny; and each one imagined that he could see +the master, the stout and timid landlord, or the senora, old and proud, +hitched up to the ploughshare pulling and pulling, while they, the +farmers, those under the heel, were cracking the whip. + +And all winked at each other, laughed and clapped their hands, in order +to express their approbation. Oh! It was very comfortable in the house +of Copa listening to Pimento. What ideas the man had! + +But the husband of Pepeta became gloomy, and many noticed that often he +would cast a side-long look about him, that look of murder which was +long known in the tavern to be a certain sign of immediate aggression. +His voice became thick, as if all the alcohol which was swelling his +stomach had ascended like a hot wave and burned his throat. + +They might laugh until they burst, but their laughs would be the last. +Already the _huerta_ was not the same as it had been for ten years. The +masters, who had been timid rabbits, had again become unruly wolves. +They were showing their teeth again. Even his mistress had taken +liberties with him. With him who was the terror of all the landowners of +the _huerta_! During his visit last St. John's day she had laughed at +his saying about the chains, and even at the knife, announcing to him +that he might prepare either to leave the lands or pay his rent, not +forgetting the back payments either. + +And why had they turned in such a manner? Because already they no longer +feared them.... And why did they not fear them? Christ! Because now the +fields of old Barret were no longer abandoned and uncultivated, a +phantom of desolation to awe the landlords and make them sweet and +reasonable. So the charm had been broken. Since a half-starved thief had +succeeded in imposing himself upon them, the landlords had laughed, and +wishing to take revenge for ten years of enforced meekness, had grown +worse than the infamous Don Salvador. + +"True ... it is true," said all the group, supporting the arguments of +Pimento, with furious nods. + +All confessed that their landlords had changed as they recalled the +details of their last interview; the threats of ejection, the refusal to +accept the incomplete payments, the ironical way in which they had +spoken of the lands of old Barret, cultivated again in spite of the +hatred of all the _huerta_. And now, all at once, after the sweet +laziness of ten years of triumph, with the reins on their shoulders and +the master at their feet, had come the cruel pull, the return to other +times, the finding of the bread bitter and the wine more sour, thinking +of the accursed half-year, and all on account of an outsider, a lousy +fellow who had not even been born in the _huerta_, and who had hung +himself upon them to interfere in their business and make life harder +for them. And should this rogue still live? Did the _huerta_ not have +any men? + +Good-bye, new friendships, respect born by the side of the coffin of a +poor child! All the consideration created by misfortune went tumbling +down like a stock of playing-cards, vanishing like a nebulous cloud, and +the old hatred reappeared at a single bound--the solidarity of all the +_huerta_, which in combating the intruder was defending its very life. + +And at what a moment the general animosity arose! The eyes fixed upon +him burned with the fire of hatred; heads muddled with alcohol seemed to +feel a horrible itching for murder; instinctively they all started +toward Batiste, who felt himself pushed about from all sides as if the +circle were tightening in order to devour him. + +He repented now of having remained. He felt no fear, but he cursed the +hour in which the idea of going to the tavern occurred to him--an alien +place which seemed to rob him of his strength, that self-possession +which animated him when he felt the earth beneath his feet--the earth +which he had cultivated at the cost of so much sacrifice, and in whose +defence he was ready to lose his very life. + +Pimento, as he gave way to his anger, felt all the brandy he had drunk +during the past two days fall suddenly like a heavy blow upon his brain. +He had lost the serenity of an unshakable drunkard; he arose staggering, +and it was necessary for him to make an effort to sustain himself upon +his legs. His eyes were inflamed as though they were dripping blood; his +voice was laboured as though the alcohol and anger were drawing it back +and not letting it come forth. + +"Go," he said imperiously to Batiste, threateningly, extending a hand, +till it almost touched his face. "Go, or I will kill you!" + +Go!... It was this that Batiste desired; he grew paler and paler, +repenting more and more that he was here. But he well divined the +significance of that imperious "Go!" of the bully, supported by signs of +approval on the part of all the others. + +They did not demand that he should leave the tavern, ridding them of his +odious presence; they were ordering him with threats of death to abandon +the fields, which were like the blood of his body; to give up for ever +the farm-house where his little one had died, and in which every corner +bore a record of the struggles and the joys of the family in their +battle with poverty. And swiftly he had a vision of himself and all his +furniture piled on the cart, wandering over the roads, in search of the +unknown, in order to create another existence: carrying along with them +like a gloomy companion, that ugly phantom of famine which would be ever +following at their heels.... + +No! He shunned quarrels, but let them not put a finger on his children's +bread! + +Now he felt no disquietude. The image of his family, hungry and without +a hearth, enraged him; he even felt a desire to attack all these people +who demanded of him such a monstrous thing. + +"Will you go? Will you go?" asked Pimento, ever darker and more +threatening. + +No: he would not go. He said it with his head, with his smile of scorn, +with his firm glance and the challenging look which he fixed upon the +group. + +"Scoundrel!" roared the bully; and his hand fell upon the face of +Batiste, giving it a terrible resounding slap. + +As though stirred by this aggression, all the group rushed upon the +odious intruder, but above the line of heads a muscular arm arose, +grasping a rush-grass stool, the same perhaps upon which Pimento had +been seated. + +For the strong Batiste it was a terrible weapon, this seat of strong +cross-pieces, with heavy legs of carob-wood, its corners polished by +usage. + +The little table and the jars of brandy rolled away, the people backed +instinctively, terrified by the gesture of this man, always so peaceful, +who seemed now a giant in his madness. But before any one could recede a +step, Plaf! a noise resounded like a bursting kettle, and Pimento, his +head broken, fell to the ground. + +In the _plaza_, it produced an indescribable confusion. + +Copa, who from his lair seemed to pay attention to nothing, and was the +first to scent a quarrel, no sooner saw the stool in the air than he +drew out the "ace of clubs" which was under the counter, and with a few +quick blows, in a jiffy cleared the tavern of its customers and +immediately closed the door in accordance with his usual salutary +custom. + +The people remained outside, running around the little square; the +tables rolled about. Sticks and clubs were brandished in the air, each +one placing himself on guard against his neighbour, ready for whatever +might come; and in the meantime Batiste, the cause of all the trouble, +stood motionless, with hanging arms, grasping the stool now stained with +spots of blood, terrified by what had just occurred. + +Pimento, face downward on the ground, uttered groans which sounded like +snarls, as the blood gushed forth from his broken head. + +Terrerola, the elder, with the fraternal feeling of one drunkard for +another ran to the aid of his rival, looking with hostility at Batiste. +He insulted him, looking in his sash for a weapon with which to wound +him. + +The most peaceful fled away through the paths, looking back with morbid +curiosity, and the others remained motionless, on the defensive, each +one capable of dispatching his neighbour, without knowing why, but not +one wishing to be the first aggressor. The clubs remained raised aloft, +the clasp knives gleamed in the group, but no one approached Batiste, +who slowly backed away, still holding the blood-stained tabouret aloft. + +Thus he left the little plaza, ever looking with challenging eyes at the +group which surrounded the fallen Pimento, all brave fellows but +evidently intimidated by this man's strength. + +Upon finding himself on the road, at some distance from the tavern, he +began to run, and drawing near his farm-house, he dropped the heavy +stool in a canal, looking with horror at the blackish stain of the dry +blood upon the water. + + + + +X + + +Batiste lost all hope of living peacefully on his land. + +The entire _huerta_ once more arose against him. Again he had to isolate +himself in his farm-house, to live in perpetual solitude like one cursed +by a plague, or like some caged wild-beast, at whom every one shook his +fist from afar. + +His wife told him on the following day how the wounded bully was +conducted to his house. He himself, from his home, had heard the shouts +and the threats of the people, who had solicitously accompanied the +wounded Pimento.... It was a real manifestation. The women, already +aware of what had happened through the marvellous rapidity with which +news spreads over the _huerta_, ran out on the road to see Pepeta's +brave husband at close range, and to express compassion for him as for +some hero sacrificed for the good of others. + +The same ones who had spoken insultingly of him some hours before, +scandalized by his wager of drunkenness, now pitied him, inquired +whether he was seriously hurt, and clamoured for revenge against that +starving pauper, that thief, who not content with taking possession of +that which was not his, tried to win respect by terror, and by attacking +good men. + +Pimento was magnificent. He suffered great pain, and went about +supported by his friends with his head bandaged, transformed into an +_eccehomo_, as the indignant gossips declared; but he made an effort to +smile, and answered every incitement to revenge with an arrogant +gesture, declaring that he took the castigation of the enemy upon +himself. + +Batiste did not doubt that these people would seek vengeance. He was +familiar with the usual methods of the _huerta_. The courts of the city +were not made for this land; prison was a small matter when a question +of satisfying a grudge was concerned. Why should a man make use of a +judge or a civil guard, if he had a good eye and a shotgun in his house? +The affairs of men should be settled by the men themselves. + +And as all the _huerta_ thought thus, vainly on the day following the +quarrel did two guards with enamelled tricorns pass and repass over the +paths leading from Copa's tavern to the farm-house of Pimento, making +sly inquiries of the people who were in the fields. No one had seen +anybody; no one knew anything. Pimento related with brutal bursts of +laughter how he had broken his own head coming home from the tavern, +declaring it to be the consequence of his bet; the brandy had made him +stagger, and strike his head against the trees on the road. So the rural +police had to turn back to their little barracks at Alboraya without any +clear information concerning the vague rumours of quarrel and bloodshed +which had reached them. + +This magnanimity of the victim and his friends alarmed Batiste, who made +up his mind to live perpetually on the defensive. + +The family, shrinking from contact with the _huerta_, withdrew within +the house as a timid snail withdraws within its shell. + +The little ones did not even go to school. Roseta stopped going to the +factory, and Batistet did not go a pace away from the fields. Only the +father went out, showing himself as calm and confident about his +security as he was careful and prudent for the others. + +But he made no trips to the city without carrying the shotgun with him, +which he left with a friend in the suburbs. He literally lived with his +weapon. The most modern thing in his house, it was always clean, shining +and cared for with that affection which the Valencian farmer, like the +Barbary tribesman, bestows upon his gun. + +Teresa was as sad as she had been upon the death of the little one. +Every time that she saw her husband cleaning the double-barrelled +shotgun, changing the cartridges, or making the trigger play up and down +to be sure it would work smoothly, there arose in her mind the image of +the prison, the terrible tale of old Barret; she saw blood and cursed +the hour in which they had thought of settling upon these accursed +lands. And then came the hours of fear on account of the absence of her +husband, those long afternoons spent awaiting the man who did not +return, going out to the door of the farm-house to explore the road, +trembling each time that there sounded from the distance some report +from the hunters of sparrows, fearing that it was the beginning of a +tragedy, the shot which shattered the head of the father of the family +or which would take him to prison. And when Batiste finally appeared, +the little ones would shout with joy, Teresa would smile, wiping her +eyes, the daughter would run out to embrace her father, and even the dog +leaped close to him, sniffing restlessly, as though he scented about his +person the danger which he had just encountered. + +And Batiste, serene and firm, but without arrogance, laughed at his +family's anxiety, and became bolder and bolder as the famous quarrel +receded into the past. + +He considered himself secure. As long as he carried "the bird with the +two voices," as he called his shotgun, he could calmly walk throughout +all the _huerta_. When he went out in such good company, his enemies +pretended not to know him. At times he had even seen Pimento from a +distance, walking through the _huerta_, exhibiting like a flag of +vengeance his bandaged head, but the bully, in spite of his recovery +from the blow had fled, fearing the encounter perhaps even more than +Batiste. + +All were watching him from the corner of their eye, but he never heard +from the fields adjoining the road a single word of insult. They +shrugged their shoulders with scorn, bent over the earth, and worked +feverishly until he was lost from sight. + +The only person who spoke to him was old Tomba, the crazy shepherd, who +recognized him despite his sightless eyes, as though he could scent the +atmosphere of calamity around Batiste. And it was ever the same.... Was +he not going to abandon the accursed lands? + +"You are making a mistake, my son; they will bring you misfortune." + +Batiste received the refrain of the old man with a smile. + +Grown familiar with peril, he had never feared it less than he did now. +He even felt a certain secret joy in provoking it, in marching directly +toward it. His tavern exploit had changed his character, previously so +peaceful and long-suffering; awakened in him a boastful brutality. He +wished to show all these people that he did not fear them, that even as +he had burst open Pimento's head, so was he ready to take up arms +against the whole _huerta_. Since they had driven him to it, he would be +a bully and a braggart long enough for them to respect him and allow him +to live peacefully ever afterward. + +And possessed of this dangerous determination, he even abandoned his +lands, passing the afternoons along the roads of the _huerta_ under the +pretext of hunting, but in reality to exhibit his shotgun and his look +of a man who has few friends. + +One afternoon, while hunting swallows in the ravine of Carraixet, the +darkness surprised him. + +The birds seemed to be following the mazes of some capricious quadrille +as they flew about restlessly, reflected in the deep and quiet pools +bordered with tall rushes. This ravine, which cut across the _huerta_ +like a deep crack, gloomy, with stagnant water, and muddy shores, where +there bobbed up and down some rotting, half-submerged canoe, presented a +desolate and wild aspect. No one would have suspected that behind the +slope of the high banks, farther on beyond the rushes and the +cane-brake, lay the plain with its smiling atmosphere and its green +vistas. Even the light of the sun seemed dismal, as it sank to the +depths of the ravine, sifting through the wild vegetation and pallidly +reflecting itself in the dead waters. + +Batiste spent the afternoon firing at the wheeling swallows. A few +cartridges still remained in his belt, and at his feet, forming a mound +of blood-stained feathers, he already had two dozen birds. What a +supper! How happy the family would be! + +It grew dark in the deep ravine: from the pools, a fetid vapour came +forth, the deadly respiration of malarial fever. The frogs croaked by +the thousand, as though saluting the stars, contented at not hearing the +firing which interrupted their song, and obliged them to dive head-long, +disturbing the smooth crystal of the stagnant pools. + +Batiste picked up his "bag" of birds, hanging them from the belt, and +ascending the bank with two leaps, set out over the paths on his return +trip to the farm-house. + +The sky, still permeated with the faint glow of twilight, had the soft +tone of violet; the stars gleamed, and over the immense _huerta_ there +rose the many sounds of rustic life which would soon with the arrival of +night die away. Over the paths passed the girls returning from the city; +and men coming from the fields, the tired horses dragging the heavy +carts; and Batiste answered their "Good night," the greeting of all who +passed near him, people from Alboraya, who did not know him or did not +have the motives of his neighbours for hating him. + +He left the village behind him, and as he drew nearer to his farm, the +hostility stood out more plainly with every step. The people hissed him +without any greeting. + +He was in strange country, and like a soldier who prepares to fight as +soon as he crosses the hostile frontier, Batiste sought in his sash for +the munitions of war, two cartridges with ball and bird-shot, made by +himself, and loaded his shotgun. + +The big man laughed after doing this. Whoever tried to cut off his way +would receive a good shower of lead. + +He walked along without haste, calmly, as though enjoying the freshness +of the spring night. But this tranquillity did not prevent him from +thinking of the risk he was taking, with the enemies he had, in being +abroad in the _huerta_ at such an hour. + +His keen ear, that of a countryman, seemed to perceive a sound at his +shoulder. He turned about quickly, and in the pale star-light, he +thought he saw a dark figure, leaping from the road with a stealthy +bound and hiding behind a bank. + +Batiste laid hold of his shotgun, and lifting the hammer, approached +cautiously. No one.... Only at some distance it seemed to him that the +plants were waving in the darkness, as though a body were dragging +itself among them. + +They were following him: some one intended to surprise him treacherously +from behind. But this suspicion lasted but a short time. It might be +some vagabond dog which fled upon his approach. + +Well, it was certain that whatever it was, it was fleeing from him, and +so there was nothing for him to do. + +He went along over the dark road, walking silently like a man who knows +the country in the dark, and for the sake of prudence does not wish to +attract attention. As he approached the farm, he felt a certain +uneasiness. This was his neighbourhood, but here also were his most +tenacious enemies. + +Some minutes before arriving at the farm, near the blue farm-house where +the girls danced on Sundays, the road became narrow, forming various +curves. At one side, a high bank was crowned by a double row of +mulberry-trees; on the other, was a narrow canal whose sloping shores +were thickly covered with tall cane-brake. + +It looked in the darkness like an Indian thicket, a vault of bamboos +bending over the road. It was completely dark here; the mass of +cane-brake trembled in the light wind of the night, giving forth a +mournful sound; the place, so cool and agreeable during the hours of +sunlight, seemed to smell of treason. + +Batiste, laughing at his uneasiness, mentally exaggerated the danger. A +magnificent place to fire a safe shot at him. If Pimento should come +along here, he would not scorn such a beautiful chance. + +And scarcely had he thought of this, when there came forth from among +the cane-brake a straight and fleeting tongue of fire, a red arrow which +vanished, followed by a report; and something passed, hissing close to +his ear. Some one was firing upon him. Instinctively he stooped down, +wishing to fuse with the darkness of the ground, so as not to present a +target to the enemy. In the same moment a new flash glowed, another +report sounded, mingling with the echoes still reverberating from the +first, and Batiste felt a tearing sensation in the left shoulder, +something like the scratch of steel, scraping him superficially. + +But his attention scarcely stopped at this. He felt a savage joy. Two +shots ... the enemy was disarmed. + +"Christ! Now I've got you!" + +He rushed out through the cane-brake, plunged, almost rolling down the +slope, and entered the water up to the waist, his feet in the mud and +his arms aloft, very high, in order to prevent his shotgun from getting +wet, guarding like a miser the two shots until the moment should arrive +when he could safely deal them out. + +Before his eyes the cane-brake met, forming a close arch almost level +with the water. Before him in the darkness, he heard a splashing like +that of a dog fleeing down through the canal. Here was the enemy: after +him! + +And in the stream-bed, he entered on a mad race, plunging along groping +through the shadows, leaving his sandals behind him, lost in the mud: +his trousers, clinging to his body, and dragging heavily, retarded his +movements: and the stiff sharp stalks of the broken cane-brake struck +and scratched his face. + +At one moment Batiste thought he saw something dark clinging to the +cane-brake, striving to rise above the bank. He was attempting to run +away: he must fire.... His hands, which felt the itching of murder, +carried the shotgun to his face, pulled the trigger, ... the report +sounded, and the body fell into the canal, among a shower of leaves and +rotting cane. + +At him! At him!... Again, Batiste heard the splashing of a fleeing dog: +but now with more effort, as though the fugitive, spurred on by +desperation, were straining every effort to escape. + +It was a dizzy flight, that race amid darkness, through the cane-brake +and water. The two kept slipping on the soft ground, unable to cling to +the brake without loosening their hold on their guns; the water eddied +about them, lashed by their reckless haste, but Batiste, who fell +several times on his knees, thought only of reaching out his arms, in +order to keep his weapon dry and save the shot which remained. + +And thus the human hunters went on, groping through the dismal darkness, +until in a turn of the canal, they came out to an open space, where the +banks were clear of reeds. + +The eyes of Batiste, accustomed to the gloom of the vault, saw with +perfect clearness a man who, leaning on his firearm, climbed staggering +out of the canal, with difficulty moving mud-clogged legs. + +It was he ... he! he as usual! + +"Thief!... thief! you shall not escape," roared Batiste, and he +discharged his second shot from the bottom of the canal, with the +certainty of the marksman who is able to aim well and knows he brings +down his booty. + +He saw him fall heavily headlong over the bank, and climb on all-fours +in order to roll into the water. Batiste wanted to catch him, but his +haste was so great that it was he who, making a false step, fell +full-length into the midst of the canal. + +His head sunk in the mud, and he swallowed the earthy, ruddy liquid; he +thought he would die, and remain buried in that miry marsh; but finally, +by a powerful effort, he succeeded in standing upright, drawing his eyes +blinded by the slime out of the water, then his mouth, panting as it +breathed in the night air. + +As soon as he recovered his sight, he looked for his enemy. He had +disappeared. + +He came out of the canal, dripping water and mud, and climbed the slope +at the same place where his enemy had emerged: but on reaching the top, +he could not see him. + +On the dry earth, however, he noticed some black stains, and touched +them with his hands: they smelled of blood. Now he knew that he had not +missed his aim. But, though he looked about, hoping to see his enemy's +corpse, he sought in vain. + +That Pimento had a tough skin. Dripping mud and mire, he would go along +dragging himself up to his own farm-house. Perhaps that vague rustle +which he believed he heard in the immediate fields, as though a great +reptile were dragging itself over the furrows, came from him. All the +dogs were barking at him, filling the _huerta_ with desperate howlings. +He had heard him crawling along in the same manner a quarter of an hour +before, when doubtless he was intending to kill him from behind. But on +seeing himself discovered, he had fled on all-fours along the road, in +order to take his stand further on in the leafy cane and to lie in +ambush without any risk. + +Batiste felt suddenly afraid. He was alone, in the midst of the plain, +completely disarmed; his shotgun, without cartridges, was no more now +than a weak club. Pimento couldn't return, but he had friends. + +And overcome by sudden fear, he began to run, seeking as he crossed the +fields the road which led to his farm. + +The plain trembled with alarm. The four shots in the darkness of the +evening had thrown all the neighbourhood into commotion. The dogs barked +more and more furiously; the doors of the farm-houses opened, emitting +black figures, who certainly did not come forth with empty hands. + +With whistling and shouts of alarm, the neighbours summoned each other +from a great distance. Shots at night might be signals of fire, of +thieves, of who knows what? certainly nothing good. And the men sallied +forth from their homes ready for anything, with the forgetfulness of +self and solidarity of those who live in solitude. + +Batiste, terrified by this movement, ran toward his farm, bending over, +in order to pass unnoticed along the shelter of the banks or the high +mounds of straw. + +He already saw his home, with the open door illumined, and in the +centre of the red square, the black forms of his family. + +The dog sniffed him and was the first to salute him. Teresa and Roseta +gave shouts of joy. + +"Batiste, is it you?" + +"Father! Father!" + +And all rushed toward him, toward the entrance of the farm-house, under +the old vine-arbour, through whose vines the stars shone like +glow-worms. + +The mother, with the woman's keen ear, restless and alarmed by the +tardiness of her husband, had heard from far, far off, the four shots, +and her heart "had given a leap," as she expressed it. All the family +had rushed toward the door, anxiously scanning the dark horizon, +convinced that the reports which alarmed the plain had some connection +with the father's absence. + +Mad with joy upon seeing him and hearing his voice, they did not notice +his mud-stained face, his unshod feet, or his clothing, dirty and +dripping mire. + +They drew him within. Roseta hung herself upon his neck, breathing +lovingly, with her eyes still moist. + +"Father!... Father!" + +But he was not able to restrain a grimace of pain, an ay! suppressed but +full of suffering. Roseta had flung her arm about his left shoulder, in +the same place where he had felt the tearing of steel, and which he now +felt more and more crushingly heavy. + +When he entered the house, and came into the full candlelight, the woman +and the children gave a cry of astonishment. They saw the blood-stained +shirt.... + +Roseta and her mother burst out crying. "Most holy queen! Sovereign +mother! They have killed him!" + +But Batiste, who felt the pain in his shoulder growing more and more +insufferable, hushed their lamentations and ordered them with a dark +gesture to see at once what had happened to him. + +Roseta, who was the bravest, tore open the coarse rough shirt, leaving +the shoulder uncovered. How much blood! The girl grew pale, trying not +to faint; Batistet and the little ones began to weep, and Teresa +continued her howlings as though her husband were in his death agony. + +But the wounded man would not tolerate their lamentations and protested +rudely. Less weeping: it was nothing: not serious, and the proof of +this was that he could move his arm, although he felt, all the time, a +greater weight in his shoulder. It was just a scratch, an abrasion, +nothing more. He felt too strong for the wound to be deep. Look ... +water, cloth, lint, the bottle of arnica which Teresa was guarding as a +miraculous remedy in her room ... move about quickly! This was no time +to stand gaping with open mouths. + +Teresa, returning to her room, searched the depths of her chests, +tearing up linen cloths, untying bandages, while the girl washed and +washed again the lips of the bleeding wound, which was cut like a +sabre-slash across the fleshy shoulder. + +The two women checked the hemorrhage as best they could, bandaged the +wound, and Batiste breathed with satisfaction, as though he were already +cured. Worse blows than this had descended upon him in this life. + +And he began to admonish the little ones to be prudent. Of what they had +seen, not a word to anybody. There are subjects which it is best to +forget. And he repeated the same to his wife, who talked of sending word +to the doctor; it would amount to the same thing as attracting the +attention of the court. It would cure itself. His constitution was +wonderful. What was important was that no one should get mixed up in +what occurred down below. Who knows in what condition the other man was +by this time? + +While his wife was helping him to change his clothes and prepared his +bed, Batiste told her all that had occurred. The good woman opened her +eyes with a frightened expression, sighed, thinking of the danger +encountered by her husband, and cast anxious glances at the closed door +of the farm-house, as if the rural police were about to enter through +it. + +Batistet, meanwhile, with precocious prudence, picked up the gun, and +dried it in the candlelight, striving to wipe away from it all signs of +recent usage, of that which had occurred. + +The night was a bad one for all the family; Batiste was delirious; he +had a fever, and tossed about furiously as if he still were running +along the bed of the canal, pursuing the man. He terrified the little +ones with his cries, so they were not able to sleep, as well as the +women who, seated close to his bed, and offering him every moment some +sugared water, the only domestic remedy which they could invent, passed +a white night. + +On the following day, the door of the farm-house was closed all morning. +The wounded man seemed to be better: the children, their eyes reddened +from lack of sleep, remained motionless in the corral, seated on the +manure-heap, following dully the motions of the animals which were being +raised there. + +Teresa watched the plain through the closed door, and entered afterward +into her husband's room.... How many people! All the neighbourhood was +passing over the road in the direction of Pimento's house; a swarm of +men could be seen thronging around it. And all of them with sad and +frowning faces shouting with energetic motions, from a distance, and +casting glances of hatred toward old Barret's farm-house. + +Batiste received this news with grunts. Something itched in his breast, +hurting him. The movement of the plain toward the house of his enemy +meant that Pimento was in a serious condition; perhaps he was dead! He +was sure that the two shots from his gun were in his body. + +And now, what was going to happen? Would he die in prison like poor +Barret? No; the customs of the _huerta_ would be respected; faith in +justice obtained by one's own hand. The dying man would be silent, +leaving it to his friends, the Terrerolas and the others, to avenge him. +And Batiste did not know which to fear more, the justice of the city, or +that of the _huerta_. + +It was drawing toward evening, when the wounded man, despite the +protests and cries of the two women, sprang out of bed. + +He was stifling; his athletic body, accustomed to fatigue, was not able +to stand so many hours of inactivity. The weight in his shoulder forced +him to change his position, as if this would free him from pain. + +With a hesitating step, benumbed by lying in bed so long, he went forth +from his house and seated himself on the brick-bench beneath the +vine-arbour. + +The afternoon was disagreeable; the wind blew too freshly for the +season; heavy dark clouds covered the sun, and the light was sinking +under them, closing up the horizon like a curtain of pale gold. + +Batiste looked uncertainly in the direction of the city, turning his +back toward the farm-house of Pimento, which could be seen clearly now +that the fields were stripped of the golden grain which hid it before +the harvest. + +There might be noted in the wounded man both the impulse of curiosity +and the fear of seeing too much; but at last his will was conquered, and +he slowly turned his gaze toward the house of his enemy. + +Yes; many people swarmed before the door; men, women, children; all the +people of the plain who were anxiously running to visit their fallen +liberator. + +How they must hate him!... They were distant, but nevertheless he +guessed that his name must be on the lips of all; in the buzzing of his +ears, in the throbbing of his feverish temples he thought he perceived +the threatening murmur of that wasp's nest. + +And yet, God knew that he had done nothing more than defend himself; +that he wished only to keep his own without harming any one. Why should +_he_ take the blame of being in conflict with these people, who, as Don +Joaquin, the master, said, were very good but very stupid? + +The afternoon closed in; the twilight, grey and sad, sifted over the +plain. The wind, growing continually stronger, carried toward the +farm-house the distant echo of lamentations and furious voices. + +Batiste saw the people eddying in the door of the distant farm-house, +saw arms extended with a sorrowful expression, clenched hands which +snatched handkerchief from head and cast it in fury to the ground. + +The wounded man felt all his blood mounting toward his heart, which +stopped beating for some instants, as if paralysed, and afterward began +to thump with more fury, shooting a hot, red wave to his face. + +He guessed what was happening yonder: his heart told him. Pimento had +just died. + +Batiste felt cold and afraid, with a sensation of weakness as if +suddenly all his strength had left him; and he went into his farm-house, +not breathing easily until he saw the door closed and the candle lit. + +The evening was dismal. Sleep overwhelmed the family, dead tired from +the vigil of the preceding night. Almost immediately after supper, they +retired: before nine, all were in bed. + +Batiste felt that his wound was better. The weight in the shoulder +diminished: the fever was not so fierce; but now a strange pain in his +heart was tormenting him. + +In the darkness of the bedroom, still awake, he saw a pale figure rising +up, at first indefinite, then little by little taking form and colour, +till it became Pimento as he had seen him the last few days, with his +head bandaged and the threatening gesture of one stubbornly bent upon +revenge. + +The vision bothered him and he closed his eyes in order to sleep. +Absolute darkness; sleep was overpowering him, but his closed eyes were +beginning to fill the dense gloom with red points which kept growing +larger, forming spots of various colours; and the spots, after floating +about capriciously, joined themselves together, amalgamated, and again +there stood Pimento, who approached him slowly, with the cautious +ferocity of an evil beast which fascinates its victim. + +Batiste tried to free himself from the nightmare. + +He did not sleep; he heard his wife snoring close to him, and his sons +overcome with weariness, but all the while he was hearing them lower +and lower, as if some mysterious force were carrying the farm-house +away, far away, to a distance: and he there inert, unable to move, no +matter how hard he tried, saw the face of Pimento close to his own, and +felt in his nostrils his enemy's hot breath. + +But was he not dead?... His dulled brain kept asking this question, and +after many efforts, he answered himself that Pimento had died. Now he +did not have a broken head as before: his body was exposed, torn by two +wounds, though Batiste was not able to determine where they were; but +two wounds he had, two inexhaustible fountains of blood, which opened +livid lips. The two gunshots, he already knew it: he was not one to miss +his aim. + +And the phantom, enveloping his face with its burning breath, fixed a +glance upon him which pierced his eyes, and descended lower and lower +until it tore his very vitals. + +"Pardon, Pimento!" groaned the wounded man, terrified by the nightmare, +and trembling like a child. + +Yes, he ought to forgive him. He had killed him, it was true; but he +should consider that he had been the first to attack him. Come! Men who +are men ought to be reasonable! It was he who was to blame! + +But the dead do not listen to reason, and the spectre, behaving like a +bandit, smiled fiercely, and with a bound, landed on the bed, and seated +himself upon him, pressing upon the sick man's wound with all his +weight. + +Batiste groaned painfully, unable to move and cast off the heavy mass. +He tried to persuade him, calling him Toni with familiar tenderness, +instead of designating him by his nickname. + +"Toni, you are hurting me!" + +That was just what the phantom wished, to hurt him, and not satisfied +with this, he snatched from him with his glance alone his rags and +bandages, and afterward sank his cruel nails into the deep wound, and +pulled apart the edges, making him scream with pain. + +"Ay! Ay!... Pimento, pardon me!" + +Such was his pain that his tremblings, surging up from the shoulder to +his head, made his cropped hair bristle, and stand erect, and then it +began to curl with the contraction of the pain until it turned into a +horrible tangle of serpents. + +Then a horrible thing happened. The ghost, seizing him by his strange +hair, finally spoke. + +"Come ... come...." it said, pulling him along. + +It dragged him along with superhuman swiftness, led him flying or +swimming, he did not know which, across a space both light and slippery; +dizzily they seemed to float toward a red spot which stood out in the +far, far distance. + +The stain grew larger, it looked in shape like the door of his bedroom, +and after it poured out a dense, nauseating smoke, a stench of burning +straw which prevented him from breathing. + +It must be the mouth of hell: Pimento would hurl him into it, into the +immense fire whose splendour lit up the door. Fear conquered his +paralysis. He gave a fearful cry, finally moved his arms, and with a +back stroke of his hand, hurled Pimento and the strange hair away from +him. + +Now he had his eyes well opened; the phantom had disappeared. He had +been dreaming: it was doubtless a feverish nightmare: now he found +himself again in bed with poor Teresa, who, still dressed, was snoring +laboriously at his side. + +But no; the delirium continued. What strange light was illumining his +bedroom? He still saw the mouth of hell, which was like the door of his +room, ejecting smoke and ruddy splendour. Was he asleep? He rubbed his +eyes, moved his arms, and sat up in bed. + +No: he was awake and wide awake. + +The door was growing redder all the time, the smoke was denser, he heard +muffled cracklings as of cane-brake bursting, licked by tongues of +flame, and even saw the sparks dance, and cling like flies of fire to +the cretonne curtain which closed the room. He heard a desperate steady +barking, like a furiously tolling bell sounding an alarm. + +Christ!... The conviction of reality suddenly leaped to his mind, and +maddened him. + +"Teresa! Teresa!... Up!" + +And with the first push, he flung her out of bed. Then he ran to the +children's room, and with shouts and blows pulled them out in their +shirts, like an idiotic, frightened flock which runs before the stick +without knowing where it is going. The roof of his room was already +burning, casting a shower of sparks over the bed. + +To Batiste, blinded by the smoke, the minutes seemed like centuries till +he got the door open; and through it, maddened with terror, all the +family rushed out in their nightclothes and ran to the road. + +Here, a little more serene, they took count. + +All; they were all there, even the poor dog which howled sadly as it +watched the burning house. + +Teresa embraced her daughter, who, forgetting her danger, trembled with +shame, upon seeing herself in her chemise in the middle of the _huerta_, +and seated herself upon a sloping bank, shrinking up with modesty, +resting her chin upon the knees, and drawing down her white linen +night-robe in order to cover her feet. + +The two little ones, frightened, took refuge in the arms of their elder +brother, and the father rushed about like a madman, roaring +maledictions. + +Thieves! How well they had known how to do it! They had set fire to the +farm-house from all four sides, it had burst into flames from top to +bottom; even the corral with its stable and its sheds was crowned with +flames. + +From it there came forth desperate neighings, cacklings of terror, +fierce gruntings; but the farm-house, insensible to the wails of those +who were roasting in its depths, went on sending up curved tongues of +fire through the door and the windows; and from its burning roof there +rose an enormous spiral of white smoke, which reflecting the fire took +on a rosy transparency. + +The weather had changed: the night was calm, the wind did not blow and +the blue of the sky was dimmed only by the columns of smoke, between +whose white wisps the curious stars appeared. + +Teresa was struggling with her husband, who, recovered from his painful +surprise, and spurred on by his interests, which incited him to commit +follies, wished to enter the fiery inferno. Just one moment, nothing +more: only the time necessary to take from the bedroom the little sack +of money, the profit of the harvest. + +Ah! Good Teresa! Even now it was no longer necessary to restrain the +husband, who endured her violent grasp. A farm-house soon burns; straw +and canes love fire. The roof came down with a crash,--that erect roof +which the neighbours looked upon as an insult--and out of the enormous +bed of live-coals arose a frightful column of sparks, in whose uncertain +and vacillating light the _huerta_ seemed to move with fantastic +grimaces. + +The sides of the corral stirred heavily as if within them a legion of +demons were rushing about and striking them. Engarlanded with flame the +fowls leaped forth, trying to fly, though burning alive. + +A piece of wall of mud and stakes fell, and through the black breach +there came forth like a lightning flash, a terrible monster, ejecting +smoke through its nostrils, shaking its mane of sparks, desperately +beating its tail like a broom of flame, which scattered a stench of +burning hair. + +It was the horse. With a prodigious bound, he leaped over the family, +and ran madly through the fields, instinctively seeking the canal, into +which he fell with the sizzling hiss of red-hot iron when it strikes +water. + +Behind him, dragging itself along like a drunken demon emitting +frightful grunts, came another spectre of fire, the pig, which fell to +the ground in the middle of the field, burning like a torch of grease. + +There remained now only the walls and the grape-vines with their twisted +runners distorted by fire, and the posts, which stood up like bars of +ink over the red background. + +Batistet, in his longing to save something, ran recklessly over the +paths, shouting, beating at the doors of the neighbouring farm-houses, +which seemed to wink in the reflection of the fire. + +"Help! Help! Fire! Fire!" + +His shouts died away, raising a funereal echo, like that heard amid +ruins and in cemeteries. + +The father smiled cruelly. He was calling in vain. The _huerta_ was deaf +to them. There were eyes within those white farm-houses, which looked +curiously out through the cracks; perhaps there were mouths which +laughed with infernal glee, but not one generous voice to say "Here I +am!" + +Bread! At what a cost it is earned! And how evil it makes man! + +In one farm-house there was burning a pale light, yellowing and sad. +Teresa, confused by her misfortune, wished to go there to implore help, +with the hope of some relief, of some miracle which she longed for in +their misfortune. + +Her husband held her back with an expression of terror. No: not there. +Anywhere but there. + +And like a man who has fallen low, so low that he already is unable to +feel any remorse, he shifted his gaze from the fire and fixed it on that +pale light, yellowish and sad; the light of a taper which glows without +lustre, fed by an atmosphere in which might almost be perceived the +fluttering of the dead. + +Good-bye, Pimento! You were departing from the world well-served. The +farm-house and the fortune of the odious intruder were lighting up your +corpse with merrier splendour than the candles bought by the bereaved +Pepeta, mere yellowish tears of light. + +Batistet returned desperate from his useless trip. Nobody had answered. + +The plain, silent and scowling, had said good-bye to them for ever. + +They were more alone than if they had been in the midst of a desert; the +solitude of hatred was a thousand times worse than that of Nature. + +They must flee from there; they must begin another life, with hunger +ever treading at their heels: they must leave behind them the ruin of +their work, and the small body of one of their own, the poor little +fellow who was rotting in the earth, an innocent victim of the mad +battle. + +And all of them, with Oriental resignation, seated themselves upon the +bank, and there awaited the day, their shoulders chilled with cold, but +toasted from the front by the bed of live coals, which tinged their +stupefied faces with the reflection of blood; following with the +unchangeable passivity of fatalism the course of the fire, which was +devouring all their efforts, and changing them into embers as fragile +and tenuous as their old illusions of work and peace. + +THE END + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[A] Get up! + +[B] A _huerta_ is a cultivated district divided usually into tiny, +fertile, truck-garden and fruit farms. + +[C] Translator's Note:--Asensis Nebot, a Franciscan monk, surnamed El +Fraile (The Friar), leader of a band of foot soldiers and cavalry in the +War of Independence (1810-12): he waged a guerilla warfare against the +French around Valencia until the city was taken. + +[D] Barrete means "a round hat without a visor." Translator's note. + +[E] "Dawn-Songs," serenades at dawn. Translator's note. + +[F] A term of contempt, meaning barbarians. + +[G] One in charge of the _tanda_, or turn in irrigating. + +[H] Star-cakes--a local provincial dainty. + +[I] Long, boat-shaped rolls. + +[J] A Valencian dish of rice, meat and vegetables. + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Cabin, by +Vicente Blasco Ibanez and John Garrett Underhill + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CABIN *** + +***** This file should be named 38165.txt or 38165.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/8/1/6/38165/ + +Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images available at The Internet Archive) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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