diff options
| author | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-02-07 21:52:58 -0800 |
|---|---|---|
| committer | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-02-07 21:52:58 -0800 |
| commit | 4bd3a69d9090fcb562714d46fb1c436cae388a3f (patch) | |
| tree | 2fad9119095e8a735a1701b4778c2d5b23fff064 | |
| parent | af375c90e194b5c0dd360eca817d273e207de60d (diff) | |
| -rw-r--r-- | .gitattributes | 4 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | LICENSE.txt | 11 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | README.md | 2 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/56324-0.txt | 13752 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/56324-0.zip | bin | 200885 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/56324-h.zip | bin | 530468 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/56324-h/56324-h.htm | 13806 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/56324-h/images/cover.jpg | bin | 31724 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/56324-h/images/cover_lg.jpg | bin | 144601 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/56324-h/images/deco.png | bin | 19037 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/56324-h/images/title.png | bin | 29525 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/56324-h/images/title_lg.png | bin | 91060 -> 0 bytes |
12 files changed, 17 insertions, 27558 deletions
diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e13ff99 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #56324 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/56324) diff --git a/old/56324-0.txt b/old/56324-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index a90433c..0000000 --- a/old/56324-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,13752 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The city of the discreet, by Pío Baroja - -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/license - - -Title: The city of the discreet - -Author: Pío Baroja - -Translator: Jacob Sloat Fassett - -Release Date: January 6, 2018 [EBook #56324] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CITY OF THE DISCREET *** - - - - -Produced by Bryan Ness, Chuck Greif and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - - - - - - - - - - THE - CITY OF THE DISCREET - - [Illustration: text decoration] - - - - - THE BORZOI SPANISH TRANSLATIONS - - - I THE CABIN (LA BARRACA) - _By V. Blasco Ibáñez_ - - II THE CITY OF THE DISCREET - _By Pío Baroja_ - - III MARTIN RIVAS - _By Alberto Blest-Gana_ - - _Other volumes in preparation_ - - - - - THE CITY OF THE - DISCREET - - - BY - PIO BAROJA - - - TRANSLATED FROM THE SPANISH - By JACOB S. FASSETT, Jr. - - [Illustration: colophon] - - NEW YORK - ALFRED A. KNOPF - 1917 - - - COPYRIGHT, 1917, BY - ALFRED A. KNOPF - - _Published October, 1917_ - - PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA - - - - -INTRODUCTION - - -In San Sebastián, a beautiful watering place on the northern coast of -Guipúzcoa, Spain, Don Pío Baroja y Nessi was born on the 28th day of -December, 1872. There, wandering among the foothills of the Pyrenees, -listening to the talk of the hardy Basque peasants, playing on the -beautiful crescent of the _playa_, sailing about the pretty land-locked -harbour, he spent his childhood. In those early days he became -thoroughly conversant with the Basque tongue--that mysterious and -impossibly difficult language of whose true origin students are still in -doubt. - -His father was Don Serafín Baroja. Born in San Sebastián in 1840, Don -Serafín was a well known mining engineer, and enjoyed no small amount of -fame as a writer. As far as literature is concerned, he is perhaps best -known for his songs and ballads written in the Basque tongue. He -composed the libretto of the first Basque opera ever produced, the music -of which was by Santesteban. He is said to have been responsible for the -libretto of one other opera--a Spanish one. - -His son, Don Pío, decided to take up the study of medicine, and he went -to Valencia for that purpose. He received his doctorate in 1893, when he -was but twenty-one years of age. - -He practised his profession in Cestona, in the Province of Guipúzcoa. -Life in that small, provincial town proved very dull indeed, and he -decided that the medical profession was not his proper sphere. After two -years in Cestona, he moved to Madrid. There he tried his hand at several -kinds of business. He even set up a bakery in partnership with his -brother Ricardo, a painter and engraver of no mean ability! We do not -hear of his return to the practice of medicine. Evidently he had proved -to his own satisfaction that he was not suited to it. - -After he had failed in several attempts at business, he began writing -for the newspapers. He succeeded in obtaining positions on _El País_, -_El Imparcial_, and _El Globo_. His success in this line of work -inspired him to further effort, and, from that time on (1900), he -devoted himself entirely to literature. - -His first published work was a collection of short stories, or sketches, -entitled _Vidas Sombrías_. Among them are some exquisite pictures of -Basque life. This volume was closely followed by a novel, _La casa de -Aizgorri_. These two books scarcely caused a ripple in the literary -circles of the Cortes. Certainly, Baroja cannot claim to have sprung -into fame over night! His next attempt was a humorous novel which he -called _Aventuras, inventos y mixtificaciones de Silvestre Paradox_. It -was scarcely more successful than the first two. - -His next book, _Camino de perfección_, was characterized as “a book of -apparently sane tendencies”! From that time on, he became a recognized -figure in the Spanish literature of the day. _Idilios vascos_ appeared -that same year, and in 1903 he produced _El mayorazgo de Labraz_, a -novel that has been compared most favourably (by Spanish critics) with -the best of contemporary novels both in Spain and abroad. - -In all lists of the works of Pío Baroja, most of his novels are divided -into trilogies. For the sake of convenience, I shall follow the same -plan, without any attempt at chronological order: - -_Tierra vasca (Basque Country): La casa de Aizgorri; El mayorazgo de -Labraz; Zalacaín, el aventurero._ - -_La vida fantastica (Life Fantastic): Camino de perfección; Inventos, -aventuras y mixtificaciones de Silvestre Paradox; Paradox, rey._ - -_La Raza (Race): La dama errante; La ciudad de la niebla; El árbol de la -ciencia._ - -_La lucha por la vida (The Struggle for Life): La busca; Mala hierba; -Aurora roja._ (In this trilogy, Don Pío evinces a “spirit of opposition -to the present social organization and the prejudices that embitter life -and kill human spontaneity.”) - -_El pasado (The Past): La feria de los discretos; Los últimos -romanticos; Las tragedias grotescas._ - -_Las ciudades (Cities): César o nada, El mundo es así_ (incomplete). - -_El mar (The Sea): Las inquietudes de Shanti Andía_ (incomplete). - -Besides these trilogies, Baroja has written several novels under the -general title of _Memorias de un hombre de acción (Memoirs of a Man of -Action)_, long winded affairs in which any real action is sadly lacking. - -In addition to his novels, he has published several volumes of essays, -and not a little verse. Few of his works have been translated into other -languages; none (except the present novel) into English. - -Personally, Señor Baroja is somewhat of an enigma, a mystery. He is -extremely modest and retiring, and seldom appears prominently before the -public. It has been said of him that, although he apparently knows what -every one else thinks and believes, there is no one who can say for sure -just what his thoughts and beliefs are. He is an ardent, pious Catholic, -with very advanced ideas. One is led to believe from some of his works -that he is an ardent Republican. Some even go so far as to assert that -he entertains strong anarchistic views. But, just as we have about made -up our minds as to his political creed, along comes a novel like _La -feria de los discretos_, in which he ridicules Republicans and -Anarchists, and we are forced to reject our conception. - -While his name is often coupled with that of V. Blasco Ibáñez, there is -more difference than similarity between the two, especially in their -style. The Valencian spreads his canvas with the broad, brilliant, -impressionistic strokes of a Sorolla, while Baroja employs the more -subtle and delicate methods of a Zuloaga. He is a stylist. His -vocabulary is remarkably extensive, and he employs it in a masterly -fashion--not as one who would overwhelm his readers with a flood of -ponderous verbiage, but rather as one who, knowing all the delicate -shades and nuances of his language, employs words as an artist uses his -colours--to produce the proper effects. His power of description is -marvellous. In a sentence, sometimes in a single phrase, he brings a -character or scene vividly before our mental vision. The chapter headed -“Spring,” in _The City of the Discreet_, fairly aches with the -drowsiness of an Andalusian Spring. - -_La feria de los discretos_ has been chosen for this series mainly on -account of its Spanish atmosphere. Though not his best novel, it is -perhaps the best one with which to introduce him to the English reading -public. Above all else, it demonstrates his powers of description, and -his subtle, quaint humour. It is not my purpose in this paper to write a -criticism of this novel. I shall leave that to abler pens. I might say, -however, that in this work, Pío Baroja has no special message to convey, -no propaganda. His purpose here is essentially to entertain, to amuse. -One suspects that he derived no little pleasure himself from its -creation. It is said that its appearance aroused a storm of protests -from Republicans on account of the sorry light into which he put them. -Be that as it may, the details of his description of Cordova and its -environs are accurate in the extreme. _The City of the Discreet_ might -almost serve as a guide book to that ancient city. One can follow -Quentin’s adventures on any accurate map of Cordova. Of his knowledge of -Masonry, one cannot speak quite so highly! - - J. S. F., Jr. - -Cambridge, Mass. - - October, 1917. - - - - -CONTENTS - - -CHAPTER PAGE - - I A conversation on the train 9 - - II O, oriental, romantic city! 25 - - III Infancy: sombre vestibule of life 33 - - IV Blue eyes, black eyes 43 - - V Noble and ancient ancestral homes! 54 - - VI Concerning an adventure of Quentin’s in the - neighbourhood of El Potro 65 - - VII In which is told the history of a tavern on Sierra Morena 82 - - VIII A fight in an olive orchard 95 - - IX In which Señor Sabadía abuses words and wine 105 - - X Don Gil finishes his story 114 - - XI More incomprehensible than the heart of a - grown woman, is that of a girl-child 124 - - XII In search of a jewel-case 132 - - XIII A picnic and a ride 145 - - XIV Spring 156 - - XV Where his beautiful expectations went! 163 - - XVI The man of action begins to make himself known 171 - - XVII “I am a little Catiline” 182 - - XVIII The tavern in the Calle del Bodegoncillo 193 - - XIX The pleasant ironies of reality 207 - - XX Philosophers without realizing the fact 211 - - XXI Juan talks 222 - - XXII Sticks, shots, and stones 227 - - XXIII Pursuit and escape 233 - - XXIV The victim of a feuilleton 245 - - XXV An abduction is prepared 250 - - XXVI Explanations 261 - - XXVII In which a countess, a professional bandit, and - a man of action have a talk 273 - -XXVIII The mason’s message 285 - - XXIX A conference 292 - - XXX Projects 305 - - XXXI Night and day 314 - - XXXII The city of the discreet 322 - -XXXIII The departure 332 - - XXXIV The end 343 - - - - -THE CITY OF THE DISCREET - - - - -CHAPTER I - -A CONVERSATION ON THE TRAIN - - -Quentin awoke, opened his eyes, looked about him, and exclaimed between -his yawns: - -“We _must_ be in Andalusia now.” - -The second-class coach was occupied by six persons. Opposite Quentin, a -distinguished-looking Frenchman, corpulent, clean-shaven, and with a red -ribbon in his buttonhole, was showing a magazine to a countryman in the -garb of a wealthy cattle owner, and was graciously explaining the -meanings of the illustrations to him. - -The countryman listened to his explanations smiling mischievously, -mumbling an occasional aside to himself in an undertone: - -“What a simpleton.” - -Leaning against the shoulder of the Frenchman, dozed his wife--a faded -woman with a freakish hat, ruddy cheeks, and large hands clutching a -portfolio. The other persons were a bronze-coloured priest wrapped in a -cloak, and two recently-married Andalusians who were whispering the -sweetest of sweet nothings to each other. - -“But haven’t we reached Andalusia yet?” Quentin again inquired -impatiently. - -“Oh, yes!” replied the Frenchman. “The next station is Baeza.” - -“Baeza!--Impossible!” - -“It _is_, never-the-less--It _is_,” insisted the Frenchman, rolling his -r’s in the back of his throat. “I have been counting the stations.” - -Quentin arose, his hands thrust into his overcoat. The rain beat -incessantly against the coach windows which were blurred by the -moisture. - -“I don’t know my own country,” he exclaimed aloud; and to see it better -he opened the window and looked out. - -The train was passing through a ruddy country spotted here and there -with pools of rainwater. In the distance, small, low hills, shadowed by -shrubs and thickets raised themselves into the cold, damp air. - -“What weather!” he exclaimed in disgust, as he closed the window. “This -is no land of mine!” - -“Are you a Spaniard?” inquired the Frenchman. - -“Yes, sir.” - -“I would have taken you for an Englishman.” - -“I have just left England, where I spent eight years.” - -“Are you from Andalusia?” - -“From Cordova.” - -The Frenchman and his wife, who had awakened, studied Quentin. Surely -his looks were not Spanish. Tall, stout, and clean-shaven, with a good -complexion and brown hair, enveloped in a grey overcoat, and with a cap -on his head; he looked like a young Englishman sent by his parents to -tour the continent. He had a strong nose, thick lips, and the expression -of a dignified and serious young man which a roguish, mischievous, and -gipsy-like smile completely unmasked. - -“My wife and I are going to Cordova,” remarked the Frenchman as he -pocketed his magazine. - -Quentin bowed. - -“It must be a most interesting city--is it not?” - -“Indeed it is!” - -“Charming women with silk dresses ... on the balconies all day.” - -“No; not _all_ day.” - -“And with cigarettes in their mouths, eh?” - -“No.” - -“Ah! Don’t Spanish women smoke?” - -“Much less than French women.” - -“French women do not smoke, sir,” said the woman somewhat indignantly. - -“Oh! I’ve seen them in Paris!” exclaimed Quentin. “But you won’t see any -of them smoking in Cordova. You French people don’t know us. You believe -that all we Spaniards are toreadors, but it is not so.” - -“Ah! No, no! Pardon me!” replied the Frenchman, “we are very well -acquainted with Spain. There are two Spains: one, which is that of the -South, is Théophile Gautier’s; the other, which is that of Hernani, is -Victor Hugo’s. But perhaps you don’t know that Hernani is a Spanish -city?” - -“Yes, I know the place,” said Quentin with aplomb, though never in his -life had he heard any one mention the name of the tiny Basque village. - -“A great city.” - -“Indeed it is.” - -Having made this remark, Quentin lit a cigarette, passed his hand along -the blurred windowpane until he had made it transparent, and began to -hum to himself as he contemplated the landscape. The humid, rainy -weather had saddened the deserted fields. As far as one could see there -were no hamlets, no villages--only here and there a dark farmhouse in -the distance. - -They passed abandoned stations, crossed huge olive groves with trees -planted in rows in great squares on the ruddy hillsides. The train -approached a broad and muddy river. - -“The Guadalquivir?” inquired the Frenchman. - -“I don’t know,” replied Quentin absently. Then, doubtless, this -confession of ignorance seemed ill-advised, for he looked at the river -as if he expected it to tell him its name, and added: “It is a tributary -of the Guadalquivir.” - -“Ah! And what is its name?” - -“I don’t remember. I don’t believe it has any.” - -The rain increased in violence. The country was slowly being converted -into a mudhole. The older leaves of the wet olive trees shone a dark -brown; the new ones glistened like metal. As the train slackened its -speed, the rain seemed to grow more intense. One could hear the patter -of the drops on the roof of the coach, and the water slid along the -windows in broad gleaming bands. - -At one of the stations, three husky young men climbed into the coach. -Each wore a shawl, a broad-brimmed hat, a black sash, and a huge silver -chain across his vest. They never ceased for an instant talking about -mills, horses, women, gambling, and bulls. - -“Those gentlemen,” asked the Frenchman in an undertone, as he leaned -over to Quentin, “What are they--toreadors?” - -“No,--rich folk from hereabouts.” - -“Hidalgos, eh?” - -“Pst! You shall see.” - -“They are talking a lot about gambling. One gambles a great deal in -Andalusia, doesn’t one?” - -“Yes.” - -“I have heard some one say, that once a hidalgo was riding along on -horseback, when he met a beggar. The horseman tossed him a silver coin, -but the beggar, not wishing to accept it drew a pack of cards from among -his rags and proposed a game to the hidalgo. He won the horse.” - -“Ha! Ha! Ha!” laughed Quentin boisterously. - -“But isn’t it true?” asked the Frenchman somewhat piqued. - -“Perhaps--perhaps it is.” - -“What a simpleton!” murmured the countryman to himself. - -“Isn’t it true either, that all beggars have the right to use the -‘Don’?” - -“Yes, indeed, that’s true enough,” answered Quentin, smiling his gipsy -smile. - -The three husky youths in the shawls got off at the next station to -Cordova. The sky cleared for an instant: up and down the platform walked -men with broad-brimmed Andalusian hats, young women with flowers in -their hair, old women with huge, red umbrellas.... - -“And those young men who just went by,” asked the Frenchman, full of -curiosity about everything, “each one carries his knife, eh?” - -“Oh, yes!--Probably,” said Quentin, unconsciously imitating his -interlocutor’s manner of speech. - -“The knives they carry are very large?” - -“The knives! Yes, very large.” - -“What might their dimensions be?” - -“Two or three spans,” asserted Quentin, to whom a span more or less -mattered very little. - -“And is it hard to manage that terrible weapon?” - -“It has its difficulties.” - -“Do you know how?” - -“Naturally. But the really difficult thing is to hit a mark with a knife -at a distance of twenty or thirty metres.” - -“How do they do that?” - -“Why, there’s nothing much to it. You place the knife like this,” and -Quentin assumed that he had placed one in the palm of his hand, “and -then you throw it with all your might. The knife flies like an arrow, -and sticks wherever you wish.” - -“How horrible!” - -“That is what we call ‘painting a _jabeque_ [a facial wound].’” - -“A ca--a cha--a what?” - -“_Jabeque._” - -“It is truly extraordinary,” said the Frenchman, after attempting in -vain to pronounce the guttural. “You have doubtless killed bulls also?” - -“Oh! yes, indeed.” - -“But you are very young.” - -“Twenty-two.” - -“Didn’t you tell me that you have been in England for eight years?” - -“Yes.” - -“So you killed bulls when you were fourteen?” - -“No ... in my vacations.” - -“Ah! You came from England just for that?” - -“Yes--for that, and to see my sweetheart.” - -The Frenchwoman smiled, and her husband said: - -“Weren’t you afraid?” - -“Afraid of which?--The bulls, or my sweetheart?” - -“Of both!” exclaimed the Frenchman, laughing heartily. - -“What a simpleton!” reiterated the countryman, smiling, and looking at -him as he would at a child. - -“All you have to do with women and bulls to understand them,” said -Quentin, with the air of a consummate connoisseur, “is to know them. If -the bull attacks you on the right, just step to the left, or _vice -versa_.” - -“And if you don’t have time to do that?” questioned the Frenchman rather -anxiously. - -“Then you may count yourself among the departed, and beg them to say a -few masses for the salvation of your soul.” - -“It is frightful--And the ladies are very enthusiastic over a good -toreador, eh?” - -“Of course--on account of the profession.” - -“What do you mean by ‘on account of the profession’?” - -“Don’t the ladies bully us?” - -“That’s true,” said the countryman, smiling. - -“And he who fights best,” continued the Frenchman, “will have the doors -of society opened to him?” - -“Of course.” - -“What a strange country!” - -“Pardon me,” asked his wife, “but is it true that if a girl deceives her -lover, he always kills her?” - -“No, not always--sometimes--but he is not obliged to.” - -“And you--have you killed a sweetheart?” she inquired, consumed with -curiosity. - -“I!”--and Quentin hesitated as one loath to confess--“Not I.” - -“Ah!--Yes, yes!” insisted the Frenchwoman, “you have killed a -sweetheart. One can see it in your face.” - -“My dear,” said her husband, “do not press him: the Spaniards are too -noble to talk about some things.” - -Quentin looked at the Frenchman and winked his eye confidentially, -giving him to understand that he had divined the true cause of his -reserve. Then he feigned a melancholy air to conceal the joy this farce -afforded him. After that, he diverted himself by looking through the -window. - -“What a bore this weather is,” he murmured. - -He had always pictured his arrival at Cordova as taking place on a -glorious day of golden sunshine, and instead, he was encountering -despicable weather, damp, ugly, and sad. - -“I suppose the same thing will happen to everything I have planned. -Nothing turns out as you think it will. That, according to my schoolmate -Harris, is an advantage. I’m not so sure. It is a matter for -discussion.” - -This memory of his schoolmate made him think of Eton school. - -“I wonder what they are doing there now?” - -Absorbed in his memories, he continued to look out the window. As the -train advanced, the country became more cultivated. Well-shaped horses -with long tails were grazing in the pastures. - -The travellers commenced to prepare their luggage for a quick descent -from the train: Quentin put on his hat, stuffed his cap into his pocket, -and placed his bag on the seat. - -“Sir,” said the Frenchman to him quickly, “I thank you for the -information with which you have supplied me. I am Jules Matignon, -professor of Spanish in Paris. I believe we shall see each other again -in Cordova.” - -“My name is Quentin García Roelas.” - -They shook hands, and waited for the train to stop: it was already -slowing up as it neared the Cordova station. - -They arrived; Quentin got off quickly, and crossed the platform, pursued -by four or five porters. Confronting one of these who had a red -handkerchief on his head, and handing him his bag and check, he ordered -him to take them to his house. - -“To the Calle de la Zapatería,” he said. “To the store where they sell -South American comestibles. Do you know where it is?” - -“The house of Don _Rafaé_? Of course.” - -“Good.” - -This done, Quentin opened his umbrella, and began to make his way toward -the centre of the city. - -“It seems as though I hadn’t crossed the Channel at all,” he said to -himself, “but were walking along one of those roads near the school. The -same grey sky, the same mud, the same rain. Now I am about to see the -parks and the river--” - -But no--what he saw was the orange trees on the Victoria, laden with -golden fruit glistening with raindrops. - -“I’m beginning to be convinced that I am in Cordova,” murmured Quentin, -and he entered the Paseo del Gran Capitán, followed the Calle de -Gondomar as far as Las Tendillas, whence, as easily as if he had passed -through the streets but yesterday, he reached his house. He scarcely -recognized it at first glance: the store no longer occupied two windows -as before, but the whole front of the house. The doors were covered with -zinc plates: only one of them having a window through which the interior -could be seen full of sacks piled in rows. - -Quentin mounted to the main floor and knocked several times: the door -was opened to him, and he entered. - -“Here I am!” he shouted, as he traversed a dark corridor. A door was -heard to open, and the boy felt himself hugged and kissed again and -again. - -“Quentin!” - -“Mother! But I can’t see you in all this darkness.” - -“Come”--and his mother, with her arms about him, led him into a room. -Bringing him to the light of a balcony window, she exclaimed: “How tall -you are, my son! How tall, and how strong!” - -“I’ve become a regular barbarian.” - -His mother embraced him again. - -“Have you been well? But you will soon tell us all about it. Are you -hungry? Do you want something to drink?--A cup of chocolate?” - -“No, no--none of your chocolate. Something a bit more solid: ham, -eggs.... I’m ferociously hungry.” - -“Good! I’ll tell them to get your breakfast ready.” - -“Is everybody well?” - -“Everybody. Come and see them.” - -They followed a narrow corridor and entered a room where two boys, aged -fifteen and twelve respectively, had just finished dressing. Quentin -embraced them none too effusively, and from the larger room they went -into a bedroom, where a little girl between eight and nine years old was -sleeping in a huge bed. - -“Is that Dolores?” asked Quentin. - -“Yes.” - -“The last time I saw her she was a tiny little thing. How pretty she -is!” - -The child awoke, and seeing a stranger before her, became frightened. - -“But it’s your brother Quentin, who has just arrived.” - -Her fears immediately allayed, she allowed herself to be kissed. - -“Now we shall go and see your father.” - -“Very well,” said Quentin reluctantly. - -They left the bedroom, and at the end of the corridor, found themselves -in a room in whose doorway swung a black screen with a glass panel. - -“We’ll wait a moment. He must have gone into the store,” said his -mother, as she seated herself upon the sofa. - -Quentin absently examined the furnishings of the office: the large -writing-desk full of little drawers; the safe with its gilt knobs; the -books and letter-press lying upon a table near the window. Upon the wall -opposite the screen hung two large, mud-coloured lithographs of Vesuvius -in eruption. Between them was a large, hexagonal clock, and below it, a -“perpetual” calendar of black cardboard, with three elliptic apertures -set one above the other--the upper one for the date, the middle one for -the month, and the lower one for the year. - -Mother and son waited a moment, while the clock measured the time with a -harsh _tick-tock_. Suddenly the screen opened, and a man entered the -office. He was clean-shaven, elegantly dressed, with a full, pink face, -and an aristocratic air. - -“Here is Quentin,” said his mother. - -“Hello!” exclaimed the man, holding out his hand to the youth. “So you -have arrived without notifying us in advance? How goes it in England?” - -“Very well.” - -“I suppose you’re quite a man now, ready to do something useful.” - -“I believe so,” answered Quentin. - -“I am glad--I am very glad to see you so changed.” - -At this point an elderly man entered the office. He was tall and thin, -with a drooping grey moustache. He bowed low by way of a greeting, but -Quentin’s mother, nodding toward her son, said: - -“Don’t you know him, Palomares?” - -“Whom, Doña Fuensanta?” - -“This boy. It’s Quentin.” - -“Quentin!” the old man fairly shouted. “So it is! My boy, how you have -grown! You’re a regular giant! Well, well! How do you like the English? -They’re a bad race, aren’t they? They’ve done me many a bad turn! When -did the boy come, Doña Fuensanta?” - -“This very minute.” - -“Well--” said Quentin’s father to Palomares. - -“Come,” announced his mother, “they have work to do.” - -“We shall have a little more time to talk later on at the table,” said -his father. - -Mother and son left the office and made their way to the dining-room. -Quentin sat at the table and ravenously devoured eggs, ham, rolls, a bit -of cheese, and a plate of sweets. - -“But you’ll lose your appetite for dinner,” warned his mother. - -“_Ca!_ I never lose my appetite. I could go right on eating,” replied -Quentin. Then, smacking his lips over the wine as he stuck his nose into -the glass, he added: “What wine, mother! We didn’t drink anythink like -this at school.” - -“No?” - -“I should say not!” - -“Poor boy!” - -Quentin, touched, cried: - -“I was lonesome, oh, so lonesome over there for such a long time. And -now ... you won’t love me as you do the others.”-- - -“Yes, I shall--just the same. I’ve thought about you so much--” and the -mother, again embracing her son, wept for a time upon his -shoulder--overcome with emotion. - -“Come, come, don’t cry any more,” said Quentin, and seizing her by her -slender waist, he lifted her into the air as easily as if she had been a -feather, and kissed her upon the cheek. - -“What a brute! How strong you are!” she exclaimed, surprised and -pleased. - -Then they went over the house together. Some of the details demonstrated -very clearly the economic stride the family had made: the hall with its -large mirrors, marble consoles, and French hearth, was luxuriously -furnished: displayed in a cabinet in the dining-room, were a -table-service of Sèvres porcelain, and dishes, teapots, and platters of -repoussé silver. - -“This table-service,” said Quentin’s mother, “we bought for a song from -a ruined marquis. Every one of the dishes and platters had a crown and -the marquis’ initials painted on it--but between the three girls and me, -we have rubbed them all off with pumice stone. It took us months.” - -After seeing the entire house, mother and son descended to the store. -Here, the commercial ballast of the house was in evidence: heaped-up -piles of sacks of all sorts separated by narrow aisles. The employés of -the store came forward to greet Quentin; then he and his mother -reclimbed the stairs and entered the house. - -“Your room is all ready for you,” said his mother. “We shall have dinner -directly.” - -Quentin changed his clothes, washed, and presented himself in the -dining-room, very much combed and brushed, and looking extremely -handsome. His father, elegant in the whitest of collars, presided at the -table: his mother distributed the food: the children were clean and -tidy. A girl in a white apron served the meal. - -Throughout the entire meal there existed a certain coldness, punctuated -by long and vexatious moments of silence. Quentin was furious, and when -the meal was finished, he arose immediately and went to his room. - -“They have forgotten nothing here,” he thought. “I don’t believe I shall -be able to stay in this house for any length of time.” - -His baggage had been brought to his room, so he devoted himself to -unpacking his books, and to arranging them in a bookcase. It was still -raining, and he had no desire to go out. It soon grew dark; for these -were the shortest days of the year. He went down to the store, where he -came upon Palomares, the old dependent of the house. - -“How did you like England?” he was asked. - -“Very much. It is a great country.” - -“But a bad race, eh?” - -“_Ca_, man! Better than ours.” - -“Do you think so?” - -“I certainly do.” - -“Maybe you’re right. Have you seen the store?” - -“Yes, this morning.” - -“We’ve made a great fight here, my boy. We have worked wonders--your -mother most of all. When she’s around, I can laugh at any other woman, -no matter how clever she may be.” - -“Yes, she must be clever.” - -“Indeed she is! She is responsible for everything. When I used to go -into the office upstairs, and turn the screws on the calendar, I thought -‘Today we’ll have the catastrophe’--but no, everything turned out well. -I’m going upstairs for a while. Are you coming?” - -“No.” - -Quentin seized an umbrella and took a stroll through the city. It was -pouring rain; so, very much bored, he soon returned to the house. - -His mother, Palomares, and all the children were playing Keno in the -dining-room. They invited him to take part in the game, and although it -did not impress him as particularly amusing, he had no choice but to -accept. It was a source of much laughter and shouting when Quentin -failed to understand the nicknames which Palomares gave to the numbers -as he called them; for beside those that were common and already -familiar to him, such as “the pretty little girl” for the 15, he had -others that were more picturesque which he had to explain to Quentin. -The 2, for example, was called “the little turkey-hen”; the 11, “the -Catalonians’ gallows”; the 6, “the clothier’s rat”; the 22, “mother -Irene’s turkeys”; the 17, “the crooked _Maoliyo_.” Among the nicknames, -were some that were surprisingly fantastic; like the 10, which Palomares -designated by calling “María Francisca, who goes to the theatre in dirty -petticoats.” - -At the end of each game, Palomares took a tray with a glass of water on -it, and said to the winner: - -“You who have won behold your glass of water and your sugar-loaf: you -who have lost,” and he pointed to the loser, “go whence you came.” - -His fun was hailed with delight every time he went through the ceremony. - -“Now tell us what you did in Chile,” said one of the youngsters. - -“No, no,” said Quentin’s mother. “You two boys must study now, and my -little girl must go to bed.” - -They obeyed without a protest, and soon after, one could hear the -buzzing of the two boys as they read their lesson aloud. - -“Well,” said Palomares, “I’m going to supper,” and taking his cloak, he -went out into the street. - -Quentin’s father came in, and they had supper. The evening meal had the -same character as the dinner. As soon as they had finished dessert, -Quentin arose and went to his room. - -He climbed into bed, and amid the great confusion of images and -recollections that crowded his brain, one idea always predominated: that -he was not going to be able to live in that house. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -O, ORIENTAL, ROMANTIC CITY! - - -On the following day, Quentin awoke very early. An unusual sensation of -heat and dryness penetrated his senses. He looked through the balcony -window. The delicate, keen, somewhat lustreless light of morning glowed -in the street. In the clear, pale sky, a few white clouds were drifting -slowly. - -Quentin dressed himself rapidly, left the house in which all were still -sleeping, turned down the street, went through a narrow alley, crossed a -plaza, followed a street, and then another and another, and soon found -himself without knowledge as to his whereabouts. - -“This is amusing,” he murmured. - -He was completely at sea. He did not even know on which side of the city -he was. - -This made him feel very gay; happily, and with a light heart, thinking -of nothing in particular, but enjoying the soft, fresh air of the winter -morning, he continued with real pleasure to lose himself in that -labyrinth of alleys and passages--veritable crevices, shadow-filled.... - -The streets narrowed before him, and then widened until they formed -little plazas: they were full of sinuous twists; they traced broken -lines through the city. Water-spouts, terminating in wide-open dragon -mouths, threatened each other from opposite eaves, and the two lines of -tiled roofs, broken now and then by projecting bay-windows, and azoteas -(flat roofs or terraces upon the house-tops), were so close together -that the sky was reduced between them to a ribbon of blue--of a very -pure blue. - -When one narrow, white street came to an end, on either side there -opened out others equally narrow, white, and silent. - -Quentin never imagined that there could be so much solitude, so much -light, so much mystery and silence. His eyes, accustomed to the filtered -and opaque light of the North, were blinded by the reverberation of the -walls. The air buzzed in his ears like a huge, sonorous sea-shell. - -How different everything was! What a difference between this clear and -limpid atmosphere, and that grey northern air: between the refulgent sun -of Cordova, and the turbid light of the misty, blackened towns of -England! - -“This is a real sun,” thought Quentin, “and not that thing in England -that looks like a wafer stuck on brown paper.” - -In the plazoletas, white houses with green blinds, with their eaves -shaded by tracings of blue paint, their intersecting angles twisted, and -splashed with lime, sparkled and shone. And from the side of one of -these sunbaked plazas, there started a narrow, damp, and sinuous alley, -full of violet shadows. - -Sometimes Quentin paused before sumptuous façades of old manorial -houses. At the furthest end of the broad entrance, the wrought-iron -flowers of the grating stood out against the brilliant clarity of a -resplendent patio. That drowsy spot was surrounded by rows of arches, -and jardinières were hung from the roofs of the corridors; while from a -marble basin in the centre, a fountain of crystalline water plashed in -the air. - -In the houses of the rich, great plantain trees spread their enormous -leaves, and cactus plants in green wooden pots, decorated the entrance. -In some of the poorer houses, the patios could be seen overflowing with -light at the end of very long and shadowy corridors. - -The day was advancing: from time to time a figure wrapped in a cloak, or -an old woman with a basket, or a girl with her hair down her back and an -Andújar pitcher on her well-rounded hip, would pass quickly by, and -suddenly, instantaneously, one or the other of them would disappear in -the turn of an alley. An old woman was setting up a small table, on top -of which, and upon some bits of paper, she was arranging coloured taffy. - -Without realizing where he was going, Quentin came to the Mosque, and -found himself before the wall facing an altar with a wooden shed, and a -grating decorated with pots of flowers. On the altar was this sign: - - _Si quieres que tu dolor - se convierta en alegría, - no pasarás, pecador, - sin alabar a María._ - -(If you wish your grief to be changed to joy, you will not pass by, O -sinner, without first praising the Virgin Mary.) - - * * * * * - -Near the altar was an open gate, and through it, Quentin passed into the -Patio de los Naranjos. - -Above the archway of the entrance, the cathedral tower, broad, strong, -and resplendent in the sun, raised itself toward heaven, standing out in -clear and sharp silhouette in the pure and diaphanous morning air. - -Now and then a woman crossed the patio. A prebendary, with cap and -crimson mozetta, was walking slowly up and down in the sun, smoking, -with his hands clasped behind his back. In the shelter of the Puerta del -Perdón, two men were piling oranges. As Quentin neared the fountain, a -little old man asked him solicitously: - -“Do you wish to see the Mosque?” - -“No, sir,” replied Quentin pleasantly. - -“The Alcázar?” - -“No.” - -“The Tower?” - -“No.” - -“Very well, Señorito, pardon me if I have molested you.” - -“Not at all.” - -When Quentin left the Patio de los Naranjos, he met the French couple of -the train near the Triunfo column. M. Matignon hastened to greet him. - -“Oh, what a town! What a town!” he cried. “Oh, my friend, what an -extraordinary affair!” - -“Why, what has happened to you?” - -“A thousand things.” - -“Good or bad?” - -“Both. Just fancy: last night as I was coming out of a house, and was -about to enter my hotel, a man with a lantern in his hand, and a short -pike, commenced to pursue me. I went into the hotel and locked myself in -my room; but the man came into the hotel; I’m sure of it, I’m sure of -it.” - -Quentin laughed, realizing that the man with the lantern and the short -pike was a night watchman. - -“Pay no attention to the man with the pike,” said he. “If he sees you -again and starts to follow you, look him straight in the eye, and say to -him firmly: ‘I have the key.’ It is the magic word. As soon as he hears -it, he will go away.” - -“Why?” - -“Ah! That is a secret.” - -“How strange! One says to him, ‘I have the key,’ and he goes?” - -“Yes.” - -“It is marvellous. Something else happened to me.” - -“What?” - -“Last night we went to a café, and I left my stick upon a chair. When I -went back after it, it was no longer there.” - -“Naturally! Some one carried it off.” - -“But that is not moral!” declared M. Matignon indignantly. - -“No. We Spaniards have no morals,” replied Quentin somewhat dejectedly. - -“One cannot live without morality!” - -“But we _do_ live without it. With us, stealing a stick, or stabbing a -friend are things of small importance.” - -“You cannot have order in that way.” - -“Of course not.” - -“Nor discipline.” - -“True.” - -“Nor society.” - -“Assuredly not: but here we live without those things.” - -M. Matignon shook his head sadly. - -“Are you going to continue your walk?” he asked. - -“Yes.” - -“We shall go with you if we won’t be in your way.” - -“Come by all means.” - -Together the trio began to wander through that puzzling entanglement of -alleys. The barrio, or district into which they penetrated (the vicinity -of El Potro), was beginning to come to life. A few old women with -sour-looking faces, some with mantles of Antequera baize, others with -black mantillas, were on their way to mass, carrying folding chairs -under their arms. - -“Dueñas, eh?” said the Frenchman, pointing his finger at the old women. -“But their ladies, where are they now?” - -“Probably snoring at their ease,” replied Quentin. - -“But, do they snore?” - -“Some of them, yes.” - -“Snore? What is that?” Madame Matignon inquired of her husband in -French. - -“_Ronfler_, my dear,” said Matignon, “_ronfler_.” - -His wife made a disdainful little grimace. - -When the gossips in the streets caught sight of the trio, they exchanged -a jest or two from door to door. Servant girls were scrubbing the floors -of the patios with mops, and singing gipsy songs; balcony windows flew -open with a bang, as women came out to shake their rugs and carpets. - -Grimy-looking men passed them, pushing carts and shouting: “Fish!” -Vendors of medicinal herbs languidly cried their wares; and a muleteer, -mounted upon the hindmost donkey of his herd, rode along singing to the -tune of the tinkling bells on his decorated asses. - -Once, behind a window-grating, they caught sight of a pallid, anæmic -face with large, sad, black eyes, and a white flower stuck in the ebony -hair. - -“Oh! Oh!” cried Matignon, and immediately ran to the window. - -The maiden, offended by his curiosity, pulled down the curtain, and went -on embroidering or sewing, waiting for the handsome gallant, who perhaps -never came. - -“They are odalisques,” declared the Frenchman rather spitefully. - -In the doorways on some of the streets, they saw men working at turning -lathes in the Moorish fashion, using a sort of bow, and helping -themselves in their tasks with their feet. - -Quentin, who was already tired of the walk and of the observations and -comments of the Frenchman, announced his intention of leaving them. - -“I would like to ask you a question first,” said Matignon. - -“Proceed.” - -“I wish to see an undertaking establishment.” “An und_air_tak_ing_ -estableesh_ment_,” the good man called it. - -“There are none here,” replied Quentin. “They are all far away; but if -you should see a shop where they sell guitars, you may be pretty sure -that that is where they make coffins, too.” - -“Can it be possible?” - -“Yes. It’s a Cordovese custom.” - -M. Matignon’s mouth fell open in surprise. - -“It is extraordinary!” he exclaimed when he had recovered from his -astonishment, and he drew a memorandum book and a pencil from his -pocket. “Where did this custom come from?” - -“Oh! It is very ancient. The casket-makers here declared that they were -loath to confine their efforts to sad things, so from the same wood out -of which they make a coffin, they take a piece for a guitar.” - -“Admirable! Admirable! And they do not know that in France! What a -philosophy is that of the casket-maker! O, Cordova, Cordova! How little -thou art known in the world!” - -At that moment, a tattered, bushy-haired vendor of sacred images crossed -a very small plaza which contained a very large sign-post. Upon his -white, matted hair he wore a greasy and dirty hat as large as a portico. -His loose-fitting, long-sleeved cloak was worn wrong side to: the back -across his breast, and the sleeves, knotted and bulky at the ends, -falling down his back. Under his right arm he carried the saint, and in -his belt was a cash-box with a slot for pennies. - -“Pst! Silence!” said Quentin. “You are about to behold a most -interesting spectacle.” - -“What is it?” - -“Do you see that man?” - -“Yes.” - -“I’ll wager you cannot guess who he is?” - -“No.” - -“The Bishop of Cordova!” - -“The Bishop!” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“But he hasn’t the appearance of a bishop, nor even of a cleanly -person.” - -“That doesn’t matter. If you follow him cautiously, you will be able to -see something very strange.” - -After he had said this, Quentin bowed to the couple, and walked rapidly -away in the direction of his home. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -INFANCY: SOMBRE VESTIBULE OF LIFE - - -Archæologists guard those curious, twice-written documents called -palimpsests as carefully as though they were so much gold. They are -parchments from which the first inscriptions were erased years and years -ago, to be substituted by others. More recently, assiduous investigators -have learned how to bring the erased characters to light, to decipher -them, and to read them. - -The idea of those strange documents came to Quentin’s mind as he thought -about his life. - -Eight years of English school had apparently completely erased the -memories of his early childhood. The uniformity of his school life, the -continual sports, had dulled his memory. Night after night Quentin went -to bed overcome with fatigue, with nothing to preoccupy his mind save -his themes and his lessons; but his removal from the scholarly -atmosphere, and his return to his home, had been sufficient to reawaken -memories of his childhood--vaguely at first, but daily growing stronger, -more distinct, and more detailed. - -The erased inscription of the palimpsest was again becoming -comprehensible: memories long dormant were crowding Quentin’s mind: of -these recollections, some were sad and gloomy; others, and these were -very few, were gay; still others were not as yet very clear to him. - -Quentin endeavoured to reconstruct his childhood. He remembered having -passed it in a house on the Calle de Librerías, near the Calle de la -Feria and the Cuesta de Luján, and he went to see the place. It was on a -corner of the street: a rose-coloured house with a silversmith’s shop on -the lower floor, two large and pretentious balconies on the main floor, -and above them, two rectangular windows. On top of the roof, was a -diminutive azotea surrounded by a rubble-stone wall. - -“That is where I was as a child,” said Quentin to himself. - -He remembered vaguely that hedge-mustard used to grow between the slabs -of the azotea, and that he had a white cat with which he used to play. - -He peeped into the shop, and there came to his mind the picture of a man -with white hair whom his mother tried to get him to kiss--something she -never succeeded in doing. - -“I must have been a little savage in those days,” thought Quentin. - -He strolled along the Calle de la Feria and recalled his escapades with -the little boys of the vicinity of La Ribera and El Murallón where they -used to play. - -His memory did not flow smoothly. There were large gaps in it: persons, -things, and places were blurred confusedly. His vivid recollections -began in the Calle de la Zapatería, where his parents established their -first shop. From there on, the incidents were linked together; they had -an explanation, a conclusion. - -Quentin was taken to school when he was very young--three or four years -old--because he was in the way at the store. As a very small child he -was distinguished as a dare-devil, a rowdy, and a swaggering boaster; -and many times he returned from school with his trousers torn, or a -black eye. - -Once he had a fight with one of his schoolmates who came from a town -called Cabra (Goat). For this reason, the others used to poke fun at -him, calling him a “son of a goat,” and making rude derivations from the -name of his home town. Quentin was one of the most insulting, and one -day the tormented lad answered him: - -“You’re a bigger son of a goat than I am, and your mother is living with -a silversmith.” - -Quentin waited for his comrade to come out of school, and then punched -his nose--only to be thrashed by his victim’s older brother afterwards. -This affair gave origin to a continual series of fights, and nearly -every day Quentin was crippled by the beatings he received. - -“Why, what’s the matter with you?” his mother once asked. - -“They told me at school that my mother was living with a silversmith.” - -“Who told you?” - -“Everybody,” replied Quentin with a frown. - -“And what did you do?” - -“Fought ’em all!” - -His mother said nothing more, but she withdrew Quentin from that school -and took him to another, which was presided over by a dominie, and -attended by a couple of dozen children. - -The dominie was a secularized monk by the name of Piñuela--an old fossil -full of musty prejudices. He was a strong partisan of the ancient -pedagogic principle, so much beloved by our ancestors, of “La letra con -la sangre entra” (Learn by the sweat of thy brow). - -Dominie Piñuela was a ridiculous and eccentric individual. His nose was -large, coarse, and flaming red: his under lip hung down: his great eyes, -turbid, and bulging from their sockets like two eggs, were always -watery: he wore a long, tight-fitting frock coat, which was once black, -but now with the passage of time, covered with layers of dirt and grease -and dandruff; narrow trousers, bagging loosely at the knees, and a black -skull-cap. - -Piñuela’s only store of knowledge consisted of Latin, rhetoric, and -writing. His system of instruction was based on the division of the -class into two groups, Rome and Carthage, a book of translations, and a -Latin Grammar. Besides these educational mediums, the secularized monk -counted upon the aid of a ferrule, a whip, a long bamboo stick, and a -small leather sack filled with bird-shot. - -Piñuela taught writing by the Spanish method, with the letters ending in -points. To do this one had to know how to cut and trim quill pens; and -few there were who had the advantage of the Dominie in this art. - -Besides this, Piñuela corrected the vicious pronunciation of his pupils; -and in order to do so, he exaggerated his own by doubling his z’s and -s’s. One of the selections of his readings began as follows: _Amanezzía; -era la máss bella mañana de primafera_ (Dawn was breaking; it was the -most beautiful day of Spring): and all the children had to say -“primafera” and “fida” unless they wished their lessons to be -supplemented by a blow with the ferrule. - -The Dominie walked constantly to and fro with his pen behind his ear. If -he saw that a child was not studying, or had not pointed his letters -sufficiently in his copy-book, according to the principles of -Iturzaeta, he beat him with the stick, or threw the bag of shot at his -head. - -“Idling, eh?--Idling?” he would murmur, “I’ll teach you to idle!” - -For more serious occasions, the stupid Dominie had his whip; but nearly -all of the parents warned him not to use it on their children--which for -Piñuela was the plainest symptom of the decadence of the times. - -At first Quentin felt the profoundest hate for the Dominie: he tormented -him every time he could with unutterable joy; he broke his inkwells; he -bored holes in his writing-desk; and Piñuela retaliated by boxing his -ears. Between master and pupil there began to arise a certain ironical -and joyous esteem by force of beatings from the one, and pranks from the -other. They looked upon each other as faithful enemies; Quentin’s -mischief provoked laughter from Piñuela, and the Dominie’s beatings -wrested an ironical smile from Quentin. - -Once the pupils saw Piñuela advancing with his pointer raised on high, -and Quentin running, hiding behind tables, and throwing inkwells at the -Dominie’s head. - -One day two old women were gossiping in the shop at home. They were two -street vendors, one of whom was called Siete Tonos, on account of the -seven different tones she used in crying her wares. - -“They have hard luck with the little scamp. He’s a wicked little devil,” -said one of them. - -“Yes; he’s not like his father,” added the other. - -“But El Pende isn’t his father.” - -“Ah! Isn’t he?” - -“No.” - -Quentin waited for them to say more, but the clerk entered the store, -and the gossips fell silent. - -El Pende was the nickname of the man who passed for Quentin’s father. -The boy thought about the conversation of the two old gossips for a long -time, and came to the conclusion that there had been something obscure -about his birth. He was proud and haughty, and considered himself worthy -of royal descent, so the idea of dishonour irritated him, and made him -desperate. - -One day his mother went to ask the Dominie how her son was behaving -himself. - -“How is he behaving himself?” cried Piñuela with ironic geniality. -“Badly! Very badly! He’s the worst boy in the class. A veritable -dishonour to my school. He knows nothing about Latin, nor grammar, nor -logic, nor anything. I’m sure that he doesn’t even know how to decline -_musa, musae_.” - -“So you think he is no good at studying?” - -“He is a rowdy, incapable of ever possessing the sublime language of -Lacius.” - -His mother told her husband what Piñuela had said, and El Pende launched -a sermon at Quentin. - -“So this is the way you behave after the sacrifices we have made for -you!” - -Quentin did not reply to the charges they made against him, but when El -Pende told him that if he continued his pranks he would throw him out of -the house, the thought that was in Quentin’s heart rushed to his lips. - -“It makes no difference to me,” he cried, “because you are not my -father.” - -El Pende boxed the boy’s ears; the mother wept; and that night Quentin -left the house and roamed the fields half-starved, until Palomares, the -clerk, found him and brought him to his parents. - -The boy began to take notice of things, and made it plain to his mother -that instead of studying Latin, he preferred to learn French and go to -America, as a schoolmate of his--the son of a Swiss watch-maker--had -done. - -Accordingly they took him to the academy of a French _emigré_, a violent -republican, who, at the same time that he taught his pupils to conjugate -the verb _avoir_, spoke to them enthusiastically about Danton, -Robespierre, and Hoche. - -Perhaps this excited Quentin’s imagination; perhaps it did not need to -be excited; at any rate, one Sunday morning he decided to put into -execution his great _projét de voyage_. - -His mother was accustomed to hide the key to the cabinet where she kept -her money under her pillow. While she was at mass, Quentin seized the -key, opened the cabinet, stuffed the seventy dollars that he found there -into his pocket, and a few minutes later was calmly increasing the -distance between himself and his home. - -Fifteen days after his escape he was apprehended in Cadiz just as he was -about to set sail for America, and was brought back to Cordova in the -custody of the _guardia civil_. - -Then his mother took him to a monastery, but Quentin had made up his -mind to run away from everything, so he attempted to escape several -times. At the end of a month, the friars intimated that they did not -wish to keep him any longer. - -To the boys of his age, Quentin was now the prototype of wildness, -impudence, and disobedience. People predicted an evil future for him. - -At this point his mother said to him one day: - -“We are going to a certain house. Kindly answer politely anything they -may ask you there.” - -Quentin said nothing, but accompanied his mother to a palace on the -Calle del Sol. They climbed some marble stairs, and entered a hall where -a white-haired old man was sitting in a large, deep armchair, with a -blond little girl who looked like an angel to Quentin, by his side. - -“So this is the little scamp?” inquired the little old man with a smile. - -“Sí, Señor Marqués,” replied Quentin’s mother. - -“And what do you wish to do, my boy?” the Marquis asked him. - -“I!--Get out of here as soon as I possibly can,” replied Quentin in a -dull voice. - -“But, why?” - -“Because I hate this town.” - -The little girl must have looked at him in horror; at least he supposed -she did. - -His mother and the old man chatted a while, and at last the latter -exclaimed: - -“Very well, my boy. You shall go to England. Get his baggage ready,” he -added, turning to the mother, “and let him go as soon as possible.” - -Quentin departed, making the journey sometimes in the company of others, -sometimes alone, and entered Eton School, near Windsor. In a short time -he had forgotten his entire former life. - -In the English school the professor was not the enemy of the scholar, -but rather one of his schoolmates. Quentin met boys as daring as he, and -stronger than he, and he had to look alive. That school was something -like a primitive forest where the strong devoured the weak, and -conquered and abused them. - -The brutality of the English education acted like a tonic upon Quentin, -and made him athletic and good-humoured. The thing of paramount -importance that he learned there, was that one must be strong and alert -and calm in life, and ready to conquer always. - -In the same way that he accepted this concept on account of the way it -flattered him, he rejected the moral and sentimental concepts of his -fellow-pupils and masters. Those young men of bulldog determination, -valiant, strengthened by football and rowing, and nourished by underdone -meat, were full of ridiculous conventions and respect for social class, -for the hierarchy, and for authority. - -In spite of the fact that he passed for an aristocrat and a son of a -marquis in order to enjoy a certain prestige in the school, Quentin -manifested a profound contempt for the principles his schoolmates held -in such respect. He considered that authority, wigs, and ceremonies were -grotesque, and consequently was looked upon as the worst kind of a -poser. - -He used to maintain, much to the stupefaction of his comrades, that he -felt no enthusiasm for religion, nor for his native land; that not only -would he not sacrifice himself for them, but he would not even give a -farthing to save them. Moreover, he asserted that if he should ever -become rich, he would prefer to owe his money to chance, rather than to -constant effort on his part; and that to work, as the English did, that -their wives might amuse themselves and live well, was absurd--for all -their blond hair, their great beauty, and their flute-like voices. - -A man with his ideas, and one, moreover, who followed women--even -servant girls--in the street, and made complimentary remarks to them, -could not be a _gentleman_, and for this reason, Quentin had no intimate -friends. He was respected for his good fists, but enjoyed absolutely no -esteem.... - -During his last years at school, his only real friend was an Italian -teacher of music named Caravaglia. This man communicated to Quentin his -enthusiasm for Bellini, Donizetti, Rossini, and Verdi. Caravaglia used -to sit at the piano and sing. Quentin listened to him and was much -softened by the music. The _Alma innamoratta_ from _Lucia_, and _La -cavattina_ from _Hernani_, made him weep; but his greatest favourites, -the songs that went straight to his heart, were the manly arias from the -Italian operas like that in _Rigoletto_, that goes: - - _La constanza teranna del core._ - -This song, overflowing with arrogance, merry fanfaronade, indifference, -and egoism, enchanted him. - -On the other hand, to his psalm-singing comrades, this merry and -swaggering music seemed worthy of the greatest contempt. - -In the farewell banquet which Quentin gave to his four or five -companions, and to the Italian professor, there were several toasts. - -“I am not a Protestant,” said Quentin at the last, somewhat befuddled -with whiskey, “nor am I a Catholic. I am a Horatian. I believe in the -wine of Falernus, and in Cécube and his wines of Calais. I also believe -that we mortals must leave the task of calming the winds to the gods.” - -After this important declaration, nothing more is known, except the fact -that the diners all fell asleep. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -BLUE EYES, BLACK EYES - - -“See here, Quentin,” said his mother, “you ought to go and call on the -Marquis.” - -“Very well,” Quentin answered, “must I go today?” - -“You’d better.” - -“Then I shall.” - -“Do you remember where he lives?” - -“Yes, I think I can find the house.” - -“It’s in the Calle del Sol; any one will point out the palace to you.” - -Quentin left the house, turned into the Plaza de la Corredera, and from -the Calle del Poyo, by encircling a church, he came out upon the Calle -de Santiago. It was a moderately warm day in January, with an overcast -sky. A few drops of rain were falling. - -Quentin was very much preoccupied by the visit he was about to make. - -So far, he had not asked what relation he was to that man. Surely some -relationship did exist; a bastard kinship; something defamatory to -Quentin. - -Sunk deep in these thoughts, Quentin wandered from his way, and was -obliged to ask where the street was. - -The palace of the Marquis of Tavera stood in a street in the lower part -of town, which with different names for its different parts, stretched -from the Plaza de San Pedro to the Campo de la Madre de Dios. - -The Marquis’ palace was extremely large. Five bay-windows, framed in -thick moulding, with ornate iron-work and brass flower-pots, opened from -a façade of a yellow, porous stone. On either side of the larger centre -balcony, there rose two pilasters surmounted by a timpanum, in the -middle of which was the half-obliterated carving of a shield. The -decayed iron-work of the balustrade was twisted into complicated -designs. - -On the ground floor, four large gratings clawed the walls of the palace, -and in the centre was a large opening closed by a massive door studded -with nails, and topped by a fan-shaped window. - -Before the palace, the street widened into a small-sized plaza. Quentin -entered the wide entrance, and his footsteps resounded with a hollow -sound. - -Some distance ahead of him, through the iron bars of the grating at the -end of a dark gallery, he could see a sunny garden; and that shady zone, -terminating in such a brilliant spot of light, recalled the play of -light and shade in the canvases of the old masters. - -Quentin pulled a chain, and a bell rang in the distance with a solemn -sound. - -Several minutes elapsed without any one coming to the entry, and Quentin -rang again. - -A moment later the vivid sunlight of the distant garden, which shone -like a square patch of light at the end of the shadowy corridor, was -dimmed by the silhouette of a man who came forward until he reached and -opened the grating. He was small in stature, and old, and wore overalls, -an undershirt, and a broad-brimmed hat. - -“What did you wish?” asked the old man. - -“Is the Señor Marqués at home?” - -“Sí, Señor.” - -“May I see him?” - -“I don’t know; ask upstairs.” The old man opened the grating, and -Quentin passed through. - -Through a door on the right he could see a deserted patio. In the centre -of it was a fountain formed by a bowl which spilled the water into a -basin in six sparkling jets. On the left of the wide vestibule rose a -monumental stairway made of black and white marble. The very high -ceiling was covered with huge panels which were broken and decayed. - -“Is this the way?” Quentin asked the old man, pointing to the stairway. - -“Sí, Señor.” - -He climbed the stairs to the landing, and paused before a large, -panelled, double door. In the centre of each half, he discerned two -large and handsomely carved escutcheons. To the left of this door there -was a window through which Quentin peeped. - -“Oh, how beautiful!” he murmured in astonishment. - -He saw a splendid garden, full of orange trees laden with fruit. In the -open, the trees were tall and erect; against the walls they took the -form of vines, climbing the high walls, and covering them with their -dark green foliage. - -A light rain was falling, and it was a wonderful sight to see the -oranges glistening like balls of red and yellow gold among the dark, -rain-soaked leaves. The glistening brilliancy of the foliage, and of the -golden fruit, the grey sky, and the damp air created an extraordinary -effect of exuberance and life. - -Silence reigned in the shady garden. From time to time, from his -hiding-place in a tree, some bird poured forth his sweet song. A pale -yellow sunbeam struggled to illuminate the spot, and as it was reflected -upon the wet leaves, it made them flash with a metallic brilliancy.... - -Above the opposite wall, rose the silhouette of a blackened and -moss-covered belfry, surmounted by the figure of an angel. In the -distance, over the house-tops, rose the dark sierra, partially hidden by -bluish mists. These mists were moved about by the wind, and as they -drifted along, or dissipated into the air, they disclosed several white -orchards which heretofore had been concealed by the haze. - -On the mountain-top, as the white penants of mist floated among the -trees, they left tenuous filaments like those silver threads woven among -the thorn bushes by lemures. - -Quentin was gazing tirelessly upon the scene, when he heard footsteps -behind him. He turned and saw a little girl of ten or twelve years, with -her hair down her back. - -“Good-afternoon,” said the child with a marked Andalusian accent, as she -came up to him. - -Quentin removed his hat respectfully, and the child smiled. - -“Have you rung?” she asked. - -“No.” - -She rang the bell, and a large, over-grown servant girl opened the door -and asked Quentin what he wanted. - -“Give the Señor Marqués my card,” he said, “and tell him that I have -come to pay him my respects.” - -“Come in, Señor.” - -Quentin entered. He rather wished that the Marquis would not care to -receive him, hoping in this way to avoid making a tiresome call, but his -wish was not granted, for in a short time, the over-grown servant girl -asked him to kindly follow her. - -They traversed a gallery whose windows looked out upon the patio of the -fountain; then, after crossing two large, dark rooms, they came to a -high-ceilinged hall panelled in leather, and with a red rug, tarnished -by the years, upon the floor. - -“Sit down, Señor; the master will be here directly,” said the maid. - -Quentin seated himself and began to examine the hall. It was large and -rectangular, with three broad, and widely-separated balcony windows -looking out upon the garden. The room possessed an air of complete -desolation. The painted walls from which the plaster had peeled off in -places, were hung with life-size portraits of men in the uniforms and -habiliments of nobility: in some of the pictures the canvas was torn; in -others, the frames were eaten by moths: the great, rickety, -leather-covered armchairs staggered under the touch of a hand upon their -backs: two ancient pieces of tapestry with figures in relief, which -concealed the doors, were full of large rents: on the panels in the -ceiling, spiders wove their white webs: a very complicated seventeenth -century clock, with pendulum and dial of copper, had ceased to run: the -only things in that antique salon that were out of harmony, were the -French fire-place in which some wood was burning, and a little gilt -clock upon the marble mantel, which, like a good parvenu, impertinently -called attention to itself. - -When he had waited a moment, a curtain was pulled aside, and an old man, -bent with age, entered the salon. He was followed by a little -bow-legged hunchback, crosseyed, grey-haired, and dressed in black. - -“Where is the boy?” asked the old man in a cracked voice. - -“Right in front of you,” replied the hunchback. - -“Come closer!” exclaimed the Marquis, addressing Quentin. “I do not see -very well.” - -Quentin approached him, and the old man seized his hand and looked at -him very closely. - -“Come, sit by me. Have you enjoyed good health at school?” - -“Yes, Señor Marqués.” - -“Don’t call me that,” murmured the old man, patting Quentin’s hand. -“Have you learned to speak English?” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“But, well?” - -“I speak it as well as I do Spanish.” - -“English is very hard,” said the hunchback, who had seated himself upon -the floor. “Yes means yesca (tinder); _verigüel_ means muy bien (very -well), and as for the rest--when you can say, ‘I catch, I go, I -say’--you know English.” - -“Hush, Colmenares,” said the Marquis, “don’t be a fool.” - -“You’re more of a fool than I am,” replied the dwarf. - -The old man, paying no attention to him, said to Quentin: - -“I already know, I already know that you have not been up to any more -foolishness.” - -The hunchback burst into noisy laughter. - -“Then he doesn’t belong to your family,” he exclaimed, “because every -one of your family, beginning with you, is a fool.” - -“Hush, buffoon, be quiet; I’ll warm your ribs for you if you don’t.” - -This threat from the lips of the sickly octogenarian, was absolutely -absurd; but the hunchback appeared to take it in earnest, for he began -to make faces and grin in silence. - -“Oh, Colmenares,” said the old man, “kindly call Rafaela, will you?” - -“Very well.” - -The hunchback went out, leaving the Marquis and Quentin alone. - -“Well, my boy, I have asked your mother about you very often. She told -me that you were well, and that you were working hard. I am very glad to -see you”--and again he pressed Quentin’s hand between his own weak and -trembling ones. - -Quentin regarded the old man tenderly, without knowing what to say. At -this moment, the hunchback returned, followed by a young lady and a -little girl. The little girl was the one Quentin had greeted upon the -stairs; the young lady was the same girl he had seen several years -before--probably in that very same room. - -Quentin rose to greet them. - -“Rafaela,” said the old man, addressing the older girl, “this boy is a -relative of ours. I am not going to recall incidents that sadden me: the -only thing I want is that you should know that you are related. Quentin -will come here often, will you not?” - -“Yes, sir,” answered he, more and more astounded at the direction the -interview was taking. - -“Good. That is all.” - -At this point, the hunchback, clutching the Marquis by the sleeve, -asked: - -“Would you like me to play for you?” - -“Yes, do.” - -The hunchback brought a small, lute-shaped guitar, drew up a tabouret, -and sat at the feet of the Marquis. Then he began to pluck the strings -with fingers as long and delicate as spiders’ legs. He played a guitar -march, and then, much to Quentin’s astonishment, the old Marquis began -to sing. He sang a patriotic song in a cracked voice. It was a very old -one, and ended with the following stanza: - - _Ay mi patria, patria mía, - y tambien de mi querida; - luchar valiente por patria y amor, - es el deber del guerrero español._ - -(Ah, my country, country of mine, and also of my sweetheart; to fight -for country and love, is the duty of the Spanish warrior.) - - * * * * * - -When the old man had finished the song, his grand-daughters embraced -him, and he smiled most contentedly. - -Quentin felt as though he had been transported to another century. The -shabby house, the old Marquis, the buffoon, the beautiful -girls--everything seemed unusual. - -The two sisters were pretty; Rafaela, the older sister, was extremely -attractive. Some twenty-three or twenty-four years of age, she had -clear, blue eyes--eyes the colour of pale blue satin--blond hair, a -straight nose, and an enchanting smile. Lacking the freshness of her -first youth, there was a suspicion of marcidity in her face, which, -perhaps, enhanced her attractiveness. - -The face of Remedios, the child, was less symmetrical, but more -positive: she had large, black eyes, and an expression of mixed -audacity, childishness, and arrogance. Now and then she smiled silently -and mischievously. - -When Quentin felt that he had stayed long enough, he rose, gave his hand -to the two girls, and hesitantly approached the old man, who threw his -arms about his neck and tearfully embraced him. - -He saluted the hunchback with a nod of his head which was scarcely -answered; descended the stairs, and upon reaching the vestibule, the man -who had let him in, asked: - -“Excuse me, Señor, but are you the man who got back from England a -little while ago?” - -“Yes.” - -“That’s what I thought. Are you going to stay in Cordova?” - -“I believe so.” - -“Then we shall see you?” - -“Yes, I shall call from time to time.” - -The two men shook hands, and Quentin stepped into the street. - -“The old man is my grandfather,” said Quentin, “that’s _just_ what he -is. His emotion, his harrowed look--that’s _just_ what he is.” - -Perhaps the best thing to do would be to ask his mother exactly what the -circumstances of his birth were; but he feared to offend her. - -He soon forgot about that, and began to think about the blond-haired -girl Rafaela. She was pretty. Indeed she was! Her clear, soft eyes; her -pleasant smile; and above all, her opaque voice had gone straight to -Quentin’s heart: but as Quentin was not a dreamer, but a Bœotian, a -Horatian, as he himself had remarked, he associated with Rafaela’s soft, -blue eyes, the ancestral home, the beautiful garden, and the wealth -which her family must still possess. - -Quentin devoted the days following this visit to cogitating upon this -point. - -Rafaela was an admirable prize--pretty, pleasant, and aristocratic. He -must attempt the conquest. True, he was an illegitimate child. He had a -desire to laugh at that thought, it seemed so operatic to him: now he -could sing the aria from _Il Trovatore_: - - _Deserto sulla terra_. - -Bastard or no bastard, he considered that the thing was possible. He was -tall, handsome, and above all, strong. In Eton, he had noticed that -after all, the greatest attraction in a man for women is strength. - -They said that the Marquis’ house was going to ruin: he would save it -from ruin and restore it splendidly. Then--into the street with those -who got in his way! It was a great plan. - -Truly, Rafaela was an admirable prize. To marry her, and live in that -sumptuous house with the two sisters until the place was completely -repaired, would be a life indeed! He would write his school friends and -tell them about his marriage to an Andalusian descendant of the Cid, and -describe the patios filled with orange trees.... Then he could say with -his poet: “Let them serve us quickly this bottle of Falernus in the -neighbouring gorge.” After that ... then came new chapters, as yet -scarcely outlined in his imagination.... - -He would represent himself from the very first as a romanticist, an -idealist, a scorner of the impurities of reality. He would manifest a -respectful enthusiasm for her, like that of a man who dares not even -dream of so much felicity. - -“You’ll win, Quentin, you’ll win,” he said to himself joyously. “What do -you desire? To live well, to have a beautiful home, not to work. Is that -a crime, forsooth? And if it were a crime, then what? They do not carry -one off to jail for that. No. You are a good Bœotian, a good swine in -the herd of Epicurus. You were not born for the base bodily wants of a -merchant. Dissemble a little, my son, dissemble a little. Why not? -Fortunately for you, you are a great faker.” - - - - -CHAPTER V - -NOBLE AND ANCIENT ANCESTRAL HOMES! - - -A week later, on a rainy day which recalled that of his first visit, -Quentin approached the palace. In spite of his Epicureanism and his -Bœotianism, he dared not enter; he passed by without stopping until he -reached the Campo de la Madre de Dios. - -He leaned over the railing on the river bank. The Guadalquivir was -muddy, clay-coloured: some fishermen in black boats were casting their -nets near the Martos dam and mill: others, with poles, perched upon the -rocks of the Murallón, were patiently waiting for the shad to bite. - -Quentin returned to the Calle del Sol disgusted with his weakness, but -as soon as he reached the house, his energy again disappeared. -Fortunately for him, the man who had opened the gate for him a few days -before was seated on a stone bench in the vestibule. - -“Good-afternoon,” said Quentin. - -“Good-afternoon, Señor. Did you come to see the Marquis?” - -“No; I was just out for a walk.” - -“Won’t you come in?” - -“Very well, I’ll come in for a while.” - -The old man opened the gate, shut it again, and they went down the long -gallery. At the end of it, after climbing two steps, they came into the -garden. It was large and beautiful: the walls were hidden by the -fan-shaped foliage of the orange and lemon trees. Close-trimmed myrtles -lined the walks, and underfoot, yellow and green moss carpeted the -stones. - -“I have taken care of this garden for fifty years,” said the man. - -“_Caramba!_” - -“Yes; I began to work here when I was eight or ten years old. It is -rather neglected now, for I can’t do much any more.” - -“Why are those orange trees in the centre so tall?” - -“Orange trees grow taller when they are shut in like that than they do -in the country,” answered the gardener. - -“And what do you do with so many oranges?” - -“The master gives them away.” - -At one end of the garden was a rectangular pool. On one of its long -sides rose a granite pedestal adorned with large, unpolished urns which -were reflected in the greenish and motionless water. - -Quentin was contemplating the tranquil water of the pool, when he heard -the halting notes of a Czerny étude on the piano. - -“Who is playing?” he asked. - -“Señorita Rafaela, who is giving her sister a lesson. Why don’t you go -up?” - -“Why, I think I shall.” - -And with throbbing heart, Quentin left the garden and climbed the -stairs. He rang, and a tall, dried-up maid led him through several rooms -until he reached one in which Remedios was playing the piano while -Rafaela, just behind her, was beating time upon an open book of music. - -An old woman servant was sewing by the balcony window. - -Quentin greeted the two sisters, and Rafaela said to him: - -“You haven’t been here for several days! Grandfather has asked for you -again and again.” - -“Really?” asked Quentin idiotically. - -“Yes, many times.” - -“I couldn’t come; and besides, I was afraid I would be an annoyance, -that I would bother you.” - -“For goodness’ sake!” - -“Well, you see you have already stopped the lesson on my account.” - -“No; we were just about to finish anyway,” said Remedios. “Go on,” she -added, turning to Rafaela, “why don’t you play for us?” - -“Oh! Some other day.” - -“No. Do play,” urged Quentin. - -“What would you like me to play?” - -“Anything you like.” - -Rafaela took a book, placed it on the rack, and opened it. - -Quentin could read the word _Mozart_ upon the cover. He listened to the -sonata in silence: he did not know very much about classical music, and -while the girl played, he was thinking about the most appropriate -exclamation to make when she had finished. - -“Oh! Fine! Fine!” he exclaimed. “Whose is that delicious music?” - -“It is Mozart’s,” replied Rafaela. - -“It’s admirable! Admirable!” - -“Don’t you play the piano, Quentin?” - -“Oh, very little. Just enough to accompany myself when I sing.” - -“Ah! Then you sing?” - -“I used to sing a little in school; but I have a poor voice, and I use -it badly.” - -“Very well, sing for us; if you do it badly, we’ll tell you,” said -Rafaela. - -“Yes, sing--do sing!” exclaimed Remedios. - -Quentin sat down at the piano and played the introductory chords of -Count di Luna’s aria in _Il Trovatore_: - - _Il balen del suo sorriso - d’una stella vince al raggio._ - -Then he began to sing in a rich, baritone voice, and as he reached the -end of the _romanza_, he imparted an expression of profound melancholy -to it: - - _Ah l’amor, l’amore ond’ ardo - le favelli in mio favor - sperda il sole d’un suo sguardo - la tempesta, ah!... la tempesta del mio cor._ - -And he repeated the phrase with an accent that was more and more -expressive. Any one listening to him would have said that truly, _la -tempesta_ was playing havoc with his heart. - -“Very good! Very good!” cried Rafaela. Remedios applauded gleefully. - -“It’s going to rain,” announced the old woman servant as she glanced at -the sky. - -“That’s because I did so badly,” said Quentin with a smile. - -They went to the window. The sky was darkening; it was beginning to -rain. The heavy drops fell in oblique lines and glistened on the green -leaves of the orange trees, and on the moss-covered tiles; the -continuous splashing of the drops in the pool, made it look as if it -were boiling.... - -The rain soon ceased, the sun came out, and the whole garden glowed like -a red-hot coal; the oranges shone among the damp foliage; the green -hedge-mustard spotted the glittering grey roof tiles with its gay note; -water poured from the dark, ancient belfry of a near-by tower; and -several white gardens smiled upon the mountain side. - -“That is a regular gipsy sun,” lisped Remedios, who at times had an -exaggerated Andalusian pronunciation. - -Quentin laughed; the little girl’s manner of speech amused him -immensely. - -“Don’t laugh,” said Rafaela to Quentin with mock gravity; “my little -girl is very sensitive.” - -“What did you say to him?” demanded Remedios of her sister. - -“Oh, you rascal! He’s heard it, now,” Rafaela exclaimed humorously; and -seizing the child about the waist, she kissed the back of her neck. - -It was beginning to clear up; the dark clouds were moving off, leaving -the sky clear; a ray of sunshine struck a tower formed by three arches -set one above the other. In the three spaces, they could see the -motionless bells; a figure of San Rafael spread its wings from the peak -of the roof. - -“What is that figure?” asked Quentin. - -“It belongs to the church of San Pedro,” replied the servant. - -“Is it hollow like a weather-vane?” - -“No; I think it is solid.” - -“It’s stopped raining now,” said Remedios. “Have you seen the house -yet,” she added, turning to Quentin, and using the familiar second -person. - -“No,” he replied. - -“She uses ‘thou’ to everybody,” explained Rafaela. - -They left the music-room, and in the next room, they showed Quentin -various mirrors with bevelled edges, a glass cabinet full of miniatures -with carved frames and antique necklaces, two escritoires inlaid with -mother-of-pearl, bright-coloured majolica ware, and pier-glasses with -thick plates. - -“It is my mother’s room,” said Rafaela; “we’ve kept it exactly as it was -when she was alive.” - -“Did she die very long ago?” - -“Six years ago.” - -“Come on,” said Remedios, seizing him by the hand, and looking into her -sister’s face with her great, restless eyes. - -The three descended the stairs and traversed the gallery that connected -the vestibule with the garden. On either side of them were an infinite -number of rooms; some large and dark, with wardrobes and furniture -pushed against the walls; others were small, with steps leading up to -them. At the end of the gallery were the stables, extremely large, with -barred windows. They entered. - -“Now you’ll see what kind of a horse we have here,” said Rafaela. -“Pajarito! Pajarito!” she called, and a little donkey which was eating -hay in a corner came running up. - -In the same stable was an enormous coach, painted yellow, very ornate, -with several very small windows, and the family coat-of-arms on the -doors. - -“Grandfather used to ride in this coach,” said Rafaela. - -“It must have taken more than two horses to draw it.” - -“Yes; they used eight.” - -“These girls are admirably stoical,” thought Quentin. - -After the stables, they saw the corrals, and the cellar, which was huge, -with enormous rain-water jars that looked like giants buried in the -ground. - -“We can’t go in there,” said Rafaela ironically. - -“Why not?” - -“Because this little idiot,” and she seized her sister, “is afraid of -the jars.” - -Remedios made no reply; they went on; through crooked passages that were -full of hiding-places, and labyrinthic corridors, until they came to a -large, abandoned garden. - -“Would you like to go in?” Rafaela asked Remedios. - -“Yes.” - -“Aren’t you afraid of the genet any more?” - -“No.” - -“What is it?” inquired Quentin. - -“The gardener keeps a caged animal in here, and it frightens us because -it looks like such a monster.” - -“You’re a naughty girl,” said Remedios to her sister. “What will you bet -that I won’t go to the genet, take it out of the cage, and hold it in my -hand?” - -“No, no; he might bite you.” - -“Where is this monster?” asked Quentin. - -“You’ll soon see.” - -It was a specie of weasel with a long tail and a fierce eye. - -“The animal certainly has an evil look,” said Quentin. - -They walked about the abandoned garden: a thick carpet of burdock and -henbane and foxglove and nettles covered the soil. In the middle of the -garden, surrounded by a circle of myrtles, was a summer-house with a -decayed door; inside of it they could see remnants of paint and gilt. On -the old wall, was a tangled growth of ivy. Enveloped in its foliage, and -close to the wall, they could make out a fountain with a Medusa head, -through a dirty pipe in whose mouth flowed a crystalline thread which -fell sonorously into a square basin brimful of water. There were two -broad, moss-covered steps leading up to the fountain, and the weeds and -wild figs, growing in the cracks, were lifting up the stones. From among -the weeds there rose a marble pedestal; and a wild-orange tree near by, -with its little red fruit, seemed spotted with blood. - -“There are all sorts of animals here in the summer,” said Rafaela. -“Lizards come to drink at the fountain. Some of them are very beautiful -with their iridescent heads.” - -“They are woman’s enemies,” warned Remedios. - -Quentin laughed. - -“Some of the foolishness the servant girls tell her,” explained Rafaela. -“I’ve forbidden them to tell her anything now.” - -The three returned to the corridor. - -“What about the roof? We haven’t showed him the roof,” said the little -girl. - -“Juan must have the key; I’ll go and ask him for it.” - -Remedios ran out in search of the gardener, and returned immediately. - -They climbed the main stairs until they reached a door near the roof. - -“What panels!” exclaimed Quentin. - -“They are full of bats,” said Rafaela. - -“And thalamanderth,” lisped Remedios. - -Quentin suppressed a smile. - -“How funny! How very funny!” murmured the child somewhat piqued. - -“I am not laughing at what you said,” replied Quentin, “I was just -remembering that that is the way we boys used to talk.” - -“She talks like the rowdies in the streets,” said Rafaela. - -“Well, I don’t want anything more from you,” cried Remedios. “You’re -always saying things to me.” - -“Come, girlie, come; the genet isn’t coming here to eat you.” - -“He couldn’t.” - -From the door, and through a corridor, they came out upon a broad, tiled -terrace with an iron railing. - -“Let’s go up higher,” said Remedios. - -They climbed a winding staircase inside a tower until they came out upon -a small azotea, whence they could command a view of nearly the entire -city. - -The wind was blowing strongly. From that height, they could see Cordova, -a great pile of grey roofs and white walls, between which they could -make out the alleys, which looked like crooked lines inundated with -light. Sierra Morena appeared in the background like a dark wave, and -its round peaks were outlined in a gentle undulation against the sky, -which was cloudless. The gardens stood out very white against the skirts -of the mountain, and upon a sharp-pointed hill at the foot of the dark -mountain wall, stood a rocky castle. - -Toward Cordova la Vieja, pastures glistened, a luminous green; in the -country, the sown ground stretched out until it was lost in the -distance, interrupted here and there by some brown little hill covered -with olive trees. - -“I’m going to fetch the telescope,” announced Remedios suddenly. - -“Don’t fall,” warned her sister. - -“_Ca!_” - -Rafaela and Quentin were left alone. - -“How charming your sister is,” said he. - -“Yes; she’s as clever as a squirrel, but more sensitive than any one I -know. The slightest thing offends her.” - -“Perhaps you have petted her too much?” - -“Of course. I am years older than she. She is like a daughter to me.” - -“You must be very fond of her.” - -“Yes; I put her to bed and to sleep even yet. Sometimes she has fits of -temper over nothing at all! But she has a heart of gold.” - -At this point the little girl returned, carrying a telescope bigger than -she was. - -“What a tiny girl!” exclaimed Rafaela, taking the telescope from -Remedios. - -They rested the instrument on the wall of the azotea and took turns -looking through it. - - * * * * * - -The afternoon was steadily advancing; yellow towers and pink belfries -rose above the wet roofs, their glass windows brilliant in the last rays -of the setting sun; a broad, slate-covered cupola outlined its bulk -against the horizon; here and there a cypress rose like a black pyramid -between great, white walls, and the thousands of grey tiled roofs; and -the iron weather-vanes, some in the shape of a peaceable San Rafael, -others in the form of a rampant dragon with fierce claws and pointed -tongue, surmounted the gables and sheds, and decorated the ancient -belfries, covered with a greenish rust by the sun of centuries.... - -Toward the west, the sky was touched with rose; flaming clouds sailed -over the mountain. The sun had set; the fire of the clouds changed to -scarlet, to mother-of-pearl, to cold ashes. Black night already lurked -in the city and in the fields. The wind commenced to murmur in the -trees, shaking the window blinds and curtains, and rapidly drying the -roofs. A bell clanged, and its solemn sound filled the silent -atmosphere. - -Slowly the sky was invaded by a deep blue, dark purple in some places; -Jupiter shone from his great height with a silver light, and night took -possession of the land; a clear, starry night, that seemed the pale -continuation of the twilight. - -From the house garden arose a fresh perfume of myrtles and oranges; of -the exhalations of plants and damp earth. - -“We must go now,” said Rafaela. “It’s getting cold.” - -They descended the stairs. Quentin took leave of the two girls and -stepped into the street. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -CONCERNING AN ADVENTURE OF QUENTIN’S IN THE NEIGHBOURHOOD OF EL POTRO - - -For a whole week Quentin walked through the Calle del Sol day and night, -hoping to see Rafaela without going to her house. It did not seem -expedient to him to call again so soon; he was afraid of being -considered inopportune; and he would have liked it had chance--more -apparent than real--granted him a meeting with Rafaela while he was -strolling about the neighbourhood of the palace. - -One warm night in January, Quentin left his house with the intention of -walking by the palace in the Calle del Sol. - -It was a beautiful, serene night, without a breath of air stirring. The -great, round face of the moon was shining high overhead, its light -dividing the streets into two zones--one white, and the other bluish -black. - -Some of the plazas seemed covered with snow, so white were the walls of -the houses and the stones of the pavements. - -Absently strolling along, Quentin approached the Mosque; its walls rose -as solemn and black as those of a fortress; above their serrated -battlements, the moon floated giddily in the deep, veiled blue of the -sky. - -“All this contains something of the stuff that dreams are made of,” he -thought. - -No one was passing there, and his footsteps echoed loudly on the -pavement. - -Quentin started toward El Potro in order to reach the Calle del Sol, -which was nearly at the other end of the town, and he was thinking of -the thousand and one possibilities, both for and against his plans, when -a little hunchback boy came running up to him, and said: - -“A little alms, Señorito, my mother and I have nothing to eat.” - -“You come out at this time of night to ask alms!” murmured Quentin. -“You’ll have a fine time finding any people here.” - -“But my mother has fainted.” - -“Where is she?” - -“Here, in this street.” - -Quentin entered a dark alley, and had no sooner done so, than he felt -himself seized by his arms and legs, and tied by his elbows, and then -blind-folded with a handkerchief. - -“What’s this? What do you want of me?” he exclaimed, trying vainly to -disengage himself. “I’ll give you all the money I have.” - -“Shut up,” said a gruff voice with a gipsy accent, “and come with -us--Somebody wants to settle a little account with you.” - -“With me! Nobody has any accounts to settle with me.” - -“Be quiet, my friend, and let’s be going.” - -“Very well; but take off the handkerchief; I’ll go wherever you tell me -to.” - -“It can’t be done.” - -When Quentin found that he was overpowered, he felt the blood rush to -his head with anger. He began to stumble along. When he had gone about -twenty paces, he stopped. - -“I said that I would go wherever he is.” - -“No, Señor.” - -Quentin settled himself firmly on his left leg, and with his right, -kicked in the direction whence he had heard the voice. There was a dull -thud as a body struck the ground. - -“Ay! Ay!” groaned a voice. “He hit me on the hip. Ay!” - -“You’ll either go on, or I’ll knock your brains out,” said the gipsy’s -voice. - -“But why don’t you take off this handkerchief?” vociferated Quentin. - -“In a minute.” - -Quentin went on stumblingly, and they made several turns. He was not -sufficiently acquainted with the streets near El Potro to get his -bearings as he went along. After a quarter of an hour had elapsed, the -gipsies stopped and made Quentin enter the door of a house. - -“Here’s your man,” said the voice of the gipsy. - -“Good,” said a vigorous and haughty voice. “Turn him loose.” - -“He wounded Mochuelo bad,” added the gipsy. - -“Was he armed?” - -“No, but he gave him a kick that smashed him.” - -“Good. Take off the handkerchief so we can see each other face to face.” - -Quentin felt them remove his bandage, and found himself in a patio -before a pale, blond, little man, with a decisive manner, and a calañés -hat on his head. The moonlight illuminated the patio; jardinières and -flower-pots hung upon the walls; and overhead, in the space between the -roofs, gleamed the milky veil of the blue night sky. - -“Whom have you brought me?” exclaimed the little man. “This isn’t the -sergeant.” - -“Well! So it isn’t! We must have made a mistake.” - -“You are lucky to have escaped, my friend,” exclaimed the little man, -turning to Quentin. “If you had been the sergeant, they would have had -to pick you up in pieces.” - -“Bah! It wouldn’t be that bad,” said Quentin as he gazed in disgust at -the boastful little man. - -“Wouldn’t it?” - -“Of course not.” - -“Do you know to whom you are speaking?” - -“No; and the most curious thing about it is that I don’t care. Still, if -you want us two to fight it out alone, come with me, and we’ll see if it -is your turn to win or to lose.” - -“I never lose, young man.” - -“Neither do I,” replied Quentin. - -“We’ll have to give this lad a lesson,” said the gipsy, “to teach him -how to talk to quality folk.” - -“Be quiet, Cantarote,” said the little man in the calañés. “This -gentleman is a man, and talks like a man, and we are going to drink a -few glasses this very minute to celebrate our meeting.” - -“That’s the way to talk,” said Quentin. - -“Well, come on. This way, please.” - -Quentin followed the little fellow through a small door and down three -or four steps to a corridor, through which they reached a dark cellar. -It was dimly lighted by several lamps which hung on wires from the -ceiling. Seated upon benches about a long, greasy table, were gathered a -dozen or so persons, of whom the majority were playing cards, and the -rest drinking and chatting. Upon entering the cellar, Quentin and the -little man in the calañés made their way to a small table, and sat down -facing each other. The blackened lamp, hanging by a wire from a beam in -the ceiling, distilled a greenish oil drop by drop, which fell upon the -greasy table. - -The little man ordered the innkeeper to bring two glasses of white wine, -and while they waited, Quentin observed him closely. He was a blond -individual, pale, with blue eyes, and slender, well-kept hands. To -Quentin’s scrutinizing glance, he responded with another, cool and -clear, without flinching. - -At this point, a queer, ugly-looking man who was talking impetuously, -and showing huge, yellow, horselike teeth, came toward the table and -said to Quentin’s companion: - -“Who is this bird, Señor José?” - -“This ‘bird,’” replied the other, “is a hard-headed -bull--understand?--The best there is.” - -“Well, that’s better.” - -Quentin smiled as he gazed at the man who had called him a bird. He was -an individual of indefinite age, clean-shaven, a mixture of a barber and -a sacristan, with a forehead so low that his hair served him as -eyebrows, and with a jaw like a monkey’s. - -“And this chap, who is he?” asked Quentin in turn. - -“He? He is one of the most shameless fellows in the world. He wanders -about these parts to see if they won’t give him a few pennies. Though he -is old and musty, you will always find him with sporting women and -happy-go-lucky folk. Ask any one in Cordova about Currito Martín, and no -matter where you are, they can tell you who he is.” - -“Not everywhere, Señor José,” replied Currito, who had listened -impassively to the panegyric, gesticulating with a hand whose fingers -resembled vine-creepers. “If you should ask the Bishop, he would not -know me.” - -“Well, I would have taken him for a sacristan,” said Quentin. - -“I’m a sacristan of blackbirds and martens, if you must know,” said -Currito somewhat piqued. “The only places where I am known are the -taverns, the huts in the Calle de la Feria, and the Higuerilla.” - -“And that’s enough,” said one of the card-players. - -“That’s right.” - -Two of the onlookers got up from the bench and began to chaff Currito. -The sly rascal was at home among jests, and he answered the repartee -that they directed at him with great impudence. - -“That’s a fine amber cigarette-holder, Currito,” said one of them. - -“The Marquis,” he replied. - -“A fine little cape, old boy,” said the other, turning over the muffler -of the scoundrel’s cloak. - -“The Marquis,” he repeated. - -“This Currito,” said Señor José, “hasn’t an ounce of shame in him; for a -long time he has lived on his wife, who is kept by a marquis, and he has -the nerve to brag about it. Come here, Currito.” - -Currito came to their table. - -“Why do you keep boasting about your shame?” asked Señor José. “Don’t -you do it again in front of me. Do you understand? If you do, I’ll skin -you alive.” - -“Very well, Señor José.” - -“Come, have a glass, and then see if La Generosa is in any of the rooms -here.” - -Currito emptied the wine-glass, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, -and left the cellar. - -“Are you a foreigner?” Señor José asked Quentin. - -“I was educated outside of Spain.” - -“Will you be in Cordova for some time?” - -“I think so.” - -“Well, I’m glad, because I like you.” - -“Many thanks.” - -“I’ll tell you who I am, and if after that, it doesn’t seem a bad idea -to you, we’ll be friends.” - -“Before, too.” - -“No, not before. I am Pacheco, the horseman, or rather Pacheco, the -bandit. Now, if you care to be Pacheco’s friend, here’s my hand.” - -“Here is mine.” - -“Well, you’re a brave chap,” exclaimed Pacheco. “That’s the way I like -to have a fellow act. Listen: any time you need me, you will find me -here, in El Cuervo’s tavern. Now let’s see what these lads are talking -about.” - -Pacheco got up, and followed by Quentin, went over to the card-players’ -table. - -“Hello, Pajarote!” said Pacheco to the banker. - -“Hello, Señor José! Were you here? I didn’t see you.” - -“What’s doing in Seville and the low country?” - -“Nothing.... It’s pretty slow. Everything is closed by hunger and -poverty, and here I am with these thieves who would even steal a man’s -breath.... Why, I’m beginning to lose faith even in San Rafael himself.” - -“Now you’ve spoiled my luck, comrade,” said one of the players, throwing -down his cards angrily. “What business did you have ringing in that -angel? Look here, I’m not going to play any more.” - -Pajarote smiled. He was a scoundrel and a card sharp, and he always took -delight in pretending to be unlucky while he was cleaning his friends of -their money. He dealt the cards. - -“I’ll bet,” said a man with one eye higher than the other whom they -called Charpaneja, in the thin voice of a hunchback. - -“I’ll bet six,” gruffly replied a charcoal-burner nicknamed El Torrezno. - -More cards were tossed upon the table, and, as before, Pajarote won. - -“I don’t want to play,” squeaked Charpaneja. - -“Why not?” asked the banker. - -“Because your hands are always lucky.” - -“The fact is, you haven’t any spirit,” replied Pajarote coldly. “You -start out like a Cordovese colt, and quit like a donkey of La Mancha.” - -At this point Currito returned, and coming up to Señor José, said: - -“La Generosa hasn’t come yet, but Señora Rosario with her two girls, and -Don Gil Sabadía are in the next room.” - -“Well, let’s go in,” said Pacheco. - -He and Quentin again came out into the patio, and entered a room -illuminated by a brass lamp set upon a round table. By the light of the -lamp he could see a frightful-looking old woman with a hooked nose and -moles on her chin, two young girls with flowers in their hair, and a -bushy-haired old man with a long beard. - -“The peace of God be with you,” said Pacheco as he entered. “How is Don -Gil? Good evening, Señora Rosario; what’s the news?” - -“Nothing: we just came here so these girls could have a drink of -something.” - -“You mean these rosebuds,” interrupted Currito. - -“Thanks, Currito,” said one of the girls with a smile. - -“Child!” exclaimed Pacheco, “be very careful of Currito, for he’s -dangerous.” - -“He!” replied the old woman, “he is already among the down-and-outs.” - -“I’m like the old guide in the Mosque,” replied Currito. “Every time he -saw me, he used to say, ‘Let me have an old suit of clothes--I’m more -dead than alive.’” - -“Heavens! What little wit you have!” said one of the girls with a -gesture of contempt. - -“Well, I live by my wits, my girl,” answered Currito, piqued. - -“Then, confound them, my man,” she replied with the same gesture of -contempt. - -Currito peevishly fell silent, and Pacheco presented Quentin to the -bushy-haired man. - -“This gentleman,” and he indicated Quentin, “is a brave chap whom I have -had the pleasure of meeting this evening by mistake. This man,” and he -nodded to the old man with the long beard, “is Don Gil Sabadía, the only -person in Cordova who knows the history of every street, alley, and -by-way in the city.” - -“Not as much as that, man, not as much as that,” said Don Gil with a -smile. - -“If there is anything you don’t know,” Pacheco went on, “nobody in -Cordova knows it. Well, if you and the girls would like to drink a -bottle of the best Montilla, I’ll treat.” - -“Accepted.” - -“Cuervo!” shouted Pacheco, stepping outside the door. - -The innkeeper appeared; a man of some fifty years, stoop-shouldered, -ill-shaven, with hatchet-shaped side whiskers, and a red sash about his -waist. - -“What does Señor José wish?” he inquired. - -“Bring a few bottles of your best.” - -While they were waiting for the wine, the ill-tempered girl and Currito -resumed their quarrel. - -“Look out for that girl,” said Currito, “she hasn’t much sense.” - -“Did anybody speak?” she asked in disgust. - -“I believe the girl is suffering from jaundice.” - -“My goodness! What a bad-tempered old uncle he is!” said she. - -“Listen, my child,” continued Currito, “I’m going to make you a present -of a sugar-plum to see if we can’t sweeten your mouth.” - -“Currito, we don’t need any sugar around here,” answered the other girl -easily. - -“Girls! There’s no need of getting scared,” said the old woman in a -gruff voice. - -“I’ve left her hanging like a fresco painting, haven’t I?” Currito -remarked to Quentin. - -“I’ve never noticed that fresco paintings were hung.” - -“He’s a fool,” explained the contemptuous girl. - -The innkeeper arrived with the bottle and the glasses, and Currito -seized the former and served every one. - -“You know so much, Don Gil, what will you bet that you don’t know what -that Italian bishop said when he saw the Mosque?” said Currito. - -“What did he say? Let’s hear it,” inquired Don Gil with an ironic smile. - -“Well, the canon Espejito went up to him, and pointing out the Christ of -the Column, explained to him how it was made: ‘A prisoner made that -Christ with his finger-nails,’ and the Bishop said to him, ‘The man who -did it must have had good nails.’” - -“He must be a heretic,” said Señora Rosario. - -“And who told you that fake?” asked Don Gil. - -“El Moji told me.” - -“Well, he fooled you like a Chinaman.” - -“No, sir, he did not fool me,” replied Currito. “El Moji was a man’s -man, El Moji never lied, and El Moji....” - -“But you are trying to tell me what the Bishop said, when I was there at -the time,” exclaimed Don Gil. - -“You there! Why, it was the time you went to Seville!” - -“Very well, I was not there. Blas told me, and there’s an end to it.” - -“But of what importance is all this?” asked Quentin. - -“Let them be,” interrupted the ill-tempered girl; “they’re two -disagreeable old uncles!” - -“Don Gil,” said Pacheco, smiling and winking his eye, “permits no one to -be informed of anything he does not know about himself.” - -“Well, what will you bet,” Currito presently broke out, “that you don’t -know what El Golotino said when he had the lawsuit with El Manano?” - -“Let’s hear, let’s hear. This is most important,” remarked Pacheco. - -“Well, there isn’t much to it. El Golotino, as you know, had a herd of a -couple of dozen goats, and El Manano, who was a charcoal-burner, had -rented a hill; and to find out whether the goats had wandered on the -hill or not, they had a lawsuit, which El Golotino lost. Don Nicanor, -the clerk, was making an inventory of the property of the owner of the -goats, and was adding: ‘two and four are six, and four are ten--carry -one; fourteen and six are twenty, and three are twenty-three--carry two; -twenty-seven and eight are thirty-five, and six are forty-one--carry -four.’ El Golotino thought that when the clerk said, ‘carry one,’ he -meant that he was going to carry off one goat, so he shouted tearfully: -‘Well, for that, you can carry off the whole bunch of them!’” - -“That is not the way it was,” Señor Sabadía started to remark, but every -one burst out laughing. - -“Come, girls, we must go home,” announced Señora Rosario. - -“I’m going out,” said Don Gil, annoyed by the laughter. - -“I am too,” added Quentin. - - * * * * * - -They took leave of Pacheco, and the innkeeper accompanied the three -women and the two men to the door with the lamp. They went through -several alleys and came out in the lower part of the Calle de la Feria. -They stopped, before a miserable white hut, the old woman knocked on the -door with her knuckles, it was opened from within, and Señora Rosario -and the three girls entered. Through a small window next the door could -be seen a very small, whitewashed room, with a glazed tile pedestal, a -varnished bureau, and flower-pots full of paper flowers. - -“What a cage! What a tiny house!” said Quentin. - -“All the houses on this side of the street are like this,” answered -Señor Sabadía. - -“Why?” - -“On account of the wall.” - -“Ah! Was there a wall here?” - -“Of course! The wall that separated the upper city from the lower. The -upper city was called Almadina, and the lower, Ajerquía.” - -“That’s curious.” - -They walked up the Calle de la Feria. The sloping street, with its tall, -white houses bathed in the moonlight, presented a fantastic appearance; -the two lines of roofs were outlined against the blue of the sky, broken -here and there by the azoteas on some of the houses. - -“Oh, yes,” continued the archæologist, “this wall used to extend from -the Cruz del Rastro, to the Cuesta de Luján; then it stretched on -through the Calle de la Zapatería and the Cuesta del Bailío, until it -reached the tower on the Puerta del Rincón, where it ended.” - -“So it cut the town in two, and one could not go from one side to the -other? That was nice!” - -“No. What nonsense! There were gates to go through. Up there near the -Arquillo de Calceteros, was the Puerta de la Almadina, which in the time -of the Romans, was called Piscatoria, or Fish Gate. The Portillo did not -exist, and when they built against the wall, in the place it now -occupies, there stood a house which the city bought in 1496 from its -owner, Francisco Sánchez Torquemada, in order to open up an arch in the -wall. This data,” added Don Gil confidentially, “comes from an original -manuscript which is preserved in the City Hall. It’s curious, isn’t it?” - -“Most curious.” - -They climbed the Cuesta de Luján. The neighbouring streets were -deserted; within some of the houses they could hear the vague sound of -guitars; lovers whispered to each other at the grated windows. - -“See?” said Don Gil, looking toward the lower end of the Calle de la -Feria, “the fosses of the wall followed the line the moon makes in the -street.” - -“Very interesting,” murmured Quentin. - -“Have you noticed how high the houses are in this street?” - -“Yes, indeed; why is that?” - -“For two reasons,” answered Don Gil, turned dominie. “First, to gain the -height the wall deprived them of; and second, because in times gone by, -the majority of the spectacles were celebrated here. Here is where -executions were held; where they baited bulls; and broke lances; and -where, during the week preceding the Day of the Virgin of Linares, the -hosiers held a grand fair. That is why there are so many windows and -galleries in these houses, and why the street is called the Calle de la -Feria.” - -The archæologist seized Quentin’s arm and proceeded to relate several -stories and legends to him. The two men traversed narrow alleys, and -plazoletas lined with white houses with blue doors. - -“You know no one here?” inquired the archæologist. - -“Not a soul.” - -“Absolutely no one?” - -“No. That is ... I know a Cordova boy who was educated with me in -England. His name is ... Quentin García Roelas. Do you know him?” - -“Not him; but I know his family.” - -“He is a silent, taciturn chap. It seems to me that there is something -unusual connected with his life. I’ve heard something....” - -“Yes, there is an interesting story.” - -“Do you know it?” - -“Of course,” replied Don Gil. - -“But you are so discreet that you will not tell it?” - -“Naturally.” - -“Very well, Don Gil. I’m going; I’m sorry to leave your agreeable -company, but....” - -“Must you go?” - -“Yes, I must.” - -“My dear man; don’t go. I must show you a most interesting spot, with a -history....” - -“No, I cannot.” - -“I’ll take you to a place that you will have to like.” - -“No, you must excuse me.” - -“Moreover, I’ll tell you the story of your friend and schoolmate.” - -“You see....” - -“It’s early yet. It’s not more than one o’clock.” - -“Very well, we’ll go wherever you say.” - -They passed through very nearly the whole city until they came to the -Paseo del Gran Capitán. - -“What a city this is!” exclaimed Don Gil. “They can’t talk to _me_ about -Granada or Seville; for look you, Granada has three aspects: the -Alhambra, the Puerta Real, and the Albaicín--three distinct -things. Seville is larger than Cordova, but it is already more -cosmopolitan--it’s like Madrid. But not so Cordova. Cordova is one and -indivisible. Cordova is her own sauce. She is a _city_.” - -From the Paseo del Gran Capitán, they followed Los Tejares, and on the -right hand side, Señor Sabadía paused before some little houses that -were huddled close to a serrated wall. There were four of them, very -small, very white, each with only one story, and all closed up except -one, which merely had its door shut. - -“Read this placard,” said Don Gil, pointing to a sign in a frame hanging -on one side of the door. - -Quentin read by the light of the moon: - - _Patrocinio de la Mata dresses - corpses at all hours of the day - or of the night in which she is - notified, at very regular prices._ - -“The devil! What a lugubrious sign!” exclaimed Quentin after reading it. - -“Do you see this hut?” asked Don Gil. “Well, every intrigue that God -ever turned loose, goes on here. But let us go in.” - -They entered, and a cracked voice shouted: - -“Who is it?” - -“I, Señora Patrocinio, Don Gil Sabadía, who comes with a friend. Bring a -light, for we’re going to stay a while.” - -“One moment.” - -The old woman descended with a lamp in her hand, and led the two men -into a small parlour where there was a strong odour of lavender. She -placed the lamp on the table and said: - -“What do you want?” - -“Some small olives, and a little wine.” - -The old woman opened a cupboard, took out a dish of olives, another of -biscuits, and two bottles of wine. - -“Is there anything else you want?” - -“Nothing more, Señora Patrocinio.” - -The old woman withdrew and shut the door. - -“How do you like the place, eh?” asked Don Gil. - -“Magnificent! Now for the history of my friend Quentin.” - -“Before the history, let’s drink. Your health, comrade.” - -“Yours.” - -“May all our troubles vanish into thin air.” - -“True,” exclaimed Quentin. “Let us leave to the gods the care of -placating the winds, and let us enjoy life as long as fortune, age, and -the black spindle of the Three Sisters will permit us.” - -“Are you a reader of Horace?” asked Don Gil. - -“Yes.” - -“One more reason for my liking you. Another glass, eh?” - -“Let us proceed. Go on with the story, comrade.” - -“Here goes.” - -Don Gil cleared his throat, and commenced his story as follows.... - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -IN WHICH IS TOLD THE HISTORY OF A TAVERN ON SIERRA MORENA - - -Toward the first part of last century, upon one of the folds of Sierra -Morena, stood a tavern called El Ventorro de la Sangre (Bloody Tavern). -It was half way between Pozo Blanco and Cordova, in a fertile little -pasture near an olive orchard. - -Its name arose from a bloody encounter between the dragoons and -guerillas in that spot at the time of the French intervention. - -The tavern was situated on a small clearing that was always kept green. -It was surrounded by tall prickly-pears, a ravine, and an olive orchard -in which one could see ruins--vestiges of a fortress and a watch-tower. -This land belonged to a village perched upon the most rugged and broken -part of the mountain.... Its name does not at present concern the story. - -The tavern was neither very large, nor very spacious; it had neither the -characteristics of a hostelry, nor even of a store. Its front, which was -six metres long, whitewashed, and pierced by a door and three windows, -faced a bad horse-shoe road strewn with loose stones; its humble roof -leaned toward the ground, and joined that of a shed which contained the -stables, the manger, and the straw-loft. - -One passed through the entrance of the little tavern from whose lintel -hung a bunch of sarment--which indicated, for your enlightenment, that -in the house thus decorated wine was sold--and entered a miserable -vestibule, which also served as a kitchen, a larder, and, at times, a -dormitory. - -During the years 1838 and ’39, the proprietor of El Ventorro de la -Sangre was a man named El Cartagenero, who, so evil tongues asserted, -had been a licentiate--though not of philosophy--in a university with -mayors for professors, and sticks for beadles. No one knew the truth--a -clear indication that the tavern was not run badly; the man paid well, -behaved himself as a man should, and was capable, if the occasion arose, -of lending a hand to any of the neighbouring farmers. - -El Cartagenero demonstrated in his delightful and entertaining -conversation, that he had travelled extensively, both by land and by -sea; he knew the business of innkeeping--which has its secrets as well -as anything else in the world; robbed very little; was hard-working, -sensible, upright, and if need be, firm, generous, and brave. - -El Cartagenero was to all appearances a fugitive; and that very -condition of his made him most reserved and taciturn, in no way a prier, -and very little given to mixing himself in other people’s affairs. - -When he had run the little tavern for six years, El Cartagenero rented -an oil-press; he then installed a tile-kiln, and by his activity and -perseverance, was getting along splendidly, when one day, unfortunately -for him, while he was loading a cart with bricks, he fell in such a way -that he struck his head on the iron-shod wheel, and was instantly -killed. - -From that very day, the tavern began to run down; La Cartagenera did not -care to continue the renting of the press, because, as she said, she -could not attend to it; she abandoned the kiln for the same reason, and -neglected the tavern for no pretext at all, though, if there was no -pretext or motive, there was an explanation; and this was La -Cartagenera’s vice of drinking brandy, and the laziness and idleness of -her daughters--two very sly and very slothful un-belled cows. - -The elder of El Cartagenero’s daughters made her arrangements with a -swaggering rascal from Cordova; and the other, not to be outdone by her -sister, took for her good man, one of those country loafers--and what -with the sweetheart of the former, and the friend of the other, and the -brandy of the mother, the house began to run down hill. - -The muleteers soon guessed what was up; they no longer found good wine -there as before; nor a diligent person to prepare their meals and feed -their animals; so now because the hosier had left the place swearing -mad, again because the pedlar had quarrelled with them, all of their -customers began to leave; and for a whole year no one dismounted at the -tavern; and the mother and her daughters, with the two corresponding -swains, passed the time insulting and growling at each other, stretched -out in the sun in the summer, toasting sarment at the fire-place in the -winter, and in all the seasons hurling bitter complaints against an -adverse destiny. - -After a year of this régime, there was nothing left in the house to eat, -nor to drink, nor to sell--for they had sold everything including the -doors--the family determined to get rid of the tavern. The girls’ two -friends came to Cordova and opened up negotiations with all their -acquaintances, and were about despairing of making a sale, when a farmer -from these parts by the name of El Mojoso, presented himself at the -tavern. He was a clever, sensible chap, and the owner of a drove of five -very astute little donkeys. - -El Mojoso entered into negotiations with the widow, and for less than -nothing, became possessed of the establishment. El Mojoso was very -sagacious, and immediately comprehended the situation at the tavern; so -he began to think about conducive methods of restoring the credit of the -house. The first thing that occurred to him after he had been installed -a few days, was to change its name, and he had a painter friend of his -paint in huge letters upon the whitewashed wall above the door, this -sign: - - THE CROSS-ROADS STORE - -El Mojoso had a wife and three children: one, employed as a miner in -Pueblo Nuevo del Terrible; and two girls, with whom and his wife he -established himself in the store. - -His wife, whom they called La Temeraria, was a tall, strong, -industrious, and determined matron. The daughters were splendid girls, -but too refined to live in that deserted spot. - -El Mojoso himself was a tough sort of a chap, crazy about bulls, slangy, -and somewhat of a boaster. As a man who had spent his childhood in the -Matadero district, which is the finest school of bull-fighting in the -world, he knew how to differentiate the several tricks of the -bull-ring. - -At first, El Mojoso did not abandon his drove; the returns from the inn -were very small, and it did not seem expedient to him to quit his -carrying business. But instead of walking the streets of Cordova, he -devoted himself to going to and from the mountain villages carrying -wheat to the mill, farming utensils to the farms, and doing a lot of -errands and favours that were gaining him many friends in the -neighbourhood. - -When he had no errands or favours to do, he carried stones to his house -on his donkeys and piled them under the shed. After a year of this work, -when he had gathered together the wherewithal, he got a mason from -Cordova, and under his direction, La Temeraria and he and his daughters, -and a youth whom they had hired as a servant, lengthened the house, -raised it a story, tiled the roof, and whitewashed it. - -El Mojoso had to sell his donkeys to pay the costs--only keeping one. -The muleteers were already resuming their old custom of stopping at the -store. - -During the first months, the wine was pure, and there was a _pardillo_ -and a claret such as had not been known in those parts for many years. -Little by little the store commenced to grow in fame; lively and genial -folk met there; the wine grew worse, according to the opinion of the -intelligent, but good wine was not lacking if the customer who asked for -it had the means of paying without protest or objection three or four -times its worth. During the slaughter season there was pork chine when -they wanted it, and at other times of the year, pork sausage, blood -pudding and other such delicacies. - -El Mojoso learned his new business very quickly. Without doubt, he was a -thief _a nativitate_. He watered the wine and perjured himself by -swearing that it was the only pure wine that was sold in the entire -mountain district; he put pepper in the brandy; he cheated in grain and -hay; tangled up the accounts, and--always came out ahead. - -Nearly every day he went to the city with his donkey under the pretext -of shopping; but the truth is that his trips were to carry instructions -and orders from a few timid men who went about the mountain, blunderbuss -in hand, to some poor chaps in prison. - -La Temeraria knew how to help her husband. She was a quiet, hard-working -woman as long as no one interfered with her; but if any one dared to -fail her, she was a she-wolf, more vengeful than God. She had enough -spirit to look upon robbing as a pardonable and permissible thing, and -even to the extent of not considering it extraordinary for a man to -bring down a militia-man and leave him on the ground chewing mud. - -In fine, the husband and wife were the most artful ... innkeepers in -these parts. At the Cross-roads Store, the traveller could spend the -night in peace, whether he was an orderly person or had some little -account to settle with the police; or whether he was a merchant or a -horseman, he could be sure of being undisturbed. One day.... - - * * * * * - -“But tell me, my friend,” Don Gil asked Quentin; “how does the beginning -of the story strike you?” - -“Very well.” - -“Did you like the exposition?” - -“I should say so! You are a master.” - -“Thanks!” exclaimed Don Gil, satisfied. “To your health, comrade.” - -“To yours.” - -“Now you’ll hear the good part.” - - * * * * * - -One rainy day in the month of February, just at dusk, there was gathered -in the kitchen of the Cross-roads Store, a group of muleteers from the -near-by village. Some of them, imbued with a love of heat, were seated -upon two long benches on either side of the hearth; others were seated -upon chairs and stools of wicker and lambskin, further away from the -fire. - -By the light of the blackened lamp and the flame of the candle, the -whole circumference of the kitchen, which was a large one, could be -seen: its enormous mantel, its rafters twisted and blackened with smoke, -the big stones in the floor, and the walls adorned with a collection of -pot-covers, saucepans, wooden spoons, and coloured jars hung upon nails. - -The muleteers were engaged in an animated conversation while they waited -for the supper which La Temeraria was at that moment preparing in two -frying-pans full of pork chine and potatoes; El Mojoso was filling the -measure with barley which he took from a bin; then, pouring the grain -into a leather sieve, he handed it to a youth who was going to and from -the kitchen and the stable. - -Night had already fallen, and it was raining torrents, when repeated -knocks sounded upon the door. - -“Who is it?” shouted El Mojoso in a loud voice. “Come in, whoever it -is.” - -This said, the host took a lantern, lit it with a brand from the fire, -crossed the kitchen, and stood in the vestibule with the light held high -to see who was coming in. The vestibule was as narrow as a corridor; it -had board walls, and upon them, hanging from wooden pot-hooks, could be -seen several kinds of pack-saddles, panniers, headstalls, and other -harness of leather, cloth, and esparto-grass. Upon the slanting stone -floor, several muleteers who had made their beds there were sleeping -peacefully. - -The knock on the door was repeated. - -“Come in!” said El Mojoso. - -The wooden half-door opened with a screech, and a man appeared on the -threshold, wrapped in a Jerez shawl which was drenched with water. - -“Is there lodging here?” the man asked. - -“There’s good will,” answered the innkeeper. “Did you come on -horseback?” - -“Yes.” - -“Come in. I’ll take your horse to the stable. Walk right in there.” - -The man went to the kitchen. - -“The peace of God be with you, gentlemen!” he said. - -“May He keep you,” they all answered. - -The recent arrival went in, took off his long, tasseled shawl, and sat -down upon a grass-bottomed chair near the fire. - -The innkeeper’s daughter, more out of curiosity than anything else, -threw an armful of dry rose-wood upon the fire, which began to burn -brilliantly, producing a large flame, and filling the kitchen with the -odour of its incense. - -By the light of the flames they could see that the recent arrival was a -tall and strong young man of about twenty years, upon whose upper lip -the down had not yet begun to appear. He looked like a gentleman of -noble blood; he wore a short coat, knee breeches fastened with silver -buttons, buckled leggings, a blue sash, a coloured silk handkerchief -about his neck, and a small, creased calañés. The hostess noticed that -his shirt studs were made of diamonds. - -“You have bad weather for travelling,” she said. - -“Bad it is,” replied the youth dryly, without removing his eyes from the -fire. - -The muleteers examined the young man in silence. El Mojoso came back -from the stable where he had taken the horse, brought in a half-filled -sack on his back, and emptied it into the bin, weighed the barley in the -measure, and asked the horseman: - -“What shall I give the animal?” - -“Give him a good feed.” - -“Shall I give him two quarts?” - -“Yes.” - -El Mojoso went out with the measure in one hand and the lantern in the -other. - -“This chap,” he murmured into his cloak, “is a rich youngster who has -been in some escapade in Cordova. His horse is out there with an -embossed saddle. The boy will pay well.” - -El Mojoso was a man who knew his profession. Convinced of the character -of the young man, he returned to the kitchen with a broader smile than -usual, and said: - -“What would your worship like for supper?” - -“Anything.” - -“And would you like a bed?” - -“Have you one?” - -“Sí, Señor.” - -“Good: Then I shall sleep in a bed.” - -“Very well; they’ll get it ready for you directly.” - -The hostess took one of the large frying-pans from the fire and emptied -its contents into a dish which she placed upon a low table. - -The muleteers prepared themselves for the meal. La Temeraria took one of -the blackened lamps from the grime of the mantel-piece, lit it, and -seeing that it did not give a very good light, took a hairpin from her -hair, stuck it into the wick to trim and ventilate it, and this done, -fastened it with a wooden peg to a beam that stuck out of the wall. - -“Bring wine, Mojoso,” she then said to her husband. - -The innkeeper passed behind a counter which he had at the right of the -kitchen door, and filled two bottles from a wine-skin; then, from -another skin, using great care lest he spill the wine, he filled a small -Andújar jar. One of the large bottles he placed upon the table about -which the muleteers had seated themselves as they chatted and waited for -their supper to be prepared. - -La Temeraria placed a tripod over the fire, and presently the older -daughter of the house entered with a large lamp. - -“The room is ready, father,” she murmured. - -Turning to the youth, the innkeeper said: - -“You may go up now, if you wish.” - -The young man arose and followed the landlord, who lighted his way. They -went into the vestibule, and, one behind the other, climbed up a steep -stairway to a granary. The wind blew strongly through the cracks in the -roof; by the flickering lamp-light they could see piles of walnuts and -acorns upon the floor, and large gourds hanging in rows. El Mojoso -pushed open a white door of freshly-painted wood, entered a room with an -alcove attached, placed the lamp upon the table, and after trimming it -by all the rules of the art, said: - -“Supper will be served to you directly. If you need anything, call;” and -he shut the door as he went out. - -The youth listened to the innkeeper’s footsteps in the attic, and when -he found himself alone, drew two pistols from his sash, entered the -alcove, and hid them on the bed under the pillow; he inspected the door, -and found that it was solid with a strong lock; next he opened the -window, and a gust of cold air made the flame of the lamp flicker -violently. He looked out. - -“This doubtless looks out upon the other side of the road,” he said to -himself. - -He closed the outside shutter and paced back and forth, waiting for his -supper. The room was narrow and low and whitewashed, with blue rafters -in the ceiling, and an alcove at one end occupied by a bed covered with -a red quilt. Pushed against the wall was a mahogany bureau with a Carmen -Virgin in a glass case; opposite the bureau was a straw couch with a -mahogany frame. There was a round table in the middle of the room upon -whose coarse top were two plates, a glass, and the lamp. Upon the walls -were several rough engravings and a gun. - -The young man showed signs of impatience, listening attentively to the -slightest distant noises. Tired of pacing to and fro, he sat upon the -couch and thoughtfully contemplated the rafters in the ceiling. - -A half hour had elapsed since El Mojoso’s departure, when there came a -shy knock at the door. The youth was so preoccupied that he heard -nothing until the third or fourth knock, and a voice saying: - -“May I come in?” - -“Come!” - -The door opened and a girl entered--the landlord’s second -daughter--with a dish in one hand, and an Andújar jar in the other. - -The youth was astounded at seeing such a pretty maid, and completely -upset by the sight. - -“What is it?” he asked. - -“Your supper.” - -“Ah! You are the landlord’s daughter?” - -“Sí, Señor,” she replied with a smile. - -The girl set the dish upon the table, and he sat down without taking his -eyes off her. She made a tremendous impression upon him. The child was -truly charming; she had black, almond-shaped eyes, a pale complexion, -and in her hair, which was cleverly done up and as black and lustrous as -the elytra of some insects, was a red flower. - -“What is your name, my dear, if I may ask?” said he. - -“Fuensanta,” she replied.... - - * * * * * - -“Ah! Her name was Fuensanta!” exclaimed Quentin involuntarily. - -“Yes. It’s a very common name in these parts. Why does it surprise you?” - -“Nothing, nothing: proceed....” - -“Well, I shall.” - - * * * * * - -The youth sighed, and as his admiration had doubtless not taken away his -appetite, he attacked the slices prepared by La Temeraria with his fork, -and after several drinks from the jar, he succeeded in emptying it, and -doing away with the portions of the savoury country food. - -The little girl returned directly to his room to bring the traveller his -dessert, and they talked. - -He asked her if she had a sweetheart, and she said she hadn’t; he asked -her if she would like to have him, and she answered that gentlemen could -not very well love poor girls who lived in taverns, and then they talked -for a long time. - -The next day, the young horseman left the tavern to proceed on his -journey, and El Mojoso went down to Cordova to his business...... - - * * * * * - -“And who was that young man?” asked Quentin. - -“Wait, comrade. Everything in its time. How do you like the way I tell -it, eh?” - -“You certainly are a past master.” - -“Well, now comes the best part of it. You’ll see....” - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -A FIGHT IN AN OLIVE ORCHARD - - -Several days afterward, just at dawn, El Mojoso was returning from -Cordova to his tavern, when, at a turn in the road, he came upon a small -cavalcade made up of six men--five of whom were soldiers, and the other, -an elegantly dressed young man. - -El Mojoso, who had little liking for evil encounters, pricked up his -beast in order to get into the paths ahead of the group, but the chief, -who wore the insignia of a sergeant, when he noticed the innkeeper’s -intention, shouted to him: - -“Hey, my good man, wait a moment!” - -El Mojoso stopped his donkey. - -“What do you want?” he asked ill-humouredly. - -“We’ve got something to say to you.” - -“Well, I can’t lose anything by listening to it.” - -“You are the owner of the Cross-roads Store, aren’t you?” - -“Yes, sir: what else do you want?” - -“Why, just don’t go so fast, friend, we feel like going along with you.” - -“Are you going to Pozo Blanco?” - -“No, sir.” - -“To Obejo, perhaps?” - -“No. We’re going to the Store.” - -“To the Store!” exclaimed El Mojoso, overcome with astonishment. “Whom -are you looking for in my house?” - -“We’re looking for the Marquesito.” - -“The Marquesito? What Marquesito?” - -“Don’t you know him?” - -“Upon my word I do not! I hope to die if I’m not telling you the truth.” - -“Well, it seems that your daughter knows him very well,” replied the -soldier meaningly. - -El Mojoso’s face darkened, not that it had ever been exactly light, and -looking back at the sergeant, he murmured in a dull voice: - -“You’ve either said too much or too little.” - -“I’ve said all that was necessary,” answered the soldier gruffly. - -El Mojoso fell silent and urged on his donkey, while the soldiers and -the unknown young gentleman followed him. - -The sun came out from behind the mountain; in the distance they could -see a series of low-lying hills and the Cross-roads Store in its little -green clearing near the ravine. - -When they reached the Store, El Mojoso dismounted from his donkey and -began to pound furiously upon the door. He beat frantically with hands -and feet. - -“Open! Open!” he shouted impatiently. - -“Who is it?” came from within. - -“Me,” and El Mojoso ripped out a string of angry oaths. - -A lock screeched, the door opened, and La Temeraria appeared -half-dressed on the threshold. - -“Why didn’t you open sooner?” El Mojoso vociferated. - -“What’s the matter?” she asked as she drew a short skirt over head and -fastened it rapidly about her waist. - -“A whole lot’s the matter. Are there any travellers in the house?” - -“The young man who was here a few days ago passed the night here.” - -The unknown gentleman and the chief of the soldiers exchanged a look of -understanding. El Mojoso entered his house, and La Temeraria followed -behind him. - -“Go and see if there is a horse in the stable,” said the sergeant to one -of his men, “and if there is, bring it here.” - -The soldier dismounted, went into the stable, and returned after a -little, leading a horse by the bridle. - -La Temeraria, who had heard the noise, intercepted the soldier. - -“Where are you taking that horse?” she asked. - -“The sergeant ordered me to bring him out.” - -“What for?” - -“So the man who is here can’t escape.” - -“What has the young man done?” asked La Temeraria, looking -contemptuously at the soldier. - -“He killed a man in Cordova about a month ago.” - -At this moment, the innkeeper, who had been inside the house, returned -shouting to the vestibule. - -“Where is Fuensanta?” he asked his wife. - -“She must be in her room.” - -“She isn’t there.” - -“Not there?” - -“No. I just looked.” - -El Mojoso and La Temeraria looked at each other furiously and -understandingly. - -Meanwhile the sergeant, followed by one of his soldiers, went up the -stairs to the garret. When the fugitive heard the noise their boots and -spurs made, he must have realized his danger, for they heard the thud of -a body as he threw himself against the door, then the turning of a key -in the lock, and then a murmur of voices. - -The sergeant drew his sword, went up to the door behind which he had -heard the voices, and knocked with the hilt of his weapon. - -“Open in the name of the law!” he shouted in a thundrous voice. - -“Wait a moment, I’m dressing,” came the answer from within. - -After a minute had elapsed, the sergeant exclaimed impatiently: - -“Come, come! Open the door!” - -“Wait just a second.” - -“I won’t wait a minute longer. Open: I promise not to hurt you.” - -“Words are air, and the wind carries them all away,” replied the -fugitive ironically. - -“Will you open, or will you not?” - -“I will not; and he who contradicts me is in danger of his life. You’ll -have to kill me here.” - -At the risk of breaking his neck, the sergeant ran down the stairs three -steps at a time, and addressing his soldiers, said: - -“Boys, come upstairs with your guns. We’ve got to break down the door. -One of you stay here on guard, and if any one tries to escape, fire on -him.” - -Two of the men dismounted rapidly, crossed the vestibule, and, preceded -by the sergeant, rushed headlong upstairs, reached the garret, and -began to beat upon the door with the butts of their heavy guns. - -“Surrender!” shouted the sergeant again and again. - -No one answered. - -“Quick now! Throw down the door.” - -The door was new and did not yield to the first blows, but little by -little the panels gave way, and at last, a formidable blow with the butt -broke the lock.... - -The soldiers entered:--stretched upon the floor lay a half-dressed -woman. The window was open. - -“The scoundrel escaped through that,” said one of the men. - -“My God! We can’t let him escape,” shouted the sergeant, and sticking -his head through the window, he saw a man running across a field half -hidden among the olive trees. Without making sure whether it was the man -they were after or not, he drew a pistol from his belt and fired. - -“No--he’s gone. We’ve got to catch him.” - -They all left the room; there came a devilish noise of boots and spurs -on the stairs, and they crossed the vestibule. - -“To your horses,” said the sergeant. - -The order was obeyed instantly. - -“You, Aragonés, and you, Segura, get behind that hay-stack,” and the -chief indicated a great pile of black straw. “You two, ride around that -field, and this gentleman and I will go and look for the Marquesito face -to face.” - -The two pairs of troopers took their appointed places, and the sergeant -and the unknown gentleman advanced through the middle of the olive -orchard. - -Aragonés and Segura were the first to see the fugitive, who was running -along hiding behind the olive trees, with a gun in his hand. The two -soldiers cocked their guns and advanced cautiously; but the youth saw -them, stopped and waited for them, kneeling upon one knee. The soldiers -attempted to make a detour in order to get near their game, but as they -described an arc, the youth kept the trunk of an olive tree between him -and them. Seeing that he was making sport of them, the soldiers advanced -resolutely. The Marquesito aimed his gun and fired, and one of the -horses, that of Aragonés, fell wounded in the shoulder, throwing his -rider. Segura, the other soldier, made his horse rear, in order to guard -against a shot, but the Marquesito fired a pistol with such good aim, -that the man fell to the ground with blood pouring from his mouth. - -Then the youth, realizing that the other pursuers would immediately come -to the spot where they had heard the shots, ran until he came to a -century-old olive tree with a great, deformed trunk whose gnarled roots -resembled a tangled mass of snakes. He took advantage of the respite to -load his gun and pistol. Then he waited. Presently a shot was fired -behind him, and he felt a bullet enter his leg. He turned rapidly and -saw the sergeant and the gentleman approaching on horseback. - -“My death will cost you dear,” murmured the Marquesito angrily. - -“Surrender!” shouted the sergeant, and approached the fugitive at a -trot. - -The Marquesito waited, and when the sergeant was twenty paces from him, -he fired his gun and pierced him with a bullet. - -“Hey, boys!” shouted the sergeant. “Here he is. Kill him!” Then he put -his hand to his breast, began to bleed at the mouth, and fell from his -horse murmuring, “Jesus! He’s killed me!” - -One of the sergeant’s feet caught in the stirrup, and the horse, -becoming frightened, dragged his rider’s body for some distance over the -ground. - -“Now it’s your turn, coward!” shouted the Marquesito, addressing the -gentleman. - -But that person had turned on his croup and couldn’t get away fast -enough. - -The youth began to think that he was safe: the blood was flowing -copiously from his wound, so he took the handkerchief from about his -neck and bound his leg firmly with it. Next, he reloaded his weapons, -and limping slowly, sheltering himself behind the olive trees and -glancing from side to side, he advanced. - -When he had reached a little plaza formed by a space that was bare of -trees, he saw one of the soldiers in ambush. Perhaps it was the last -one. - -When they saw each other, pursuer and pursued immediately took refuge -behind the trees. The soldier fired; a ball whistled by the Marquesito’s -head; then he rested his gun against a tree trunk, fired, and the -soldier’s helmet fell to the ground. - -They both concealed themselves while they reloaded their weapons, and -for more than a quarter of an hour, they kept shooting at each other, -neither of them making up his mind to come out into the open. - -The Marquesito was beginning to feel faint from the loss of blood; so he -decided to risk all for all. - -“Let’s see if we can’t finish this business,” he murmured between his -clenched teeth; and he advanced, limping resolutely toward the soldier. -After a few steps he discharged his gun point blank, and immediately -after, his pistol. - -When he saw that his enemy had not fallen, that he was still standing, -he tried to escape, but his strength failed him. Then the soldier took -aim and fired. The Marquesito fell headlong ... he was dead. The ball -had struck him in the back of the neck and had come out through one of -his eyes, shattering his skull. - -“He was a brave chap,” murmured the soldier as he gazed at the corpse; -then he kneeled by his side and searched his clothes. He wrapped his -watch and chain, his shirt studs, and his money, in a handkerchief, tied -it in a knot, and made his way back to the tavern. - -As he drew near, he heard a voice wailing in despair: - -“Oh, mother! Oh, mother! Oh, my dearest mother!” - -In the clearing before the house was Fuensanta, half-undressed, livid, -with her face black and blue from the beating her father had given her. -The girl was moaning upon the ground, terror-stricken. La Temeraria, -with her arms lifted tragically, was shouting: - -“She has dishonoured us! She has dishonoured us!” - -The innkeeper’s other daughter stood in the doorway, watching her sister -as she dragged herself along the ground, exhausted by her beating. - -“Don’t beat the girl like that,” said the soldier. - -“Don’t beat her!” shouted El Mojoso. “No, I won’t beat her any more,” -and seizing his daughter by the arm he pushed her brutally from him, -shouting: - -“Go ... and never come back!” - -The bewildered girl hid her face in her hands, and then the poor little -thing began to walk away, weeping, and not knowing what she was doing, -nor where she was going. - -Months later, a woman from an Obejo mill came to El Mojoso and announced -that Fuensanta had given birth to a son, and that she desired to be -forgiven and to return home; but the innkeeper said that he would kill -her if she ever came near him. - - * * * * * - -“The scoundrel! The bandit!” exclaimed Quentin, striking the table a -blow with his fist. - -“Who is a scoundrel?” asked Señor Sabadía in surprise. - -“That Mojoso fellow, the dirty thief ... his daughter dishonoured him -because she loved a man, yet he did not dishonour himself, though he -robbed every one that came along.” - -“That’s different.” - -“Yes, it’s different,” cried Quentin furiously. “To the hidalgos of -Spain it is a different matter; to all those commonplace and thoughtless -men, a woman’s honour is beneath contempt. Imbeciles!” - -“I see that you are enraged,” said Don Gil with a smile. “Does the story -interest you?” - -“Very much.” - -“Shall I proceed?” - -“Please do.” - -“Then kindly call Señora Patrocinio and ask her to bring more bottles of -wine, for my throat is very dry.” - -“But you are a regular cask, my dear Don Gil.” - -“Yes I’m the Cask of the Danaides. Call her, please.” - -“Señora Patrocinio! Señora Patrocinio!” called Quentin. - -“Isn’t she coming?” - -“No. She is probably busy with her witchcraft. Perhaps this very minute -she is burning in her magic fire the sycamore torn from the sepulchre.” - -“Or the funereal cypress, and the feathers and eggs of a red owl soaked -in toad’s blood,” added Don Gil. - -“Or the poisonous herbs which grew in such abundance in Iolchos, and in -far-off Iberia,” continued Quentin. - -“Or the bones torn from the mouth of a hungry bitch,” added the -archæologist. - -“Señora Patrocinio! Señora Canidia!” shouted Quentin. - -“Señora Patrocinio! Señora Canidia!” echoed Señor Sabadía. - -“What do you want?” asked the old woman as she suddenly entered the -room. - -“Ah! She _was_ here!” exclaimed Quentin. - -“She _was_ here!” echoed Señor Sabadía. “We want some more bottles.” - -“What kind do you want?” - -“I believe, venerable dame,” Quentin ejaculated, “that it is all the -same to my friend here, whether it be wine from the vines of Falernus, -Phormio, or Cécube, as long as it is wine. Is that not true, Don Gil?” - -“Of course. I see that you are a sagacious young man. Bring them, old -woman,” said the archæologist, turning to Señora Patrocinio, “bring -fearlessly forth that excellent wine that you have guarded so jealously -these four years in the Sabine pitchers.” - -The old woman brought the bottles, Quentin filled Don Gil’s glass and -then his own, they emptied them both, and Señor Sabadía went on with his -story in these words: - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -IN WHICH SEÑOR SABADÍA ABUSES WORDS AND WINE - - -Years ago in the Calle de Librerías, in a little corner near the Cuesta -de Luján, there stood a silversmith’s shop, with an awning stretched -over the doorway, a very narrow show-case in which a number of rosaries, -rings, medals, and crosses were displayed, and a miserable -half-obliterated sign with these words: “Salvador’s Shop.” From one end -of this sign, symbolically, hung a pair of pasteboard scales. - -Salvador, the proprietor of this silversmith’s shop, was a wealthy -bachelor who had lived with a sister for many years before her death. - -At the time of my story, Don Andrés, as the silversmith was called, was -a man of some sixty years, small, clean-shaven, with white hair, rosy -cheeks, clear eyes, and smiling lips. He resembled a silver medal. - -With all his sweet, beatific countenance, Don Andrés was at heart, an -egoist. Possessing little intelligence and less courage, life made a -coward of him. He had an idea that things advanced too rapidly, and was, -therefore, an enemy to all innovations. Any change whatever, even if it -were beneficial, disturbed him profoundly. - -“We have lived like this so far,” he would say, “and I can see no -necessity for any change.” - -Don Andrés Salvador was equally conservative in his business: all he -had was an ability for work that required patience. Rosaries, crosses, -rings, and medals left his house by the gross, but everything -manufactured in his shop was always the same; unchanged, and -unimproved--wrought with the same old-fashioned and decadent taste. - -Besides being a conservative, Don Andrés was distrust personified; he -did not want any one to see him at work. At that time, repoussé work was -still something mysterious and secret, and the silversmith, to prevent -any one from surprising his secrets, shut himself up in his own room -when he was about to make something of importance, and there worked -unseen. - -One morning when Don Andrés was standing in the doorway of his shop, he -saw a girl running toward him along the Calle de la Feria, pursued by an -old woman. - -His instinct as a law-abiding citizen made him go out and stop the girl. - -“Let me go, Señor,” she cried. - -“No. Is that your mother following you?” - -“No, she isn’t my mother,” and the child began to cry disconsolately. In -a broken voice she told him how she had been ill for some time in a hut -on the Calle de la Feria, and how, when she had become well, the -mistress of the house had tried to force her to remain as her ward, and -how she had escaped. - -By this time the old woman had come up behind the girl, and as a group -of children began to form around the shop door, the silversmith led the -two women inside. - -He asked the old woman if what the girl had said was true, and the -Celestina in her confusion said that it was, but defended herself by -declaring that she had kept the girl because she had not paid for what -she had spent on medicines during her illness, and for dresses, -stockings, and underclothes with which to clothe her. - -The silversmith realized that it was a matter of an infamous -exploitation, and whether he was indignant at this, or whether he was -touched by the girl’s appearance, the fact is, he said with more -vehemence than he was accustomed to use: - -“I see, Señora Consolación, that you are trying to exploit this child in -an evil way. Leave her alone, for she will return your clothes, and go -back to your house; for if you don’t, I shall warn the authorities, and -you will rest your old bones in jail.” - -The old woman, who knew the influence and prestige the silversmith -enjoyed in the district, began once more to complain of the great -prejudice they had against her, but Don Andrés cut her argument short by -saying: - -“Either you get out, or I will call the alguacil.” - -The Celestina said not another word, but tied her handkerchief about her -neck as if she wished to strangle herself with it, and moved off down -the street, spouting curses as she went. - -The girl and the silversmith were left alone in the shop. He followed -the old woman with his eyes as she went screaming along the Calle de la -Feria among the noisy people who came running to their doorways as she -passed. When she was out of sight, he said to the girl: - -“You can go now. She’s gone.” - -When she heard this, the girl began to sob again. - -“For God’s sake, don’t send me away, Señor! For God’s sake!” - -“I’m not going to send you away. You may stay a while if you wish.” - -“No. Let me stay here always. You are good. I’ll be your servant, and -you won’t have to give me a thing for it.” - -“No, no--I cannot,” replied the silversmith. - -Then the child knelt on the floor, and with her arms thrown wide apart, -said: - -“Señor! Señor! Let me stay!” - -“No, no. Get up! Don’t be silly.” - -“Then if I kill myself,” she cried as she regained her feet, “it will be -your fault.” - -“Not mine.” - -“Yes, yours,” and the girl, changing her tone, added, “But you don’t -want me to go. You won’t throw me out; you’ll let me live here; I’ll -serve you, and take care of you; I’ll be your servant, and you needn’t -give me a thing for it; and I will thank you and pray for you.” - -“But, what will people say?” murmured Don Andrés, who foresaw a -complication in his life. - -“I swear to you by the Carmen Virgin,” she exclaimed, “that I won’t give -them a chance to talk, for nobody shall see me. You’ll let me live here, -won’t you?” - -“How can I help it! You stick a dagger into one’s heart. We’ll give it a -try. But let me warn you about one thing: the first time I notice a -failing--even if it is only a man hanging around the house--I’ll throw -you out immediately.” - -“No one will hang around.” - -“Then I shall give you some old clothes this very minute, and you may -send those to Señora Consolación’s house. Then go to work in the kitchen -immediately.” - -And so it was done; and Fuensanta, for the girl was Fuensanta, the -daughter of El Mojoso, entered the house of the silversmith as a -servant, and became, as she had promised, circumspect, submissive, -silent and industrious. - -Little by little the silversmith grew fond of her; Don Andrés’ sister -had been a basilisk, a violent and ill-tempered old maid for whose fits -of bad temper he had always suffered. Fuensanta paid the old man -delicate attentions to which he was unaccustomed, and he looked forward -to an old age in an atmosphere of affection and respect. - -“See here,” Don Andrés once said to her, “you must not be separated from -your son. Bring the boy here.” - -Fuensanta went to Obejo, and returned the following day with the boy. He -was three years old, and a regular savage. Fuensanta, who realized that -such a wild creature would not please such an orderly and meticulous -person as the silversmith, always kept him segregated on the roof, where -the little lad passed the long hours in play. - -After she had been in Don Andrés Salvador’s house for three years, -Fuensanta got married. - -Among the agents and pedlars who were supplied in the shop, there was a -young man, Rafael by name, whom they nicknamed El Pende. - -This Rafael was at that time a gracious, pleasant chap of some -twenty-odd years; he had the reputation of being lazy--firstly because -he came from the Santa Marina district, and secondly because he was the -son of Matapalos, one of the biggest loafers in Cordova. - -Matapalos, a distinguished member of the Pende dynasty, was a carpenter, -and such a poor one, so they said, that the only things he could make -were wedges, and even these never came out straight. - -El Pende junior, in spite of his reputation as a loafer, used to work. -He took up the business of peddling from town to town; selling necklaces -and rosaries throughout the entire highlands, and buying old gold and -lace wherever he went. - -He was a gaudy and elegant lad, who spent nearly everything he earned on -jewels and good clothes. - -“I’d rather wear jewels than eat,” he said. - -Rafael, or El Pende, as you will, began promptly to pay court to the -girl. She duly checked his advances, but he grew stronger under -punishment, and she, seeing that the man persisted, told him the story -of her misfortune. - -El Pende made light of it all. He was very much enamoured, or perhaps he -saw something in the woman that others had missed for, though she had no -money, nor any possibility of inheriting any, he did not give up trying -until he succeeded in persuading her to marry him. - -“Now I’ve got to persuade the master,” said Fuensanta, after coming to -an understanding with her sweetheart. “Because, if he opposes us--I -won’t marry you.” - -Slowly, insinuatingly, Fuensanta prepared the ground day by day. -Allowing herself to stumble, she suggested the idea of marriage to the -silversmith, until Don Andrés himself advised his servant to marry, and -pointed out to her the advantages she would have should she join herself -to Rafael. - -They were married, and lived in an attic next the roof. The silversmith -gladly granted them the attic, for they scared away thieves, and he -liked to have a young man around to look after the house. - -Fuensanta continued to serve him as before. El Pende made his trips; he -had made advantageous terms with the silversmith in his commissions, and -he and the old man understood each other admirably. - -Fuensanta began to behold a useful collaborator in her husband. He was -intelligent and sagacious; he had a latent ambition which was awakened -with real violence at his marriage. - -The child was an obstacle to the peace of the household. Quentin was -stupid, brutal, proud, and meddlesome. - -After two years of matrimony, Fuensanta gave birth to a son whom they -called Rafael, after his father. Quentin had no use for the boy, a fact -that caused El Pende to hate his stepson. - -Quentin did not go to school, so he knew nothing. He played about the -streets in rags with rowdies and toughs. One day, when El Pende saw him -with some gipsies, he seized him, carried him home, and said to his -mother: - -“We’ve got to do something about this child.” - -“Yes, we must do something,” she agreed. - -“Why don’t you ask the master if he knows of a cheap school?” - -Fuensanta spoke to the silversmith, who listened to her attentively. - -“Do you know what we’ll do?” said Don Andrés. - -“What?” - -“We’ll find out who his father’s family are. How long ago was he -killed?” - -“Seven years.” - -“Good. Then I’ll find out.” - -On that same street, on the corner of the Calle de la Espartería, in a -house upon whose chamfer was an iron cross, there lived a retired -captain of militia, Don Matías Echavarría. The silversmith called on -him, related what had happened in the Cross-roads Store, and asked the -captain if he remembered the affair, and if he knew the name of the -protagonist. - -“Yes,” said Don Matías, “the boy who ran away and was killed on the Pozo -Blanco road, was the son of the Marquis of Tavera. When the thing -happened, they hushed it up, saying that he had met his death by a fall -from his horse, and no one ever knew anything about it.” - -When the silversmith returned to his house, he said nothing to -Fuensanta, but, shut up in his room, he wrote a letter to the old -Marquis, giving him a detailed account of the facts, and telling him -that a grandson of his was living in his modest home. - -He had to wait for the answer. At the end of two weeks, Don Andrés -received a message from the Marquis telling him to send Fuensanta to his -house to talk with him, and to bring the boy with her. - -Fuensanta made Quentin as presentable as possible, and went with him to -the Marquis’ palace. The old man received her very pleasantly, bade her -tell him her story, caressed the child, and murmured from time to time: - -“He’s just like him, just like him....” Then he added, turning to the -mother, “Are you in needy circumstances?” - -“Sí, Señor Marqués.” - -“Very well; take one hundred dollars for the present. We shall see what -we can do for the boy.” - -Fuensanta told her husband what had happened in the Marquis’ house, and -El Pende immediately took possession of the hundred dollars. - -The economical chap already had a like amount, and he believed that the -moment had arrived to realize his plans of establishing himself. -Consequently, a little later, he rented a store in the Calle de la -Zapatería. - - * * * * * - -“What’s the matter with you, Don Gil?” asked Quentin, as he saw the -narrator looking about for something. - -“Why, you’re not pouring wine for me.” - -“There’s none left.” - -“Then call Señora Patrocinio.” - -“What will you have, Don Gil? Falernus? Or shall we devote ourselves -this time to the vines of Calais?” - -“No, no; Montilla.” - -“Can’t we make a change?” - -“Mix one wine with another? Never! It’s very dangerous. But are you, or -are you not going to call that old woman? If you do not, I will not go -on with my story.” - -“Do go on with it, Don Gil,” said Señora Patrocinio, opening the door -and placing two bottles upon the table. “I was almost asleep out here, -and was amusing myself by listening to what you were saying.” - -“Eh!” exclaimed Don Gil, “I must be a great historian if even Sister -Patrocinio listens to my tale. Allow me to wet my throat. Now for it, -ladies and gentlemen, now for it!” - - - - -CHAPTER X - -DON GIL FINISHES HIS STORY - - -Señora Patrocinio seated herself at the table. She was a thin, lean old -woman, with a yellow complexion, a hooked nose which was on friendly -terms with her chin, grey hair, and a wrinkled skin. - -Don Gil took a drink, and continued as follows: - - * * * * * - -The store was located in a large, antique house, painted blue. On the -ground floor were four grated windows, a door, and two little shops. One -of these was a mat store, and the other was the one El Pende had rented. - -It was a tiny apartment, scarcely three metres square, with a few -living-rooms beyond a dark back room. - -El Pende put neither signs nor decorations on his shop; he placed a -counter painted with red ochre in the middle of the floor, set up a few -pine shelves, and commenced business. - -All kinds of things to eat and to drink and to burn were sold at the -store; a heterogeneous assortment was heaped upon the shelves; there -were soaps, silks, taffy of all kinds, and dyes from the most -distinguished factory in the whole world, which is that of the Calle de -Mucho Trigo; there were hemp-seeds roasted in honey, candied pine-nuts, -almond paste, and those thin little wafers that you must have seen, that -look like priests’ hats. - - * * * * * - -“Come, don’t get tiresome,” said Señora Patrocinio. - -“If you interrupt me, Sister Patrocinio, I shall refuse to go on,” -answered the narrator. - -“You are losing the thread of your story. Come to the point, Don Gil, -come to the point.” - -“Very well, then--I refuse to continue.” - -“Go on, man, go on; you’re crankier than a wheat-sifter,” said the old -woman. - -“Where was I?” murmured Don Gil. “I believe I’ve forgotten.” - -“You were telling us what the store contained,” suggested Quentin. - - * * * * * - -Of drinkables (the archæologist continued), there were all sorts of -brandies and refreshing beverages; rossolis, which they call _ressolis_ -here; Cazalla, and wild cherry brandy in green jars which some call -_parrots_, and others _greenfinches_. - -The little store in the Calle de la Zapatería soon had customers. -Country folk used to go there to take a little nip in the morning; a few -servant girls and a great many children used to stop there to buy -sweets. - -El Pende stayed behind the counter where he received his friends, who -sometimes spent a little money. The most assiduous in his attendance at -these gatherings, was a ruined hidalgo by the name of Palomares, whom El -Pende had known since childhood, and who, having nothing to do, used to -take refuge in the shop. In order not to be in the way, and at the same -time to make himself useful, he used to wait on customers himself. - -This hidalgo, Diego Palomares, was an adventurer, a son of Lucena. He -had departed from his home town for the first time when he was eighteen -years old, to attend the Seville Fair. He lost all his money and his -desire to return to his native city, by gambling, and acquired, in -exchange, a desire to see the world; so he went to Cadiz and embarked -for America. There he had his ups and downs successively: he was a -merchant, a super-cargo on a ship, and after many years of hard and -fatiguing work, he returned to Cordova, thirty-six years old, penniless, -and prematurely aged. - -When Diego Palomares saw that his friend was getting on well with the -store, he joined him. - -While El Pende sat at the counter tending the store, Fuensanta continued -to help the silversmith. - -Six months after the first gift, the old Marquis sent for Fuensanta and -gave her another hundred dollars. - -From the wife’s hands they passed into those of her husband, who used -them all in the store. - -El Pende asked the landlord to give him another room, and to remove one -of the grated windows, that he might enlarge his store. His request was -granted, and in place of the grating, they installed a show-window. - -Then El Pende had a sign painted, and hanging from the board, a gilt, -many-pointed star. - -How many arguments he and Palomares had as to whether the star was right -or not! - -I remember that one day, when I was on my way to the Casino, they called -me in to elucidate the question for them; and you ought to have heard me -give them a talk about office-signs of all kinds! It is a matter to -which few people pay any attention. - - * * * * * - -“Come, there you go again, wandering away from your subject,” said the -old woman. - -“Be quiet,” Don Gil ejaculated. “This matter of signs is very -interesting; don’t you think so?” he asked Quentin. - -“I don’t know anything about it.” - -“Oh, don’t you? Well, for example, some night you may see a closed store -with a sign which reads ‘Perez,’ with two red hands hanging from the -board. What kind of business do those red hands indicate?” - -“A glove store, perhaps?” asked Quentin. - -“That’s right. How clever the lad is! What does a basin indicate?” - -“That’s well known--a barber shop.” - -“And a rooster on top of a ball?” - -“That I don’t know.” - -“Why, a poultry shop. And a red or blue ball in a show-case?” - -“A drug store.” - -“Very good. And a little tiny mattress?” - -“A mattress-maker’s store.” - -“And one or two black hands holding a bunch of keys?” - -“I think I have seen that in front of locksmiths’ shops.” - -“That’s right. And a large book?” - -“A bindery.” - -“But what a clever chap he is! And large eyeglasses--very large?” - -“An optician’s.” - -“And the bust of a woman leaning from a balcony as though taking the -air?” - -“I don’t know.” - -“A ladies’ hair-dressing salon: but they don’t have as many here as they -do in Madrid. And a horse-shoe?” - -“You’re the one that ought to be horse-shoed,” ejaculated Señora -Patrocinio. “Are you going on with the story or not, Don Gil?” - -“But you two are confusing me! You make me lose the thread. Where was -I?” - -“You were telling us,” said Señora Patrocinio, “about how they fixed up -the store with the Marquis’ money.” - -“Ah! That’s so.” - - * * * * * - -They widened the store; left off several articles that were not very -productive, and devoted themselves exclusively to selling comestibles. -They bought casks of Montillo wine, Montero oil, sugar, coffee, and -hired some chocolate makers to make chocolate. - -Palomares, whom El Pende had engaged as a clerk when he saw the -prosperity of the establishment, spent the day wrapping up cakes of -chocolate, toasting coffee, and mixing peanuts and chicory. - -Palomares had a great talent for labelling his mixtures. When he had -faked up something, he called it “Extra-Superior”; if the fake was so -complete that one could not tell what kind of a product it was, then he -called it “Superior” or “Fine.” - -Besides these hyperbolical names, there were other more modest ones, -such as “First Class,” “Second Class,” and “Third Class.” These -divisions were hard to define; yet Palomares asserted, not that they -were good, but that one could easily distinguish a difference between -them. - -According to him, it was clear that the “Second Class” was worse than -the “First Class,” and that the “Third Class” was worse than the “Second -Class”; but this was not saying that the “First Class” and the “Second -Class” were good, or even passably so. - -In spite of the chemistry that El Pende and his assistant employed, the -store grew in reputation. The show-window was full of sausages wrapped -in tinfoil, prunes, and tins of preserves. On the shelves were loaves of -sugar, bottles of sherry, and jugs of gin. Upon the floor in sacks, were -rice, kidney-beans, and casks of sardines. - -Money began to flow into the store in such a quiet and unobtrusive -manner that no one was aware of it. The old silversmith grumbled at the -thought that some fine day they would leave him; but Fuensanta deceived -him by telling him that the store was not getting along very well, and -that they would get rid of it if they had a chance. - -El Pende, who lacked the patience of his wife, wished to emancipate -himself completely from the old man, so he rented the first floor of the -house in which the store was located, giving the back room to Palomares. - -Then Fuensanta hired a servant girl, and every minute she had free, she -went to keep the old silversmith company. This procedure was very much -praised by the old wives of the community, and Fuensanta enjoyed much -popularity. At the same time, El Pende succeeded in making people forget -his family nickname, and everybody called him Rafael, or Señor Rafael, -and some even called him Don Rafael. - -The family was progressing economically, and acquiring more -respectability, when the lad Quentin began to make trouble. He ran away -from home; he stole; once he came near poisoning the whole family; he -did terrible things. - -Then the old Marquis, to whose knowledge his grandson’s escapades had -come, had him brought before him and sent him away to school in England. - -Quentin left, and the family continued their progress. Fuensanta had her -fourth child, a daughter; and during the confinement, Don Andrés -Salvador, the silversmith, died from heart failure. - -When they opened the old man’s will, they found that his fortune, almost -in its entirety, with the exception of a few bequests to two distant -relatives, was left to Fuensanta. The fortune, including the money and -the house, amounted to somewhere near thirty thousand dollars. - -Then Fuensanta and El Pende tried to rent the whole lower floor of the -house on the Calle de la Zapatería, with the idea of converting it into -a large warehouse. The landlord was willing, but the man who rented the -mat store said that he would not move, that he had a ten-year contract -with the landlord, and that he did not intend to leave. They offered to -pay him an indemnity, but he persisted in his recalcitrant attitude. - -And maybe the fool wasn’t stubborn! El Capita was a man of evil intent -with a magnificent history. Some time ago he lived with a widow who had -two daughters in school. When the elder daughter graduated, the man fell -in love with her, and married her; though he continued his relations -with her mother. El Capita was an artful chap. His wife found out about -the affair, and was indignant. She ran away with her husband’s clerk out -of revenge; but El Capita did not worry about the matter. Along came -the second daughter, and El Capita, who was very astute, began to make -advances to her, which she, more accommodating than her elder sister, -willingly accepted. - -El Capita was very content with his store; doubtless he had an affection -for all those panniers and headstalls--mute witnesses of his drunken -parties and tempestuous love affairs, and he got it into his head that -he was not going to move. But the man reckoned without his hostess; and -in this case, his hostess was Fuensanta, who when she said that she was -going to do a thing, did it regardless of all obstacles. - -Fuensanta very quietly transferred the inherited silversmith’s shop; -then she sold the house in the Calle de Librerías, and with the money -from the transfer and the sale, bought the house in the Calle de la -Zapatería; and El Capita had to get out in a hurry, willy nilly, with -all his pack-saddles and panniers. - -Fuensanta and El Pende converted the whole lower floor into a warehouse. -They furnished the barracks and the prison with goods at wholesale; but -as they did not wish to kill their retail trade, they rented a store in -the Calle de la Espartería near the Arco Alto and the Calle de Gitanos. -This place, which was known in ancient times by the name of El Gollizno -on account of its extreme narrowness, is one of the busiest corners in -Cordova. Certainly there ... - - * * * * * - -“Good lord! Another digression?” exclaimed Quentin. “Haven’t you -finished yet?” - -“Yes.” - -“Tell us the rest,” said the old woman. “What happened to that El Pende -fellow?” - -“Nothing: they elected him to the council, then they made him -lieutenant-mayor, and now he is a wealthy merchant, a banker; and we who -were rich once, haven’t a penny now. Eh? Well, that is the story. -Come--pass me some more wine.” - -Don Gil seized the bottle with one hand, brought it to his mouth, and -began to drink. - -“Enough, man, enough,” said Señora Patrocinio. - -The archæologist paid no attention to her, and never stopped until he -had emptied the bottle. Then he gazed about the room, shut his eyes, -leaned his head upon the table, and an instant later, commenced to snore -noisily. - -“The compadre is rather intoxicated,” said Quentin as he looked at Don -Gil. - -“Come, you’re feeling pretty good yourself,” replied the old woman. - -“I? I was never so calm in my life. It takes a lot to get us people from -England drunk.” - -“Ah! Are you English?” - -“No; I come from here.” - -“And are you a friend of the Quentin of whom there has been so much talk -tonight?” - -“Ha ... ha ... ha!” - -“What are you laughing at?” - -“Why, that Quentin ... is me!” - -“You?” and she used the familiar _tu_. - -“Ha ... ha! Now the old dame is beginning to ‘thee and thou’ me!” - -“Is it you, Quentin?” - -“Yes.” - -“I am a relative of yours.” - -“Really? I’m very glad to hear it.” - -“I can’t explain anything to you now, because you are drunk. Come some -other day and we’ll talk it over. I’ll help you.” - -“Very good; I shall take advantage of your protection.... Ha, ha!” - -“You shall see. You won’t have to work.” - -“Work! Ha ... ha ... ha! That is an idea that never occurred to me, good -dame. Far from me is that vulgar thought.... Ah!... Ha ... ha ... ha!” - -Señora Patrocinio seized Quentin by the arm and led him to the street. - -“Now, go home,” she said to him; “some other day I shall tell you -something that may interest you. Should you need money, come here before -you go anywhere else.” - -This said, she pushed Quentin into the middle of the street. The -coolness of the night air cleared his head. Day had not yet dawned; the -sky was clean and cloudless; the moon was low in the heavens--just -touching the horizon. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -MORE INCOMPREHENSIBLE THAN THE HEART OF A GROWN WOMAN, IS THAT OF A -GIRL-CHILD - - -Quentin did not abandon the idea of becoming intimate with Rafaela. - -He now knew the close relationship that united them. They were of the -same family. Things would have to turn out badly indeed not to be -advantageous to him. - -One morning Quentin again went to his cousin’s house. He found the gate -open, and went as far as the interior of the garden without ringing. He -found Juan, the gardener, busily occupied in trying to turn the key -which let the water out of the pool; an undertaking in which he was not -successful. - -“What are you trying to do?” Quentin asked him. - -“To turn this key; but it’s so dirty....” - -“Let me have it,” said Quentin; and taking a large crowbar, he turned -the key with scarcely an effort. A jet of water ran into a small trough, -from which it flowed through the various ditches that irrigated the -different parts of the garden. - -“Where are the young ladies?” asked Quentin. - -“At mass: they’ll be back in a little while.” - -“What’s doing here? How is everything getting on?” - -“Badly. Worse every day,” answered the gardener. “How different this -house used to look! Money used to flow here like wheat. They said that -every time the clock struck, the Marquis made an ounce of gold. And such -luxury! If you had walked through these patios thirty years ago, you’d -have thought you were in heaven!” - -“What was here?” - -“You would have met the armed house-guards, all gaudily attired--with -short coats, stiff-brimmed hats, and guns.” - -“What did they do?” - -“They accompanied the Marquis on his trips. Have you seen the coach? -What a beauty it is! It will hold twenty-four persons. It’s dirty and -broken now, and isn’t a bit showy; but you should have seen it in those -days. It used to take eight horses and postillions _a la Federica_ to -haul it. And what a to-do when they gave the order to start! The guards, -mounted on horseback, waited for the coach in that little plazoleta in -front. Then the cavalcade started off. And what horses! He always had -two or three of those animals that cost thousands of dollars.” - -“It must have cost him a lot to maintain a stable like that.” - -“Just think of it!” - -“When did these grandeurs come to an end?” - -“Not very long ago, believe me. When the Queen came to Cordova, she rode -from the Cueva del Cojo to the city in our coach.” - -“How is it that the family could fall so far?” - -“It has been everybody’s fault. God never granted much sense to the -members of this household; but the administrator and the Count, who is -the young ladies’ father, were the ones who brought on most of the -ruin. The latter, besides being a libertine and a spendthrift, is a -fool. People are always deceiving him; and what he doesn’t lose through -foolishness, he does through distrust. Once he bought twenty thousand -gallons of oil in Malaga at seventy _reales_, brought them here, and -sold them in a few days, at forty.” - -“That certainly was an idiotic thing to do.” - -“Well, he’s done lots more like it.” - -“What has become of him now? Where does he live?” - -“He goes about the city with toreadors and horse-dealers. He has -separated from his wife.” - -“Did he marry again?” - -“Yes; the second time, he married the daughter of an olive merchant: a -beautiful, but ordinary woman who is giving the town a lot to talk -about. Since he is a fool, and she a sinner, after two or three years of -married life, they separated--throwing things at each other’s heads. Now -he is living with a gipsy girl named La Mora, who relieves him of what -pennies he has left. The girl’s brothers and cousins go into retirement -with him in taverns, and make him sign papers by threatening him with -violence: why, they haven’t left him a penny! And now that he has no -money, they no longer love him. La Mora throws him out of his house, and -I believe he crawls back to her on his knees.” - -“Meanwhile, what about his wife?” - -“She gets worse and worse. She has been going about here with a -lieutenant ... she’s a wild hussy.” - -The gardener took his spade and made a pile of earth in a ditch to keep -the water away from a certain spot. While Juan worked, Quentin turned -his ambitious projects over and over in his mind. - -“What a superb stroke!” he was thinking. “To marry the girl, and save -the property! That surely would be killing two birds with one stone. To -have money, and at the same time, pass for a romantic chap! That would -be admirable.” - -“Here come the young ladies,” said Juan suddenly, looking down the -corridor. - -Sure enough; Rafaela and Remedios, accompanied by the tall, dried-up -servant, appeared in the garden. The two girls were prettier than ever -in their mantillas and black dresses. - -“See how pretty they are!” exclaimed Juan to Quentin, arms akimbo. -“Those children are two slices out of heaven.” - -Rafaela laughed the laugh of a young woman utterly lacking in coquetry; -Remedios looked at Quentin with her great, black eyes, waiting, perhaps, -for a confirmation of the gardener’s compliment. - -Rafaela removed her mantilla, folded it, stuck two large pins in it, and -gave it to the maid; then she smoothed her hair with her long, -delicate-fingered white hand. - -“I have a favour to ask of you,” she said to Quentin. - -“Of me?” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“Command me: I shall consider myself most happy to be your slave.” - -Rafaela laughed musically and said: - -“Goodness me! How quickly you take your ground!” - -“I am not exaggerating; I am saying what I feel.” - -“Then be careful, for you seem to me to be a trifle restless for a -slave, and I may have to put you in irons.” - -“It won’t be necessary for you to do that. Tell me what you want me to -do.” - -“Well, a very simple thing. My father, who is not all a gentleman should -be, took a little silver jewelcase out of my room the other day. It is a -souvenir of mother. I think he must have sold it, and I wish you would -take the trouble of looking for it. You’ll find it in some pawn-shop on -the plaza. There is a coronet upon the cover of the case, and in the -silk lining are the initials, R. S. If you find the little box, please -buy it, and I shall pay you whatever it amounts to.” - -“No, not that.” - -“Oh, I don’t want it under any other condition.” - -Apropós of the little box, Rafaela spoke sadly of her mother. - -Remedios, who had taken off her mantilla, took a hoop from a corner and -began to play with it. - -“Remedios!” said Rafaela. “You have your new dress on. Change it, and -study your lessons immediately.” - -“No, not today,” replied the child. - -“Why not? And she says it so calmly! Big girls don’t play with hoops. If -I don’t watch this child, she plays all sorts of games, just like a -little street urchin. Do you think that is right, girlie?” - -Remedios looked at her sister impudently, and only whistled as an -answer. - -“Don’t whistle, please.” - -“I will,” answered Remedios. - -“I’ll shut you up in the dark room. We’ve had two days this week without -our lessons. If you don’t learn any more than that, you’ll be a little -donkey.... Just about as clever as Pajarito.” - -“No!” exclaimed the little girl, stamping her foot. - -“Yes, yes,” said Rafaela, smiling. - -“No.”--And throwing her arms about her sister’s neck, Remedios climbed -into her lap. - -“I believe you have lost your moral strength,” Quentin said to her. - -“Yes; I think so too,” added Rafaela. - -Safe in her sister’s lap, Remedios began to chatter, while Rafaela -patted her like a baby. She told several stories in which Pajarito, Juan -and the genet appeared. - -“What a little story-teller you are!” said Rafaela, laughing. - -When she grew tired of this, Remedios jumped from her sister’s lap, and -began to run about the garden. Presently she appeared riding astride of -the donkey. - -“The child is wild today,” said Rafaela, gazing severely at Remedios. - -The little girl noticed that her sister was annoyed, and jumping from -the donkey at the risk of falling, she went up to her. - -“Juan said that we can pick oranges now.” - -“Girlie, will you kindly be less of a busybody, and a little more -quiet?” - -“Well, that’s what he said!” exclaimed Remedios, making an expressive -gesture, and rolling her great, black eyes. - -Quentin began to laugh. Rafaela joined him. - -“What are you laughing at?” demanded Remedios of her sister. - -“I’m not laughing, child.” - -“Yes, you are. Let’s get out of here.” - -“But, why?” - -“Yes; come on.” - -“It’s just a little notion the girl has taken,” murmured Quentin. - -“What business is it of yours?” - -“My dear child, if you grow up like this, no one will be able to resist -you.” - -Remedios remained frowning by Rafaela’s side; then she saw Juan’s little -dog, took it in her arms, and running to the pool, threw it into the -water. - -“What a creature!” said Rafaela, vexed. - -They went to the pool; the dog swam to the edge and began to flounder -about without being able to get out. Quentin knelt upon the ground, and -stretching out his arm, lifted the little animal from the water. - -“He’s shivering,” said Rafaela. “Do you see what you have done?” she -added, turning to her sister--“He may die.” - -Remedios, who had watched the rescue impassively, went to a corner and -sat upon the ground with her face to the wall. - -“Remedios!” called Rafaela. - -The child made no reply. - -“Come, Remedios,” said Quentin, going over to her. - -“Go away!” - -“Come, you’re exhausting my patience.” - -“I won’t.” - -Rafaela tried to seize the girl, but she began to run, shouting: - -“If you follow me, I’ll throw myself into the pool.” - -And she was making for it when Quentin seized her firmly about the -waist, and heedless of her shrieks and kicks, handed her over to -Rafaela. - -“No, no; you must go into the dark room. What a child!” - -“No, I won’t do any more, I won’t do any more,” sobbed Remedios, hiding -her head on her sister’s shoulder, overcome with shame, and weeping like -a Magdalene. - -“When the tears are over, she’ll be a little lamb. Will you undertake my -mission?” Rafaela asked Quentin. - -“If the little box is in Cordova, you may be sure that I shall find it.” - -“Good! Adiós. We are going in to get over this,” said Rafaela, smiling -ironically. - -Rafaela and Remedios went up to their rooms, and Quentin went out into -the street. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -IN SEARCH OF A JEWEL-CASE - - -“In those days,” asserted Don Gil Sabadía in a notable article in _El -Diario de Cordova_, “La Corredera was a large, rectangular plaza -surrounded by houses with heavy balconies and porticos supported by -thick columns. At that time the plaza had no dirty and ugly brick -market-place; nor were the houses as neglected as they are today; nor -did so much hedge-mustard grow on the balconies. With a daily open-air -market, a plaza used on great occasions for bull-fights and jousts, La -Corredera constituted a commercial, industrial, and artistic centre for -Cordova. In that spot were celebrated regal fiestas of great renown in -our locality; there _autos da fé_ were consummated; there Señor Pedro -Romero and Pepe Hillo fought bulls when Charles IV visited the city; -there the Tablet of the Constitution was set up in 1823 with great -enthusiasm, only to be torn down and dragged about that same year; there -the bodies of a few splendid youths were exposed, killed in the hills -with their guns in their hands; there also the last executioners of -Cordova, the two Juans--Juan García and Juan Montano--both masters of -the art of hanging their fellow men, had splendid opportunities to -perform the extremely important duties that had been conferred upon -them. Lastly, from there, from La Corredera, sprang the rogues of -Cordova, relatives of the rascals of Zocodover and Azoguejo, fathers of -the scoundrels of Perchel, and of the lancers of Murcía, and remote -ancestors of the Madrid _golfos_.” - -And Don Gil, after enumerating the beauties of La Corredera, terminated -his article with the following lament: “One more reason we have for -thanking our much-boasted-of progress!” - -Quentin had been told that nearly all of the pawn shops in Cordova were -situated in La Corredera, and the morning after his conversation with -Rafaela, he appeared there, resolved to leave no stone unturned until he -had discovered the little box which he had been entrusted to find. - -He entered La Corredera through the Arco Alto. From this spot, the plaza -presented a pleasing and picturesque spectacle. It was like a harbour -filled with yellow and white sails shaking in the breeze, shining with -light, and filling the whole extent of the plaza. Under the dark and -sombre porticos, in the tiny shops and booths, there were little piles -of black objects. - -Quentin walked through the centre of the plaza. He saw permanent booths, -like large huts, where they sold grains and vegetables; and some that -were portable, like great umbrellas with long sticks, which belonged to -green-grocers and fruit-sellers. Other booths were a bit more simple, -being merely wide, awningless tables upon which walnuts and hazelnuts -were heaped. Others, simpler still, were upon the ground, “upon the -stone counters,” as the itinerant pedlars called them. - -Quentin left the centre of the plaza and entered the arcade, resolved to -leave no second-hand store or pawn-broker’s establishment unvisited. -Each space beneath the arcade was occupied by a booth, and each column -had a little stand at its base. On the inside of the covered walk were -the gateways of inns with their classic patios, and their splendid old -names; such as the Posada de la Puya, or the Posada del Toro.... The -sandal stores displayed coils of plaited grass as signs; the drink -establishments, shelves full of coloured bottles; the saddleries, -headstalls, cinchas, and cruppers; the tripe shops, bladders, and sieves -made of the skins of Lucena donkeys. Here a cane weaver was making -baskets; there, a pawnbroker was piling up several greasy books; and -near him, an old fright of a woman was taking a piece of hakefish from a -frying-pan and placing it upon a tin plate. - -Even the sidewalks were occupied; a vendor of Andújar ware was pacing up -and down before his dishes: large water-jars, and small, green jugs -which were arranged in squares upon the stones. An old countrywoman was -selling rolls of tinder for smokers; a man with a cap was exhibiting -cigar cases and shell combs upon a folding table. - -At each column there was a grinder with his machine, or a hatter with -his caps in a large basket, or a fritter-maker with his caldron, or a -cobbler with his bench and cut leather and a basin to dampen it in. -There were notes of gaiety which were struck by stockings and -handkerchiefs of vivid colours; and sinister notes: rows of different -sized knives tied to a wall, on whose blades were engraved mottoes as -suggestive as the following: - - _Si esta víbora te pica,_ - _No hay remedio en la botica._ - -(If this viper should sting thee, there is no cure for it in the -drugstore.) - -Or as that other legend, laconic in its fidelity, written below a heart -graven in the steel: - - _Soy de mi dueño y señor._ - (I am of my lord and master.) - -Although he visited every pawn shop and second-hand dealer in the plaza, -Quentin failed to find the jewel-case. Somewhat dazed by the sun and the -noise, he stopped and leaned against a column for a moment. It was a -babel of shouts and voices and songs--of a thousand sounds. The hardware -dealers struck horse-shoes with their hammers in a queer sort of rhythm; -the knife-grinders whistled on their flutes; the vendor of medicinal -herbs emitted a melancholy cry; the pine-nut seller shouted like a -madman: “Boys and girls, weep for pine-nuts!” - -There were cries that were languid and sad; others that were rapid and -despairing. Some vendors devoted themselves to humour; like the seller -of rolled wafers who began his advertisement by saying: “Here’s where -you get your wafers ... they came from El Puerto--all the _way for_ -you!” and then mixed up a lot of sayings and refrains. Other merchants -added a scientific touch; like the seller of tortoises, who dragged the -little animals along the ground tied to a string, and shouted in a voice -made husky by brandy: “Come and buy my little sea-roosters!” - -All this rabble of vendors, of farmers, of women, of naked children, and -of beggars; talked, shouted, laughed, gesticulated; it flowed from the -Arco Alto to the Calle de la Espartería, where the orchardists from El -Ruedo waited to bargain with the farmers; it entered the Plaza de las -Cañas, and while the multitude moved about, the winter sun, yellow, -brilliant as gold, fell upon and reverberated from the white awnings. - -Quentin went through the Arco Bajo to a plazoleta where a group of old -men were sunning themselves, with their cloaks tied to their bodies and -their stiff, broad-brimmed hats pulled down over their eyes. The -majority of them were so preoccupied in their noble task of doing -nothing, that Quentin dared not bother them with questions, so he made -his way toward a lupine-seller who was seated beneath a small awning -which sheltered him from the sun. - -The man had fastened a frame to the wall which served him as an awning. -As the red disk of the sun descended in the heavens, the man changed the -angle of the frame, always keeping himself in the shade. - -This wise fellow, who was reading a paper at the moment through a pair -of glasses, wore a high-crowned, sugar-loaf hat; he had the small, -gentle eyes of a drunkard, a long, twisted, red nose, and a white, -pointed beard. When Quentin accosted him, he lifted his eyes with -indifference, looked over his glasses, and said: - -“Sweetmeats? Lupine?” - -“No; I would like you to tell me if there is a pawn shop around here -besides those in La Corredera.” - -“Sí, Señor; there is one in the Plaza de la Almagra.” - -“Where is that?” - -“Near here. Would you like me to go with you?” - -“No, thanks. They might steal your wares.” - -“Pish! What would they want them for?” And the ingenious chap with the -sugar-loaf hat came out from behind his awning, tipped his hat toward -one ear, caressed his goatee, and flourishing a white stick, abandoned -his basket of lupine to fate, and accompanied Quentin until he left him -in front of a second-hand store. - -“Thank you very much, _caballero_,” said Quentin. - -The wise man smiled, shifted his high-crowned hat from his left ear to -his right, swung his stick, and, after bowing ceremoniously, departed. - -Quentin entered the shop and explained to the clerk what he was looking -for. The man, after listening to him, said: - -“I’ve got that jewel-case.” - -“Will you show it to me?” - -“I don’t know why I shouldn’t.” - -The man opened a writing-desk, and from the bottom of one of the drawers -took out a small, blackened box. It had a coronet upon the cover, but -the lining had been torn out, so they could not see the initials that -Rafaela had mentioned to Quentin. Nevertheless, it was probably the -right box. Quentin wished to make sure. - -“Do you mind telling me,” he asked, “where this box came from?” - -“Are you so interested in it?” questioned the pawnbroker rather -sarcastically. - -“Yes; but it is because I wish to make sure that it is the one I am -looking for.” - -“Well, I don’t mind saying where it came from, for I am sure that the -man who sold it to me owned it.” - -“Is it from the house of a marquis?” - -“Sí, Señor.” - -“Of one who lives on the Calle del Sol?” - -“Sí, Señor.” - -“How much do you want for it?” - -“Seventy dollars.” - -“The devil! That’s a good deal.” - -“It’s worth it. A man who knew about such things would give me a hundred -dollars for it; perhaps more....” - -“Very well. If I cannot come and get it today, I shall be here -tomorrow.” - -“Very well.” - -Quentin went home deep in thought. Where was he going to get those -seventy dollars? He entered the store and went to see Palomares. - -“Could you let me have seventy dollars today?” he inquired. - -“Seventy dollars! Where am I going to get it?” - -“Don’t you know any one who lends money?” - -“You’ve got to have a guarantee if you want any one to lend you money; -and what guarantee are you going to give?” - -“The fact is, I’ve got to have the money today.” - -“Look here; come to the store on the Calle de la Espartería this -evening, and we’ll see what we can do.” - -At six o’clock, Quentin went to the store. He had never been there -before. It was small, but overstocked with goods, and, at that hour, -crowded with purchasers. - -“Is Don Rafael in?” Quentin asked a clerk. - -“There, in the back room.” - -Quentin went in, and found himself in a small room with various shelves -full from top to bottom of tins of all kinds and colours, bottles, -flasks, and jars. One breathed there a mixed odour of cinnamon, -petroleum, coffee, and cod-fish. In that little shop of nutritious -produce, three persons were engaged in conversation with Don Rafael. -Quentin greeted them and sat down. - -One of the three persons was a prebendary by the name of Espego, whom -they called Espejito on account of his small stature. Espejito had a sly -look, and was pacing about the back room with his hands behind his back. - -The second member of the coterie was a lean man with very thin legs, -which were wide apart like those of a compass; he had a face like a -tunny-fish, with a fixed, penetrating, and suspicious glance. He was -called Camacha, and was a solicitor. He wore a short moustache, -side-whiskers that reached to the bottom of his ears, a broad-brimmed -hat tipped to one side, and very tight trousers. - -The third member was leaning back in a chair; he was a sexagenarian with -a roman profile; his face was full of fleshy wrinkles; his nose, crooked -and aquiline, hung over his upper lip like a vulture over its prey; his -eyes were staring and sunken; his mouth contemptuous and bitter, and his -skin, lemon-coloured. He wore a black handkerchief tied about his head; -over it, a broad-brimmed hat, also black; and over his shoulders, a -roomy, dark-brown cloak with large folds. - -This gentleman, the owner of a number of farms about Cordova, was called -Don Matías Armenta. - -The four men talked slowly and disjointedly. - -“I believe there are guarantees,” murmured one of them from time to -time. - -“That’s what I think.” - -“The condition of the house....” - -“Is not satisfactory, that’s certain; but to respond....” - -“That’s what I think.” - -“We’ll speak of that some other day.” - -“I’m in the way here,” thought Quentin, and he went into the store and -sat down upon a bench, waiting for Palomares to appear. - -Palomares went into the back room, and at the end of a short time, came -out and said to Quentin: - -“Well, my lad, it can’t be done.” - -Quentin went into the street cursing his stepfather and the old cronies -who were with him for a trio of usurers of the worst kind. He was -walking along the streets wondering how he was to get the money, when he -remembered the offer Señora Patrocinio had made to him the night he and -Don Gil Sabadía were in her house. - -“Let’s go there,” he said to himself. “We’ll see if she makes good her -offer.” - -He made his way to Los Tejares where Señora Patrocinio lived. The door -of the house was open. Quentin knocked, and, as no one answered, he -walked in. - -“Señora Patrocinio!” he cried. - -“Who is it?” came from above. - -“A man who comes to ask for something.” - -“Well, we give nothing here.” - -“I am Quentin.” - -“Ah! It’s you? Come in and wait for me.” - -“What beautiful confidence!” said Quentin, seating himself in the -vestibule, which was nearly in darkness. - -Just then he heard footsteps upon the stairs, and a woman veiled in a -black mantilla descended with Señora Patrocinio. - -The veiled lady looked at Quentin as she passed; he returned the look -with curiosity, and would have gone to the door to see her better, had -not Señora Patrocinio seized him by the arm. - -“Come,” said the old woman, “what’s the matter?” - -“Señora Patrocinio,” Quentin stammered, “send me away and take me for -an idiot if my request seems stupid to you. I have come to ask for -money.” - -“Have you been gambling?” - -“No.” - -“How much do you need?” - -“Seventy dollars.” - -“Come, that’s not much. Follow me.” - -Quentin and the old woman climbed to the second floor and entered a room -which contained a large bed. Señora Patrocinio took a key from her -pocket, and opened a cabinet. She clawed inside of it with her deformed -hands until she brought forth a bulging purse. She opened it, removed -from it a roll of coins wrapped in paper, broke it over the bed, and -scattered several gold-pieces upon the coverlet. The old woman counted -out twenty twenty-peseta pieces and offered them to Quentin. - -“Take them,” she said. - -“But you’re giving me too much, Señora Patrocinio.” - -“Bah! They won’t weigh you down.” - -“Thanks very much!” - -“You must not thank me. I only want one thing, and that is that you come -to see me now and then. Some day I’ll explain our relationship and what -I expect of you.” - -“Very well.” - -Quentin took the money and left the house joyfully. It was night, and he -thought that the pawn shop on the Plaza de la Almagra might be closed, -but he went by to make sure, and found it still open. He took the -jewelcase and went home. - -“The truth is, I’m a lucky man,” he murmured gleefully. - -Quentin slept peacefully, rocked by sweet expectations. The next -afternoon he went to the Calle del Sol. - -He found the gate open, and passed on into the garden. The gardener was -not there. He went upstairs and rang the bell. The tall, dried-up -servant who came to the door, said: - -“The young ladies are in the kitchen.” - -“Well, let’s go there.” - -They went through a series of corridors and entered the kitchen. It was -an enormous place, with a high skylight through which at that moment -there filtered a ray of sunlight that fell upon the blond, somewhat -mussed-up hair of Rafaela. - -Rafaela and Remedios turned at the sound of footsteps. - -“Oh, is it you? You have found us in a pretty mess,” said Rafaela, -showing him her hands covered with flour. - -“What are you making?” asked Quentin. - -“Some fried-cakes.” - -“It smells deliciously in here.” - -“Have you a sweet tooth?” asked Rafaela. - -“Somewhat.” - -“This is the one with a sweet tooth,” said Rafaela, indicating Remedios. -“Let’s get out of here, she’ll have indigestion if we don’t.” - -Rafaela washed her hands and arms, dried them carefully, and led the way -from the kitchen into the drawing-room. - -“I’ve got the little box here,” announced Quentin. - -“Oh, really? Give it to me. Thank you! Thank you very much indeed! How -much did it cost you?” - -“Nothing.... A mere trifle.” - -“No, no, that’s not possible. Please tell me how much you paid for it.” - -“Won’t you accept this small favour from me?” - -“No; for I realize that it must have cost you a lot.” - -“Bah!” - -“I’ll find out, and then we’ll talk about it further.” - -Remedios, approaching Quentin mysteriously, said to him: - -“Is it true that there is a store in your house?” - -“Yes.” - -“Are there sweets in it?” - -“Yes.” - -“Will you bring me some?” - -“What do you want me to bring you?” - -“Bring me some white taffy, some hard candy, a ladyfinger, and a -sugar-plum.” - -“But, child, you want a whole candy shop!” said Rafaela. - -“Then just some taffy and cake, eh?” - -“Very well.” - -“But lots of it.” - -“Yes.” - -“Fine: now sing for us!” - -“Gracious, what a bold little girl!” exclaimed Rafaela. - -They opened the drawing-room windows, and Quentin sat at the piano and -played the opening chords of the baritone aria from _Rigoletto_. Then, -in a hearty voice, he began: - - _Deh non parlare al misero - del suo perduto bene...._ - -He suddenly recalled his school, his friends; then he felt sentimental, -and put a real sadness in his tones. When he sang, _Solo_, _difforme_, -_povero_, he felt almost like weeping. - -After _Rigoletto_ came the song from _Un ballo_: - - _Eri tu che machiavi...._ - -Quentin exhausted his repertoire; he sang all the songs from the Italian -operas that he knew; and then, exaggerating his English accent, he sang -_Rule Britannia_! and _God Save the Queen_! - -The two sisters and the old servant sewed as they listened to Quentin, -who kept up a steady stream of conversation like a stage comedian. They -laughed at his stories and clownish tricks. - -He had an inexhaustible supply, and related many anecdotes and -adventures that were mostly invented by himself.... - -The afternoon passed very quickly. From the balcony they could see the -dark mountain outlined strongly against the blue of the sky. The sun, -very low in the horizon, was leaving long shadows of chimneys and towers -on the grey roofs, and reddening the belfries with an ideal light that -grew paler with each passing moment. - -They could scarcely see within the room; the old servant brought in a -lamp and placed it upon the table. Quentin took leave of the two -sisters. - -On his way out, he paused before the window overlooking the garden. The -atmosphere was unusually clear; the sky was deepening to an intense -blue. Distant objects; the white gardens upon the hillside, the -hermitages among the cypress trees, the great round-topped pine trees -upon the summit, ... all could be seen in detail. - -It grew darker; in the black, rectangular patch of the pool, a star -commenced to twinkle, then another, until a multitude of luminous points -trembled in its deep, quiet waters. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -A PICNIC AND A RIDE - - -“Aren’t you going to Los Pedroches?” Remedios asked Quentin one day. The -two sisters and the old woman were sewing in the drawing-room. - -“What’s doing there?” he asked. - -“The Candelaria Picnic,” answered Rafaela. - -“Are you going?” - -“Yes, I believe so. We are going with our cousins.” - -Quentin fell silent for a moment. - -“Aren’t you going?” Remedios asked again. - -“I? No. I don’t know any one.” - -“Don’t you know us?” she asked. - -“Yes; but I’d bother you....” - -“Why?” asked Rafaela pleasantly. - -“And if I did not bother you, I should be certain to annoy your cousins; -perhaps they wouldn’t like me to bow to you.” - -Rafaela became silent; implying, though perhaps unwittingly, that what -Quentin had said might be true. So, somewhat embarrassed, he said: - -“What do they do there?” - -“Not much nowadays,” answered the old woman. “There are a few dances and -supper parties ... but the best thing about it used to be the return -home: it was the custom for every lad to bring a lass back to town on -his horse’s croup.” - -“Has that custom died out?” asked Quentin. - -“Yes.” - -“Why don’t they still follow it?” - -“On account of the fights they had coming back,” answered the old woman. -“Boys, and men too, took to scaring the horses, and some of the riders -fell off and began to fight furiously with both fists and guns.” - -“You seem to know all about it,” said Rafaela to the old woman. “Have -you ever been in Los Pedroches?” - -“Yes; with a sweetheart of mine who carried me behind him on his horse.” - -“My! What a rascal!... What a rascal!” exclaimed Rafaela. - -“When we reached Malmuerta,” the old servant continued, “they frightened -our horse, so my sweetheart, who had a short fowling-piece on his -saddle, made as if to shoot it, and the people couldn’t get away fast -enough....” - - * * * * * - -Quentin decided to go to the picnic. - -“I’m going to Los Pedroches, mother,” he said to Fuensanta. - -“That’s good, my son,” she replied, “go out and have a good time.” - -“To tell you the truth, I haven’t any money.” - -“I’ll give you what you need; and I’ll find you some riding clothes, -too.” - -Quentin hired a big horse with a cowboy saddle; then, following his -mother’s instructions, he put on a short jacket covered with ribbons and -braid, fringed leggings, a tasseled shawl across the saddle bow, and a -broad-brimmed hat. - -He mounted at the door of his house. He was a good horseman, and as he -jumped into the saddle, he made his horse rear. He brought him down at -once, waved to his mother who was on the balcony, and rode off at a -smart pace. - -He went out through the Puerta de Osario to the Campo de la Merced, -under the Arco de la Malmuerta and turned his horse’s head toward the -Carrera de la Fuensantilla. There he noticed the unusual exodus of -people making their way in groups toward Los Pedroches. - -It was a splendid February afternoon. The sun poured down like a golden -rain upon the green countryside, and smiled in the fields of new wheat -which were dotted with red flowers and yellow buds. Here and there a -dark hut or a stack of straw surmounted by a cross arose in the broad -expanse of cultivated lands. - -Quentin rode swiftly along the highway, which was bordered at intervals -by large, grey century-plants, from among whose pulpous branches rose -flocks of chirping birds. - -He reached the picnic-grounds: a meadow near the Los Pedroches ravine. -The people were scattered over the meadow in groups. The bright and -showy dresses of the girls shone in the sun afar off against the green -background of the field. As Quentin drew near the fiesta-grounds, some -groups were eating supper, and others were playing the guitar and -dancing. - -In some places, where the dancers were doubtless experts, curious -onlookers crowded about them. An old man with side-whiskers was playing -the guitar with great skill, and a dancer in a narrow-waisted suit was -pursuing his graceful partner with his arms held high in the air; and -one could hear the clacking of castanets, and the encouraging applause -of the onlookers. - -It was a peaceful happiness, dignified and serene. Girls in showy -dresses, Manilla shawls, and with flowers in their hair, were strolling -about, accompanied by sour-visaged dueñas and proud youths. - -A little apart from the centre of the picnic, the more wealthy families -were lunching peacefully; while little boys and girls were screeching as -they swung in the swings hung from the trees. - -There were vendors of oranges and apples and walnuts and chestnuts; and -taffy women with their little booths of sweets and brandy. - -Quentin went around the grounds looking all about him, searching for his -cousins; and at last, in a little unpopulated grove, he caught sight of -them among a group of several boys and girls. - -Remedios recognized Quentin when he was still some distance away, and -waving her hand at him, she rose to meet him. Quentin rode up to her. - -“Where are you going?” the girl inquired. - -“For a little ride.” - -“Do you want a cake?” - -“If you will give....” - -“Come on.” - -Quentin dismounted, walked up to the group, gave his hand to Rafaela, -and greeted the others with a bow. Undoubtedly Rafaela had informed her -friends who the horseman was, for Quentin noticed that several of the -girls looked at him curiously. - -He took the cake that Remedios gave him, and a glass of wine. - -“Won’t you sit down?” Rafaela asked him. - -“Thank you, no. I’m going for a ride along the mountain.” - -As he drew near Rafaela, Quentin noticed the look of hatred that one of -the young men present cast at him. - -“He’s a rival,” he thought. - -From that instant, the two boys were consumed with hatred for each -other. The young man was tall, blond, with a certain rusticity about him -in spite of his elegant clothes. Quentin heard them call him Juan de -Dios. The youth spoke in a rather uncultured manner, converting his -_s’s_ into _z’s_, his _r’s_ into _l’s_, and vice versa. He gazed fixedly -at Rafaela, and from time to time said to her: - -“Why don’t you drink a little something?” - -Rafaela thanked him with a smile. Among the girls were Rafaela’s two -cousins; the elder, María de los Angeles, had a nose like a parrot, -green pop-eyes, and a salient under lip; Transito, the younger, was -better looking, but her expression, which was half haughty and half -indifferent, did not captivate one’s sympathies. Like her sister, she -had green eyes, and thin lips with a strange curve to them that gave her -a cruel expression. - -Transito questioned Quentin in a bantering and sarcastic tone; he -replied to her pleasantly, with feigned modesty, and in purposely broken -Spanish. Presently he announced his intention of going. - -“What, are you going?” asked Rafaela. - -“Yes.” - -“Are you afraid of us?” said Transito. - -“Afraid of being enchanted,” replied Quentin gallantly, as he bowed and -went in search of his horse. - -“Wait! Take me on the croup,” Remedios shouted. - -“No, no; you’ll fall,” said Rafaela. - -“No, I won’t,” replied the child. - -“The horse is gentle,” Quentin put in. - -“Very well then; you may take her for a while.” - -Quentin mounted rapidly, and Remedios climbed upon the step of the -carriage that stood near. Quentin rode up to her and stuck out his left -foot for her to use as a support. The little girl stepped upon it, and -seizing Quentin about the waist, leaped to the horse’s croup and threw -her arms about the rider. - -“See how well I do it,” said she to her sister, who was fearfully -watching these manœuvres. - -“I see well enough.” - -“Where shall we go?” Quentin asked the girl. - -“Right through the picnic-grounds.” - -They rode among the groups; the arrogance of the rider and the grace of -Remedios with her red flower in her hair, attracted the attention of the -crowd. - -“There’s a pair for you!” said some as they watched them ride by; and -she smiled with her shining eyes. - -Following Remedios’ orders, Quentin rode back and forth among the places -which she pointed out to him. - -“Now let’s go to the mountain.” - -Quentin rode up hill for half an hour. - -The afternoon was drawing to a close; the shadows of the trees were -lengthening on the grass; white clouds, solid as blocks of marble, with -their under sides ablaze, floated slowly over the mountain; the air -smelt of rosemary and thyme. Cordova appeared upon the plain enveloped -in a cloud of golden dust; beyond her undulated low hills of vivid -green, stretching in echelon one behind the other, until they were lost -in the distance in a golden haze of vibrating light. Over the roofs of -the city rose church towers, slate-covered cupolas, black, sharp-pointed -cypresses. From between the walls of a garden, with a very tall and -twisted trunk, a gigantic palm tree raised its head--like a spider stuck -to the sky.... - -Quentin turned back with the idea of leaving Remedios with her sister. - -“Well, well!” Rafaela exclaimed. “You certainly can’t complain. We’ve -been waiting for you to go home with us. Come, get down.” - -“No; he’s going to take me home--aren’t you, Quentin?” - -“Whatever you wish.” - -“Well, let’s be going.” - -“We’re off!” - -“Look out for jokers,” warned Rafaela’s cousin Transito. - -They took the road cityward, riding among the groups who were returning -from the fiesta. - -They could see Cordova in the twilight with the last rays of the sun -quivering upon its towers. In some houses the windows were commencing to -light up; in the dark blue sky, the stars were beginning to appear. - -Neither Quentin nor the girl spoke; they rode along in silence, swaying -with the motion of the horse. They reached the Carrera de la -Fuensantilla, and from there followed Las Ollerías. At the first gate -they came to, El Colodro, Quentin thought he saw a group that might have -stationed itself there with the intention of frightening the horses of -the passers-by; so he went on through the Arco de la Malmuerta to the -Campo de la Merced. - -Here there was a group of little boys and young men, one of whom had a -whip. - -“Be careful, child; hold on to me tightly,” said Quentin. - -She squeezed the rider’s waist with her arms. - -“Are you ready?” - -“Yes.” - -The group of young people came toward Quentin, one of them brandishing -the whip. Before they had time to frighten his horse, Quentin drove in -his spurs and slackened his reins. The animal gave a jump, knocked down -several of the jokers, and broke into a gallop, spreading consternation -among the youngsters. When they had passed the Campo de la Merced, -Quentin reined in his horse and began to walk again. - -“How did you like that, little girl?” asked Quentin. - -“Fine! Fine!” exclaimed Remedios, brimming over with delight. “They -wanted to shoot us.” - -“And they fell down.” - -The girl laughed delightedly. Quentin guided his horse to the Puerta del -Osario, and once through it, threaded his way along lonely alleyways. -The horse went at a walk, his iron shoes resounding loudly on the -pavement. - -“Would you like me to treat you?” asked Quentin. - -“Yes.” - -They were passing a tavern called El Postiguillo; so Quentin stopped his -horse, clapped his hands loudly twice, and the innkeeper appeared in the -doorway. - -“What does the little girl want?” said the man. - -“Whatever you have,” answered Remedios. - -“A few cakes, and two small glasses of Montilla?” - -“Would you like that?” asked Quentin. - -“Very much.” - -They ate the cakes, drank the wine and went on their way. Just as they -reached the Calle del Sol, a carriage stopped at the door, from which -Rafaela, her cousins, and the blond young man descended. The latter, who -helped the girls down, called to Remedios: “I’ll be with you in a -moment!” But the girl pretended not to hear him, and called Juan. -Quentin took the child by the waist and lifted her into the arms of the -gardener; then he bowed, and turned his horse up the street. - -When he reached his house, he found that his family had not yet returned -from the picnic. He saw Palomares in the street and joined him; gave his -horse to a boy to take to the livery stable, and, in the company of the -clerk, entered a café. He told him how he had passed the afternoon, and -then began to speak casually of his grandfather’s family. - -“It looks as if they were about ruined, eh?” - -“Yes; completely.” - -“Still they must have _some_ cash haven’t they?” - -“Oof! The old man was very rich; more through his wife than himself. He -is a fine man but very extravagant. When the rebel leader Gomez took -possession of Cordova the old Marquis, who was then a Carlist, took him -in and gave him thousands of dollars. He has always spent his money -lavishly.” - -“What about the son?” - -“The son is nothing like his father. He is a disagreeable profligate.” - -“And the son’s wife?” - -“La Aceitunera? She’s a sinner of the first water.” - -“Pretty, eh?” - -“Rather! A fine lass with unbounded wit. When she left her husband, she -went to live with Periquito Gálvez; but now they say she is trotting -about with a lieutenant. Just pull Juan the gardener’s tongue a bit, and -he’ll tell you some curious things.” - -“Didn’t the family ever have any relative clever enough to save it from -ruin?” - -“Yes; the Marquis has a brother called El Pollo Real; but he is a -selfish sort who doesn’t want to mix in anything for fear they will ask -him for money. Have you never seen him?” - -“No.” - -“Well, El Pollo Real has been a Tenorio. Now he is a half paralytic. -They say that he is devoting himself to writing the history of his love -affairs, and has hired a painter to paint pictures of all his -mistresses. He’s been at it for years. The first artist he had was a -friend of mine from Seville, and he used to tell me that El Pollo Real -would give him a miniature or a photograph for him to enlarge, and then -he would explain what the subjects looked like: whether blondes or -brunettes, tall or short, marchionesses or gipsies.” - -“Do you know Rafaela?” - -“Do I know her! Rather! Poor little girl!” - -“Why ‘poor little girl’?” exclaimed Quentin, feeling cold from head to -foot. - -“The girl has had hard luck.” - -“Why, what happened to her?” - -“Oh, affairs of a wealthy family, which are always miserable. After she -was thirteen or fourteen years old, Rafaela was engaged to the son of a -Cordovese count. It seemed as if the two children loved each other, and -they made a fine couple. They were always seen together; going for -walks, and in the theatre; when it began to be rumoured that the -Marquis’ family was on its way to ruin. Then her sweetheart went away to -Madrid. Month after month went by, and the lad did not return; finally -some one brought the news that he had married a young millionairess in -Madrid. Rafaela was ill for several months, and since that time she has -never been as well or as gay as she used to be.” - -Quentin listened to this story profoundly mortified. He no longer cared -to ask questions; he arose, left the café, and took leave of Palomares. - -He was unable to sleep that night. - -“Why this anger and mortification?” he asked himself. “What difference -does it make whether Rafaela has had a sweetheart or not? Aren’t you -going to work out your problem, Quentin? Aren’t you going to follow out -your plan in life? Aren’t you a good Bœotian? Aren’t you a swine in the -herd of Epicurus?” - -In spite of Quentin’s efforts to convince himself that he ought not to -be irritated, it was impossible to do so. Merely to think that a man, -probably a young whipper-snapper, had scorned Rafaela, offended him in -the most mortifying manner. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -SPRING - - -No; he was no Bœotian; he was no Epicurean; he could not say that in his -heart, he followed the admirable advice of the great poet: “Pluck -today’s flower, and give no thought to the morrow’s.” - -He was passing through all of the most common and most vulgar phases of -falling in love; he had moments of sadness, of anger, of wounded and -maltreated self-esteem. - -He tried to analyze his spiritual condition coldly, and he considered it -best and most expedient to make an effort not to appear at Rafaela’s -house for a long time. - -“I must be active,” he said to himself. At other times his reason -appealed to him: “Why not go to see her as I used to? What is it that I -want? Do I want her to cease having a sweetheart she has already had? -That would be stupid. We must accept things that have already been.” - -At this, his wounded pride responded with fits of anger, obscuring his -intelligence; and the pride generally came out victorious. - -Quentin did not appear at Rafaela’s house for some time. Alone, with -nothing to occupy him, friendless; he was desperately bored. How the -Andalusian spring oppressed him! He wandered about from place to place, -without plans, without an object, without a destination. - -The sun inundated the silent, deserted streets; the sky, a pure, opaque -blue, seemed something tangible--a huge turquoise, or sapphire in which -roofs and towers and terraces were embedded. - -Everything gave the impression of profound lethargy.... The houses: -blue, yellow, pale rose, cream-coloured, all hermetically sealed, seemed -deserted; the irrigated vestibules flowed with water; one smelt vaguely -the odour of flowers, and a penetrating perfume of orange blossoms arose -from the patios and gardens. - -The plazas, like white whirlpools of sunlight, were blinding with the -reverberation of light against the walls. In the alleys, tenebrous, -narrow, shadowy, one felt a damp, cave-like cold.... Everywhere silence -and solitude reigned; in some lonely spot, a donkey, tied to a grating, -remained motionless; a hungry dog scratched in a heap of refuse; or a -frightened cat ran with tail erect until it disappeared in its -hiding-place. - -In the distance, the crowing of a cock rang out like a bugle call in the -silent air; one heard the melancholy cry of the vendors of medicinal -herbs; and through the deserted plazoletas, through the narrow and -tortuous alleys, there rose the song of love and death that a _grancero_ -was singing as he rode along on his donkey. - -In La Ribera, some vagabonds and gipsies were sunning themselves, while -others played quoits; little children with brown skins ran about -bare-legged, covered only by a scanty shirt; sunburned old women came to -the windows and gratings; and along the white, the very white highway, -which resembled a great chalk furrow, there passed gallant horsemen, -raising clouds of dust. - -The river wound peacefully along--blue at times, at times golden; wagons -and herds passed slowly over the bridges--so slowly that from a distance -they seemed motionless. - -An oppressive calm, a tiresome somnolence weighed down upon the city; -and in the midst of this calm, of this death-like silence, there sounded -a bell here, another there--all extremely languid and sad.... - -At nightfall, the magic of the twilight touched the city and the -distant landscape with gold---‘d lights; splendid colours of -extraordinary magnificence. The clouds became rosy, scarlet.... The -country was tinged with gold, and the last rays of the sun set fire to -the rocks and peaks of the mountain-tops. - -In the streets, which were bathed with light, a narrow strip of shadow -appeared upon the walks, which grew and widened until it covered the -whole pavement. Then it slowly climbed the walls, reached the grated -windows and the balconies, scaled the twisted eaves.... The sunlight -completely disappeared from the street, and there only remained the last -vestiges of its brilliancy upon the towers, the high look-outs, and the -flaming windows.... - -The air grew diaphanous, acquired more transparency; the horizon more -depth; and the sides of the white walls of garrets and corners, as they -reflected the scarlet or rosy sky, resembled blocks of snow animated by -the pale rays of a boreal sun.... - -Presently the lamps were lighted; their little red flames flickering in -the shadows; and squares of lighted windows punctured the façades of the -houses. - -At this hour on work days, women visited the stores; wealthy families -returned in their coaches from their orchards; youths rode back and -forth on horseback; and the nocturnal life of Cordova poured through the -central streets, which were lighted by street lamps and shop windows. - -Quentin wandered from place to place, ruminating on his sadness; walked -indifferently along streets and plazas; watched the young ladies coming -and going with their mammas, and followed by their beaux. When his -irritation disappeared, he felt discouraged. The melancholy calmness of -the city, the dreamy atmosphere, produced within him a feeling of great -lassitude and laziness. - -At times he firmly believed that Rafaela would trouble him no more; that -his feeling of love had been a superficial fantasy. - - * * * * * - -In the morning Quentin often went to the Patio de los Naranjos where El -Pende’s father used to spend his time with a coterie of old men, -beggars, and tramps, which all Cordova ironically called _La Potrá_, or -the herd of young mares. - -El Pende senior, or Matapalos, passed his time there chatting with his -friends. He was an original and knowing fellow who spoke in apothegms -and maxims. He dominated the meetings as few others could. No one could, -like him, so slyly introduce a number of subjects in a conversational -hiatus, or in the act of rolling a cigarette. Of course, for him, this -last was by no means a simple affair; but rather an operation that -demanded time and science. First, Matapalos took out a little knife and -began to scrape a plug of tobacco; after the scraping came the rubbing -of it between his hands; then he tore a leaf of cigarette paper from its -little book, held it for a moment sticking to his under lip, and then -began to roll the cigarette first on one end, and then on the other, -until the manœuvre was happily consummated. This operation over, -Matapalos removed his calañés, placed it between his legs, and from -somewhere within the hat drew forth a little leather purse, from which -he extracted flint and steel and tinder. - -After this, he slowly covered himself and from time to time, in the -midst of the conversation, struck the steel with the flint until he -happened to light the tinder, and with the tinder, his cigarette. - -The old man lived in a hut in the Matadero district; he knew everything -that had occurred in Cordova for many years, and boasted of it. For -Matapalos, there were no toreadors like those of his own time. - -“I’m not taking any merit away from Lagartijo or Manuel Fuentes,” he -said, “but you don’t see any more toreadors like El Panchón, or Rafael -Bejarano, or Pepete, or El Camará. You ought to have seen Bejarano! He -was such a great rival of no less a person than Costillares, that in my -time they used to sing: - - _“Arrogante Costillares, - anda, vete al Almadén - para ver bien matar toros - al famoso Cordobés.”_ - -(Proud Costillares, come, and go to the Almadén to see the famous -Cordovese kill bulls right.) - - * * * * * - -In this subject Matapalos had a formidable adversary; another old man -whom they called Doctor Prosopopeya, who, as a native of Seville, never -admitted that a Cordovese toreador could come up to one from Seville. - -Quentin found Matapalos very funny and very amusing, and he often went -to listen to him. - -While the old man related ancient history in his quiet, peaceful voice, -Quentin contemplated the Patio de los Naranjos, sometimes listening to -what was said, sometimes not. - -The orange trees were in full blossom, and their penetrating perfume -produced a certain giddiness; from time to time one could hear distant -bells which the cathedral bell seemed to answer, clanging loudly.... -Then silence again reigned; the birds chirped in the trees; the water -murmured in the fountain; the butterflies bathed in the pure air; and -the lizards and salamanders glided along the walls. - -Among the shadows of the orange trees shone vivid splashes of sunlight; -doves tumbled from the cathedral roof and flew softly through the blue -and luminous air, making a slight sound of ripping gauze; sometimes they -made a metallic whirr as they rapidly beat their wings. - -The majority of the _Potrá_ was made up of beggars and tramps. These -beggars were neither emaciated, squalid, nor ill; but strong, vigorous -men, hirsute, with long, matted locks, sunburned, covered with rags.... -Some wore threadbare calañés hats; others, broad-brimmed sombreros worn -over grass handkerchiefs; some, a very few, wore loose, yellowish coats -with long sleeves; a good many wrapped themselves up in grey cloaks of -heavy cloth and many folds. Nearly all of them had private homes where -they were given leavings and cigarette butts; those who did not, went to -the barracks, or to a convent; no one lacked the hodge-podge necessary -for wandering on, though poorly, through the bitter adversities of -life. - -From time to time the _Potrá_ came into a little money; and then ten or -twelve of them got up a pool to play the lottery. - -In that troop there was a beggar with a black beard, younger than the -rest, bent almost double at the waist, who went about leaning on a short -crutch. They called this man El Engurruñao. He had one shrunken leg -wrapped in rags, although really he had no illness at all. He howled in -a doleful voice after every decently-dressed passer-by, and he took in -plenty of money. - -Through the conversations of these tramps and beggars, Quentin came to -know Cordova life, and that of the principal families of the town. -Through them he learned that the majority of the great families were on -their way to poverty. - -One example of an economic catastrophe was that of a gentleman who -walked through the arcade of the Mosque every morning. This gentleman -was dressed like a dandy of other days: well-fitting coat, flowing black -cravat, tall silk hat with a flat brim, and, on some cold days, a blue -cape. The poor man was emaciated, had long, grey, bushy hair, and wore -yellow gloves. - -He was a ruined aristocrat. It was pitiful to see that living ruin -walking up and down under the porticos, with his hands behind his back, -talking to himself with a gesture of resignation and sadness.... - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -WHERE HIS BEAUTIFUL EXPECTATIONS WENT! - - -One morning Quentin met Juan, the gardener. - -“You don’t come to the house any more, Señorito.” - -“I’ve had lots to do these days.” - -“Have you heard the important news?” - -“What is it?” - -“The Señorita is going to be married.” - -“Rafaela?” - -“Yes.” - -“To whom?” - -“To Juan de Dios.” - -Quentin felt as if all his nerves had let go at once. - -“The Marquis is getting worse every day,” the gardener continued, “so he -thought the Señorita ought to get married as soon as possible.” - -“And she.... What does she say?” - -“Nothing, at present.” - -“But will she oppose it?” - -“How do I know?” - -“Are the family affairs in such bad shape that the Marquis was forced to -take this course?” - -“They are very bad. The grandfather hasn’t much longer to live; the -Señorita’s father is a profligate; and El Pollo Real doesn’t care to do -anything at all. To whom will they leave the girls? Their stepmother, -La Aceitunera, is no good. Have you ever heard of a Señora Patrocinio -who has a house in Los Tejares? Well, she goes there every day. Why, -it’s a shame.” - -“And this Juan de Dios ... is he rich?” asked Quentin. - -“Very; but he is very coarse. When he was a little boy he used to say: -‘I want to be a horse,’ and he used to go out to the stable, pick up -some filth in his hands, and say to the people, ‘Look, look what I -did.’” - -“He _is_ coarse, then--eh?” - -“Yes; but he’s got noble blood in him.” - -Quentin left Juan and went home perplexed. Indubitably, he was no -Bœotian, but a vulgar sentimentalist, a poor cadet, an unhappy wretch, -without strength enough to set aside, as useless and prejudicial, those -gloomy ideas and sentiments: love, self-denial, and the rest. - -And he had thought himself an Epicurean! One of the few men capable of -following the advice of Horace: “Pluck today’s flower, and give no -thought to the morrow’s!” He! In love with a young lady of the -aristocracy; not for her money, nor even for her palace; but for her own -sake! He was on a level with any romantic carpenter of a provincial -capital. He was unworthy of having been in Eton, near Windsor, for eight -years; or of having walked through Piccadilly; or of having read Horace. - -In the miserable state in which Quentin found himself, only nonsensical -ideas occurred to him. The first was to go to Rafaela and demand an -explanation; the second was to write her a letter; and he was as pleased -with this idiotic plan as if it had been really brilliant. He made -several rough drafts in succession, and was satisfied with none of -them. Sometimes his words were high-sounding and emphatic; again, he -unwittingly gave a clumsy and vulgar tone to his letter: one could read -between the lines a common and uncouth irony, as often as extraordinary -pride, or abject humility. - -At last, seeing that he could not find a form clear enough to express -his thoughts, he decided to write a laconic letter, asking Rafaela to -grant him an interview. - -He gave Juan the letter to give to his young mistress. He was waiting at -the door for some one to answer his ring, when Remedios appeared. - -“See here,” said the child. - -“What’s the matter?” - -“Don’t you know? Rafaela is going to marry Juan de Dios.” - -“Does she love him?” - -“No; I don’t think she does.” - -“Then why does she marry him?” - -“Because Juan de Dios is very rich, and we have no money.” - -“But will she want to do it?” - -“She hasn’t said anything about it. Juan de Dios spoke to grandfather, -and grandfather spoke to Rafaela. Are you going to see sister?” - -“Yes, this very minute.” - -“She’s in the sewing-room.” - -They went to the door. - -“Tell her not to marry Juan de Dios.” - -“Don’t you like him?” - -“No. I hate him. He’s vulgar.” - -Quentin went in, glided along the gallery, and knocked upon the door of -the sewing-room. - -“Come in!” said some one. - -Rafaela and the old woman servant were sewing. As Quentin appeared a -slight flush spread over the girl’s cheeks. - -“What a long time it is since you have been here!” said Rafaela. “Won’t -you sit down?” - -Quentin gave her to understand with a gesture that he preferred to -remain standing. - -“Have you been so very busy?” asked the girl. - -“No; I’ve had nothing to do,” answered Quentin gruffly. “I’ve spent my -time being furious these days.” - -“Furious! At what?” said she with a certain smiling coquetry. - -“At you.” - -“At me?” - -“Yes. Will you let me speak to you alone a minute?” - -“You may speak here, before my nurse. She will defend me in case you -accuse me of anything.” - -“Accuse you? No, not that.” - -“Well, then, why were you so furious?” - -“I was furious, first because they told me that you once had a -sweetheart whom you loved; and second, because they say that you are -going to get married.” - -Rafaela, who perhaps did not expect such a brusque way of putting the -matter, dropped her sewing and rose to her feet. - -“You, too, are a child,” she murmured at length. “What can one do with -what is gone by? I had a sweetheart, it is true, for six years--and I -was in love with him.” - -“Yes; I know it,” said Quentin furiously. - -“If he acted badly,” Rafaela continued, as if talking to herself, “so -much the worse for him. There is no recollection of my childhood that -is not connected with him. In his company I went to the theatre for the -first time, and to my first dance. What little happiness I have had in -my life, came to me during the time I knew him. My mother was living -then; my family was considered wealthy.... Yet, if that man were free, -and wished to marry me now, I would not marry him; not from spite, -no--but because to me he is a different man.... I say this to you -because I feel I know you, and because you are like my sister Remedios: -you demand an exclusive affection.” - -“And don’t you?” demanded Quentin brusquely. - -“I do too; perhaps not as much as you; but neither do I believe that I -could share my affection with another. I must not deceive you in this. -You would be capable of being jealous of the past.” - -“Probably,” said Quentin. - -“I know it. I don’t believe that I have flirted with you; have I?” - -Rafaela spoke at some length. She had that graciousness of those persons -whose emotions are not easily stirred. Her heart needed time to feel -affection; an impulse of the moment could not make her believe herself -in love. - -She was a woman destined for the hearth; to be seen going to and fro, -arranging everything, directing everything; to be heard playing the -piano in the afternoons. In a burst of frankness, Rafaela said: - -“Had I listened to your hints, I should have made you unhappy without -wishing to, and you would have made me miserable.” - -“Then how is it that you are going to marry Juan de Dios?” asked Quentin -brutally. - -Rafaela was confused. - -“That’s different,” she stammered; “in the first place, I have not -decided yet; and besides, I have made my conditions. Then again, there -is this great difference: Juan de Dios is not jealous of my past love -affair ... he wants my title. [In this moment, Rafaela is sure that she -is calumniating her betrothed in order to get out of her difficulty.] -Moreover, my whole family is interested in my marrying him. If I do so, -my grandfather, poor dear, will be easy in his mind; Remedios will be -sure of being able to live according to her station,--and so shall I.” - -“You are very discreet; too discreet--and calculating,” said Quentin -bitterly. - -“No; not too much so. What would happen to us girls otherwise?” - -“What about me?” - -“You?” - -“Yes, me; I would work for you if you loved me.” - -“That could never be.” - -“Why?” - -“For many reasons. First of all, because I am older than you....” - -“Bah!” - -“Let me speak. First, because I am older than you; second, because you -would be jealous of me and would continually mortify me; and lastly, -most important of all, because you and I are both poor.” - -“I shall make money,” said Quentin. - -“How? With what? Why aren’t you making it now?” - -“Now?” questioned Quentin after a pause. “Now I have no ideal; it’s all -the same to me whether I’m rich or poor. But if you believed in me, -you’d find that I could snatch money from the very bowels of the earth.” - -“Possibly, yes,” said Rafaela calmly; “because you are clever. But those -are my reasons. Some day, when you recall our conversation, you will -say: ‘she was right.’” - -“You are very discreet,” said Quentin as he turned toward the door; “too -discreet; and you have discreetly torn asunder all my illusions, and -have left my soul in shreds.” - -“Do you hate me now?” she said sadly. - -“Hate you, no!” exclaimed Quentin with emotion, effusively pressing the -hand Rafaela held out to him. “You are an admirable woman in every -respect!” - -And trembling violently, he left the room. - -As he went down the stairs Remedios rushed up to him. - -“What did she say to you?” she asked. - -“It’s no use; she’s going to marry him.” - -“Did she tell you that herself?” - -“Yes.” - -“And you. What are you going to do?” - -“What can I do?” - -“I’d kill Juan de Dios,” murmured the girl resolutely. - -“If she wished it, I would, too,” replied Quentin, and he stepped into -the street. - -He walked along in a daze; he repeated Rafaela’s words to himself, and -discovered better arguments that he might have put forward in the -interview, but which did not occur to him at the moment. Sometimes he -thought, more rationally: “At least I came out of it well;” but this -consolation was too metaphysical to satisfy him. - -He spent a sleepless night at his window watching the stars and -thinking. He analyzed and studied his moral problem, proposing -solutions, only to reject them. - -At dawn he went to bed. He believed that he had hit upon a definite -solution--the norm of his existence. Condensed into a single phrase, it -was this: - -“I must become a man of action.” - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -THE MAN OF ACTION BEGINS TO MAKE HIMSELF KNOWN - - -Quentin got up late, ate his breakfast and wrote several letters to his -friends in England. In the evening he looked through the amusement -section of the paper and saw that there was to be an entertainment in -the Café del Recreo. - -He asked Palomares where this café was, and was told that it was on the -Calle del Arco Real, a street that ran into Las Tendillas. - -The constant irritation in Quentin’s mind troubled him so, that he -calmly decided to get drunk. - -“Tell me,” he said to the waiter after seating himself at a table in the -café, “what refreshments have you?” - -“We have currants, lemons, blackberries, and French ice-cream.” - -“Fine! Bring me a bottle of cognac.” - -The waiter brought his order, filled his glass, and was about to remove -the bottle. - -“No, no; leave it here.” - -“Aren’t you going to see the show?” asked the waiter with obsequious -familiarity. “They are giving _La Isla de San Balandrán_: it’s very -amusing.” - -“I’ll see.” - -After Quentin had emptied several glasses, he began to feel heartened, -and ready for any folly. At a near-by table several men were talking -about an actress who took the principal part in a musical comedy that -had just been put on. One with a very loud voice was dragging the -actress’ name through the mire. - -This man was extremely fat; a kind of a sperm whale, with the bulging -features of a dropsical patient, a shiny skin, and the voice of a -eunuch. He had a microscopic nose that was lost between his two chubby -cheeks, which were a pale yellow; his hatchet-shaped whiskers were so -black that they seemed painted with ink; his stiff, bluish hair grew low -on his forehead, with a peak above the eyebrows. He wore diamonds upon -his bosom, rings upon his pudgy fingers, and, to cap his offensiveness, -he was smoking a kilometric cigar with a huge band. - -The bearing, the voice, the diamonds, the cigar, the waddling, and the -laughter of that man set Quentin’s blood afire to such an extent, that -rising and striking the table where the whale was talking to his -friends, he shouted: - -“Everything you say is a lie!” - -“Are you the woman’s brother or husband?” inquired the obese gentleman, -staring into space and stroking his black sideburns with his much -bediamonded hand. - -“I am nothing of hers,” replied Quentin; “I don’t know her, and I don’t -want to know her; but I do know that everything you say is a lie.” - -“Pay no attention to him,” said one of the fat man’s companions; “he’s -drunk.” - -“Well, he’d better look out, or I’ll strike him with my stick.” - -“You’ll strike me with your stick!” exclaimed Quentin. “Ha ... ha ... -ha!... But have you ever looked into a mirror?... You really are most -repulsive, my friend!” - -The fat man, before such an insult to his appearance, rose and -endeavoured to reach Quentin, but his friends restrained him. Quentin -quickly removed his coat and rolled up his sleeves, ready to box. - -“Evohé! Evohé!” he thundered. “Come who will! One by one, two by two, -every one against me!” - -A thin, blond man with blue eyes and a golden beard, stepped up to him; -not as though to fight, but with a smile. - -“What do _you_ want?” Quentin asked him rudely. - -“Oh! Don’t you remember Paul Springer, the son of the Swiss -watch-maker?” - -“Is that you, Paul?” - -“Yes.” - -“Well, I’m sorry.” - -“Why?” - -“Because I should have liked it had it been the fat man or one of his -friends, so I could have cut him open with my fist.” - -“I see that you are just as crazy as ever.” - -“I, crazy? I’m one of the few people on this planet in their right -senses! Moreover, I have decided to become a man of action. Believe me!” - -“I can’t believe anything of you now, my lad. What you ought to do is to -put on your coat and go to bed. Come, I’ll go with you.” - -Quentin assented, and went home with his friend. - -“We’ll see each other again, won’t we?” said the Swiss. - -“Yes.” - -“Then, until another day.” - -They took leave of each other. Quentin remained in his doorway. - -“I’m not going in,” he said to himself. “Am I not a man of action? Well, -_adelante_! Where can I go? I’ll go and see Señora Patrocinio. I’ll take -a few turns about here until my head is a little clearer....” - -He knocked at the house in Los Tejares, and the door was immediately -opened to him. - -“Ah! Is it you?” said the old woman, as she lifted the candle to see who -it was. - -“Yes, it is I.” - -“Come in.” - -The old woman lit the lamp in the same room on the lower floor that Don -Gil Sabadía and Quentin had occupied. - -“What’s the matter?” asked Señora Patrocinio. “Do you need money?” - -“No. Do you, too, wish to offend me?” - -“No; I just wanted to give you some.” - -“Thanks very much! You are the only person who takes any interest in -me--why, I don’t know.... I have come to see you tonight because I am -unhappy.” - -“I know.... Rafaela is going to get married.” - -“And how do you know that that is the reason for my unhappiness?” - -“Nothing is secret from me. You liked her, but you will get over it -soon. She was fond of you, too.” - -“Do you think ...?” - -“Yes; but the poor girl had a bad beginning in life, and does well not -to get mixed up in adventures; for the majority of men aren’t even worth -the trouble of looking in the face. Still, what her sweetheart did was -disgraceful. Rafaela was brought up weakly,--too carefully guarded; then -she began to grow quite happy, what with taking care of her mother and -her betrothal. Then her mother died; her father remarried immediately; -in a few months it began to be rumoured that her family was on the verge -of ruin, and her sweetheart skipped out. Think of it! The poor abandoned -girl began to turn yellow, and thought she was going to die. I believe -that she owes her cure to the trouble her younger sister gave her.” - -“Yes; I understand that she has no faith in men. Probably I ought not to -have paid any attention to the fact,” Quentin added ingenuously. “But -won’t this Juan de Dios make her suffer?” - -“No. He’s coarse, but good at heart. What are you going to do?” - -“I! I don’t know. We live in such a contemptible epoch. If I had been -born in Napoleon’s time! God! I’d either be dead by now or else on the -road to a generalship.” - -“Would you have enlisted with Napoleon?” - -“Rather!” - -“And would you have fought against your own country?” - -“Against the whole world.” - -“But not against Spain.” - -“Especially against Spain. It would be pretty nice to enter these towns -defended by their walls and their conventionalities against everything -that is noble and human, and raze them to the ground. To shoot all these -flat-nosed, pious fakers and poor quality hidalgos; to set fire to all -of the churches, and to violate all the nuns....” - -“You’ve been drinking, Quentin.” - -“I? I’m as calm as a bean plant, which is the calmest vegetable there -is, according to the botanists.” - -“You must not talk like that of your native land in front of me.” - -“Are you a patriot?” - -“With all my heart. Aren’t you?” - -“I am a citizen of the world.” - -“It seems to me that you’ve been drinking, Quentin.” - -“No; believe me.” - -“I say this to you,” added the old woman after a long pause, “because -for me, this is a solemn moment. I have told no one the story of my life -until this moment.” - -“The devil! What is she going to tell me?” mumbled Quentin. - -“Are you vengeful?” asked the old woman. - -“I?” - -Quentin was not sure whether he was vengeful or not, but the old woman -took his exclamation for one of assent. - -“Then you shall avenge me, Quentin, and your family. We are of the same -blood. Your grandfather, the Marquis of Tavera, and I are brother and -sister.” - -“Really?” - -“Yes. He doesn’t know that he has a sister living. He thinks I died a -long time ago.” - -Quentin scrutinized the old woman closely and discovered certain -resemblances to the old Marquis. - -She pressed Quentin’s hand, and then commenced her story as follows: - -“In villages, there are certain families in which hatred is perpetuated -through century after century. In cities, after one or two generations, -hatred and rivalry are gradually wiped out until they disappear -altogether. Not so in the villages: people unconcerned in the quarrel -carry the story of it from father to son, present the chapter of -insults to different individuals, and go on feeding the flame of rancour -when it tends to extinguish itself. - -“I was born in a large, highland village, of such an illustrious family -as that of Tavera. My mother died young, my older brother went to -England, the other to Madrid to take up a diplomatic career, while I -remained in the village with my father and two maiden aunts. - -“My mother, whom I scarcely knew, was very good, but rather simple; so -much so that they say that when the fishes in our pool did not bite, she -called in a professional fisherman and gave him a good day’s wages to -teach them to do so. - -“My family came from an important village in the province of Toledo, -near La Puebla, where long ago there used to stand a tower and a castle -and various strongholds, which are now nothing but ruins. - -“According to my father, a harsh man, proud of his titles and lineage, -we came from the oldest nobility, from the conquerors of Cordova, and -were related to the whole Andalusian aristocracy: the Baenas, Arjonas, -Cordovas, Velascos, and Gúzmans. - -“In spite of our ancestry, our family did not enjoy any especial respect -from the townspeople on account of the display we made, because our -property had diminished somewhat, and also because the new liberal ideas -were beginning to make themselves felt. - -“My father owned nearly the whole village; he received a contribution -from every chimney; he had the only interment chapel in the large -church; and a patronage in several smaller churches and hermitages. In -spite of the prestige of his lineage and his wealth, every one hated -him--justly, I believe, for he was despotic, violent and cruel. - -“That was about fifty years ago. My nose did not try to meet my chin -then, nor did I lack any teeth; I was a lass worth looking at; graceful -as a golden pine, and blonder than a candle. Any one seeing me in those -days would have liked to know me! I lived with my father, who used to -aim a blow at me every once in a while, and with my aunts, who were -busybodies, meddlers, and crazy. - -“As I have already said, my father had enemies; some openly avowed, -others secret, but who all did the greatest amount of harm they could. -Among them, the most powerful was the Count of Doña Mencia, whose -family, much more recently come to the village than ours, was slowly -acquiring property and power. - -“The rivalry between the two houses was increased by a lawsuit which the -Doña Mencias won against us, and it grew into a savage hatred when my -father committed the offensive act of violating one of the rival -family’s little girls. - -“The Doña Mencias took the child to Cordova; my father once heard a -bullet whistle by his head as he was on his way to a farm--and this was -the state of affairs, my family hated by our rivals and by nearly all of -the townspeople, when I reached my eighteenth year, with no one to -advise me but my aunts. - -“I was, as I have said before, very pretty, and attracted attention -wherever I went. Even at that age I had already had two or three beaux -with whom I used to talk through my window-grating, when the Count of -Doña Mencia’s eldest son began to call upon me, and finally to ask for -my hand. The whole village was surprised at this; I was disposed to pay -no attention to him; moreover, I received several anonymous letters -telling me that if I listened to the Count’s son, very disagreeable -consequences might arise, because the hatred was still latent between -the two families. I was just about decided to refuse him, when my aunts, -crazy novel readers that they were, insisted that I ought to listen to -him, for the boy’s intentions were honourable, and in this way I could -once and for all put an end to the rivalry and hatred. - -“My father prided himself upon the fact that he never interfered with -what was happening in the family; his only occupations were hunting, -drinking, and chasing after farm girls, and if I had consulted him about -the affair, he would have sent me harshly about my business. - -“So, following my aunts’ advice, I accepted the enemy of our home as a -sweetheart, and received him for a year. One time in the garden, which -was where we used to see each other, he threw himself upon me and -attempted to overpower me; but people came in answer to my cries. My -betrothed said that I had foolishly taken fright, as he was only trying -to kiss me; I wanted to break the engagement, but instead of breaking -off our relations, the affair only hastened the wedding. - -“Grand preparations were made, but so sure were the townspeople that my -sweetheart would never marry me, that servants, friends, every one, gave -me to understand that the wedding would never take place, and that my -betrothed would be capable of changing his mind at the very foot of the -altar. Thus warned, I attempted to lessen the expense of the wedding, -but my aunts tried to convince me not to do such a crazy thing. - -“In fine, the day which was as dreaded as it was hoped for, arrived; my -betrothed appeared at the church, and the wedding was celebrated. God -knows how many hopes I had of being happy. The marriage feast was eaten; -the ball was held. The festivities lasted until midnight, when we -retired. - -“The next morning when I awoke, I looked for my husband at my side, but -did not find him. He never appeared all day long; they looked for him, -but in vain. Days and days passed, and more days, while I waited for -him, fearing an accident rather than an insult. After a long time, I -received a mocking letter from him in which he told me that he would -never come back to me. - -“From that one wedding night, I became pregnant, and on this account -suffered much anxiety. My father, in whom the affair had rekindled the -anger at the rival family, assured me that he would strangle the child -if it were born alive: my aunts did nothing but weep at every turn. - -“I was restless; I don’t know whether from pain or what, and gave -premature birth at eight months to a dead boy. - -“A short time after, my father died of a fall from his horse, the -administrator started a lawsuit against us, and took all our property -from us; my older brother was travelling, the other was in Rome; I wrote -to them, and they did not answer; my aunts took refuge in the house of -some relatives, and I went where the will of God took me. - -“At first I was in mortal terror, but I soon got used to it, and did -everything. I’ve lived like a princess and like a beggar; I’ve intrigued -in high circles, and have been an army vivandière. I have been in a -battle in the Carlist wars, and have walked among the bullets with the -same indifference with which I walk the streets of Cordova today. - -“After a while, with the pain I suffered, I forgot -everything,--everything except my husband’s infamy, and that of his -whole family. - -“That family has gone on implacably bringing disgrace to ours. When they -killed your father there was a man pursuing him with the soldiers. Do -you know who he was? My husband’s son. And his grandson was Rafaela’s -sweetheart, the one who left her when he thought she was penniless. - -“My husband married again. He is a bigamist, and probably falsified my -death certificate. Today he moves in high circles, but the blow he gets -from his downfall will be all the greater.” - -“What are you thinking of doing?” asked Quentin. - -“Of denouncing him. I have not done so before on account of my older -brother. I don’t want to bring shame to him in his last days. As for the -other brother, I don’t mind; he is an egoist. When the Marquis dies, -you’ll see what I shall do. If I die before he does, you will avenge me. -Will you, Quentin?” - -“Yes.” - -“That’s all I want. Your word is enough. Ask me for whatever you want, -and come to see me.” - -Señora Patrocinio kissed Quentin’s cheek, and he left the house -confounded. - -“Now,” he murmured, “this woman turns out to be the sister of a marquis, -married to a count, and my aunt. And she wants us to avenge ourselves. -Why then let’s do so ... or let’s not. It’s all the same to me. You know -your plan, Quentin,” he said to himself. “Who are you?” he asked -himself, and immediately replied, “You are a man of action. Very good!” - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -“I AM A LITTLE CATILINE” - - -The coterie was the most select in the Casino. Its members used to meet -there in order to speak ill of everybody. There were young men who did -nothing but ride horseback, try the strength of young bulls by prodding -them with long pikes from horseback, and gamble their souls away; old -men whose sole occupation was talking politics; and a great variety of -persons who had made a business of amusing themselves--a fact which did -not prevent one from reading a gloomy weariness in their expressions. - -This meeting of aristocrats and plebeians, of rich men and poor men, of -vagrants employed and unemployed, possessed a rare character, which was -produced by a preponderance of aristocratic prejudices, mixed with a -great simplicity. - -In this coterie, so democratic in appearance, high and low had their -say; even the waiters in the Casino mixed in the conversation. It -possessed those characteristics, partly affable, partly coarse, that the -Spanish aristocracy had had until foreign ideas and customs began to -transform and polish it. - -In that meeting one gleefully flayed one’s neighbour. Amid jests and -laughter, flagellated by jovial satire, every person of significance in -the town marched in review, either on account of their merits or their -vices, their stupidity or their wit. If one believed what was told -there, the city was a hot-bed of imbroglios, obscenities, wild -escapades. - -Among the members of aristocratic families there was a multitude of -alcoholics and diseased individuals; the rotten produce of vicious -living and consanguineous marriages. In these families there were a -great many men who seemed to be obsessed with the idea of going through -their fortunes, of ruining themselves quickly; others travelled the road -to ruin without meaning to, through the robbery of their administrators -and usurers; the majority were simply idiots; the clever ones, the -clear-sighted ones, went to Madrid to play politics, leaving the old -ancestral homes completely dismantled. - -The scandals of the masses were mixed with those of the aristocracy; and -the ingenuous jests of the charcoal-burners, and the dissolute wit of -the Celestinas, were repeated and applauded with relish. - -They spoke, too, and constantly, of the bandits of the Sierra; they knew -who their protectors were in and out of Cordova, where their -hiding-places were: and this friendship with bandits was not looked upon -as a disgrace, but rather as something that constituted, if not a -glorious achievement, at least a spicy and piquant attraction for the -town. - -“The gangs are organized in the very jail itself, while the bandits walk -about the city.” - -“But, is that true?” asked some horrified stranger. - -“Everything you hear is,” they told him with a laugh. “Even the -abductions of Malaga and Seville are planned here.” - -“And why don’t you put an end to the evil?” - -When the Cordovese heard this he smiled at the stranger, and added that -in Cordova they had never looked upon the horsemen as an evil. - -While the aristocrats and plebeians gave food for gossip, the middle -class worked: lawyers, priests, and merchants enriched themselves, -conducted their business, while a cloud of citizens from Soria fell like -locusts upon the town, and took possession of the money and lands of the -old, wealthy families by means of their evil skill at money-lending and -usury. - -One evening in the early part of autumn, several gentlemen were chatting -in one of the salons of the Casino. They were members of the early -coterie. Some were reading newspapers, and others were talking, seated -upon divans, or walking to and fro. - -Springer, the Swiss watch-maker’s son, had come in to read a newspaper, -and as he read, he heard them talking about his friend Quentin, whom he -had not seen for some time. He listened attentively. - -“But is it true he has come into some money?” asked a stout, red-faced -gentleman with a grey moustache. - -“I don’t know,” answered a bald-headed man with a black beard. “He -undoubtedly has money. They say that he has bought a house for María -Lucena.” - -“I don’t believe that.” - -“Quentin is a child of good luck,” added another. - -“I should say he is,” responded he of the black beard. “Lucky at cards, -and lucky at love.” - -“Couldn’t the Marquis have given him some money?” asked the stout -gentleman. - -“The Marquis! He hasn’t a penny.” - -“But where does the boy get his money?” - -“I don’t know--unless he steals it.” - -“But that would be found out.” - -The members of the coterie were all silent for a moment while the stout -gentleman took a short nap; then he said: - -“Do you know if that paper that has just been published is his?” - -“What paper? _La Víbora?_” asked he of the bald head. - -“Yes.” - -“I don’t think so.” - -“Well, they say it is.” - -“It strikes me that that paper is owned by the Masons.” - -“Oh, but don’t you know that Quentin is a Mason?” said a small, dark man -with a black moustache. - -“Really?” asked every one at once. - -“Yes, indeed. I know it for a fact; he joined the Lodge this summer.” - -“Perhaps he makes his living from that,” said the fat gentleman. - -“No one makes a living from that,” replied the short man with a laugh. -“It occurred to me when I was a student in Madrid to become a Mason, and -do you know what happened? They carried me about from one place to -another with my eyes bandaged, and ended by taking five dollars away -from me.” - -Every one laughed. At this point a young man entered and stretched out -in an arm chair with an air of deep gloom. - -“What’s up, Manolillo?” asked the bald-headed man. - -“Nothing. Quentin is upstairs plucking everybody. If he quits in time, -he’s going to come out ahead; if he stays in, he may lose everything.” - -As Springer, who heard this, was a man of good intentions and a loyal -friend, he arose, threw his paper upon the table, left the salon, went -through a gallery paved with marble, up a flight of stairs, and entered -the gambling hall. - -Quentin was dealing; he had a pile of bills and gold coins before him. -Springer went up to him, and put his hand upon his shoulder. Quentin -turned. - -“What is it?” - -“I come,” said Springer in a low voice, “to give you the advice of a -gambler who just left here completely plucked. He said that if you quit -in time, you’ll come out ahead; if you stay in, you may lose -everything.” - -“Really?” exclaimed Quentin, rising, as if he had just received -important news. “Well, then, the only thing I can do is to leave. -Gentlemen,” he added, addressing the players, “I shall return in a -little while,” and placing the bills in his folder, he rapidly picked up -the gold coins. - -A murmur of indignation arose among the players. - -“Come!” said Quentin to Springer. - -They left the hall rapidly, descended the stairs, and did not stop until -they had reached the street. - -“But, what has happened to you?” the Swiss asked, utterly surprised. - -“Nothing; it was a stratagem,” answered Quentin with a smile. “I could -not find the right moment to leave decorously. They were all after me -like dogs; and there I was boasting like a man to whom four or five -thousand dollars more or less are of little importance. They would have -gone up in smoke soon.” - -By the light of a lamp, Quentin pulled out a handful of bills, sorted -them, and put them into a folder; and then, unbuttoning first his coat, -and then his vest, he put them in his inside pocket. - -“Aren’t you afraid something may happen to you in the street?” asked the -Swiss. - -“_Ca!_” - -“Do you know that you are the talk of the town, Quentin?” - -“Am I?” - -“Really. Besides, you have a tremendous reputation.” - -“As what?” - -“As a Tenorio, a dare-devil, a gambler, and a Mason.” - -Quentin burst out laughing. - -“I heard in the Casino here,” Springer went on, “that you were not -living at home any more, but with an actress.” - -“That’s true.” - -“Have you quarrelled with your family?” - -“Yes; I got angry and left my stepfather. Usurers disgust me.” - -“It also seems that you have received a legacy from some relation or -other of yours. Is that true?” - -“Boy, I don’t know,” said Quentin ingenuously. “I’ve invented so many -things, that now I don’t know which is the truth and which is a lie.” -Then, turning melancholy, he added, “The trouble with me is that I am -out of my element. I’m a Northerner.” - -“You!” said Springer; and he began to laugh so heartily that Quentin -joined him. - -“What are you laughing at?” - -“At how well I know you. So you are a Northerner. What a faker you -are!... What shocks me is that you have become a Mason. That’s absurd.” - -“Yes; it’s absurd to you and me, but it isn’t to many people.” - -“Where is your Lodge?” - -“In the Calle del Cister, near the Calle del Silencio. Would you like to -come?” - -“What for?” - -“Man, we’ll baptize you anew; we’ll call you Cato, Robespierre, -Spartacus....” - -“I don’t believe it’s worth while....” - -“As you wish.” - -“Your Masonry disgusts me.” - -“It _is_ ridiculous, but it serves for something: it is useful for -propaganda.” - -“What propaganda are you putting forward?” - -“Just now I am a Federal Republican.” - -Springer burst out laughing again. - -“You’re a Federal Republican! Like my countrymen, the Swiss.” - -“You think it’s funny?” - -“Very, my lad. You couldn’t live if you went to Switzerland.” - -“Well, then, there I would be a Monarchist. I am nothing at heart. I am -a man of action who needs money and complications in order to live. Do -you know what name they have given me at the Lodge?” - -“What?” - -“Catiline. They have hit the nail on the head. I am a little Catiline. -What an admirable chap was that Tribune of the people! Eh? I am very -enthusiastic about him.” - -“Then, Cicero would seem despicable to you.” - -“Ah! absolutely despicable. Charlatan, pedant, coward ... in other -words--he was a lawyer.” - -“Listen,” said the Swiss. “They told me another and more serious thing: -that you are the one who edits that newspaper, _La Víbora_. Is that -true?” - -“Yes.” - -“Are you the author of those very violent satires?” - -“Not the author; the inspirer. Catiline turned libeller?... It would be -unworthy of him.” - -“But don’t you realize that you are exposing yourself to a very serious -danger?” - -“_Ca!_ Don’t you believe it. Men are more cowardly than they seem. -Moreover, I am defended by a lot of people; first by those who rejoice -over and enjoy the satires--as long as they are not directed against -themselves; second, by my friends, of whom the majority are very -powerful people; third and last, and this is what I place most -confidence in, I am defended by these fists, and because I don’t give a -fig for anybody.” - -“Well, you certainly are acting without scruple or conscience.” - -“Is it worth while to live otherwise? I believe not.” - -“Man alive! That depends upon the way one looks at it.” - -“That’s the way I look at it. The spectacle is dangerous, but amusing. -Well? Are you coming to the Lodge?” - -“What for?” - -“You will hear several orators declaim their speeches, and I shall -present you to Don Paco Sánchez Olmillo, Master Surgeon and Master -Mason. If you wish I’ll make a speech in your honour on human liberty. -It is a discourse which I have learned by heart, and which, with a few -trifling changes, I turn loose on all occasions, making it seem -different each time.” - -“The plan does not tempt me.” - -“Then if you don’t wish to go to the Lodge, I shall take you to the -tavern in the Calle del Bodegoncillo.” - -“What are you going to do there?” - -“I’m going to pay my retinue. Then I shall present you to Pacheco.” - -“To which Pacheco? To the bandit?” - -“The same. He is my lieutenant.” - -“The devil! Shall I be safe with you?” - -“Yes; safer than if you were with the Alcalde.” - -“But you keep very bad company.” - -“Whom do you mean by that? Pacheco? Pacheco is an unfortunate chap. Ask -any one, and they will tell you that he was forced to take to the -mountain merely on account of a rooster.” - -“Was that all?” - -“That was all. On account of a rooster called Tumbanavíos or Tumbalobos, -I don’t exactly remember which. Pacheco used to go to the cock-fighting -ring in the Calle de las Doblas, and one day he got mixed up in an -argument with a fellow as to the relative merits of two fighting-cocks -... and, well, they had words. Pacheco stuck a knife into the fellow, -with bad results, and left him cold.... A man’s affair!” added Quentin -resignedly. - -“Then one of those sergeants of the _guardia civil_ who like to stick -their noses into everything, insisted upon hunting Pacheco. He gave -chase to him and caught up to him; but Pacheco, seeing that the game was -about up, and remembering the words of Quevedo: that it is better to be -ahead by a blow in the face than by all Castile, discharged his -fowling-piece at the guard. This also had bad results, for he blew his -skull open and sent him to join the other fellow.” - -The Swiss applauded the story, laughing quietly. - -“And is that chap from this city?” he asked. - -“I think he is from Ecija or thereabouts.” - -“What kind of a man is he?” - -“A good fellow.” - -“Does he hurt any one in the country?” - -“No. He appears at a farmhouse and asks the operator for a loan of ten -or twelve dollars, and the operator gives it to him. He’s a good man.” - -“Is he in Cordova now?” - -“Yes.” - -“Why don’t they arrest him?” - -“They don’t dare. Don’t you see that I am protecting him?” - -The Swiss looked at his friend, whom he admired deep down in his heart, -and murmured again and again: - -“My, what a faker!” - -“It has been my custom to invite him to dine with me in the Café Puzzini -and in the Rizzi Tavern,” added Quentin, “and no one has dared to -interfere with him.” - -Conversing in this manner, they had come out upon Las Tendillas, and -were going up the Calle de Gondomar toward the Paseo del Gran Capitán. -They walked past San Nicolás de la Villa, and followed the Calle de la -Concepción toward the Puerta de Gallegos. - -A strong breeze was blowing which made the blinds and windows rattle -noisily. - -“Where is that tavern?” asked Springer. - -“Right here,” answered Quentin. “This is the Calle del Niño Perdido, a -sort of _cul-de-sac_; it is not ours. This other is the Calle de los -Ucedas; nor is that the one we are looking for, either.” - -They walked on a few paces. - -“This is the Calle del Bodegoncillo,” said Quentin, “and here is the -tavern.” - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - -THE TAVERN IN THE CALLE DEL BODEGONCILLO - - -The tavern was a small one; it had a red counter covered with zinc, a -door at one side through which one passed into a large cellar lit by two -smoky oil lamps and several black lanterns. That night there was a great -concourse and influx of people in the place. Quentin and Springer -entered, traversed the outer room, then crossed the cellar, where there -were several occupied tables, and sat down at a small one in the light -of an oil lamp. - -“This is our table,” said Quentin. - -He clapped his hands, and the landlord, a man by the name of El Pullí, -appeared; he ordered some crabs, a ration of fried fish, and a bottle of -Montilla. Then he said: - -“Bring me the bill for everything I owe.” - -El Pullí returned presently with the crabs, the fried fish, and the -wine, and, upon a dish; a paper upon which several letters and figures -had been scrawled in blue ink. - -Quentin took the paper, pulled out several bills from his vest pocket, -and proceeded to toss them upon the plate. - -“Is that right?” he asked of El Pullí. - -“It must be right if you counted it,” replied the man. - -“Here’s something for the boy,” added Quentin, putting a dollar upon the -table. - -“I have two boys, Don Quentin,” answered El Pullí slyly. - -“Well, then, here’s something for the other one.” - -That clinking of silver produced an extraordinary effect in the tavern. -Every one looked at Quentin, who, pretending not to notice the fact, -began to eat and to carry on an animated conversation with his friend. - -At this point two men approached the table: one was tall, smiling, some -thirty years old, toothless, with a black beard and reddish, blood-shot -eyes; the other was short, blond, timid-and insignificant-looking. - -Quentin greeted them with a slight nod, and indicated that they should -be seated. - -“Here,” said Quentin to Springer, indicating the man with the beard, -“you have a thoroughgoing poet; the only bad thing about him is his -name: he is called Cornejo. He is Corneille translated into Cordovese. -But sit down, gentlemen, and order what you like; then we shall talk.” - -The two men seated themselves. - -The poet looked something like a carp, with his dull, protruding eyes. -He wore very short trousers, checked yellow and black, and carried a -cane so worn by use that he had to stretch out his arm to touch the -ground with it. From what Quentin said, Cornejo was a fantastic -individual. He had on a blue, threadbare coat which he called his “black -suit,” and a ragged overcoat which he called his “surtout.” He always -had patches in his trousers; sometimes these were made of cloth, and -sometimes of rawhide; he lived in the perpetual combination of a zealous -appetite and an empty stomach; he fed only upon alcohol and vanity; -hence his poetical compositions were so ethereal that they were windy, -rather than wingèd verse. - -Once when he was walking with a comrade who was also a poet and a -ragamuffin, he said, pointing to some grand ladies in a carriage: - -“My lad, they are looking at us with a contempt that is ... -inexplicable.” - -The fellow went through life wandering from tavern to tavern, reciting -verses of Espronceda and Zorilla; sometimes between the madrigals and -romances, he composed some terrible poems of his own in which he -appeared as a ferocious person who cared for no liquid but blood, for no -perfume but the odour of graveyards, and for no skies but tempestuous -ones. - -Cornejo was very popular among the workingmen, and he knew all the -toughs and ruffians who swarmed in the taverns. The short, blond chap -who accompanied him was nervous. - -“This gentleman,” said the poet to Quentin, pointing to the little -fellow, “is the printer. If you can give him something....” - -“Very well. How much do I owe you?” asked Quentin. - -“Here is the invoice,” said the little man humbly. - -“Don’t bring any invoices to me! How much is it?” - -“Forty dollars.” - -“Good. That’s all right.” - -Quentin filled a glass of wine, and the printer looked at him rather -anxiously. - -“How much do you need to assure the publication of the paper for three -months?” - -The printer took out paper and pencil and rapidly made some figures. - -“Two hundred dollars,” said he. - -“Good,” replied Quentin, and he took some bills from his pocket-book and -put them upon the table. “Here are the two hundred dollars. I’ll pay you -the forty that I owe you when I can.” - -“That’s all right,” said the printer, picking up the money without -daring to count it. “Would you like me to give you a receipt?” - -“I--What for?” - -The printer rose, bowed ceremoniously, and went out. - -“How about you, Cornejo?” murmured Quentin. “Do you need some?” - -“Throw me ten or twelve dollars.” - -“Here are twenty; but you’ve got to get to work. If you don’t, I’ll kick -you out.” - -“Don’t you worry.” The poet stuck the bill carelessly into his pocket, -and began to listen to the conversation of the persons at the next -table. One of these was a man with a huge beard whom they called El -Sardino; the other was a charcoal-burner with a grimy face called El -Manano. - -“Listen to this conversation,” said the poet. “It’s worth it.” - -“But what does that man give you?” El Manano was saying to El Sardino, -making strange grimaces with his sooty face, and waving his arms. - -“He gives me nothing,” replied the other very seriously, “but he reports -me.” - -“He reports you! You must be easy!” - -“It’s true.” - -“But what good has it done you to know him?” - -“It’s done me a lot of good, and I am grateful.” - -“That’s almost like scratching a place to lie down in, comrade,” said El -Manano meaningly. - -“Well, I’m like that,” replied El Sardino. “Of course nothing gets ahead -of me, and I always take my hat off so they can see the way my hair is -parted.” - -“You’ve told me that before.” - -“I don’t understand a word of what they are saying,” said the Swiss with -a smile. - -“Nor do they understand each other,” remarked Quentin. - -“That’s their way of talking,” said the poet. - -“And who are those fellows?” asked Springer. - -“El Sardino is an itinerant pedlar,” replied Cornejo. “He makes -sling-shots for the children out of branches of rose-bay, and whistles -out of maiden-hair ferns; the kind that have little seeds in them to -make them trill. El Manano is a charcoal-burner.” - -“Of whom were they speaking?” - -“Probably of Pacheco.” - -“The bandit?” asked Springer. - -Cornejo fell silent; glanced at Quentin, and then, swallowing, murmured: - -“Don’t say it so loud; he has many friends here.” - -“That’s what _we_ are,” replied Quentin. - -The poet could not have been pleased by this turn of the conversation, -for without saying another word, he addressed the charcoal-burner: - -“Hello, Manano!” he cried. “It looks as if we’d caught it now, eh? Well, -look out they don’t take you to La Higuerilla!” - -“Me!--to La Higuerilla?” exclaimed the drunkard; “nobody can do that!” - -“Don’t you want to go there any more?” - -“No.” - -“Why not? You used to be glad to go.” - -“Because they used to treat a fellow right; but now, as you’ve said in -poetry, they don’t give you anything but water, a blow or two with a -stick now and then, and that stuff that smells so bad ... _pneumonia_.” - -The poet smiled at this testimony of his popularity. - -El Sardino and El Manano had resumed their same parabolic manner of -speech, when there came humming into the tavern a small, straight man -with a short, black moustache that looked as if it were painted on his -lip, a broad-brimmed hat pulled over his eyes, a huge watch chain across -his vest, and a knotted and twisted stick. - -When Springer caught sight of this ludicrous individual, he smiled -mockingly, and the poet said: - -“Here’s Carrahola.” - -“What a funny chap!” - -“He’s a bully,” replied Cornejo. - -“Bah!” exclaimed Quentin, “he’s a poor fellow, who because he is so -small, has the fad of carrying everything extra large: his stick, his -sombrero, his cigar-case.” - -And indeed, as if to demonstrate this, Carrahola pulled a silver watch, -as white and as large as a stew-pan, from his vest pocket, and after -ascertaining the time, asked the landlord: - -“Has Señor José come yet?” - -“No, Señor.” - -“But is he coming?” - -“I can’t tell you; I think so.” - -Carrahola went up to the table at which Quentin, Springer, and Cornejo -were sitting, drew up a chair, and sat down without greeting them. - -“This is a great night for finding lone jackasses, Carrahola,” said the -poet, turning to the little man. - -The fellow turned his head as if he had heard the voice from the other -side of the room, and paid no attention. Carrahola doubtless considered -himself a great bully; he noted the expectancy in the tavern, so he -seized Quentin’s glass, held it up to the light, and emptied it with one -swallow. Quentin took the glass, and, without saying a word, took -careful aim, and tossed it through an open window. Then, clapping his -hands, he said to El Pullí who came toward him: - -“A glass; and kindly notify this person,” and he pointed to Carrahola, -“that he is in the way here.” - -“Move on,” said the innkeeper; “this table is occupied.” - -Carrahola pretended not to understand; he took a plug of tobacco and a -knife from his coat, and began to scrape tobacco; then he suddenly put -the instrument upon the table. - -“What do you do with that?” inquired Quentin, pointing to the blade with -his finger. “Flourish it?” - -Carrahola rose tragically from the table, put his knife away slowly, -seized his enormous knotted stick, insinuated himself into his broad -hat, gave a little pull to the lapels of his coat, and said dryly and -contemptuously: - -“Some one is talking in here who would not dare to speak thus in the -street.” - -This said, he spat upon the floor, wiped away the spittle by rubbing it -with the sole of his boot, and stood looking over his shoulder. - -“And what does that mean?” asked Quentin. - -“That means, that if you are a man, we’ll have two glasses now, and -then go and cut each other’s hearts out.” - -Without replying Quentin stood up, seized Carrahola by the neck of his -coat, lifted him like a puppet, and let him fall upon the soles of his -boots, which struck the floor with a ludicrous sound. Everybody burst -out laughing. Carrahola charged furiously at Quentin with lowered head; -but the latter with the easy movement of a boxer, threw him over his hip -into the air; then he took him in his two strong hands, pushed him up to -the window, and watch, knife, broad-brimmed hat and all, tossed him into -the street. - -“You’ll have to learn how to treat people politely,” said Quentin after -the operation was over. - -“What a lad!” exclaimed El Manano. “He dropped him in the box like a -letter!” - -Murmurs of admiration were heard all over the tavern. Then a boy, or a -small man (one could not determine his age easily), with reddish hair -and a very freckled face, a mutilated calañés, and a twill coat, came -hopping toward Quentin. - -“Good evening,” he said. “El Garroso, that carter over there, has some -friends who say that if he ‘tried wrists’ with you, he could beat you. -We say he couldn’t do it. Would you like to try wrists with him, Don -Quentin?” - -“No, not now, thanks.” - -“Excuse me if I was wrong to ask you; but some are betting on you and -others on him.” - -“Whom did you bet on?” - -“On you.” - -“Good, then let’s go over.” - -“El Rano is always making bets,” said Cornejo. - -“Is his name El Rano?” - -“Haven’t you noticed his face?” - -The little man turned around, and Springer was forced to suppress a -smile. Sure enough, he looked exactly like a frog, with his protruding, -bulgy, stupid-looking eyes, his broad face, bottle-shaped nose, and -mouth that spread from ear to ear. - -“Where is El Garroso?” asked Quentin. - -“At that table over there.” - -A man arose, smiling; he was round shouldered, with bow legs and arms, a -square head, a bull neck, and a swelling something like a coxcomb in the -middle of his forehead. - -El Rano, El Garibaldino, and El Animero placed a table and two chairs in -the middle of the tavern. El Garroso sat down, followed directly by -Quentin. - -“Well, as this is not a fighting matter,” said Quentin to El Garroso, -“we’ll have two rounds, eh?” - -“Sí, Señor.” - -They placed their elbows upon the table, clasped hands, and the chairs, -the table, and even the bones of the adversaries began to creak. - -El Garroso turned red; a vein in his forehead, as large as a finger, -looked as if it were about to burst. Quentin was impassive. - -“Do you think you are going to lose, Rano?” he said to the little man. - -“No, indeed.” - -“That’s right. Now you’ll see.” And without making an apparent -effort--crack! El Garroso’s arm fell to the table, his knuckles striking -the boards forcibly. - -Every one was astonished. - -“Good, now let’s try it again,” said Quentin. - -“No, no. You’re stronger than I am,” murmured El Garroso. - -Quentin said that it was all a matter of practice, and was chatting -away, when Carrahola, who could not have been hurt by his fall, -doubtless lifting himself by his hands, and hoisting himself until his -head reached the height of the window through which he had made his exit -so brusquely, shouted with a prolongation of the “o”: - -“_Gallego!_” - -“I’m going out and beat him up,” said El Pullí. “I’ll show him something -pretty fine;” and the man closed the window and barred it with a stick. - -Presently Carrahola shouted through the keyhole of the street door: - -“_Oscurantista!_” - -At this moment some one knocked at the door, Pullí opened it, and -Pacheco and a friend, both wrapped in cloaks, entered, followed by -Carrahola. - -“The peace of God be with you, gentlemen,” said Pacheco. “Who is it that -is entertaining himself by throwing my friends through the window?” - -“It was I,” replied Quentin. - -“Ah! Is that you? I didn’t see you.” - -“Yes, sir; and I’ll throw him out again if he bothers me.” - -“If it was you, that’s another matter,” said Pacheco. “I know that you -don’t like to stick your nose into other people’s affairs.” - -Springer observed with surprise the prestige that Quentin enjoyed among -that class of people. Pacheco and his friend, who was a toreador called -Bocanegra, sat down. Quentin introduced them to the Swiss, and they all -fell into an animated conversation. - -Carrahola remained some distance away, in an attitude of suspicion. - -“Come, Carrahola,” said Pacheco, “it was your fault.” - -“Then excuse me, if I was wrong,” said Carrahola. - -“Nothing has happened at all,” said Quentin, holding out his hand. “Take -a glass, and let’s be friends.” - -Bocanegra, the toreador, said ironically: - -“Come now, Carrahola, this isn’t the first beating you ever had.” - -“Nor will it be the last,” replied the other very seriously. - -Springer watched the people with great curiosity. He was surprised at -Pacheco’s courtesy: one could see that he was cultured; a man of natural -superiority, neat, and with well-kept hands. The toreador was a -strong-looking fellow with bright eyes and white teeth. - -“One moment,” said Quentin. “Pacheco, please come here.” - -The bandit got up, and the two men went to one end of the table and -conversed. - -“Have you seen the Count?” asked Quentin. - -“Yes.” - -“What does he say?” - -“That the woman is mad; that he has only been married once, like every -one else.” - -“All we have to do is to go to the town and get hold of the wedding -certificate. Send one of your men.” - -“I’ll need money for that, comrade.” - -“I have some. I’m going to give you all I have left. If you have time, -pay El Cuervo what I owe him.” - -“Very well.” - -Quentin emptied his pocket upon the table. - -“There’s more than enough here,” said the bandit. “You’d better keep -some.” - -Quentin put away a few bills, and they rejoined the group. - -The conversation again turned upon revolutionary ideas, about which -Pacheco and Bocanegra were most enthusiastic. The bandit spoke very -devotedly of General Prim. - -“I don’t think there is a man like him in the world, and you needn’t -laugh, comrade,” said Pacheco to Quentin, “you are not as patriotic as I -am.” - -“Every person admires his own likeness,” replied Quentin coldly. - -“Do you think I am like Prim?” asked the bandit. - -“No. It is Prim who is like Pacheco.” - -“I think I ought to be angry with you....” - -Suddenly El Sardino’s voice interrupted the conversation, shouting: - -“Look here, leave me alone; you’re making my head hot.” - -El Manano, in the midst of the confusion, at that moment doubtless -remembered his business of charcoal-burning, for he examined closely his -interlocutor’s head, which was huge, and murmured in a thick voice: - -“Why, it would take a whole cartload of wood even to soften it a -little!” - -Everybody laughed when they saw El Sardino’s expression of indignation, -and went on talking. - -“One can do nothing here,” said Pacheco to Springer. “We talk a lot, -but words are as far as we get. We Andalusians are very like the colts -from this part of the country: a great deal of hoof with very little -sole.” - -“Don’t say that, Señor José,” Cornejo ejaculated indignantly. - -“I say it because it is true. What do all those men on the committee do? -Will you tell me? What good is that Lodge?” - -“Even God’s interpreter don’t know that,” said El Manano, who had joined -the group in the last stages of alcoholic intoxication. “But here,” and -he struck his chest, “is a man, Señor José ... a man among men ... -willing to die on a barricade. Sí, Señor ... and whenever you or Don -Quentin give the signal, we’ll get after the _Oscurantistas_.... Long -live the _Constipation_, and death to Isabella II!” - -“That will do, that will do. Get out,” said the bandit. - -“But I’m always liberal, Señor José ... here, and everywhere else....” - -“Let’s go,” said Quentin. “He’ll be giving us a great drubbing.” - -They got up, and the innkeeper lighted their way to the street door with -a small lamp. They walked together as far as El Gran Capitán; Cornejo, -Bocanegra and Pacheco turned in the direction of Los Tejares; Quentin -and the Swiss went down the Calle de Gondomar. - -“But what do you expect of those people?” Springer asked presently. - -“I! I don’t know, my boy; now--to be strong, ... later--we shall see.” - -“Do you read Machiavelli?” - -“I read nothing. Why?” - -“You are an extraordinary man, Quentin.” - -“Bah!” - -“Really. A type worth studying.” - -“Well, look here, if you wish to study me, go to the Café del Recreo -some night. There you’ll meet the girl that’s living with me.” - -“I shall go.” - -They had reached Las Tendillas; it was very late, and the two friends -took leave of each other with a warm handshake. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - -THE PLEASANT IRONIES OF REALITY - - -A few days later, on a Sunday afternoon, Quentin went out for a -horseback ride. Before turning toward the mountain, he drew rein in the -Paseo de la Victoria to watch the people as they went by. - -His reputation as a gambler, a dare-devil, and a rude and powerful man, -made it possible for him to have his little successes with the ladies, -and more than one of them looked at him with the long, staring, and -penetrating glance of a woman not altogether understood by her husband. - -As was customary on fiesta days, the carriages were driven to and fro -along the Paseo, and among them rode several horsemen on spirited -mounts. In one of his turns, Quentin saw Rafaela and Remedios alone in a -carriage. Neither of the two girls noticed his presence, and in order -that this should not happen again, Quentin placed himself in such a -position that they would have to see him as they came back. - -Remedios was the first to recognize him, and she told her sister. -Quentin bowed to them very ceremoniously. When they reached the extreme -end of the drive, Rafaela must have told her coachman to leave the -Paseo. Remedios looked back several times. Quentin rode up to the -carriage and entered into conversation with the two sisters. Rafaela was -pale and had dark rings under her eyes; she was in the last month of -pregnancy; her eyes were sunken and her ears transparent. - -Remedios was prettier than ever; she was just reaching that intermediate -stage when the child becomes the woman. - -“Are you two girls well?” Quentin asked them with real interest. - -“I am well,” answered Rafaela a trifle weakly. “Just waiting from day to -day ... and you can see for yourself that Remedios is prettier and -healthier than ever.” - -Remedios burst into one of her silent laughs. - -“Yes,” replied Quentin, “one can see that the country is good for -Remedios.” - -“Don’t you believe it!” exclaimed the child. “I would rather live in our -house on the Calle del Sol.” - -“They say you have become a terrible person,” said Rafaela. “I believe -you write for the papers, ... that you keep bad company....” - -“Nothing to it--just gossip.” - -“And you don’t go to the house any more, either. You have deserted poor -grandfather.” - -“That’s true. I’m always thinking about going, but I never do.” - -“Well, he asks after you all the time. The poor dear is very ill, and so -lonely.... Since we have been in town, we have been to see him every -day.” - -“Well, I’ll go, too, don’t you worry.” - -“Go tomorrow,” said Remedios. - -“Very well, tomorrow it is. But did you two leave the Paseo on my -account?” - -“No,” replied Rafaela, “I don’t like to drive in that line for very long -at a time. It makes my head swim. We are on our way home, now. Adiós, -Quentin.” - -“Adiós!” - -Quentin took the mountain road, and trotted his horse as far as the -Brillante lunch-room. - -The encounter had given rise to a mixture of sadness and irony within -him, which seemed as distressing as it did grotesque to him. - -“Is there anything of special significance about it?” he asked himself. - -No, there was nothing of special significance about it. It was the -logical thing. She had married; her husband was young; she was going to -have a child. It was the natural course of events; and yet, Quentin -wondered at her. - -We often see strange birds flying in the heavens. They are like men’s -illusions. Sometimes these birds fall, wounded by some hunter, and when -one sees them upon the ground with their sad eyes, their white -feathers,--they are a surprise to whomsoever contemplates them.... It is -because man idealizes all distant objects. - -Quentin, dominated by his half-dolorous, half-grotesque impressions, -returned slowly to the town. - -When he reached the Paseo de la Victoria, night had already fallen. The -line of carriages was still filing past. The mountain was wrapped in a -mist; the sun was sinking over the distant meadows, its great, red disk -hiding itself behind the yellow fields; a bluish hill surmounted by a -castle stood out in silhouette against the rosy-tinted horizon. - -Few carriages were passing now; above the old wall and gateway of -Almodóvar, the yellowish tower of the cathedral showed against the azure -sky, which was now beginning to be decorated with stars. - -All of the carriages left the Victoria to drive up and down the Paseo -del Gran Capitán. - -Quentin entered a café. - -“I must get out of this city,” he thought. “I ought to go to London.” - -Then he remembered the frequent rain, the wooden coachmen in their cabs, -the blue mist in the fields near Windsor, and the ships that glided down -the Thames in the fog. - -He left the café. The carriages continued to pass up and down El Gran -Capitán, enveloped in an atmosphere of dust. - -Quentin went home. María Lucena was getting ready to go to the theatre. - -“What’s the matter with you?” she said. - -“Nothing.” - -Quentin stretched out upon a sofa and spent hour after hour recalling -the fog, the dampness, and the cool atmosphere of England, until he fell -asleep. - - - - -CHAPTER XX - -PHILOSOPHERS WITHOUT REALIZING THE FACT - - -The next evening, Quentin, whose nebulous and Anglomaniacal fever had -already quieted down, went to sup at the Café del Recreo. - -María Lucena, with her mother and a chorus girl friend were waiting for -him. - -“Well, you’re pretty late,” said María Lucena as she saw him enter the -café. - -Quentin shrugged his shoulders, sat down and called the waiter. - -María Lucena was the daughter of a farm operator near Cordova. She had -little voice, but a great deal of grace in her singing and dancing; a -strong pair of hips that oscillated with a quivering motion as she -walked, a pale, vague-looking face; and a pair of black, shining eyes. -María Lucena married a prompter, who after three or four months of -wedded life, considered it natural and logical that he should live on -his wife; but she broke up the combination by throwing him out of the -house. - -The girl who accompanied María Lucena in the café was a chorus girl of -the type that soon stand out from their sisters and begin to take small -parts. She was a small woman, with very lively black eyes, a thin nose, -a mouth with a mocking smile that lifted the commissures of her lips -upward, and black hair adorned with two red carnations. - -The old woman with them was María’s mother; fat, wrinkled, and covered -with moles, with a lively but suspicious look in her eyes. - -Quentin began to eat supper with the women. His melancholy fit of blues -of the day before had left him, but he looked sad for dignity’s sake, -and because it was consistent with his character. - -María Lucena, who had noticed Quentin’s abstraction, glanced at him from -time to time attentively. - -“Well, let’s be going,” said María. - -The two girls and the old woman arose, as it was time for the -entertainment to begin, and Quentin was left alone, distracted by his -efforts to convince himself as well as others, that he was very sad. - -Then Springer, the Swiss, came in and sat by Quentin’s side. - -“What’s the matter?” he said, taking his friend’s funereal look -seriously. - -“I feel sad today. Yesterday I saw a girl I used to like. The -granddaughter of a marquis. She who married Juan de Dios.” - -“What then? What happened to you?” - -“She looks badly. She won’t last long.” - -“The poor little thing!” - -In a lugubrious voice Quentin told all about his love affair, heaping on -insignificant details, and wearying excuses. - -Springer listened to him with a smile. His fine, spiritual countenance -changed expression sympathetically with everything his friend said. Then -he himself spoke confusedly. Yes, he too had had a romantic love -affair, ... a very romantic one, ... with a young lady; but he was only -a poor Swiss plebeian. - -Any one who heard them would have said that Quentin’s affair had lasted -years, and the Swiss’s only days. It was exactly the opposite. Quentin’s -fidelity lasted just about two or three months, at the end of which time -he began his affair with María Lucena. On the other hand, the Swiss had -been faithful for years and years to an impossible love. - -As they chatted, Don Gil Sabadía, the archæologist, appeared in the -café. After shaking hands with the Swiss and with Quentin, he sat down -at their table. - -“It’s a long time since I have seen you,” he said to Quentin. “How about -it--are we gaining ground?” - -“Psh! If I could get out....” - -“Don’t pay any attention to him today,” said Springer. “He’s full of -spleen.” - -“Why, what’s the matter?” asked the archæologist. - -“Women.” - -“The females in this city are very attractive, comrade; they are good to -look at.” - -“They seem insignificant to me,” said Quentin. - -“Man alive, don’t say that,” exclaimed the Swiss. - -“Pale-faced, rings under their eyes, weak, badly nourished....” - -“Will you deny their wit, too?” asked Springer. - -“Yes,” answered Quentin. “They make a lot of gestures, and have a -fantastic manner of speech that is overloaded with imagery. It’s a sort -of negro talk. I always notice that when María Lucena tells something, -she compares everything, whether material or not, with something -material: ‘it’s better than bread,’ or ‘it has less taste than a -squash’ ... everything must be materialized; if not, I don’t believe she -would understand it.... She is like a child ... like an impertinent -child.” - -“What a portrait!” exclaimed the Swiss, laughing. - -“Then she makes divisions and subdivisions of everything; every object -has twenty names. There is a little bottle of cherry brandy in the -house--of that cherry brandy that I hold as something sacred; well, -sometimes María calls it ‘the parrot,’ sometimes ‘the greenfinch,’ and -sometimes, ‘the green bird.’... And that isn’t all. The other day, -pointing to the bottle, she called to her mother from her bed: ‘Mother, -bring me that what’s-its-name.’... So you see, for that class of -people, language is not language--it is nothing.” - -“Doesn’t that indicate inventive genius?” asked the Swiss. - -“But what do I want of inventive genius, Springer?” exclaimed Quentin -loudly. “Why, a woman doesn’t need inventive genius! All she needs is to -be pretty and submissive, and nothing else....” - -“You are tremendous,” said the Swiss. “So that for you, a woman’s -intelligence is of no account?” - -“But that isn’t intelligence! That is to intelligence what the movement -of those men who go hopping about nodding to one and talking to another, -is to real activity. The former is not intelligence nor is the latter -activity. The thing is to have a nucleus of big, strong ideas that -direct your life.... As the English have.” - -“I have an antipathy for the English,” said the Swiss. “As for -Andalusia, I believe that if this country had more culture, it would -constitute one of the most comprehensive and enthusiastic of peoples. -Other Spaniards are constantly bargaining with their appreciation and -admiration; the national vice of Spain is envy. Not so with the -Andalusians. They are ready to admire anything.” - -“It’s a racial weakness,” exclaimed Quentin. “They are all liars.” - -“You, who are an Andalusian, must not say that.” - -“I? Never. I am a Northerner. From London, Windsor.... Why did I ever -come here?” - -María Lucena, her little friend, and her mother came in. The Swiss and -Don Gil bowed to them. - -“You must defend the Andalusians,” said Springer to the actress; “for -Quentin is turning them inside out.” - -“What’s he here for, then?” inquired María bitterly. - -“That’s just what I was saying,” added Quentin. “What did I come to this -city for?” - -“I know what all this sadness comes from,” said María Lucena in -Quentin’s ear. - -“Do you? Well, I’m glad.” - -“You saw your cousin yesterday; the one with a face that looks as if she -had a sour stomach. They say that she can’t yet console herself for her -former sweetheart’s leaving her. That’s why she is so sad.” - -Quentin shrugged his shoulders. - -“Has she had the baby yet, or is it just dropsy?” - -Again Quentin did not deign to answer. She indignantly turned her head -away. - -“So, because you saw her changed into a worm, you came in so sad and -downhearted yesterday, eh?” - -“Possibly,” said Quentin coldly. - -“If you had seen me in the same condition, you would have felt it less.” - -“What intelligence!” - -“Well, son, it’s time we quit,” replied the actress angrily. “If you -think nothing of me, I feel the same way toward you.” - -Quentin shrugged his shoulders. The others, seeing the prelude to a -tempest, were silent. - -María Lucena’s voice grew shrill and disagreeable. - -“Do you know what her stepmother, the Countess, said? Well, she said: -‘For all her prudishness, that hussy has married Juan de Dios for his -money!’” - -“What that female said is not important.” - -“All women are just females to you....” - -“And it’s true.” - -“Well, if you say that about me....” - -“Come, come, this is no place for a scene, and don’t shout so.” - -“Are you going to strike me? Tell me, are you going to strike me?” - -“No; I shall prudently withdraw first,” answered Quentin, rising and -getting ready to go. - -At this moment Cornejo, the poet, entered the café accompanied by a -tall, thin gentleman with an aquiline nose, and a very black and very -long beard cut in Moorish fashion. The two came up to the table and sat -down. - -The poet and the other gentleman had just left the last performance, and -were discussing it. Cornejo thought that the musical comedy they had -just seen was not altogether bad, the tall man with the black beard -insisted that as far as he was concerned it had been superbly wearisome. -This gloomy fellow then asserted that for him, life held little promise, -and that of all disagreeable and irritating lives, the most irritating -and disagreeable was that in a provincial capital; and of all the lives -in provincial capitals, the worst was that of Cordova. - -In absolute contradiction to Leibnitz and his disciple, Doctor Pangloss, -the man with the black beard would have asserted, with veritable -conviction, that he lived the worst life in the worst town, in the worst -possible of worlds. - -“You are right,” said Quentin, with the honest intention of molesting -his hearers. “There is nothing so antipathetic as these provincial -capitals.” - -Don Gil, the archæologist, made a gesture of one who does not wish to -heed what he hears, and turning to Springer, said: - -“You are like me, are you not? A partisan of the antique.” - -“In many ways, yes,” replied the Swiss. - -“Theirs was a much better life. How wise were our ancestors! Everything -classified, everything in order. In the Calle de la Zapatería were the -boot-makers; in the Calle de Librerías, the book-sellers; in the Calle -de la Plata, the silversmiths. Each line of business had its street; -lawyers, bankers, advocates.... Today, everything is reversed. A -tremendous medley! There are scarcely any boot-makers in the Calle de la -Zapatería, nor are there any book-sellers in the Calle de Librerías. -These ædiles change the name of everything.... The Calle de Mucho Trigo, -where there used to be warehouses for wheat, today specializes in making -taffy. How absurd, Señor! How absurd! And they call that progress! -Nowadays men are endeavouring to wipe out the memory of a whole -civilization, of a whole history.” - -“What good does that memory do you?” asked the man with the black -beard. - -“What good does it do me!” cried Don Gil in astonishment. - -“Yes, what good does it do you?” - -“Merely to show us that we are decadent. Not comparing the Cordova of -today with that of the Arabian epoch, but comparing it with that of the -eighteenth century, one sees an enormous difference. There were hundreds -of looms here then, and factories where they made paper, and buttons, -and swords, and leather, and guitars. Today ... nothing. Factories, -shops, even mansions have been closed.” - -“That may be true; but, Don Gil, why do you want to know these -calamities?” - -“Why do I want to know them, Escobedo?” cried Don Gil, who was stupefied -by the questions of the man with the black beard. - -“Yes; I cannot see what good that knowledge does. If Cordova disappears, -why, another city will appear. It’s all the same!” Escobedo -continued--“Would that we could wipe out history, and with it all the -memories that sadden and wither the lives of men and multitudes! One -generation should accept from the preceding one that which is useful, -that is,--mere knowledge; for example: sugar is refined in this manner, -... potatoes are fried thusly.... Forget the rest. Why should we need -them to say: ‘this love you feel, this pain you suffer, this heroic deed -you have witnessed, is nothing new at all; five or six thousand other -men, exactly like you, felt it, suffered it, and witnessed it.’ What do -we gain by that? Will you tell me?” - -The archæologist shrugged his shoulders. - -“I believe you are right,” said Quentin. - -“History, like everything else we have to learn, ages us,” Escobedo -proceeded. “Knowledge is the enemy of felicity. This state of peace, of -tranquillity, which the Greeks called with relation to the organism, -_euphoria_, and with relation to the soul, _ataraxia_, cannot be -attained in any other way than by ignorance. Thus at the beginning of -life, at the age of twenty, when one sees the world superficially and -falsely, things appear brilliant and worth coveting. The theatre is -relatively fine, the music agreeable, the play amusing; but the evil -instinct of learning will make one some day peer from the wings and -commence to make discoveries and become disillusioned. One sees that the -actresses are ugly....” - -“Thanks!” interrupted María Lucena, dryly. - -“He doesn’t mean you,” Springer assured her. - -“And that besides being ugly, they are sad, and daubed with paint,” -continued Escobedo, heedless of the interruption. “The comedians are -stupid, dull, coarse; the scenery, seen near to, is badly painted. One -sees that all is shabby, rickety.... Women seem angels at first, then -one thinks them demons, and little by little one begins to understand -that they are females, like mares, and cows.... A little worse, perhaps, -on account of the human element in them.” - -“That’s true,” agreed Quentin. - -“You are very indecent,” said María Lucena, rising with an expression of -contempt and anger upon her lips. “Adiós! We’re going.” - -The three women left the café. - -“And the worst of it is,” continued Escobedo, “that they deceive us -miserably. They speak to us of the efficacy of strength; they tell us -that we must struggle with will and tenacity, in order to attain -triumph; and then we find that there are no struggles, nor triumphs, -nor anything; that Fate shuffles our destinies, and that the essence of -felicity is in our own natures.” - -“You see everything very black,” said the Swiss, smiling. - -“I think he sees it all as it is,” replied Quentin. - -“Then one would find out,” said Escobedo, “that some of the exalted, -beautiful things are not as sublime as the poets say they are--love, for -instance; and that other humbler and more modest things, which ought to -be profoundly real, are not so at all. - -“Friendship! There is no such thing as friendship except when two -friends sacrifice themselves for each other. Sincerity! That, too, is -impossible. I do not believe that one can be sincere even in solitude. -Great and small, illustrious and humble, every individual who gazes into -a mirror will always see in the glass the reflection of a pretender.” - -“I’m with you,” said Quentin. - -“I believe,” declared the Swiss, “that you only look upon the dark side -of things.” - -“I force myself to see both sides,” responded Escobedo--“the bright as -well as the dark. I believe that in every deed, in every man, there is -both light and darkness; also that there is almost always one side that -is serious and tragic, and another that is mocking and grotesque.” - -“And what good does that do you?” asked Don Gil. - -“A whole lot. From a funereal and lachrymose individual, I am -metamorphosing myself into a jolly misanthrope. By the time I reach old -age, I expect to be as jolly as a pair of castanets.” - -“Greek philosophy!” said Don Gil contemptuously. - -“Señor Sabadía,” replied Escobedo, “you have the right to bother us all -with your talk about the signs on the streets of Cordova, and about the -customs of our respectable ancestors. Kindly grant us permission to -comment upon life in our own fashion.” - -“_Risum teneatis_,” said Don Gil. - -“Do you see?” continued Escobedo--“That’s another thing that bothers me. -Why does Don Gil have to thrust at us a quotation so common that even -the waiters in the café know it?” - -The archæologist, not deigning to notice this remark, commenced to -recite an ancient Cordovese _romance_ that went: - - _Jueves, era jueves,_ - _día de mercado,_ - _y en Santa Marina_ - _tocaban rebato._ - - (Thursday, it was Thursday, Market Day, and in the Church of Santa - Marina they rang the call to arms.) - -Escobedo went on philosophising; a waiter in the café began to pile the -chairs upon the tables; another put out the gas, and the customers went -out into the street. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - -JUAN TALKS - - -The afternoon of the following day, Quentin went to the Calle del Sol to -see his grandfather, according to his promise to Rafaela. There was a -carriage at the door. Juan, with his hat in his hand, was talking to an -elegant lady with black eyes. - -“Do you mean to say I cannot go in?” said she unpleasantly. - -“The Señoritas have told me that they were not at home to any one.” - -“Not even to me?” - -“Those are my orders.” - -“Very well. I shall wait until my husband comes.” - -“It will be useless,” said Juan emphatically. - -“Why?” asked she haughtily. - -“Because the Señor Marqués told me that he does not wish to see you.” - -The woman made no reply. - -“Home!” she said to the coachman angrily. - -Quentin went up to Juan. - -“What’s up? May I not come in?” he asked. - -“You may, of course,” replied the gardener, “but not that designing -hussy.” - -“Who is she?” - -“The Countess. After saying all sorts of monstrous things about Rafaela -and her grandfather, the hussy comes here to boast of her charity.” - -“How is the Señor Marqués?” - -“Very bad.” - -“Has his illness been aggravated, or is it following its natural -course?” - -“It has been aggravated.... And meanwhile, the Count--do you know what -he’s doing? Well, he’s selling everything he can lay his hands on. He’s -even sold the lead pipes and the paving stones in the stable, which he -tore up with his own hands. I tell you it’s a shame....” - -“Why don’t they stop him?” - -“Who is there to do it? It’s very sad. While the master is in bed, the -second-hand men come and cart everything away. They’ve removed -tapestries, bronzes, the gilt writing-desks that were in the hall, the -sideboard, the dressing tables ... and that shrewd female, who knows all -about the business, wants to come and take part in the robbery. One can -say nothing to the Count; but to that wicked woman, it’s different. If -you could see her! I don’t see how she dares look at me after what has -happened between us.” - -“Between whom? You and her?” - -“Sí, Señor. Have they never told you?” - -“No.” - -“Well, you know I have a son, who, though not so much to look at now, -was several years ago a very beautiful child, whiter than snow, and with -a pair of cheeks just bursting with blood. Moreover, he was strong, -healthy, and very innocent. Well, pretty soon the lad began to get pale, -and thin, and black circles appeared under his eyes. His mother and I -wondered what was the matter with him, and what his trouble was. But it -was useless; we were unable to understand what was going on, until one -night the coachman saw him climbing about the roof. The man hid himself -and found out everything. At that time the Countess lived here with her -husband, and my son was on his way to her. When I told the Marquis what -was happening, he went and loaded a pistol, and was for shooting his -daughter-in-law. But she, the shrewd thing, came to me and said: ‘If you -need anything for your son, let me know.’--‘Señora,’ I answered, ‘you -are a very vicious woman, and my son shall never see you again.’” - -“Whom is she living with now?” - -“With Periquito Gálvez.” - -“Who is he?” - -“A rich farmer.” - -“Young?” - -“No; he’s over fifty. But she would take to any one. When he came to an -understanding with her, they say that one day he found one of the -Countess’ garters, which had a little sign on it that read: - - _Intrépido es amor; - de todo sale vencedor._ - - (Love is fearless; it conquers all obstacles.) - -“Periquito had a pair of garters made just like it, with letters of -diamonds and pearls, which he gave to her.” - -“How magnificent!” - -“It certainly was.” - -Quentin left Juan, and went up to see the sick man. - -In a drawing-room near the bedroom, Rafaela and Remedios were talking to -a thin, graceful, very polished-looking gentleman. It was El Pollo -Real, brother of the Marquis and of Señora Patrocinio. From time to time -Colmenares, the hunchback, came out of the bedroom red-eyed, only to go -back again immediately. - -“I am going to pray at the hermitage of La Fuensanta,” said Remedios to -Quentin. “Do you wish to come with me?” - -Remedios, her young maid-servant, and Quentin left the house as evening -fell. - -The two women said their prayers, and then Remedios and Quentin returned -chatting from the hermitage. Remedios told Quentin that some of her -stepmother’s invectives had reached Rafaela’s ears, and Quentin promised -the girl that he would silence the Countess. He thought of dedicating a -few stings to her in _La Víbora_ which might mortify her. Then Remedios -spoke of her brother-in-law. She felt a strong antipathy for him, and, -while realizing that he was good and amiable, she could not bear him. - -To prolong the conversation, they took the longest way home. - -It was an autumn day with a deep blue sky. - -In the west, long, narrow clouds tinged with red, floated one above the -other in several strata. They walked by the Church of San Lorenzo. The -square tower rose before them with its angel figure on the point of the -roof; the great rose-window, lit by the rosy hue of late afternoon, -seemed some ethereal, incorporeal thing, and above the rosette, a white -figure of a saint stood out against a vaulted niche. - -They returned by the Calle de Santa María de Gracia. Remedios read the -signs on the stores as she passed them, and the names of the streets. -One of these was called Puchinelas, another, Juan Palo, another El -Verdugo.... - -A lot of questions suggested themselves to the child, to which Quentin -did not know how to reply. - -They went along the Calle de Santa María. Overhead, the rosy sky showed -between the two broken lines of roofs; the water pipes stuck into the -air from the eaves like the gargoyles and cantilevers of a Gothic -church; the houses were bathed in a mysterious light.... - -Against the white walls of an ancient convent with tall Venetian blinds, -the scarlet splendour of the sky quivered gently; and in the distance, -at the end of the street, the hoary tower of a church, as it received -the last rays of the sun, shone like a red-hot coal. - -When they reached the house, the sky was already beginning to lose its -blood-red colour; a veil of pale yellow opal invaded the whole celestial -vault; toward the west it was green, to the east, it was blue, an -intense blue, with great, purple bands.... - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - -STICKS, SHOTS, AND STONES - - -That night, Quentin went to look for Cornejo at the print-shop where _La -Víbora_ was published. - -The shop was situated in a cellar, and contained a very antique press, -which took a whole day to print its fifteen hundred copies. - -“For the next number,” said Quentin to the poet, “you’ve got to make up -a poisonous poem in the same style as those that have been published -against the Alguacil Ventosilla, Padre Tumbón, and La Garduña.” - -“Good. Against whom is it to be?” - -“La Aceitunera.” - -“The Countess?” - -“Yes.” - -“The devil! Isn’t she a relative of yours?” - -“Yes, on the left hand side.” - -“Let’s have it. What must I say?” - -“You already know that they call her La Aceitunera?” - -“Yes.” - -“And you also know that she has no morals to boast of?” - -“Yes.” - -“Well, with that you’ve got it all made. As a sort of refrain to your -poem, you may use the quotation she wears on her garters; it goes like -this: - - _Intrépido es amor;_ - _de todo sale vencedor._” - -“Very good; but give me an idea.” - -“Do you need still more? You can begin with a poetic invocation, asking -every crib in Cordova who the lady of such and such a description is; -then give hers; including the fact that she wears garters with this -motto engraved upon them: - - _Intrépido es amor; - de todo sale vencedor.”_ - -“Good! For example: I’ll say that she has black eyes, and a wonderful -pair of hips, and--” - -“An olive complexion.” - -“And an olive complexion ... and I’ll finish up with: - - _Y ésta leyenda escrita en la ancha liga, - que tantos vieron con igual fatiga:_ - - _Intrépido es amor; - de todo sale vencedor._ - - (And this legend written upon her broad garter, which so many men - have seen with the same feeling of fatigue: etc.) - -“Eh? How’s that?” - -“Very good.” - -“All right, it won’t take a minute to finish it. What shall I call the -poem?” - -“_To La Aceitunera._” - -“It’s done. How would you like me to begin like this?: - - _Casas de la Morería; - Trascastillo y Murallón, - ninfas, dueñas, y tarascas, - baratilleras de amor._ - - (Houses of La Morería, Trascastillo and Murallón; nymphs, - mistresses, and lewd women, second-hand dealers in love.)” - -“You may begin as you wish. The idea is that the thing must hurt.” - -“It’ll hurt, all right; never fear.” - -Cornejo finished the poem; two days later the paper came out, and in -cafés and casinos, the only subject of conversation was the Countess’ -garters, and everybody maliciously repeated the refrain: - - _Intrépido es amor; - de todo sale vencedor._ - -The following night, Quentin was waiting for the poet in the Café del -Recreo. He had made an appointment with him for ten o’clock, but Cornejo -had failed to appear. - -Quentin waited for him for over two hours, and finally, tired out, he -started to go home. As he left the café, a little man wrapped in a cloak -came up to him at the very door. - -“Listen to me a second,” he said. - -“Eh!” - -“Be very careful, Don Quentin, they are following you.” - -“Me?” - -“Sí, Señor.” - -“Who are you? Let’s hear first who you are.” - -“I am Carrahola.” - -“Aren’t you angry at me for what I did to you the other night?” - -“No, Señor, you’re a brave fellow.” - -“Thanks.” - -“Well, Señor José has sent Cantarote, the gipsy, and me to go home with -you.” - -“Bah! No one interferes with me.” - -“Don’t say what you know nothing about. Take this club”--and he gave him -one which he had concealed under his cloak--“and walk on.” - -“Aren’t you armed, Carrahola?” - -“I?--Look!”--and lifting aside his cloak, he showed his sash, which was -filled with stones. - -Quentin took the club, wrapped himself up to his eyes in his cloak, and -began to walk slowly along the middle of the street, looking carefully -before passing cross-streets and corners. When he reached one corner, he -saw two men standing in the doorway of a convent, and two others -directly opposite. No sooner had he perceived them, than he stopped, -went to a doorway, took off his cloak and wrapped it about his left arm, -and grasped the club with his right hand. - -When the four men saw a man hiding himself, they supposed that it was -Quentin, and rushed toward him. Quentin parried two or three blows with -his left arm. - -“Evohé! Evohé!” he cried; and an instant later began to rain blow after -blow about him with his club, with such vigour, that he forced his -attackers to retreat. In one of his flourishes, he struck an adversary -on the head, and his club flew to pieces. The man turned and fell -headlong to the ground, like a grain-sack. - -Carrahola and Cantarote came running to the scene of the fray; one -throwing stones, the other waving a knife as long as a bayonet. - -Carrahola hit one of the men in the face with a stone, and left him -bleeding profusely. Of the three who were left comparatively sound, two -took to their heels, while the strongest, the one who seemed to be the -leader of the gang, was engaged in a fist fight with Quentin. The -latter, who was an adept in the art of boxing, of which the other was -totally ignorant, thrust his fist between his adversary’s arms, and gave -him such a blow upon the chin, that he fell backward and would have -broken his neck, had he not stumbled against a wall. As the man fell, he -drew a pistol from his pocket and fired. - -“Gentlemen,” said Quentin to Carrahola and Cantarote; “to your homes, -and let him save himself who can!” - -Each began to run, and the three men escaped through the narrow -alleyways. - -The next afternoon Quentin went to the Casino. The newspapers spoke of -the battle of the day before as an epic; a ruffian known as El Mochuelo, -had been found in the street with concussion of the brain, and a -contusion on his head; besides this, there were pools of blood in the -street. According to the newspaper reports, passions had been at a white -heat. Immediately after the description of the fight, followed the news -that the notable poet Cornejo had been a victim of an attack by persons -unknown. - -“They must have beaten him badly,” thought Quentin. - -He went to Cornejo’s house and found him in bed, his head covered with -bandages, and smelling of arnica. - -“What’s the matter?” asked Quentin. - -“Can’t you see? They gave me the devil of a beating!” - -“They tried to do it to me yesterday, but I knocked a few of them down.” - -“Well, don’t be overconfident.” - -“No, I’m not; I carry a pistol in each pocket, and I can’t tell you what -would happen to the man who comes near me.” - -“It’s a bad situation.” - -“_Ca_, man! There’s nothing to be frightened about.” - -“You can do as you like, but I’m not going out until I’m well; nor will -I write for _La Víbora_ any more.” - -“Very well. Do as you wish.” - -“I’ve got to live.” - -“Psh! I don’t see why,” replied Quentin contemptuously. Then he added, -“See here, my lad, if this business scares you, take up sewing on a -machine. Perhaps you’ll earn more.”... And leaving the poet, Quentin -returned to the Casino. He was the man of the hour; he related his -adventure again and again, and in order that the same thing might not be -repeated that night, a group of eight or ten of his friends accompanied -him to his house. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII - -PURSUIT AND ESCAPE - - -Quentin was worried, and in spite of his two pistols and the sword-cane -that he carried, he feared that the first chance they got, they would -set a trap for him and leave him in the same condition as they had left -Cornejo. - -He was very mistrustful of María Lucena, because she was beginning to -hate him and was capable of doing him almost any ill turn. - -Some two weeks after the nocturnal attack, Quentin went to the Café del -Recreo. As he was learning to be very cautious, before entering he -looked through a window and saw María Lucena talking to an -elegantly-dressed gentleman. He waited a moment, and when a waiter went -by, he said to him: - -“See here, who is that gentleman there?” - -“The clean-shaven one dressed in black?” - -“Yes.” - -“Señor Gálvez.” - -“Periquito Gálvez?” - -“Sí, Señor.” - -Quentin entered the café and pretended not to see the fellow. He noticed -that María Lucena was more pleasant to him than ever before. - -“There’s something up,” he said to himself. “They are getting something -ready for me.” - -Quentin was not jealous, he was already very tired of María Lucena, and -if any one had made off with her, he would have thanked him rather than -otherwise. - -“Between the two of them,” thought Quentin, referring to Gálvez and -María, “they are plotting something against me.” - -Presently, Quentin got up, and left the café without even nodding to -María. - -“I’m going to see Pacheco,” he murmured. - -He was going along the Calle del Arco Real, when he looked back and saw -two men following him. - -“Devil take you,” he remarked, seizing a pistol. - -He raised the muffler of his cloak, and began to walk very rapidly. It -was a cold, disagreeable night; the crescent moon shone fitfully from -behind the huge clouds that were passing over it. Quentin tried to shake -off his pursuers by gliding rapidly through tortuous alleyways, but the -two men were doubtless well acquainted with the twists and turns of the -city, for if he happened to lose them for an instant, he soon saw them -behind him again. - -After a half-hour’s chase, Quentin noticed that there were no longer -only two pursuers, but four of them, and that with them was a watchman. -Presently there were six of them. - -He sought safety in his legs, and began to run like a deer. He came out -opposite the Mosque, went down by the Triunfo Column, through the Puerta -Romana, and along the bridge until he reached the foot of the tower of -La Calahorra. Everywhere he heard the whistles of the watchmen. - -At the exit of the bridge, there were a couple of _guardias civiles_. -Perhaps they were not warned of his flight; but suppose they were? - -Quentin retreated. From the bridge he could see the Cathedral, and the -black wall of the Mosque, whose battlements were outlined against the -sky. - -A vapour arose from the river; below him the dark water was boiling -against the arches of the bridge; in the distance it looked like -quicksilver, and the houses on the Calle de la Ribera were reflected -trembling on its surface. - -As he turned toward the city, Quentin saw his pursuers at the bridge -entrance. - -“They’ve trapped me!” he exclaimed in a rage. - -They were evidently reconnoitering the bridge on both sides, for the -watchman’s lantern oscillated from left to right, and from right to -left. - -Quentin crept toward one of the vaulted niches in the middle of the -bridge. - -“Shall I get in there? They will find that easier than anything else. -What shall I do?” - -To throw himself into the river was too dangerous. To attack his -pursuers was absurd. - -As if to add to his misfortunes, the moon was coming from behind the -cloud that had hidden it, and was shedding its light over the bridge. -Quentin climbed into the niche. - -What irritated him most was being made prisoner in such a stupid way. He -did not fear prison, but rather the loss of prestige with the people. -Those who had been enthusiastic over his deeds, when they learned that -he had been made prisoner, would begin to look upon him as a common, -everyday person, and that did not suit him in the least. - -“I must do something ... anything. What can I do?” - -To face his pursuers with his pistol from the niche would be gallant, -but it would mean exposing himself to death, or going to prison. - -Turning about in the niche, Quentin stumbled over a huge rock. - -“Let me see. We’ll try a little fake.” - -He removed his cloak and wrapped the stone in it, making a sort of -dummy. Then he took the bundle in his arms and stepped to the railing of -the bridge. - -“There he is! There he is!” shouted his pursuers. - -Quentin tipped the dummy toward the river. - -“He’s going to jump!” - -Quentin gave a loud shout, and pushed the stone wrapped in the cloak -into the water, where it splashed noisily. This done, he jumped back; -and then, on hands and knees, returned quickly to his niche, climbed -into it, and pressed himself against the inside wall. - -His pursuers ran by the niches without looking into either of them. - -“How awful!” said one of the men. - -“I can’t see him.” - -“I think I can.” - -“Let’s go to the mill at El Medio,” said one who appeared to be the -leader. “There ought to be a boat there. Watchman, you stay here.” - -Quentin heard this conversation, trembling in his hole; he listened to -their footsteps, and when they grew fainter in the distance, he got up -and looked through a narrow loophole that was cut in the niche. The -watchman had placed his lamp upon the railing of the bridge, and was -looking into the river. - -“I have no time to lose,” murmured Quentin. - -Quickly he took off his tie and his kerchief, jumped to the bridge -without making the slightest noise, and crept toward the watchman. -Simultaneously one hand fell upon the watcher’s neck, and the other upon -his mouth. - -“If you call out, I’ll throw you into the river,” said Quentin in a low -voice. - -The man scarcely breathed from fright. Quentin gagged him with the -handkerchief, then tied his hands behind him, took off his cap, placed -his own hat upon the watchman’s head, and carrying him like a baby, -thrust him into the niche. - -“If you try to get out of there, you’re a dead man,” said Quentin. - -This done, he put on the watchman’s hat, seized his pike and lantern, -and walked slowly toward the bridge gate. - -There were two men there, members of the _guardia civil_. - -“There! There he goes,” Quentin said to them, pointing toward the meadow -of El Corregidor. - -The two men began to run in the indicated direction. Quentin went -through the bridge gate, threw the lantern and the pike to the ground, -and began to run desperately. He kept hearing the whistles of the -watchmen; when he saw a lantern, he slipped through some alley and -fairly flew along. At last he was able to reach El Cuervo’s tavern, -where he knocked frantically upon the door. - -“Who is it?” came from within. - -“I, Quentin. They’re chasing me.” - -El Cuervo opened the door, and lifted his lantern to Quentin’s face to -make sure of his identity. - -“All right. Come in. Take the light.” - -Quentin took the lantern, and the innkeeper slid a couple of -formidable-looking bolts into place. - -“Now give me the lantern, and follow me.” - -El Cuervo crossed the tavern, came out into a dirty courtyard, opened a -little door, and, followed by Quentin, began to climb a narrow stairway -which was decorated with cobwebs. They must have reached the height of -the second story when the innkeeper stopped, fastened the lantern to a -beam on the wall, and holding on to some beam ends that were sticking -from the wall, climbed up to a high garret. - -“Let me have the lantern,” said El Cuervo. - -“Here it is.” - -“Now, _you_ come up.” - -The garret was littered with laths and rubbish. El Cuervo, crouching -low, went to one end of it, where he put out the light, slid between two -beams that scarcely looked as if they would permit the passage of a man, -and disappeared. Quentin, not without a great effort, did the same, and -found himself upon the ridge of a roof. - -“Do you see that garret?” said El Cuervo. - -“Yes.” - -“Well, go over to it, keeping always on this side; push the window, -which will give way, and enter; go down four or five steps; find a door; -open it with this key, and you will be in your room--safer than the King -of Spain.” - -“How about getting out?” - -“You will be notified.” - -“And eating?” - -“Your meals will be sent to you. When Señor José gets back, he’ll come -to see you.” - -“Good; give me the key.” - -“Here it is. Adiós, and good luck.” - -The innkeeper disappeared whence he had come. Quentin, following the -example of a cat, went tearing across the tiles. - -From that height he could see the city, caressed by the silver light of -the moon. Through the silence of the night came the murmuring of the -river. In the background, far above the roofs of the town, he could make -out the dark shadow of Sierra Morena, with its white orchards bathed in -the bluish light, its great bulk silhouetted against the sky, and veiled -by a light mist. - -Quentin reached the attic, pushed open the window, descended the stairs -as he had been told, opened the door, lit a match, and had scarcely done -so when he heard a shriek of terror. Quentin dropped the match in his -fright. There was some one in the garret! - -“Who’s there?” he asked. - -“Oh, sir,” replied a cracked voice, “for God’s sake don’t harm me.” - -When Quentin saw that he was being begged for help, he realized that -there was no danger, so he lit another match, and with it, a lamp. By -the light of this, he saw a woman sitting up in a bed, her head covered -with curlpapers. - -“Have no fear, Señora,” said Quentin; “I must have made a mistake and -entered the wrong room.” - -“Well, if that is the case, why don’t you go?” - -“The fact is, I’m surprised that it should be so. This was the only -garret in the roof. Would you like an explanation? El Cuervo, the -landlord of yonder corner tavern, told me to come here; that this was -his garret.” - -“Well, I came here because José Pacheco brought me.” - -“Pacheco?” - -“Yes.” - -“Then, this is the right garret.” - -“Do you know Pacheco?” asked the woman. - -“He is a good friend of mine. Do you know him too?” - -“Yes, sir. He is my lover,” sighed the woman. Quentin felt an -overpowering desire to laugh. - -“Then, my lady,” he said, “I am very sorry, but I am pursued by the -police, and cannot leave this place.” - -“Nor can I, my good sir, permit you to remain in my bedroom.” - -“What do you want me to do?” - -“Go and sleep outside.” - -“Where? Upon the roof? You don’t know what kind of a night it is.” - -“You are not very gallant, Señor.” - -“Pneumonia would be less gallant with me, Señora.” - -“Do you think that I am going to allow you to remain in this room all -night?” - -“See here, Señora, I’m not by any means trying to violate you. Allow me -to take a mattress, and stretch out upon the floor.” - -“Impossible.” - -“If you are afraid, leave the lamp lit. Furthermore, for your better -tranquillity, and as a means of defence for your honour, I hand you -these two pistols. They are loaded,” said Quentin, as he cautiously -unloaded them. - -“Very well, then; I agree,” replied the woman. - -Quentin took a mattress, spread it upon the floor, and threw himself -upon it. - -“Woe unto you, Señor,” said the woman in a terrible voice, “if you dare -to take any undue liberties.” - -Quentin, who was tired, began in a very few minutes to snore like a -water-carrier. The woman sat up in bed and scrutinized him closely. - -“Oh! What an unpoetic person!” she murmured. - -When Quentin awoke and found himself in the room, where a ray of light -poured in through a high, closed window, he got up to open it. The -poetic woman at that moment was snoring, with a pistol clasped in her -fingers. - -Quentin opened the window, and as he did so, he discovered that a cord -was attached to the window lock. He jerked it, found that it was heavy, -and pulled it toward him until a covered basket appeared. - -“Here’s breakfast,” announced Quentin. - -And sure enough; inside was a roast chicken, bread, a bottle of wine, -and rolled in the napkin, a paper upon which was written in huge -letters: - -“Do not come out; they are still hanging around the street.” - -Quentin threw the basket out of the window, and lowered it the full -length of the string. He was preparing to eat his breakfast with a good -appetite, when the woman opened her eyes. - -“Good morning, Señora,” said Quentin. “They have sent me my breakfast. -I’ll treat if you wish. I’ll go out for a stroll on the roof, and -meanwhile, you can be dressing yourself. Then, if you would like to heat -the food....” - -“Oh, no. No cooking,” replied she. “I feel very ill.” - -“Well, then; we’ll eat the chicken cold.” - -Quentin went out on the roof. He took out his pencil and notebook, and -busied himself writing an article for _La Víbora_. - -When he had finished, he went back to the garret. - -“I’m not dressed yet,” said the woman. - -Quentin returned to the roof; wrote two selections for the paper, one -insulting the Government and the other the Mayor; then he crawled about -the roof. On an azotea some distance away, a girl was arranging some -flower pots. Probably she was pretty.... Quentin drew near to watch her. - -He was surprised in this espionage by Pacheco, who came on all fours -along the ridge pole. - -“Good day, comrade,” said Pacheco. - -“Hello, my friend.” - -“I must congratulate you, comrade; what you did yesterday is one of the -funniest things I ever heard of.” - -“Who told you about it?” - -“Why, they talk of nothing else in the whole town! This morning, some -were still betting that your corpse was at the bottom of the river, and -they went out in boats; but instead of the fish they expected to catch, -they pulled out a rock wrapped in a cloak. All Cordova is laughing at -the affair. You certainly were a good one.” - -“But listen, comrade,” said Quentin, pointing to the garret, “what kind -of a lark have you in that cage?” - -“Ah! That’s true! It’s a crazy woman. She says she’s in love with me, -and in order to get rid of her, I brought her to this place, where she -can’t bother me.” - -“How did she get here? Along the roofs, too?” - -“Yes; disguised as a man. In her pantaloons she had a look about her -that was enough to make you want to kick her in the stomach and throw -her into the courtyard.” - -“Very well, then; let’s go to the garret, where breakfast is waiting. -The thing I hate about this, comrade, is not being able to get out.” - -“Well, it’s impossible now; the police have their eyes peeled.” - -“And haven’t they tried to arrest you, my friend?” - -“Me? They can’t do it.... I have a pack of bloodhounds that can smell -from here everything that goes on in the other end of Cordova. Just give -one of them a message, and he tears through the atmosphere faster than a -greyhound.” - -They knocked at the garret. - -“I’m not dressed yet,” came from within. - -“Come, Señora,” exclaimed Quentin. “You are abusing my appetite. If you -don’t want to open the door, give me the basket. I warn you, Pacheco is -here.” - -When she heard this, the woman opened the door and threw herself into -the arms of the bandit. She had her hair crimped, covered with little -bow knots, and was wearing a white wrapper. - -Quentin took the basket. - -“Well,” he said, “I’ll leave you two alone if you wish.” - -“No!” exclaimed Pacheco in terror; then turning to the woman, he added: -“This gentleman and I have some important matters to discuss. We are -gambling with life.” - -“First we’ll eat a little,” said Quentin. “That’s an idea for you.” - -“An alimentary one.” - -They divided the chicken. - -“And do they say in town who it was that ordered them to pursue me?” -asked Quentin. - -“Everybody knows that it was La Aceitunera,” answered Pacheco. “You -insisted upon discrediting her, but she grew strong under the -punishment, and wants no more stings from _La Víbora_. Then, so they -say, as she seemed no mere stack of straw to the Governor, she allowed -herself to be flirted with, and begged him to throw you into jail, and -to stop your paper.” - -“We’ll see about that.” - -“It will be done. He does what he wants here,” replied the bandit. “You -already know what they say in Cordova: ‘Charity in El Potro, Health in -the cemetery, and Truth in the fields.’” - -“Then we’ll go into the fields to look for it,” said Quentin. - -“Not that”--answered Pacheco. “I won’t allow you to lose out; but if you -want to give that woman a good scare....” - -“Have you thought of some way?” - -“Not yet; are you capable of doing something on a large scale?” - -“I am capable of anything, comrade.” - -“Good. Wait for me until tonight.” - -“Very well,” said Quentin. “Will you take these papers to the printer -for me?” - -“What are they?” - -“Poison for _La Víbora_, or articles, if you like that better.” - -“Give them to me. I’ll be here at seven.” Then the bandit, turning to -the woman, said: “Adiós, my soul!” - -“Won’t you stay a little while, José?” she asked. - -“No. Life is too short,” he answered gruffly, and went out through the -attic window. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV - -THE VICTIM OF A FEUILLETON - - -The woman and Quentin were left alone. - -“If you don’t want me to stay here,” said Quentin--“tell me so.” - -“Do you hate me so much for last night?” she said. - -“I? No, Señora; but since this chamber is so narrow that one can -scarcely move in it, you must let me know if I’m in your way.” - -“No; you’re not in my way.” - -Quentin seated himself upon a chair, took out his note book and pencil, -and made up his mind to attempt one of the most disagreeable and -difficult things in the world for him--making verses. Not by any chance -did a consonance occur to him, nor did a single verse come out with the -right number of feet, unless he counted them upon his fingers. - -The good woman, with her crimped hair covered with little bow-knots, and -her white wrapper, was contemplating the roof of the garret with -desperate weariness. - -Thus they remained for a long time. Suddenly the woman exclaimed in a -choked voice: - -“Señor!” - -“What is it, Señora?” - -“I seem very ridiculous in your eyes, do I not?” - -“No, Señora,--why?” asked Quentin, and mumbled to himself: “nude, -crude, stewed, conclude--No, they don’t seem to come very easily.” - -“I am very unhappy, Señor.” - -“Why, what’s the matter, Señora?” and Quentin went on mumbling: “rude, -gratitude, fortitude.... No, they do not come easily.” - -“Will you listen to me, my good sir? At present you alone can advise -me.” - -“Speak, Señora, I am all ears,” answered Quentin, shutting his note -book, and putting away his pencil. - -The woman heaved a deep sigh, and began as follows: - -“I, my good sir, am called Gumersinda Monleón. My father was a soldier, -and I spent my childhood in Seville. I was an only child, and very much -spoiled. My parents satisfied every caprice of mine that was within -their means. It was ‘Sinda’ here, and ‘Sinda’ there--as they had -abbreviated my name.... As I imagined myself at that time to be a -somewhat exceptional person, and believed that I was out of my proper -sphere in the modest home of my parents, I took up reading romantic -novels, and I think I was by way of having my head turned by them. - -“I lived with all the personages of my books; it seemed to me that all I -had to do was to reach Paris and ask the first gendarme for Guillaboara, -and he would immediately give me her address, or at least, that of her -father, Prince Rudolf of Gerolstein. - -“With my head full of mysteries, bandits, and black doctors, a suitor -came to me--a rich young man who was owner of a fan-making -establishment. I dismissed him several times, but he came back, and, -with the influence of my parents, he succeeded in getting me to marry -him. He was a saint, a veritable saint; I know it now; but I considered -him a commonplace person, incapable of lifting himself to higher spheres -above the prosaic details of the store. - -“After we had been married two years, he died, and I became a widow of -some thirty-odd years and a considerable fortune; not to mention the -fan-making establishment which I inherited from my husband. A young -widow with money, and not at all bad looking, I had many suitors, from -among whom I chose an army captain, because he wrote me such charming -letters. Later I found out that he had copied them from a novel by -Alfonso Karr that was appearing in the feuilleton of _Las Novedades_. -Handsome, with a fine appearance, my second husband’s name was Miguel -Estirado. But, my God, what a life he led me! Then I learned to realize -what my poor Monleón had been to me. - -“Estirado had a perfectly devilish humor. If we made a call upon any -one, and the maid asked us who we were, he would say: ‘Señor Estirado -and his wife,’ and if the girl smiled, he would insult her in the -coarsest way. - -“After six months of married life, my husband quit the active service -and retired to take care of the store. Estirado had no military spirit; -he sold the gold braid from his uniform, and put his sword away in a -corner. One day the servant girl used it to clean out the closet, and -after doing so, left it there. When I saw it, I felt like weeping. I -grasped the sword by the hilt, which was the only place I _could_ take -hold of it, and showing it to my husband, said: ‘Look at the condition -your sword is in that you used in defence of your country.’ He insulted -me, clutching his nose cynically, and told me to get out; that he cared -nothing for his sword, nor for his country, and for me to leave him in -peace. From that day I realized that all was over between us. - -“Shortly after that Estirado dismissed an old clerk who used to work in -the store, and hired two sisters in his place: Asunción and Natividad. - -“Six months later, Asunción had to leave and spend a few months at a -small village. She came back with a little baby. Not long after her -return the trip was repeated. - -“They talked of nothing else in the whole neighbourhood. On account of -the attitude of the two sisters toward me, I dared not go down to the -store, and they did just about as they pleased. - -“One day, after six years, my husband disappeared, taking Natividad, the -younger sister, with him. The other girl, Asunción, brought this news to -me with her four children hanging on her arm; and she told me a romantic -tale about her mother, who was a drunkard, and about her sweetheart. She -reminded me of Fleur de Marie, in ‘The Mysteries of Paris,’ and of -Fantine, in ‘Les Miserables;’ so I comforted her as best I could--what -else was I to do? Time passed, and Estirado began to write and ask me -for money; then the letters ceased, and after half a year my husband -wrote a letter saying that Natividad had run away from him, that he was -seriously ill in a boarding house in Madrid, and for Asunción and me to -come to take care of him. I realized that it was not honourable, nor -Christian, nor right, but at the same time I gave in, and we, his wife -and sweetheart, went and took care of him until he died. At his death I -granted a pension to the girl, left Seville, and came to live in -Cordova. That is the story of my life.” - -“Señora, I think you were a saint,” said Quentin. “What astounds me is -how, after such an apprenticeship, you managed to get mixed up in _this_ -adventure.” - -“Well, you see I did not learn by experience. I met Pacheco one day in -the country, when he entered my farm. He reminded me of a novel by -Fernández y Gonzáles. We spoke together; his life fascinated me; I wrote -to him; he answered my letter, assuredly through civility; my head was -filled with madness, even to the point of disguising myself as a man and -following him.” - -“Fortunately, Señora, you have encountered extremely trustworthy -persons,” said Quentin, “who will not abuse your faith.” - -“What advice do you give me?” - -“Why something very simple. Tonight Pacheco and I shall probably leave -here. You must come with us; we’ll leave you at your house; and that -will be an end to the adventure.” - -“That’s true. It’s the best thing.” - -“Now let’s see,” said Quentin, “if El Cuervo has put any ballast in the -basket.” - -He climbed upon a chair and opened the window. - -“It’s heavy,” said he, jerking the cord; “_ergo_, there are provisions. -Cheer up, Doña Sinda,” he added, “and get the table ready.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXV - -AN ABDUCTION IS PREPARED - - -At nightfall Quentin went out on the roof, stretched his spine along the -ridge, and waited for Pacheco. The Cathedral clock was striking eight, -when the bandit appeared, making his way toward the garret on all fours. - -“Hey!” called Quentin. - -“What is it? Is it you?” - -“Yes.” - -“Why are you waiting outside for me?” - -“So we can talk without that woman hearing what we say. I have persuaded -her to go home peaceably.” - -“Very good. But listen, comrade; I’ve got a plan ready for something -worth while.” - -“I’m with you in everything. What have you thought of?” - -“Of kidnapping La Aceitunera tonight.” - -“But can it be done?” - -“Absolutely. The Countess is going to the theatre. She will go in her -carriage as usual, and if Cabra Periquito Gálvez doesn’t show up to -accompany her, she will go home alone in her carriage. If Periquito does -show up, and does go with her, we won’t do a thing; if she is alone, -why, we’ll steal her away.” - -“That’s all very well; but how?” - -“First of all, I’ll see to it that the coachman gets drunk so I can -take his place; meanwhile, you go to the theatre, make sure that she is -alone, then station yourself on the sidewalk opposite the lobby, and -stay there quietly; if she comes out escorted, you light a match as if -you were about to smoke--understand?” - -“Where will you be then?” - -“On the box. If the Countess is escorted, why, I’ll take her home, and -we’ll leave the matter for another day. If she is alone, I’ll trot the -horses as far as the Campo de la Merced, where I’ll stop; you get -on--and away we go!” - -“Very good. You’re a wonder, comrade! But let’s look coldly at the -inconveniences.” - -“Out with them.” - -“First of all, the departure from this place. They are still hanging -around the street, according to El Cuervo.” - -“Ah, but do you think I am such an idiot as to go out through El -Cuervo’s tavern? _Ca_, man!” - -“No?” - -“Of course not.” - -“Well, where, then?” - -“You’ll see.” - -“Good. That solves the first problem: second, I have to go to the -theatre to see if the Countess is alone, and people know me; if one of -the police....” - -“Nothing will happen. Take this ticket. Steal in when the performance -has begun, and go upstairs, open one of the top boxes which are usually -empty, and if the usher comes in, give him a peseta. He’s a friend of -mine.” - -“Good. Now we’ll tell the woman, and be on our way. Shall we have supper -first?” asked Quentin. - -“No; we must have clear heads. We’ll have supper at the El Pino farm, -or--in jail.” - -“You’ve spoken like a man. Let’s go.” - -They entered the garret. - -“Doña Sinda,” said Quentin, “we are going to crawl about the roof a -bit.” - -“Wait a moment, comrade,” said Pacheco. “They won’t do anything to me; -but if they see you, they’ll tie you up,” and as he spoke, he opened a -wardrobe, took out a grey cloak, a kerchief, and a broad-brimmed hat. - -“Who’s that for?” - -“For you.” - -Pacheco made a bundle of the things, and said: - -“Hurry! I’ll go first, then the Señora, and then you, Quentin.” - -They formed themselves in single file and began to move. The night was -dark, threatening a storm; distant flashes of lightning illuminated the -heavens from time to time. - -Doña Sinda moved slowly and painfully. - -“Come, Señora, come,” said Quentin; “we are near you.” - -“My hands and knees hurt me,” she murmured. “If I could only walk on my -feet.” - -“You can’t do it,” said Pacheco. “You would fall into a courtyard.” - -“Ay, dear me! I’m not going a step farther.” - -“We’re going as far as that azotea.” - -Doña Sinda yielded; they crawled along the ridge of a long roof, and -came out upon the azotea. They leaped the balustrade. - -“Oh, dear! I’m going to stay here!” exclaimed Doña Sinda. - -“But my dear woman, it’s only a little farther,” said Quentin. - -“Well, I won’t budge.” - -“Very well then, we’ll go on alone,” said Pacheco. - -“Are we going to leave her here?” asked Quentin. - -The bandit shrugged his shoulders, and without more ado, leaped over the -balustrade again. Quentin followed him, and the two men rapidly covered -a great distance. - -“Now be careful,” warned Pacheco. “We’ve got to go around this cornice -until we reach that window.” - -It was a stone border about half a metre wide. At the end of it they -could see a little illuminated balcony window, which as it threw the -light against the wall, made the cornice look as if it were on the brink -of a deep abyss. They went along very carefully on all fours, one behind -the other. As they reached the balcony, Pacheco seized the balustrade -and jumped upon the stairway. Quentin followed his example. - -“Do you know, comrade,” remarked Quentin, “that this is scary business?” - -“Then too, that light is enough to drive you crazy. In the daytime it -doesn’t scare you at all to come over it. Now then, put on your cloak -and the other tackle.” - -Quentin tied his kerchief about his head, put on the hat, wrapped -himself in the cloak and the two men descended the stairs into a garden. -Crossing this, they came out upon the street. - -“What is this building?” asked Quentin. - -“It is a convent,” replied the bandit. “Now, we mustn’t go together any -more. You come along about twenty or thirty paces behind me.” - -Quentin followed him at a distance, and after traversing several -intricate alleys, they came out upon the Plaza de Séneca, and from there -upon the Calle de Ambrosio de Morales, where the theatre was. A gas -light illuminated the door, scarcely lessening the shadows of the -street. The play had not yet begun. Pacheco entered a near-by shop, and -Quentin followed him. - -“You stay here,” said the bandit, “and when everybody has gone in, you -follow. I’m going to the Countess’ house.” - -People were crowding into the theatre; two or three carriages drove up; -several whole families came along, with a sprinkling of artisans. When -he no longer saw anyone in the lobby, Quentin left the little shop, -entered the theatre, relinquished his ticket, climbed the stairs with -long strides until he reached the top floor, and when he saw the usher, -handed him a peseta. - -The usher opened the door of a box. - -“How is Señor José?” he asked. - -“Well.” - -“He’s a fine fellow.” - -“Yes, he is.” - -“I’ve known him for a long time; not that I am from Ecija exactly, for I -come from a little village near Montilla; I don’t know if you’ve heard -its name....” - -“See here,” said Quentin, “I came here because I am a relative of the -actor who takes old men’s parts, and I am interested in hearing the -performance and seeing how he acts; if you talk to me, I won’t be able -to hear anything.” - -“Gonzáles? Are you a relative of Gonzáles?” - -“Of Gonzáles, or Martínez, or the devil! Take another peseta, and leave -me alone, for I’m going to see what kind of an actor my relative makes.” - -“He’s a good comedian.” - -“Very well, very well,” said Quentin, and pushing the garrulous usher -into the aisle, he closed the door. - -As there was scarcely any light up there, no one could recognize -Quentin. The theatre was almost empty; they were giving a lachrymose -melodrama in which appeared an angelic priest, a colonel who kept -shouting “By a thousand bombs!” a traitor money-lender with crooked eyes -who confessed his evil intentions in asides, a heroine, a hero, and a -company of sailors and sailoresses, policemen, magistrates, and others -of the proletariat.... - -While Quentin was being bored in his heights, Pacheco, leaning against -the wall of La Aceitunera’s house, was awaiting the return of her -carriage from the theatre. - -He did not have long to wait. The horses stopped before the gate, and -before it could be opened, the bandit approached the coachman and said: - -“Hello, Señor Antonio!” - -“Hello, Señor José!” - -“I want to talk with you a moment.” - -“What about?” - -“About some horses I am ordered to buy, and as you know so much....” - -“I’ll be right out.” - -The house gate opened, the coachman drove his carriage inside, and in a -few moments rejoined Pacheco. - -He was a talkative and gay little man. - -“Let’s go somewhere and have a little wine with our talk,” suggested the -bandit. “You’ve got time?” - -“I’m free until eleven-thirty.” - -“It’s nine, now.” - -They went into a tavern where Pacheco explained to his friend how the -horses must be. The matter must have been arduous and difficult, for the -coachman lost himself in a labyrinth of endless equinal considerations. -The bandit kept filling and refilling his glass for him as he drank. - -“Man,” said Pacheco, “today I was taken to a tavern where there was a -superior wine that you can’t find anywhere else.” - -“Really?” - -“I should say so. Would you like to go and see if we can find it?” - -“Well, you see I’ve got to go at eleven-thirty.” - -“There’s more than time enough.” - -“All right; let me know when it’s eleven o’clock.” - -“Certainly, don’t you worry. Do you have to go back and get the Señora?” - -“Yes.” - -“And harness up the horses again?” - -“No. I left them harnessed. When I get back from the theatre, I go -through the gate, turn the carriage around in the patio, and leave it in -the entryway facing the street,--see? Then I go, open the gate, and I’m -off.” - -Pacheco conducted the coachman through side streets to El Cuervo’s -tavern. - -“But where is that tavern, my friend?” asked the little old man. - -“Right here.” - -They went into the tavern. - -“Bring me wine--the best you have,” said Pacheco, winking at El Cuervo. - -The innkeeper brought a large jar and filled the glasses. The coachman -smelled the wine, tasted it slowly, relished it; then he smacked his -lips, and emptied the glass in one gulp. - -“What wine!” he murmured. - -“Don’t you think it’s a little bit strong?” - -“Well, that’s a good kind of a fault to have, comrade!” - -Pacheco got up and said to El Cuervo: - -“You’ve got to keep this fellow interested.” - -El Mochuelo and Cantarote, the gipsy, came over to Pacheco’s table with -the pretext that there was no light where they had been sitting, and -began to play cards. - -“Would you like to play?” said Cantarote to Pacheco. - -“No, thanks.” - -“And you?” the gipsy asked of the coachman. - -“I? To tell the truth, I’ve got something to do. What time is it?” - -“A quarter past ten,” said El Cuervo. - -“All right, I’ll play a hand.” - -“After all, what have you got to do?” asked Pacheco. “Just knock till -they open the gate, and then climb up on the box....” - -“No, I’ve got the key to the gate here,” remarked the coachman, patting -his vest pocket. - -Pacheco looked at Cantarote, and made a gesture with his hand as if he -were picking up something. Cantarote lowered his eyelids as a sign that -he had understood, and with the utmost neatness put his hand into the -old man’s vest, took out the key, and, holding his cards in his left -hand, handed it to Pacheco behind the coachman’s back. - -The bandit got up. - -“Let me have a cap,” he said to El Cuervo. - -The innkeeper brought one. - -“Keep him busy for an hour.” - -This said, Pacheco hurried to the Countess’ house, opened wide the gate, -climbed to the box, and drove the carriage outside; then he closed the -gate, climbed back again, and took his place near the theatre. - -From his hiding-place, Quentin had discovered something curious and -worthy of note. In one of the boxes near the curtain was the Countess, -alone, with her back to the stage, and gazing at some one through her -glasses. Quentin followed her look, and by bending low and leaning his -body over the box, he discovered that the box at which she was directing -her glances was occupied by the Governor and two other persons; but the -Countess also looked elsewhere: toward a parquette where there were a -toreador and several young gentlemen. - -“Which is she looking at?” Quentin asked himself. “Is it the Governor, -or the toreador?” - -The Countess rested her opera glasses absently upon the railing of the -box. - -“Perhaps she isn’t looking at any one,” thought Quentin. - -On the stage, they were spilling an ocean of tears: the priest, with his -snow-white hair, saying, “My children” everywhere he went, was busy -making his fellows happy. - -The Countess cast an absent-minded glance at the stage, picked up her -glasses, and took aim. - -“It’s the Governor,” said Quentin. - -The woman’s glasses were lowered a bit, and he had to correct himself. - -“It’s the toreador,” he remarked. - -After many vacillations, Quentin realized that the Countess was playing -with two stacks of cards, and was dividing her glances between the First -Authority of the province, and the young toreador, so recently arrived -in cultured society from a butcher shop in the district of El Matadero. - -The Governor, very serious, very much be-gloved, looked at the woman; -the little toreador, with his foot on the parquette rail, preened -himself and smiled, showing the white teeth of a healthy animal. - -At the beginning of the last act, the toreador, who had been concealed -behind the curtains of the parquette, appeared with a square piece of -paper that looked like a note in his hand; he showed it cautiously, and -twisted it about his fingers. - -Presently the woman, looking at the stage, nodded her head in the -affirmative. - -The play was about to come to an end; every one on the stage, from the -priest and the two turtle-doves to the colonel--by a thousand -bombs!--was happy; only, he of the crooked eyes had been seized by the -police at the height of his evil machinations. Quentin opened his box, -descended the stairs by leaps and bounds, and took up his post opposite -the entrance to the theatre. Fat drops of rain commenced to fall, and -the thunder kept grumbling overhead. There were two carriages at the -door of the theatre. Pacheco was not in the first, and Quentin could not -tell whether he was in the second one or not. - -The audience began to come out of the theatre; when they saw the heavy -rain drops that spattered the sidewalk, some hesitated to leave, then -they made up their minds and began to hurry along, pressing close to the -walls of the houses. - -A fat lady with her escort entered the first carriage, and drove off -toward the Plaza de Séneca. The second carriage drew up. Pacheco was on -the box. He and Quentin glanced at each other. Everything was going -splendidly. - -Just then the Countess appeared in the lobby of the theatre wrapped in a -white cape; she opened the door of the carriage and climbed rapidly into -it. Behind her appeared the toreador, and as the carriage was about to -move off, he held out his hand and threw a note through the window. - -Pacheco clucked to the horses, and the carriage started up the street -toward the confluence of the Calle del Arco Real and the Cuesta de -Luján. Quentin started off rapidly in the direction of the Campo de la -Merced; he ran as fast as his legs could carry him, fearing all the -while that he might meet some watchman who would recognize him. When he -reached the appointed place he was played out. He waited, soaked in a -torrential downpour. Before long, a carriage came in sight and stopped -before him. Quentin opened the door and stood upon the step. A woman -screamed shrilly. Quentin closed the carriage door; there came two -tremendous cracks of a whip; and the coach moved off through the rain -and obscurity, drawn by the horses at a full gallop.... - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI - -EXPLANATIONS - - -“But good heavens! What is it?--Who are you?--” cried the Countess, -trembling. - -“Don’t be alarmed, Señora,” said Quentin. “We have no idea of harming -you.” - -“What do you want of me? I have no money with me.” - -“We are not looking for money.” - -“Then what _do_ you want?” - -“We’ll tell you that later. Have a little patience.” - -Several moments passed in the carriage without the woman saying a word. -She was huddled motionless against a window. - -After some time had elapsed, the horses moderated their pace, one could -hear the rain on the cover of the carriage. Suddenly Quentin heard the -door-fastening rattle. - -“Don’t be foolish, my lady,” he said rudely. “And don’t try to escape. -It will be dangerous.” - -“This violence may cost you dear,” murmured the Countess. - -“Most assuredly. We men are prepared for anything.” - -“But if you don’t want my money, what do you want? Tell me, and let us -bring this affair to a close at once.” - -“That is a secret that does not belong to me.” - -“But, sir,” exclaimed the woman--“I’ll give you anything you want if you -will only take me home.” - -At this moment a flash of lightning violently illumined the night, and -the Countess and Quentin were enabled to see each other’s faces in the -spectral light. Then came a thunderclap as loud as a cannon shot. - -“Oh, my God!” gasped the Countess as she devoutly crossed herself. - -Quentin felt a tremor run through him at the sight of the woman’s -terror, and said to her: - -“My dear lady, do not let us cause you any alarm. Please rest assured -that we have no intention of harming you. I rather think that the man on -the box is some gentleman who is in love with you, and not being able in -any other way to attain good fortune, is abducting you in this manner.” - -Quentin’s accent, his gallant meaning in those circumstances must have -surprised the Countess, as she made no answer. - -“Don’t you think so?” said Quentin. “Don’t you believe that this is a -matter of some one courting you?” - -“It’s a fine way to court,” she replied. - -“All ways are good if they come out right.” - -“Do you believe that this method of treating a lady can come out right?” - -“Why not? Other more difficult things have been seen in the world, and -they do say that women like the novel.” - -“Well, I don’t like it a bit.” - -“Are you so prosaic that you are not enchanted by the thought of meeting -soon a young, good-looking, respectful abductor who offers you his heart -and life?” - -“No, I am not enchanted. What is more, if I could send that abductor to -prison I would do so with much pleasure.” - -“You know that love is intrepid and....” - -Quentin was silent. He thought of the poem written by Cornejo for _La -Víbora_. - -“I don’t know why,” said the woman at length, “but it seems to me that I -am beginning to realize who my abductor is. It strikes me that he is a -half-relative of mine who dislikes me very much. A waif....” - -“I think you are getting warm, my lady.” - -“Who writes insults and calumnies about a woman who has never offended -him.” - -“You are not quite so near the point, there. Listen: The day before -yesterday, that relative of yours was rushing madly about these -God-forsaken streets, hounded by a dozen men; on a night that was as -cold as the devil, he was on the point of throwing himself into the -river and scraping an acquaintance with the shad that live in it.” - -“So you are Quentin?” - -“I am the lady’s most humble servant.” - -“How you frightened me! I shall never forgive you for this night.” - -“Nor will I forgive you for the one I spent the day before yesterday.” - -“Where is my coachman? Is he on the box?” - -“No, my lady.” - -“Where is he?” - -“He is conveniently drunk in a tavern on the Calle del Potro.” - -“Then who is driving the carriage?” - -“Pacheco.” - -“Pacheco! The bandit?” - -“In person. In all ways a gentleman, and whom I shall have the pleasure -of presenting to you tonight as soon as we reach the farm where we are -to stop.” - -“What are you two going to do with me there?” - -“We shall think it over.” - -“I believe you intend to kill me....” - -“Kill you?--Nothing of the sort. We shall entertain you; you will take -rides over the mountain; you’ll get a trifle brown--Besides, we are -doing you a great favour.” - -“Doing me a favour? What is it?” - -“Keeping you from answering that little toreador who had the presumption -to send you a note.” - -“To send _me_ a note?” - -“Yes, my lady; you. As you came out of the theatre. I saw it with my own -eyes.” - -“It must be true if you saw it.” - -“Of course it is! In the first place, that toreador is a stupid -good-for-nothing who would go about boasting that you looked upon him -with sympathy, and that....” - -“Enough, or I’ll even have to thank you for bringing me here.” - -“And it’s true.” - -The Countess was growing calmer and less timid with every minute. - -“How many days are you going to keep me kidnapped?” she asked rather -jovially. - -“As many as you wish. When you get too bored, we’ll take you back to -Cordova. Then, if you still bear us a grudge, you may denounce us.” - -“And if I don’t?” - -“If you don’t, then you will permit us to come to call some day.” - -“We’ll see how you act.” - -Just then the carriage stopped. Quentin prepared to get down, and said -to the woman: - -“I don’t know what Pacheco wants. Perhaps he’s tired of riding on the -box.” - -“Don’t leave me alone with him,” murmured the Countess. - -“Never fear; Pacheco is absolutely a gentleman, and will take no undue -liberties....” - -“That makes no difference.” - -“Then I shall tell him of your wish. If you want to be alone, tell me, -and I’ll ride on the box.” - -“No, no: I prefer you to ride with me.” - -Pacheco jumped down from the box, and coming up to Quentin, said: - -“It seems to me that I have done my duty like a man, and that it’s your -turn to take my place on the box.” - -“That’s what I think. Come, I’m going to present you to the Countess.” - -Quentin opened the carriage door and said: - -“Countess, this is my friend.” - -“Good evening, Pacheco.” - -“A very good evening to you, my lady.” - -“How tired you are making yourselves on my account!” - -“Señora Condesa!” stammered the bandit in confusion. - -“You are very nice,” she added graciously. - -“You are most flattering,” replied Pacheco. - -“No; you two are the flatterers!” - -“But are you sorry, my lady?” asked Pacheco gravely. - -“I!--On the contrary; I am having a very good time.” - -“That’s better, my lady. You mustn’t be afraid; if you order me to, -we’ll go back this minute.” - -The Countess considered for a moment, and then cried gayly: - -“No; let us go on. We’ll go wherever you wish. You stay with me, -Quentin, for I want to talk to you.” - -Again Pacheco climbed to the box, clucked to the horses, and the -carriage went on its way. It was beginning to clear up; here and there a -patch of star-sprinkled sky appeared between the great, black clouds. - -“He seems like a fine fellow,” said the Countess, who was now completely -at her ease, when she and Quentin were alone. - -“Do not deceive yourself; there are only two places where true gentlemen -can be found: in the mountains, or in prison.” - -“How awful!” she cried. - -“That is the way the two extremes meet,” he went on. “When a man is a -great, a very great rascal, and utterly disregards the ideas of the -people and everything else, he has reached the point where the bandit is -joining hands with the gentleman.” - -“See here, Sir Bandit,” said the Countess easily, “why did you take this -dislike to me, and put me in the papers? Because I said that Rafaela was -a hussy, and that she had married Juan de Dios for his money?” - -“Yes, my lady.” - -“Did I not speak the truth?” - -“It is true that she married; but it was not because she wished it, nor -because she was ambitious to be rich, but because the family made her.” - -“You should laugh at that idea, my friend!” replied the Countess. “Not -that the girl isn’t docile! When a woman does not care to marry a man, -she simply doesn’t marry him.... Of course, you were after her cash.” - -“I?--_Ca!_” - -“I don’t know why, but I think I see through you. You are very -ambitious, and with all those foolish deeds of yours, you are only -trying to fish for something. You cannot deceive me.” - -“Well, you are wrong,” said Quentin. “I, ambitious? I covet nothing.” - -“Tell that to your grandfather, not to me. You are very ambitious, and -she is a very romantic damsel, but very close with her money. If you two -had married, a fine disappointment you would have had!... And she liked -you, believe me; but as you were not a marquis, or a duke, but a poor -son of a shop-keeper, she would have nothing to do with you.” - -Quentin felt deeply mortified by the phrase, and fell silent. Presently -she burst into gracious laughter. - -“What are you laughing at?” said Quentin, piqued. - -“With all your boasting, you are worth less than I am: all your cravings -are for things that are not worth while. I don’t mind it in the least -when they call me La Aceitunera, but you, on the other hand, are utterly -cast down because I called you the son of a shop-keeper.” - -“Yes, that’s true,” assented Quentin ingenuously. - -“And why is it true, my friend?” asked the Countess. “Why, we of the -proletariat are worth more than dukes and marquises, with all their -ceremonies and fripperies. Where is the salt of the earth? Among the -masses.... Why am I what I am? Because I married that bell-ox of an -uncle of yours. The ambitions of my family annoyed me; they filled my -head with titles and grandeurs; it’s one and the same thing whether you -are a duke’s son, or the daughter of an olive merchant like me, or the -son of an importer, like you.” - -The Countess was growing in Quentin’s eyes. The sincere contempt that -she felt for aristocratic things, seemed to him to be a stroke of -superiority. As far as the question of birth, and family, and social -position was concerned, Quentin was peevishly susceptible; and though he -concealed these sentiments as best he could, they were often clearly -apparent in him. - -The Countess realized that this was one of Quentin’s vulnerable spots, -and took delight in wounding him. - -“They must sell a great many things in that store. It is a beautiful -shop, very large and....” - -“My dear lady,” said Quentin comically, when the annoyance that the -woman’s words cost him commenced to take on an ironical and gay -character--“You are very sarcastic, but I realize that you have a right -to be.” - -“So, you realize it?” - -“Yes, my lady; and if you keep it up, I shall beg Pacheco to take my -place in this delicate mission.” - -“I will not allow you to leave me,” said the Countess mockingly. - -“Well, if this turns out to be a long journey, I shall be found dead on -the bottom of the coach.” - -“Dead! From what, Quentin?” - -“From the pin pricks you are giving me right square in the heart. You -are about to remind me for the fifth time that the chocolate we make in -the store is adulterated.... I know you are.” - -“No, I’ve said nothing about it.” - -“Then you are going to talk to me about the coffee which is mixed with -chicory, and then, eventually, and in order to complete the offence, you -will bring my step-father’s nickname before my eyes.” - -“El Pende--that’s it, isn’t it?” - -“Yes, my lady that is what they call him.” - -“Well, to show you that I am more generous than you think me, I shall -not mention it again. Henceforth you shall guard the secret of my -olives, as I will guard the secret of your spices. Tell me: Is it true -that you have a good voice?” - -“For Heaven’s sake! What are you trying to do, my lady? Have pity and -compassion on a poor little chap like me.” - -“Go on, please sing.” - -Quentin hummed the swaggering song from “Rigoletto”: - - _“Questa o quella per me pari sono.”_ - -“But sing out loud,” said the Countess. - -Quentin sang with his full voice: - - _“La costanza tiranna del core - detestiamo qual morbo crudele - sol chi vuole si servi fedele - non v’ha amor se non v’é libertá.”_ - -And this last phrase, which Quentin launched forth with real enthusiasm, -echoed in the damp and tepid night air.... - -“Is that a song of circumstances?” said the Countess with a laugh. - -“Yes, my lady,” answered Quentin, without fully understanding what she -meant. - -“Listen ... another thing. Why don’t you make love to Remedios?” - -“To Remedios! She is only a child.” - -“She’s fourteen. How old are you?” - -“Twenty-four.” - -“That’s just right.” - -“Yes, but how about the groceries?” - -“She would overlook that. Believe me, that child has a soul. My -husband’s older daughter is good, I won’t deny it, but she is a cold -thing. Just as she married Juan de Dios, she would have married any one, -and she will be faithful to him, as she would to any one else, because -she hasn’t the courage to do otherwise; but not so with the little one, -she’s full of it.” - -Quentin recalled the two sisters and thought that perhaps the Countess -was right. With the memory, he fell silent for a long time. - -“Well,” said the Countess, “if you continue this silence, it will seem -as if I were the one who is abducting you, and that doesn’t suit me. -Why, just think if one of those verse-scribbling penny-a-liners should -find out about this! They would paint me green.” - -“I’ll not say another thing against you, my lady, because....” - -“Because why, my friend? What were you going to say?” - -“Nothing; I’ll say that you are one of the most....” - -“One of the most what?” - -“One of the most--but here we are at the farm.” - -And Quentin opened the carriage door. - -“I thought you were a braver man than that,” said the Countess. - -The carriage stopped and Quentin jumped to the muddy road. It was -beginning to rain again. - -“Can’t you get the carriage closer to the house?” Quentin asked Pacheco. - -“Take hold of the bridle of one of the horses. That’s it.” - -“Shall I knock here?” - -“Knock away.” - -Quentin gave two resounding knocks. - -Several minutes passed, and no one appeared at the door. - -“Knock again,” said Pacheco. - -Quentin did so, adorning his blows with a noisy tattoo. - -“Coming! Coming!” came a voice from within. - -They saw a beam of light in the door jamb; then the wicket opened and a -man appeared with a lantern in his hand. - -“It’s I, Tío Frasquito,” said Pacheco. “I have some friends with me.” - -“Good evening, Señor José and company,” said the man. - -“Is the ground impossible?” inquired the Countess from the inside of the -carriage. - -“Yes, it’s very muddy,” replied Quentin. - -“How can I get out in these white slippers? I’m done for.” - -“Would you like me to carry you in my arms?” said Quentin. - -“No, sir.” - -Then Pacheco, who had climbed down from the box, removed his cloak, -seized it as if he were about to tease a bull with it, and with a -flourish spread it out upon the damp earth from the step of the carriage -to the door of the house. - -“There! Now you can get out.” - -The Countess, smiling and holding up her silk dress, walked across the -cloak in her white shoes, and quickly entered the vestibule. - -“Long live my Queen!” cried Pacheco, carried away by his enthusiasm. -“And hurrah for all valiant women!” - -It began to pour. - -“What will poor Doña Sinda do?” said Quentin. - -“Who is Doña Sinda?” asked Pacheco. - -“The woman we left out on the roof. She must be soup by this time.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII - -IN WHICH A COUNTESS, A PROFESSIONAL BANDIT, AND A MAN OF ACTION HAVE A -TALK - - -One afternoon a few days later, Quentin knocked at the Countess’ door. - -“May I come in?” - -“Come!” - -Quentin opened the door and entered. The room was large, whitewashed, -with a very small window divided into four panes, the floor paved with -red bricks, and blue rafters in the ceiling. Everything was as clean as -silver; in the centre was a table covered with white oil-cloth, upon -which was a glass bottle converted by the Countess into a flower stand -full of wild flowers. - -“My lady,” announced Quentin, “I came to find out if you wanted anything -in Cordova.” - -“Are you going there?” - -“Yes, my lady. If you are bored, we’ll take you in the carriage whenever -you wish.” - -“No, I’m not bored. To the contrary.” - -“Then, why don’t you stay here?” - -“No, I cannot.--When do you go?” - -“I was thinking of going today, but if you want me to go with you, I’ll -wait until tomorrow.” - -“Very well, we’ll wait until tomorrow.” - -The Countess had made friends at the farm. Late in the afternoon she -would take her sewing to the door, and, sitting in the shade, would work -among the women of the house. They told her about their lives and their -troubles, and she listened with great interest. Quentin and Pacheco used -to join the group and chat until the farm bell signalled the labourers, -and night fell, and the flocks of goats returned with a great tinkling -of bells. - -The labourers’ children used to play in front of the doorway; three of -them had made friends with the Countess. They were three children who -had been left motherless; Miguel, the eldest, was seven, Dolores, the -second, was five, and Carmen, the third, was three. - -The eldest was very lively, already a little rascal; the second had a -tangled mass of blond hair, sad, blue eyes, and a sun-burned face; she -wore one of her father’s vests, a dirty apron, stockings around her -ankles, and a pair of huge shoes. The littlest one spent hour after hour -with her finger thrust into her mouth. - -These three children, accustomed to being alone, were content to play -with each other; they played around, striking and throwing each other -about the ground, and never cried. - -“She bosses ’em all,” said one of the old wives to the Countess, -pointing to the second child. - -“Poor girl. What is your name?” - -“Dolores.” - -The Countess looked at the child, who lowered her eyes. - -“Would you like to come with me, Dolores?” she asked. - -“No.” - -“I’ll give you pretty dresses, dolls--Will you come?” - -“No.” - -The Countess kissed the girl, and every afternoon the three children -came, waiting for her to give them some money.... - -“Look there,” said the Countess to Quentin, pointing to a hen that was -strutting along the barnyard with her still featherless chicks--“I envy -her.” - -“Do you?” asked Quentin. “You are more romantic than I thought you -were.” - -“Romantic, my friend? Why? That is Truth, Nature.” - -“Ah! But do you believe in the goodness of Nature?” - -“Don’t you?” - -“No, I do not. Nature is a farce.” - -“_You_ are the farce!” said the Countess. “I could never live with a man -like you, Quentin.” - -“Couldn’t you?” - -“No. If I had married you, we would have ended badly.” - -“Would we have beaten each other?” - -“Probably.” - -“Look here; two things would have pleased me,” replied Quentin. “To -allow myself to be struck by you would have been magnificent, but to -give you a drubbing would also have been good.” - -“Would you have dared?” said the Countess with a slight flush in her -cheeks, and her eyes shining. - -“Yes, if I were your husband,” answered Quentin calmly. - -“Don’t pay any attention to this fellow,” said Pacheco, “for all that is -just idle fancy.” - -Pacheco manifested a respectful enthusiasm toward the Countess, but at -times he wondered if Quentin, with his wild ideas and outbursts, might -not interest the Countess more.... - -... And as they chatted, the afternoon advanced; the sun poured down, -its reflected rays were blinding as they fell on stones and bushes; and -the air, quivering in the heat, made the outlines of the mountain and -the distant landscape tremble. - -“Would you like to take a ride, my lady?” said Pacheco. - -“Yes, indeed.” - -“Shall I saddle your horse?” - -“Fine!” - -The Countess mounted, followed by Pacheco and Quentin, and the three -made their way toward the top of the mountain by a broad path that ran -between stout evergreens. - -It was late Autumn; the days were sweltering, but as soon as the sun -set, the air became very refreshing. - -The mountain was splendid that afternoon. The dry, clean air was so -transparent that it made even the most distant objects seem near; the -trees were turning yellow and shedding their dried leaves; the harvested -meadows had not yet begun to turn green. In the highways and byways, -brambles displayed their black fruit, and the dog-rose bushes their -carmine berries among their thorny branches. - -“What are you thinking of doing, Quentin? What have you up your sleeve?” -asked the Countess suddenly. - -“Everybody knows,” replied Pacheco--“that he’s a lively fish.” - -“_Ca_, man,” answered Quentin. “Why, I’m an unhappy wretch. Just now, I -admit, I am capable of doing anything to get money and live well.” - -“He contradicts himself at every turn!” exclaimed the Countess, -somewhat irritated. “I’m beginning to disbelieve everything he says; -whether he tells me that he is bad, or whether he assures me that he is -unhappy.” - -“You see I’m not to be classified by common standards. One half of me is -good, and the other half bad. Sometimes it seems as if I were a -demagogue, and I turn out to be a reactionary. I have all sorts of -humility and all sorts of arrogance within me. For example, if you were -to say to me tomorrow: ‘By selling all the inhabitants of Cordova into -slavery, you can make a fortune,’ I would sell them.” - -“A lie!” replied the Countess. “You would not sell them.” - -“No, I would not sell them if you told me not to.” - -“Really, now!” - -“Do you know what I used to think of doing when I was in England?” said -Quentin. - -“What?” asked Pacheco. - -“Of putting up a money box. You must have seen one of them in Madrid, I -think in the Calle del Fuencarral; people throw lots of money into it. -Well, I saw it on my way through the city, and in school I was always -thinking: ‘When I get to Spain, I’m going to set up four or five money -boxes, and take all the money that’s thrown into them.’” - -“What ideas you do have!” said the Countess. - -“I have always thought that the first thing to do was to get rich.” - -“Why not work?” - -“One can never make one’s self rich by working. I have two aphorisms -that rule my life; they are: first, be it yours or another’s, you will -never get on without money; second, laziness has always its reward, and -work its punishment.” - -“You are a faker, and one cannot talk to you,” said the Countess. “What -about you, Pacheco?” - -“He? Why, he’s another romanticist,” replied Quentin. - -“Really?” asked the woman. - -“Yes, somewhat,” replied the bandit with a sigh. - -“Some fine day,” added Quentin, “you will hear that Pacheco has done -something either very foolish, or very heroic.” - -“May God hear you,” murmured the bandit. - -“Do you see?” - -“Isn’t it better to do something famous, than to live in a hole like a -toad all your life?” - -“What would you like to do?” asked the Countess with curiosity. - -“I?--Take part in a battle; lead it if possible.” - -“Then you want to be a soldier.” - -“You mean a general,” interrupted Quentin with a laugh. - -“And why not, if he has good luck?” - -“What does one need to be a general?” asked Pacheco. “To have a soul, to -be valiant, and to be ready to give up your life every minute.” - -“And furthermore, to have a career,” replied Quentin ironically ... “to -have good recommendations.” - -“But you always look upon everything as small and niggardly!” exclaimed -the bandit hotly. - -“And you, my friend, hope to encounter great and strong things in a mean -society. You are deceived.” - -Pacheco and Quentin fell silent, and the Countess contemplated the two -men as they rode quietly along.... - -It was late afternoon. The dry earth, warmed by the sun, exhaled the -aroma of rosemary and thyme and dried grass. Upon the round summit of -the mountain, trees, bushes, rocks, stood out in minutest detail in the -diaphanous air. - -The sun was sinking. The naked rocks, the thickets of heather and furze, -were reddened as if on the point of bursting into flame. Here and there -among the yellow foliage of the trees, appeared the white and smiling -walls of farmhouses.... - -Soon night began to fall; bands of deep violet crept along the -hillsides; one could hear in the distance the crowing of cocks and the -tinkling of bells, which sounded louder than usual in that peaceful -twilight; the air was tranquil, the sky azure.... Herds of cattle spread -over the fields, which were covered with dry bushes; and along the damp -pathways, bordered by huge, grey century-plants, a torrent of sheep and -goats flowed, followed by their shepherd and his great, gentle-eyed, -white mastiff. - -When they returned to the farmhouse, Tío Frasquito said to Pacheco: - -“We have been waiting for you.” - -“Why, what’s up?” - -“They just baptized a baby in the farm next to ours, and are having a -little dance. If you people would like to go....” - -“Shall we go?” Pacheco asked the Countess. - -“Why not?” - -“Then we’ll have supper right away, and be there in a moment.” - -They ate their supper; and on foot and well cloaked, as it was rather -cool, they walked along paths and across fields to the neighbouring -farm. - -As they drew near, they could hear the murmur of conversation and the -strumming of a guitar. The entryway in which the fiesta was being -celebrated was large and very much whitewashed. It had a wide, open -space in the centre, with two columns; suspended from the beams of the -ceiling, were two big lamps, each with three wicks. Seated upon benches -and rope chairs were several young girls, old women, sun-blackened men, -and children who had come to witness the baptism. - -In the centre was a space left free for the dancers. Seated near a small -table, which held a jug and a glass, an old man was strumming a guitar, -a man with a face and side-whiskers that just begged for a gun. - -The entrance of the Countess and her escorts was greeted with loud -acclaim; one of the farm hands asked, and it was not easy to tell -whether in jest or in all seriousness, if that lady was the Queen of -Spain. - -The caretaker of the farm, after installing the three guests in the most -conspicuous place, brought them some macaroons and glasses of white -wine. - -Boleras and fandangos alternated, and between times they drank all the -brandy and wine they wanted. The Countess went to see the mother of the -baptized child. - -“Aren’t you going to dance, Pacheco?” asked Quentin. - -“Are you?” - -“Man alive, I’m not graceful enough. I’ll play the guitar. You ask the -Countess to dance with you.” - -“She won’t do it.” - -“Do you want me to ask her for you?” - -“Good idea.” - -Quentin did so when she returned. She burst out laughing. - -“Well, will you do it?” - -“Of course, man.” - -“Hurrah for all valiant women. Ladies and gentlemen,” said Quentin, -turning to the bystanders, “the Señora is going to dance with Pacheco; I -shall play the guitar, and I want the best singer here to stand by me.” - -Quentin sat in the chair where the old man had been, and near him stood -a little dark-haired girl with large eyes. He tuned the guitar, turning -one key and then another, and then began a devilish preparatory -flourish. Little by little this uncouth flourish grew smoother, changing -into a handling of the strings that was finesse itself. - -“Go ahead,” cried Quentin. “Now for the little highlander!” - -The Countess arose laughing heartily, with her arms held high; Pacheco, -very serious, also arose and stood before her. An old woman, a mistress -of the art, began to click her castanets with a slow rhythm. - -“Girlie,” said Quentin to the singer, “let’s hear what you can do.” - -In almost a whisper, the girl sang: - - _“Con abalorios, cariño, - con abalorios.”_ - - (With glass beads, love, with glass beads.) - -The dancers made their start rather languidly. - -The girl went on: - - _“Con abalorios, - tengo yo una chapona, - tengo yo una chapona, - cariño! con abalorios.”_ - - (With glass beads, I have a dressing sack, I have a dressing sack, - love! with glass beads.) - -The dancers were a little more lively in the “parade,” the castanets -clicked louder, and the high, treble voice of the girl increased in -volume: - - _“Están bailando - el clavel y la rosa, - están bailando - el clavel y la rosa, - ay! están bailando!”_ - - (They are dancing, the pink and the rose, they are dancing, the - pink and the rose; Ah! they are dancing!) - -This last phrase, which was somewhat sad, was accompanied by a ferocious -sound of castanets, as if the player wished to make the dancers forget -the melancholy of the song. - -The girl went on: - - _“Porque la rosa - entre más encarnada, - Porque la rosa - entre más encarnada - ay! es más hermosa!”_ - - (For the rose, the more she blushes, for the rose, the more she - blushes, Ah! the more beautiful she becomes.) - -Then the castanets clicked wildly, while all the bystanders cheered the -dancers on. Pacheco pursued his partner with open arms, and she seemed -to provoke him and to flee from him, keeping out of his reach when he -was about to conquer her. In these changes and movements, the Countess’ -skirts swished back and forth and folded about her thighs, outlining her -powerful hips. The whole room seemed filled with an effluvia of life. - -Quentin enthusiastically continued to strum the guitar. The singer had -offered him a glass of white wine, and without ceasing to play, he had -stretched out his lips and drained it. - -The dance was repeated several times, until the dancers, worn out, sat -down. - -“Splendid! Magnificent!” exclaimed Quentin with tears in his eyes. - -Suddenly the little girl who had sung told him she was going. - -“Why?” - -“Because some joker is going to put out the lights.” - -Quentin put down the guitar and went over to the Countess. - -“You’d better go,” he told her, “they are going to put out the lights.” - -She got up, but did not have time to go out. Two big youths put out the -lamps with one blow, and the entryway was left in darkness. Quentin led -the Countess to a corner, and stood ready to protect her in case there -was need. There was a bedlam of shrill shrieks from the women, and -laughter, and voices, and all started for the door which was purposely -barred. Quentin felt the Countess by his side, palpitant. - -“That’ll do,” said the landlord, “that’s enough of the joke,” and he -relit the lamps. - -The fiesta became normal once more, and soon after, all began to file -out. - -The following was the day fixed upon for the departure. Pacheco had, as -he said, reasons for not going to Cordova, so he did not go. Quentin sat -upon the box and drove off with the Countess. At nightfall, they were on -the Cuesta de Villaviciosa. From that height, by the light of the -half-hidden sun, they could see Cordova; very flat, very extensive, -among fields of yellow stubble and dark olive orchards. A slight mist -rose from the river bed. In the distance, very far away, rose the high -and sharp-peaked Sierra of Granada. - -Carts were returning along the road, jolting and shaking; they could -hear the Moorish song of the carters who were stretched out upon sacks, -or skins of olive oil; riders on proud horses passed them, seated upon -cowboy saddles, their shawls across their saddle bows, and their guns at -their sides.... - -When they entered Cordova, night had already fallen; the sky was -sprinkled with stars; on either side of the road, which now ran between -the houses, great, many-armed century plants shone in the darkness. - -Quentin drove the carriage to the Countess’ palace, and jumped from the -box, much to the astonishment of the porter. - -“Good-bye, my lady,” said he, holding out his hand and assisting her -from the carriage. - -“Good-bye, Quentin,” she said rather sadly. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII - -THE MASON’S MESSAGE - - -“So you know nothing about him?” asked the Swiss. - -“Not a thing,” replied María Lucena. “He left here the very night they -tried to arrest him, and he hasn’t showed up yet. They say that he and -Pacheco kidnapped the Countess.” - -“The devil! An abduction!” - -“Yes. Let me tell you, that man disgusts me, and I wish I hadn’t met -him.” - -Paul Springer contemplated the pale face of the actress sympathetically. - -“He’ll show up,” he said. - -“I hope he never does!” she replied. - -The Swiss was disturbed. - -“How did you meet Quentin? Through the fracas he started here?” - -“Yes. They told me that there had been a dispute between a young chap -and a vile man who had insulted me. I asked Cornejo, the fellow who -writes topical songs for the musical comedies, who my defender was, and -he said: ‘I’ll show him to you.’ Every night I asked him: ‘Who is he? -Who is he?’--but he never showed up. After awhile I got impatient and -said to Cornejo: ‘Look here; you tell your friend that I want to meet -him, that if he doesn’t come to the theatre, to go to my house, and that -I live near here in a boarding house called Mariquita’s House.’ Would -you believe it? There I was, waiting day after day, and he never showed -up!” - -“You must have been indignant,” said Springer. - -“Naturally! I said: ‘If he doesn’t know me, why did he defend me? And if -he does know me, why doesn’t he come to see me?’” - -“How did you get to meet him finally?” - -“You’ll see; one day Cornejo came in here with Quentin, and introduced -him to me as the man who had insulted me and had been struck by my -defender. I said a lot of outrageous and insulting things to him, and -just then a friend of his came in and greeted him with a ‘Hello, -Quentin!’ Then I realized that _he_ was my defender and we made -friends.” - -“Yes, he’s very fond of those farces.” - -“Why did he do it? I can’t understand that man.” - -“Nor does he understand himself, probably; but he’s a good fellow.” - -At the very second that the Swiss was saying these words, Quentin -entered the café, looked about him indifferently and came up to the -table at which María Lucena and Springer were seated. - -When she saw him, María suddenly turned red. - -“Ah! So you’ve come at last!” she cried angrily. “Where have you been?” - -“If you had had your way, my dear, I would have been in prison.” - -“That’s where you ought to be always. Thief! May a nasty viper sting -you! Tell me, what have you been doing all these days?” - -“Why, I’ve been on a farm, hiding from the police.” - -“I’m likely to believe that! You’ve been with a woman.” - -The procedure of extracting the truth with a lie produced results, for -Quentin said candidly: - -“Where did you find that out?” - -“You see, it’s the truth! And now you are tired of her and have come -back here. Well, son, you can clear out; for there’s no more meat on the -hook for lack of a cat, and I want nothing more to do with you. I have -more than enough men who are better than you are, who have more money -than you have, and more heart.” - -“I don’t deny it,” replied Quentin coldly. - -“Ah! You don’t deny it? You don’t deny it?” she shouted, raising her -voice in her fury. “But what do you think I am? What _do_ you think?” - -“Come, don’t shriek so,” said Quentin gently. - -“I’ll shriek if I want to. Tell me, you evil-blooded scoundrel; what did -you take me for? Do you think you can laugh at me like this?” - -“That is admirable logic!” replied Quentin. “One believes here that his -life is the axle of the universe; other people’s lives have no -importance.” - -“Why--” - -“Please; I am talking. I left the café the other night, and thanks to -the influence of Señor Gálvez, with whom you were....” - -“I!” said María. “That’s not true.” - -“I myself saw you.” - -“Where could you see me from?” - -“From the door, my dear.” - -“But you don’t know Gálvez!” she replied, believing that Quentin must -have had the news at second-hand. - -“True; but I know the waiter, and I asked him: ‘Who is the gentleman -talking with María Lucena?’ And he answered: ‘Señor Gálvez.’ So don’t -lie about it. Very well; thanks to the beneficent influence of that -gentleman friend of yours, I was on the point of being carried off to -prison, or of throwing myself into the river ... yet, I do not go -screeching about the place--because I do not believe that my life can be -the axle of the universe.” - -“Fool, _more_ than fool!”--she shouted. “I’ll pound your brains out this -very minute!” - -“You’ll pound nothing; and listen, if you will.” - -“What for? You’re going to lie.” - -“Very well then: don’t listen.” - -“I wish they’d take you to prison and keep you there all your life with -your head stuck through a pillory.” - -“If you care to listen, I’ll tell you whom I was with.” - -“I’m listening.” - -“Well, I was with the Countess.” - -“Then you haven’t the least bit of shame,” said María furiously. - -“The Countess,” Quentin continued, “was upset by the verses in _La -Víbora_, and wished to avenge herself, and had asked the Governor to -have me thrown into prison.” - -“Then what?” - -“Well, Pacheco and I joined forces, and instead of her arresting us, we -arrested her, and carried her off in her carriage to a farm.” - -“What happened there?” asked the actress. - -“Nothing; we became good friends.” - -“Bah!” - -“What ideas women have of each other!--” said Quentin sarcastically. -“For them, all other women are prostitutes.” - -“Not all: just _some_.” - -“Do you believe that the Countess is a chorus girl?” said Quentin -acridly. - -María paled and looked at Quentin with concentrated fury. - -“What did the Countess do there?” asked the Swiss. - -“Nothing--rode and walked. She acted like what she is: a fine lady. -Pacheco was crazy about her.” - -“Weren’t you?” - -“You know, Springer, that I am marble as far as women are concerned.” - -“What a faker!” exclaimed the Swiss. - -“What a liar!” added María Lucena. - -“May they pluck my wings, as the gipsies say, if I’m not telling the -truth. You know, María, that I’m like a box of mixed candy that has -neither cover nor flap.” - -“I don’t believe you.” - -“Then I say you’re a St. Thomas in skirts.” - -María was gradually calming down and speaking more pleasantly, as she -prepared to leave for the theatre, when a man, tall, thin, with a black -beard, kangaroo arms, and ferocious-looking hands, came up to Quentin. -After making some mysterious grimaces, and winking his eyes, he -whispered something in Quentin’s ear. - -“What did that man say to you?” asked María. - -“That man is a hardware dealer and a Freemason; he told me that I must -go to the Patrician Lodge tonight.” - -“There you go again with your humbugs. I’ve lost all patience with you. -So he’s a _Fleemason_, eh? Do you think I’m a fool?” - -“Hey!” called Quentin to the hardware dealer, who had already reached -the door. - -“What is it?” asked the Mason. - -“Will you kindly tell this woman what you wanted of me?” - -“Ah! I cannot,” replied the man, smiling and placing one of his -paws--which were worthy of long-handed Artaxerxes--upon his breast. “No, -I cannot.” - -He then raised his hand to his forehead, then to his shoulder, making -several strange gestures. - -“Do you believe he is a _Fleemason_?” said María to the Swiss in a -whisper. - -“Yes; assuredly.” - -“All right, Diagasio, that will do,” said Quentin. - -“Ha ... ha ...!” laughed the actress. “That poor man really has a -peculiar look.” - -The hardware merchant bowed, a smile appeared within his black beard, -like a ray of sunlight in a thicket, and moving his huge hands lazily, -he thoughtfully retired, not without having knocked a bottle off a table -and stepping on a dog. - -“Poor fellow,” said Quentin, “he has become unbalanced with all this -Masonry.” - -“What did you call him?” asked the Swiss. - -“Diagasio. His real name is Diego, but Diagasio seems more euphonious to -me. In the Lodge we have baptized him Marat.” - -The Swiss smiled, and Quentin left the café. He traversed several -alleys, and was walking along the Calle de los Dolores Chicos toward the -Calle del Cister, when a man wrapped in a cloak approached him. - -“Wait a moment, Quentin,” said a voice. - -“Hello, Don Paco.” - -“Where are you going?” - -“To the Lodge, as I have just received notice to do.” - -“I sent the notice to you.” - -“You did? What’s up?” - -“We must speak alone, Quentin.” - -“Whenever you wish.” - -“Things are moving rapidly, my friend. The Revolution is gaining ground; -but in this city, the Revolutionary Committee does nothing--or almost -nothing. _Inter nos_, its members haven’t enough patriotism; understand? -We must stir them up; and you, who know many strong-minded people, can -help a lot.” - -“Pacheco has more influence than I have, in that respect.” - -“But to ally oneself with a bandit!” - -“As to that, you chaps will find out whether he suits you or not.” - -“What do you think of him?” - -“I’ll talk to him.” - -“Is he in Cordova?” - -“He is near Cordova.” - -“Good: I shall speak here in the Lodge, and in the Junta: if they are -agreed, you make an appointment with Pacheco, and we shall meet later.” - -“Very well. Will you know tomorrow if they are agreed?” - -“Yes. I’ll let you know; and when you get an answer from Pacheco, we’ll -go to see him.” - -“Very well. Until another time.” - -“Until very soon.” - -The two conspirators shook hands by way of a farewell, and wrapping -themselves to their eyes in their cloaks, they glided along the narrow -alleyways. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX - -A CONFERENCE - - -A few days later, at nine-thirty in the evening, Quentin climbed the -stairs of a house on the Calle del Cister. - -He entered the second floor, traversed the lay-brother’s school--a large -room with tables in rows and placards on the walls--and passed into the -Lodge, which was a garret with a table at one end and an oil lamp that -provided the only light. - -Quentin could not tell whether the honourable Masons there assembled -were in a white meeting or coloured meeting; the session must have been -over, for the President, Don Paco, was perorating--though now deprived -of his presidential dignity--among the rabble of the Aventine Hill. - -Don Paco was a veritable river of words. All of the stock revolutionary -phrases came fluently to his lips. “The rights of a citizen,”--“the -ominous yoke of reaction” ... “the heroic efforts of our fathers” ..., -“a just punishment for his perversity”.... - -Don Paco pronounced all these phrases as though by the mere act of -saying them, they were realized. - -If they charged one of the Masonic brothers with a dangerous mission, -and he made the excuse of having a family, Don Paco said, as Cato would -have remarked: - -“Country before family.” - -But if the dangerous mission were for _him_, Don Paco would argue that -he did not wish to compromise the sacred cause of liberty by a rash act. - -Sometimes, instead of saying sacred, he said venerable, which, for Don -Paco, had its own value and distinctive meaning. - -If some Progressist leader in Madrid was supposed to have been a traitor -against either the sacred, or the venerable cause, Don Paco cried out in -the Lodge: - -“_A la barra_ with the citizen! _A la barra!_” - -He himself did not know what _la barra_ was; but it was a matter of a -cry that would sound well, and that sounded admirably: _A la barra!_ - -When he was too excited, Don Paco admired English parliamentarism above -everything else. Quentin had once told him that he looked like Sir -Robert Peel. - -Quentin had seen the figure of that orator on an advertisement for -shoe-blacking; he had nothing but the vaguest ideas of Sir Robert’s -existence; but it was all the same to Don Paco, and the comparison made -him swell with pride. - -Aside from these political farces, Don Paco Sánchez Olmillo, Master -Surgeon and Master Mason, was a good sort of person, without an evil -trait; he was a small, bald-headed old man, pimply and apopleptic. He -had a thick neck, eyes that bulged so far from his head that they looked -as if they had been stuck into his skin. At the slightest effort, with -the most insignificant of his phrases, he blushed to the roots of his -hair; if he turned loose one of his cries, his blush changed from red to -violet, and even to blue. - -Don Paco had great admirers among the members of the Lodge; they -considered him a tremendous personage. - -Quentin called to Diagasio, the long-handed hardware merchant, and said: - -“Tell Don Paco I’m waiting for him.” - -“He’s speaking.” - -“Well, I’m in a hurry.” - -Diagasio left him, and presently Don Paco came over, still orating, and -surrounded by several friends. - -“No,” he was saying, “I claim it, and I shall always claim it. We -Spaniards are not yet ready to accept the republican form of government. -Ah, gentlemen! If we were in England! In that freest of all lands, the -cradle of liberties, ... of sacred liberties.” - -“Very well,”--said Quentin quickly, “that discourse does not concern me. -I came to tell you that I have received an answer to the letter I sent, -and that he has made an appointment.” - -Don Paco returned to his friends, and now and then a phrase reached -Quentin: “A dangerous mission,” “mysteries,” “the police,” “the result -will be known later.” Then the worthy President came over to Quentin. - -“Will some one accompany us?” - -“No; why should they? The more people that go, the worse it will be.” - -“That’s true. They will mistrust us.” - -Don Paco took leave of his friends as Sir Robert Peel might have done -had they taken that gentleman to the gallows: they descended the stairs, -and came out upon the street. - -They made their way to the Gran Capitán, from there to the Victoria, and -then, passing the Puerta de Gallegos, they travelled toward the Puerta -de Almodóvar. - -Quentin felt a great sense of satisfaction when he observed the fact -that the old man was frightened. At every step Don Paco said to him: - -“Some one is following us.” - -“Don’t be idiotic. Who is going to follow us?” - -“Ah! You don’t know what a terrible police force those men have!” - -To Don Paco, life was all mystery, darkness, espionage, conspiracy. To -sum up: it was fear, and the fear in this instance was neutralized by -speaking aloud, and humming selections from comic operas. - -This mixture of petulance and fright amused Quentin greatly. When he saw -that the old man was very animated, humming an air from “Marina,” or -from “El Domino Azúl,” he said to him: - -“Hush, Don Paco, I think I saw a man spying on us from among those -trees.” - -Immediately the animation of the worthy President changed into an -evil-omened silence. - -As the two men followed the wall, the enormous, red moon rose over the -town like a dying sun; the Cathedral tower looked very white against the -dark blue sky.... They passed a tile-kiln, and Quentin, seeing that Don -Paco was dispirited, said: - -“I think we can be at ease now, for from here on there are no guards nor -watchmen to spy on us.” - -These words heartened the old man; a moment later, he was humming a -piece from “El Domino Azúl,” which contained words to the effect that he -did not want his dove so near the hawk. - -Then, absolutely at ease, he commenced to say in a pompous voice: - -“There are moments in the lives of cities as there are in those of -individuals....” - -“A speech! Don Paco, for Heaven’s sake! At a time like this!” exclaimed -Quentin.... - -The old man, seeing that he could not continue his discourse, said -familiarly: - -“The things that have been accomplished in our lifetime, Quentin! When -we first met, there in the Café de Pepon, on the Calle de Antonio de -Morales, we were a mere handful of men with advanced ideas.... Today, -you see how different it is. And all through my efforts, Quentin. I -inaugurated the Reading Centre for workmen, and the Patrician Lodge ...; -I was one of the Hatchet Club, and one of the founders of the Committee. -I was always conspiring.” - -“You are very brave,” said Quentin slyly. - -“No; all I am is patriotic; really, Quentin. How many times at night -have I ventured out in disguise, sometimes along the Gran Capitán, or -through any of the sally-ports on the left, and reached the bridge by -encircling the wall! There I used to glide along the fosses of the -Calahorra castle, climb down to the other bank of the Guadalquivir, and -continue down stream until I struck the Montilla turnpike. At other -times I crossed the river by the Adalid ford, to come out later behind -the Campo de la Verdad in a bit of land called Los Barreros, where a -guard received me most informally.” - -“Why all these masquerades, Don Paco?” - -“You may believe that they were all necessary.” - -Don Paco and Quentin were walking toward the river, when suddenly, -between the Puerta de Seville, and the Cementerio de la Salud, they -heard a loud, harsh voice that rang out powerfully in the silence of the -night. - -“Halt! Who goes there?” - -“Two men,” answered Quentin sarcastically, “at least that’s what we look -like.” - -“For God’s sake don’t!” exclaimed Don Paco. “They might shoot.” - -The voice, louder and more threatening than before, shouted again: - -“Halt, in the name of the _guardia civil_!” - -“We are halted,” stammered Don Paco, trembling. - -“Advance.” - -They approached the spot where they had heard the voices; one of the -guards, after looking at them closely, said: - -“What are you doing here at this time of night?” - -“This gentleman,” said Quentin, “has been called to a farmhouse to bleed -a sick man.” - -“Is he a blood-letter?” - -“I’m a doctor,” said Don Paco. - -“What are you?” - -“I’m his assistant.” - -“Why didn’t you answer us immediately?” - -“On account of the effect you had on us,” said Quentin slyly. - -“Well, you’re lucky to be let off,” remarked the guard. - -“Why, what’s the matter?” asked Quentin. - -“Pacheco has been about these nights.” - -Don Paco began to tremble like a leaf. - -“Well, we must go and bleed that sick man,” said Quentin. “Adiós, -Señores.” - -“Good night.” - -They went around the wall, and suddenly Don Paco came to a determined -halt. - -“No; I’m not going!” he exclaimed. - -“What’s the matter with you?” - -“It is very imprudent for us to go and see Pacheco,” the old man -stammered. “We shall discredit the cause.” - -“You might have thought of that before.” - -“Well, I’m not going.” - -“Very well; I shall go alone.” - -“No, no.... Ah, my God!” - -“Are you ill, Don Paco?” - -“Yes; I believe I’ve taken cold--” replied the terrible revolutionist in -a trembling voice. “Furthermore, I do not see the necessity of visiting -Pacheco at this time of night.” - -“Then I’ll go if you wish.” - -“What’s the use?” added the old man insinuatingly. “Everybody will think -that we went to see Pacheco. Neither of us need deny the fact; so why -should we go now and expose ourselves to a serious danger? Besides, it’s -a cold night, and cold is not healthy.” - -“But we have an appointment with Pacheco.” - -“What difference does that make?” - -“Then there is still another reason,” continued Quentin. - -“What is it?” - -“If we go back now, and the guards see us, they’ll get suspicious.” - -“Then what shall we do?” - -“I think the best thing to do is to go ahead.” - -Don Paco sighed, and very reluctantly followed after Quentin. The moon -was climbing higher in the sky. The old man walked along profoundly -disheartened. After half an hour had elapsed, he said: - -“Now we can go back.” - -“What for? We’ve only a little farther to go.” - -A moment later they left the road and approached the house. Quentin -thrust his fingers into his mouth and whistled shrilly. - -“They’re coming,” said Don Paco, trembling. - -In a few seconds, they heard another whistle. Quentin went to the door -of the house; at the same time, a small window was opened, and Pacheco -said in a low voice: - -“Is that you, Quentin?” - -“Yes.” - -“I’ll be right down.” - -The door opened noiselessly, and Don Paco and Quentin entered a dark -vestibule. - -“This way,” said Pacheco’s voice. - -“Why don’t you light a lamp?” asked Don Paco. - -“Light can be seen at a distance.” - -They crossed the vestibule and entered a kitchen illuminated by a lamp. - -“Be seated, gentlemen,” said the bandit. He closed the kitchen door, and -threw an armful of dried branches upon the fire. “It’s a cold night,” he -added. - -Don Paco and Quentin sat down, and the latter began to speak: - -“This gentleman,” he said, “is Don Paco Sánchez Olmillo, who, as you -know, is one of the members of the Revolutionary Junta and Chief of the -Patrician Lodge.” - -“No, not Chief,” Don Paco interrupted. “The Masons have no chiefs.” - -“We won’t discuss the use of words now; the idea is to come to an -understanding. This gentleman, and other members of the Junta, have -thought that you, comrade, could help them start a movement, and wish to -get into touch with you.” - -“The fact is,” said Don Paco, who believed that Quentin was compromising -him a bit too much, “that I have no power--” - -“It’s not a question of legal power, nor of lawyers,” replied Quentin. -“With us, one’s word is sufficient.” - -“It’s absolute, comrade,” added Pacheco. - -“Don Paco, you wished to know if Pacheco could organize the movement, -did you not?” - -“Yes; that is it essentially.” - -“Very well; now you know, Pacheco. Kindly tell us if you can undertake -the work, and under what conditions.” - -“See here, Quentin,” said the bandit, “you already know my ideas, and -that I am more liberal than Riego. I don’t want a thing for helping -along the Revolution: no money, nor any kind of a reward; I’m not going -to haggle over that. What I do want is, that they will not do me a bad -turn. Because those Junta fellows, and I don’t mean this gentleman, are -capable of ’most any thing. I’ll go to Cordova and see what people I can -count on, and I’ll do all the work there is to do; but under one -condition; and that is, that all those gentlemen of the Junta will -guarantee that the police will not interfere with me. That is to say, I -don’t mind exposing myself to being shot, but I don’t want to get shot -in the belt for nothing.” - -“I have no authority--” said Don Paco, “nor the attributes....” - -“You will have to take that up with the Junta,” said Quentin. “Why don’t -you go, comrade?” - -“No; I’m not going to Cordova.” - -“Why not?” - -“Because I’m afraid that they have sold me, and it wouldn’t go well with -the man who did it.” - -“A couple of guards stopped us yonder, and told us that they were -waiting for you,” said Quentin. - -“Where?” - -“Near the Cementerio de la Salud.” - -“Well, let ’em squat,” said Pacheco, “but let us get at what we are -going to do. Comrade, if you will do me the favour of seeing those Junta -fellows and speaking to them, you can tell them exactly what I want. If -they accept, tell El Cuervo; he’ll see to it that I receive the answer, -and the next day I’ll be in Cordova.” - -“Then, there’s nothing more to say.” - -The three men rose to their feet. - -“Well, let’s be going, Don Paco,” said Quentin. - -“Man alive, wouldn’t it be better for us to stay here all night?” - -“As you wish.” - -“Are there any beds here?” - -“I should say not!” - -“I sleep in the strawloft,” said Pacheco. “I’ll go with you, if you -wish.” - -Don Paco hesitated between going over the road again, and passing a bad -night, and chose the latter. - -“Let us go to the strawloft.” - -Pacheco took a lantern, opened the kitchen door, traversed a patio, then -another, and mounting a staircase, came to a hole; it was the strawloft. - -“Stretch out,” said Pacheco; “tomorrow, day will break, and the one-eyed -man will see his asparagus. Good night!” - -Quentin removed his boots, and in a little while was fast asleep. - -In the morning a loud voice awoke him. - -“Muleteers! Day’s dawning!” - -Quentin sat up; the sun was pouring through the cracks in the loft; -cocks were crowing. Pacheco had gone. Don Paco, seated on the straw, -with a coloured handkerchief on his head, was groaning. - -“What a night! My God, what a night!” Quentin heard him say. - -“What! Didn’t you sleep, Don Paco?” - -“Not a minute. But you slept like a log.” - -“Well, let’s be going.” - -They got up, and picked the straw off their clothes, like feathers from -a goose. - -They left the farm. It was a superb day. When they drew near the -Cementerio de la Salud, they descended to the river, and traversing the -Alameda del Corregidor, between the Seminary and the Arabian mill, they -came out at the bridge gate. - -“This afternoon at the Casino,” said Don Paco, who once within the city -was beginning to regain his presence of mind. - -“At what time?” - -“At dusk.” - -“I’ll be there.” - -“Now you see what one does for one’s ideas,” said Don Paco in the -Casino. “One sacrifices one’s self for the Revolution, and for the -Country; one faces the odium of the Moderates for years and years; one -exposes one’s self to all the dangers imaginable; and even then they do -not count one among the founders. They speak of Olózaga, of Sagasta.... -I tell you it is an outrage.” - -“Hello, Don Paco,” greeted Quentin. “Are you all rested from your bad -night?” - -“Yes. Let us interview those men.” - -“Whenever you wish.” - -“Let us go now.” - -“Where do we have to go?” - -“To the house of the Count of Doña Mencia. The Junta is meeting there.” - -The Count lived in one of the central streets of Cordova. They entered -the vestibule and rang. A servant opened the gate and accompanied them -to the main floor, to a large hall with a panelled ceiling, and -illuminated by two wax candles. On the walls were highly polished -portraits, in enormous, heavily carved frames. A young man with a black -beard greeted Don Paco and Quentin, and conducted them into an office -where eight or ten persons were seated. - -These men did not interrupt their conversation at the entrance of the -new comers, but went on talking: the Revolution was spreading throughout -all Andalusia; the Revolutionary troops were marching on Cordova.... - -Don Paco heard this news, and then spoke to one of the gentlemen about -his conversation with Pacheco. This gentleman came up to Quentin and -said: - -“Tell Pacheco that he can rest easy as far as I am concerned. I shall do -all in my power to keep them from apprehending him.” - -“Do you hear what the Count of Doña Mencia says?” Don Paco asked -Quentin. - -“Yes, but it is not enough,” replied Quentin, who felt profoundly -irritated upon hearing that name. “I went to see Pacheco because Don -Paco told me that he could be useful to you in organizing the people. -Whether or not my friend has power, I do not know; what I do know is -this, that Pacheco, in order to come to Cordova, makes the condition -that you gentlemen must give your word that he will not be arrested, and -that they will play no tricks on him. Now you may find out whether that -suits you or not.” - -The violent tone employed by Quentin surprised the gentlemen of the -Junta; some of them protested, but the Count went over to the -protestants and spoke to them in a low voice. They discussed Pacheco’s -proposition; some said that such complicity with a bandit was -dishonourable; others were merely concerned with whether he would be -useful or not. Finally they made up their minds, and one of them came up -to Quentin and said: - -“You may tell your friend,” and the man emphasized the word, “that he -will not be molested in Cordova.” - -“Do you all hold yourselves responsible for him?” - -“Yes.” - -“Very well. Good afternoon.” - -Quentin inclined his head slightly, left the office, crossed the hall, -and went into the street. He made his way to El Cuervo’s tavern, where -he told the landlord to let Señor José know that he could come to -Cordova with absolute safety. - - - - -CHAPTER XXX - -PROJECTS - - -It was very convenient for Quentin to have Pacheco in Cordova. The -latter carried on the conspiracy as smoothly as silk; he had come to an -understanding with the secretary of the Count of Doña Mencia, who was -expecting to contribute the money realized from a sale of some -Government bonds in Madrid. It was also convenient for Quentin to have -Pacheco agitate the people; if the agitation was successful, he would -profit by it; if not, he would peacefully retire. - -Some days later, Quentin had not yet arisen when Pacheco presented -himself at his house. María Lucena’s mother opened the door and -conducted him into the bedroom. - -“Don’t get up,” said Pacheco. “Stay right in bed.” - -“What’s doing? What brings you here?” - -“I came this early because I did not want to meet any one in the -streets; it might prove to be a provocation. I talked with one of the -members of the Junta, and he assured me again that I have no need to be -afraid, that they will not arrest me; then he asked me if I had any -plan, any project, and I told him that I couldn’t explain as yet. -Understand? Now the result is that some of them think that I have the -Revolution all prepared.” - -“That’s funny,” said Quentin. - -“What shall I do?” - -“The first thing you ought to do, is to get that money from the Count.” - -“They are going to give it to me this week.” - -“Good; then go on buying arms and organizing a following.” - -“Right in Cordova?” - -“Yes; but without showing yourself in the streets; let every man stay in -his house. We must figure out our strength, and wait for the proper -opportunity.” - -“And then--” - -“Then, circumstances will tell us what to do. If it suits us to start a -row now, why we’ll start it; if we have to shoot a few guns in the -streets tomorrow, why, we’ll shoot them. Nobody knows what may happen. -The troops are out there on the bridge, and messages and letters and -packages come and go. The idea in the city is to be strong, and to keep -hidden.” - -“So I must go ahead and recruit?” - -“Of course.” - -“All right. I’m living outside of the town now, in a hut on the Campo de -la Verdad; you see I don’t like to stay in the city.” - -“You have done well.” - -“The house faces the river, and has a horseshoe over the vestibule. Come -and see me tomorrow.” - -“At what time?” - -“In the afternoon.” - -“I’ll be there.” - -During the subsequent days, Quentin went every afternoon to Pacheco’s -house in the Campo de la Verdad; sat down in a cloth-bottomed -rocking-chair; put his feet on the window sill, and smoked his pipe. - -He listened to the conversation, and gazed indifferently at the town. - -Through his half-closed eyes he saw the half-ruined gate of the bridge; -beyond, and above it, rose the grey walls of the Mosque, with their -serrated battlements; above these walls hung the dark cupola of the -cathedral, and the graceful tower rose glistening in the sun, with the -angel on its peak inlayed in the huge sapphire of the sky. - -On one side of the bridge, the Alcázar garden displayed its tall, dark -cypresses, and its short shrub-like orange trees; then the Roman Wall, -grey, spotted with the dusty green of parasite weeds, continued toward -the left, and stretched on, cut here and there by cubes of rock, as far -as the Cementerio de la Salud. - -On the other side, the houses of the Calle de la Ribera formed a -semi-circle, following the horseshoe bend of the river, which flowed on -as though trying to undermine the town. - -These houses, which were reflected in the surface of the river--a -serpent of ever changing colour--were small, grey, and crooked. Upon -their walls, which were continuously calcined by the sun, grew -dark-coloured ivy; between their garden walls blossomed prickly pears -with huge intertwined and pulpy leaves; and from their patios and -corrals peeped the cup-shaped tops of cypress trees and the branches of -silver-leafed fig trees. - -Their roofs were grey, dirty, heaped one above the other; with azoteas, -look-outs, and little towers; a growth of hedge mustard converted some -of them into green meadows. - -Beyond these houses the broken line of the roofs of the town was -silhouetted against the crystal blue sky. This line was interrupted -here and there by a tower, and reached as far as the river, where it -ended in a few blue and rose houses near the Martos mill. - -Some bell or other was clanging almost continuously. Quentin listened to -them sleepily and drowsily, watching the hazy sky, and the river of -ever-changing colour. - -Pacheco’s house had a room with a window that looked out on the other -side: upon a little square where a few tramps peacefully sunned -themselves. - -Among them was one who interested Quentin. This fellow wore a red -kerchief on his head, side-burns that reached the tips of his ears, and -a large, ragged sash. He used to sit on a stone bench, and, his face -resting in his hand, would study the actions and movements of a cock -with flame-coloured plumage. - -This observer of the cock was at the same time the pedagogue of the -feathered biped, which must have had its serious difficulties, to judge -by the reflective attitude which the man struck at times. - -Quentin listened to what they said in the meetings that went on about -him. - -How far away his thoughts were in some instances! From time to time, -Pacheco, or one of the conspirators put a question to him which he -answered mechanically. His silence was taken for reflection. - -Quentin excited the bandit’s self-esteem. He was waiting for the time -when they would get the Count’s money so that he could take his share -and skip off to Madrid. He did not wish this intention of his to become -known, so he gave the bandit to understand that he wanted the money for -revolutionary purposes only. - -Every day Quentin played at the Casino and lost. He had bad luck. He had -become tied up with money-lenders and was signing I. O. U.’s at eighty -percent, with the healthy intention of never paying them. - -After conferring with all the rowdies that came to see him, Pacheco -consulted with Quentin. The bandit had romantic aspirations; at night he -read books which narrated the stories of great battles; this stirred him -up, and made him believe that he was a man born for a great purpose. - -“Do you know what I’ve been thinking?” Pacheco said one afternoon to -Quentin. - -“What?” - -“That if I have my people organized beforehand in order to win the -battle of Alcolea, I shall become master of the town.” - -“Don’t be foolish,” Quentin told him. “You aren’t strong enough for -that.” - -“No? You’ll see. I have more followers in the city than you think I -have.” - -“But you have no arms.” - -“Wait until the Count’s money comes--it won’t be long now.” - -“Are you going to oppose the troops?” - -“The troops will join us.” - -“Then what? What are you going to do then?” - -“If I win,--proclaim the Republic.” - -Quentin looked closely at Pacheco. - -“The poor man,” he thought, “he has gone mad with the idea of -greatness.” - -At this moment El Taco, a corrupt individual who had been made Pacheco’s -lieutenant, came in to say that some men were waiting for him below. - -“I’ll be back,” said the bandit. - -Quentin was left alone. - -“That chap is going to do something foolish,” he murmured, “and the -worst of it is, he’s going to break up my combination. I mustn’t leave -him alone for a minute until I get hold of that money. Suppose he keeps -it here, and then they shoot him in the street? Good-bye cash! How does -one prove that money belongs to one? I could ask him for a key to this -room, but he might get suspicious, and I don’t want him to do that. -Let’s have a look at that key.” - -Quentin went to the door; the key was small, and the lock new; doubtless -Pacheco himself had put it on. - -“I’ve got to take an impression of it,” said Quentin to himself. - -The next day he presented himself at Pacheco’s house with two pieces of -white wax in his pocket. He listened to the discussions and intrigues of -the conspirators as usual, stretched out in his armchair. When he -noticed that they were about to go, he said to the bandit: - -“By the way, comrade, let me have a little paper and ink, I want to do a -little writing.” - -“All right; here you are. We’re going to El Cuervo’s tavern. We’ll wait -for you there.” - -Quentin sat down and made a pretence at writing, but noticed that some -one had stayed behind. It was El Taco. He went on writing meaningless -words, but El Taco still remained in the room. Annoyed and impatient, -Quentin got up. - -“I’ve forgotten my tobacco,” he said; “is there a shop near here?” - -“Yes, right near.” - -“I’m going to buy a box.” - -“I’ll bring you one.” - -“Good.” Quentin produced a peseta and gave it to El Taco. The moment -the man had left the room, he kneaded the wax between his fingers until -he had softened it, took out the key, and made the impression. He was -softening the other piece of wax, in case the first had come out badly, -when he heard El Taco’s footsteps skipping up the stairs. Quentin -quickly inserted the key in the lock and sat down at the table. He went -on pretending to write, thrust the paper in the envelope, and left the -house. El Taco locked the door. - -“Let’s go to El Cuervo’s tavern,” said Quentin. - -They crossed the bridge and entered the tavern. - -There they found, seated in a group, Cornejo, now recovered from his -beating, Currito Martín, Carrahola, El Rano, two or three unknown men, -and a ferocious individual whom they called El Ahorcado (The Hanged -Man), because, strange as it may seem, he had been officially hung by an -executioner. This man had a terrible history. Years ago, he had been the -proprietor of a store near Despeñaperros. One night a man, apparently -wealthy, came into the store. El Ahorcado and his wife murdered the -traveller to rob him, only to discover that their victim was their own -son, who had gone to America in his childhood, and there enriched -himself. Condemned to death, El Ahorcado went to the gallows; but the -apparatus of the executioner failed to work in the orthodox manner, and -he was pardoned. He was sent to Ceuta where he completed his sentence, -and then returned to Cordova. - -El Ahorcado had the names of those in his district who were affiliated -with Pacheco, and he read them by placing one hand on his throat--the -only way in which he could emit sounds. - -“Now then, let’s have the list,” said Pacheco. - -El Ahorcado began to read. - -“Argote.” - -“He’s a good one: a man with hair on his chest,” commented Currito. - -“Matute, El Mochuelo, Pata al Hombro,” continued El Ahorcado, “El -Mocarro.” - -“He’s got the biggest nose in Cordova,” interrupted Currito, “and has to -wipe it on his muffler, because handkerchiefs aren’t big enough.” - -Thus the list of names went on, with Currito’s responding commentary. - -“El Penducho.” - -“Good fellow.” - -“Cuco Pavo, El Cimborrio.” - -“There’s a man who cleans his face with a used stocking, and dirties the -stocking by doing it.” - -“Malpicones, Ojancos.” - -“He’s a money-lender who loans at a thousand percent.” - -“Muñequitas, La Madamita.” - -“They’re from Benamejí.” - -“They just got out of the Carraca prison,” said El Rano. - -“El Poyato.” - -“Now we’re coming to the sweepings,” interrupted Currito. - -“Don’t you believe it,” replied El Ahorcado, “El Poyato is no frog; and -even if the wheat does hit him in the chest when he walks through the -fields, he is a very brave man.” - -“That’s right,” said Carrahola, defending a small man from a sense of -comradeship. - -“Boca Muerta,” continued El Ahorcado. “El Zurrio, Cantarote, Once -Dedos.” - -“That chap has one arm longer than the other, and an extra finger on -it,” said Currito. - -“Ramos Léchuga.” - -“He’s a great big good-for-nothing,” said one. - -“And very soft mouthed,” replied another. - -“What about women?” asked Pacheco. - -“They are put down on this other paper,” answered El Ahorcado. “La -Canasta, La Bardesa, La Cachumba....” - -“There’s a fine bunch of old aunties for you,” said Currito with a -laugh. - -“La Cometa, La Saltacharcos, La Chirivicha....” - -“That’s very good,” said Pacheco. “Within three days you may come here -and get your money.” - -Quentin understood by this that the bandit was sure of getting hold of -the money by that time. He left the tavern, and inquired at the Lodge -for Diagasio’s hardware shop. It was in a street near La Corredera. He -called on the long-handed individual, and, taking him into a corner very -mysteriously, told him what he wanted. - -“I’ll give you the key tomorrow in the Lodge.” - -Quentin pressed the hardware merchant’s hand, and went home. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI - -NIGHT AND DAY - - -Two evenings later, Quentin was in the Café del Recreo. His streak of -bad luck at the Casino continued. María Lucena was talking to Springer: -Quentin was smoking, and thoughtfully contemplating the ceiling. Very -much bored, he rose to his feet, with the intention of going to bed. - -In the street he met the clerk, Diego Palomares, who was going in the -same direction. - -“What’s doing, Palomares?” he said. - -“Nothing. I’m living a dull and stupid life.” - -“I too.” - -“You? What you have done is to understand life as few people can. While -I....” - -“Why, what’s the matter with you?” - -“You are a revolutionist, aren’t you?” said Palomares. “Well, if you -ever take up arms against the rich, call on me. I’ll go with all my -heart, even to the extent of making them cough up their livers. There -are nothing but rich men and poor men in this world, say what you will -of your Progressists and Moderates. Ah! The blackguards!” - -“Have they done anything to you at the store?” - -“Not just now; but they have been for many years. Twenty years working -as if it were my own business, and helping them to get rich; they in -opulence, and me with thirty dollars a month. And that man, just -because he saw me take home a chicken to my sick girl, said to me: ‘I -see that you are living like a prince.’ Curse him! Would to God he had -sunk in the ocean!” - -Palomares had been drinking, and with the excitement of the alcohol, he -exposed the very depths of his soul. - -“You are terrible,” said Quentin. - -“You think I’m a coward! No; I have a wife and three small children ... -and I’m already decrepit.... Believe me, we should unite against them, -and wish them death. Yes sir! Here’s what I say: the coachman should -overturn his master’s carriage, the labourer should burn the crops, the -shepherd should drive his flock over a precipice, the clerk should rob -his employer--even the wet nurses should poison their milk.” - -“You’re all twisted, Palomares.” - -“Why do you say that?” - -“Because I thought you were a sheep, and you are almost, almost a wolf.” - -“Why, there are some days when I would like to set fire to the whole -town. Then I’d stay outside with a gun and shoot anybody who tried to -escape.” - -“The tortoise will get there,” remarked Quentin. - -He said good-bye to Palomares, and went home. As he opened the door and -stepped into the entryway, he heard some one weeping sadly. Attracted by -the wails, he went through the corridor, crossed a patio, and asked in a -loud voice: - -“What’s the matter?” - -A door opened, and a weeping woman with disheveled hair came out with a -lamp in her hand. In a voice choked with sobs, she told Quentin that her -two-year-old son had died, that her husband was not in town, and that -she had no money with which to buy a casket. - -“Would you like to see the boy, Señorito?” - -Quentin entered a small whitewashed room; the boy’s body lay on a -mattress across the table. - -“How much do you need to bury him?” asked Quentin. - -“A couple of dollars.” - -“I’ll see if I have them. If not, we’ll pawn something from my house.” - -Quentin went back through the patio followed by the woman; and the two -climbed up to the main floor. Quentin lit the lamp, and went through all -the drawers. He found four dollars in María Lucena’s bureau, and gave -them to the woman. This done, he closed the door and got into bed.... -The voices of María Lucena and her mother awakened him. - -“There were four dollars here,” cried the actress. “Who took them?” - -“I took them,” said Quentin calmly. - -“Eh?” - -“Yes. One of our neighbours was crying because her baby boy had died and -she could not buy him a casket; so I gave them to her. I’ll return them -to you tomorrow.” - -“That’s it. That’s fine,” said the actress. “Give that woman the money I -earn.” - -“Am I not telling you that I will return them to you?” - -“Little that woman cares for her baby,” screamed María. - -“She’s probably buying drinks with the money by this time,” added her -mother. - -“Señoras,” said Quentin, sitting up in bed, “I find you absolutely -repulsive.” - -“You are the one who is repulsive,” screeched the old woman. - -“Very well; the thing to do now is to get out of this den of harpies; -they are beginning to smell.” - -“Well, son; get out, and never come back,” cried María. - -Quentin dressed rapidly, and put on his boots and his hat. - -“Well; give me the key.” - -“I give the key to no one,” rejoined the actress. - -“See here, don’t you exhaust my patience, or I’ll give you a thumping.” - -When the old woman heard this, thrusting her face close to Quentin’s, -she began to insult him, shaking her hands in his face. - -“Rowdy!” she said, “you’re an indecent rowdy. A fandango-dancing rowdy!” - -“Hush, ancient Canidia,” said Quentin, pushing the old woman away from -him, “and get you gone to your laboratory.” - -“Don’t you call my mother names; do you hear?” - -“Nobody can call me names.” - -“Well: will you give me the key or won’t you?” asked Quentin. - -“No.” - -Quentin went to the balcony window and opened it wide. He jumped to the -other side of the railing, hung by his wrists, felt for the grated -window of the floor below, and dropped to the sidewalk. - -“Until--never!” he called from the street. - -He had blood on his cheek from one of the old woman’s scratches. He -washed at a fountain, dried himself on his handkerchief, and went to the -Casino. He went through a door on the right, and entered a large salon -which was lined with enormous mirrors. - -A sleepy waiter approached him. - -“Do you wish something, Don Quentin?” he asked. - -“Yes; put out that light as if there were no one here.” - -“Are you going to stay here?” - -“Yes.” - -“But that is not allowed.” - -“Bah! What’s the difference?” - -The lights were put out, and, after a little, Quentin fell asleep on the -divan. - -Two waiters in coarse, white aprons awoke Quentin. One was placing the -chairs upon the tables, and the other was cleaning the divans with a mop -and brush. - -“Have you been asleep, Señorito?” said one of them with a laugh. - -“Yes; what time is it?” - -“Very early. Do you know that there is a great hub-bub in the streets?” - -“What is happening?” - -“Pacheco has entered Cordova with a gang of toughs, and they are all -running through these God-forsaken streets yelling and rioting.” - -Quentin jumped up. There was a bucket of water on the floor. - -“Is it clean?” he asked the waiters. - -“Yes.” - -Quentin kneeled on the floor and ducked himself twice. The waiters -laughed, thinking that it was all from the effects of a convivial -evening. - -“Now my head is clear,” said Quentin. - -“I’ll bring you a towel,” announced one of the boys. Quentin dried -himself, and went into the street. - -He walked rapidly toward Las Tendillas, where he found great excitement, -and heard all sorts of comments and gossip. He asked a man where Pacheco -was. - -“He’s near the Plaza de la Trinidad now.” - -Quentin ran on, opening a path through the crowd with his elbows. - -“The man is an idiot,” he thought. “Could he have imagined that he was -really going to head the Revolution?” - -After a hard struggle, Quentin could see two horsemen riding at the head -of the rabble. One of them was Pacheco; the other was his brother. - -“Long live Liberty! Long live the Revolution!” shouted the bandit, -waving his arm. - -The crowd echoed his cry with enthusiasm, and added: - -“Long live the second Prim! Long live General Pacheco!” - -“Why, the man is crazy,” murmured Quentin. “I wonder if he’s got the -money yet?” Then he thought--“Suppose he has it with him? He’s fixed me -if he has.” - -Quentin continued to advance, digging right and left with his elbows, in -order to get near enough to speak with Pacheco. Suddenly he heard the -sound of a shot, and immediately after, almost instantaneously, another; -a bit of smoke came from one of the screened windows of the Trinidad -barracks. - -The crowd drew back, terrified; people began to run pell-mell, and in -the alleyways the noise made by the heels of those who fled sounded like -a squadron of horses at a gallop. Quentin was forced to take refuge in a -doorway in order to keep from being trampled. Several other persons -also pushed their way into the same place. - -“What happened?” they asked one another. - -“They are beginning to shoot, and there’s a great rumpus yonder.” - -Another who had just arrived, said: - -“They’ve killed Pacheco.” - -“Did you see it?” asked Quentin. - -“Sí, Señor. I was going by without knowing what was up, when I saw -Pacheco fall. His brother jumped from his horse, leaned over the corpse, -and said, weeping: ‘He is dead.’” - -Quentin went into the street. - -“If that fellow had the money in his pocket, there is no way of getting -it. I’ll have to explain where it came from.... But if it is still at -his house?--_Cristo!_ I mustn’t waste any time.” - -He reached the Gran Capitán in a hurry, and took a carriage. “To the -Mosque,” he said, “and hurry.” The coachman left him at one of the doors -of the cathedral. - -“Wait for me,” Quentin instructed him, “I shall be some time.” He jumped -from the carriage, went through the church, rushed like a cannon ball -through the Patio de los Naranjos, went down by the Triunfo Column, -crossed the bridge, and entered Pacheco’s house. He took out the key -which Diagasio, the Mason, had made for him, and opened the door. - -The bed was untouched; he looked through the little night stand, and -found nothing; then he went to the table, took out his penknife and -removed the lock from the drawer. Upon some books lay a Russian leather -pocketbook, tied with a ribbon. He opened it; there were the bills. He -did not count them. - -“I am the favourite of Chance,” said he, smiling. - -He closed the door, crossed the bridge, and threw the key into the -river. The news evidently had not reached that part of the city, for the -people were quiet, and there were no gossiping groups. Quentin went up -by the Triunfo, again traversed the Patio de los Naranjos, then the -church, and got into the carriage. - -“To the Gran Capitán,” he said. - -By this time the news was spread all over the city; the old wives were -shouting it to each other from door to door, and from window to window. - -“Where can I leave this money with safety?” Quentin asked himself. - -Whomever he trusted would be apt to ask indiscreet questions. His -stepfather? Impossible. Palomares, perhaps? But Palomares, in his -indignation against the rich, would be likely to keep the money. Señora -Patrocinio? She would probably be angry at him. Springer? He was the -best. - -“I’ll go to his house,” he thought; and he gave the coachman the address -of the Swiss watch-maker. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII - -THE CITY OF THE DISCREET - - -Springer was somewhat taken aback when he saw Quentin enter his store, -and he rose to his feet and said, turning a trifle pale: - -“I can imagine why you have come.” - -“You can? It would be rather hard. But first do me the favour of giving -me a few pesetas with which to pay the coachman.” - -The Swiss opened a drawer and gave him two dollars. Quentin paid the -coachman, and returned to the watch store. - -“Boy,” he said to his friend, “I came here because you are the only -trustworthy person I know.” - -“Thanks,” said Springer sourly. - -“I would like you to keep a large amount of money for me,” continued -Quentin as he held out the pocketbook. - -“How much is it?” - -“I don’t know, I’m going to see.” - -Quentin opened the purse and began counting the bills. - -“Before you place this trust in me,” said the Swiss with the air of a -man making a violent decision, “I have something to tell you--as a loyal -friend. Something that may annoy you.” - -“What is it?” asked Quentin, fearing that the low trick he had played -on the Count of Doña Mencia had become known in the city. - -“María Lucena and I have come to an understanding--I cannot deceive a -true friend like you....” - -Quentin gazed in astonishment at the Swiss, and seeing him so affected, -felt like bursting into laughter; but laughter seemed improper under the -circumstances. - -“I’m glad you told me,” he said gravely. “I was thinking of leaving -Cordova, and now, knowing this, I shall go as soon as possible.” - -“And it will not cool your friendship?” - -“Not in the least.” - -Springer affectionately pressed his friend’s hand. - -“Well, will you keep this money for me?” - -“Yes; give it to me.” - -The Swiss placed the bills in an envelope. - -“What must I do with it?” - -“I’ll let you know; I shall probably tell you to send it to me in Madrid -in various quantities.” - -“Good; it shall be done.” - -The Swiss climbed the spiral staircase that went from the back room to -the main floor, and returned presently, saying: - -“I’ve put it away.” - -They were chatting together, when Springer’s father entered hurriedly. - -“There’s a riot in the town,” he announced from the door. - -“Is there? What is going on?” - -“They have killed a bandit ... Pacheco, I think they told me his name -was.” - -“Your friend. Did you know it?” the Swiss asked Quentin. - -“No,” he answered calmly. “He must have done something foolish.” - -“Let’s ask about it in the streets.” - -The father and son and Quentin went out to Las Tendillas. They passed -from group to group, listening to the comments, and at one of them where -there seemed to be a well-informed gentleman, they stopped. - -“How did his death occur?” asked Springer’s father. - -“Well, like this. Pacheco entered by the bridge, and crossed the city -till he reached the barracks in the Plaza de la Trinidad, where it seems -that the General, when he noticed the riot and uproar, and when he heard -them shout ‘Long live General Pacheco!’ asked: ‘Who is that fellow they -call General? I’m the only General here. ‘It’s Pacheco,’ a lieutenant -answered. ‘The people are calling him a General of Liberty.’--‘The -bandit?’--‘Sí, Señor.’ Then the General, seeing that the crowd was -coming toward the barracks, ordered two soldiers to take their posts -with their guns sticking through the cracks in the shutters. When -Pacheco came opposite the barracks, he shouted several times: ‘Long live -Liberty! Long live the Revolution!’ instantly two shots rang out, and -the man fell from his horse, dead.” - -All listened to the story, and after it was finished there was a series -of remarks. - -“That was treachery,” said one. - -“A trap they set for him.” - -“They’ve wickedly deceived that man.” - -“Deceived him? Why?” Springer’s father asked of a man in a blouse who -had just made the assertion. - -“Because they had promised him a pardon,” replied he of the blouse. -“Everybody knows that.” - -“But promising a pardon, and entering the city the way he did--like a -conqueror--are two very different things,” rejoined the watch-maker. - -“This is going to make a big noise,” replied the man. - -They returned to the watch-maker’s shop, and as the other stores were -closed, the Swiss closed his also. - -“Would you like to dine with us?” said Springer to Quentin. - -“Indeed I should!” - -They climbed the spiral stairs to the floor above, and Springer -presented Quentin to his mother; a pleasant woman, thin, smiling, very -active and vivacious. - -They dined; after dinner, the three men lit their pipes, and Springer’s -father spoke enthusiastically of his home town. - -“My town is a great place,” he said to Quentin with a smile. - -“What is it?” - -“Zurich. Ah! If you could see it!...” - -“But father, he has seen Paris and London.” - -“Oh! That makes no difference. I’ve known many people from Paris and -Vienna who were astounded when they saw Zurich.” - -Springer’s father and mother, though they had been in Cordova for over -thirty years, did not speak Spanish very well. - -What a difference there was between that home, and the house where -Quentin had lived with María Lucena and her mother! Here there was no -talk of marquises, or counts, or actors, or toreadors, or ponies; their -only subjects of conversation were work, improvements in industry, art, -and music. - -“So you are leaving us?” asked Springer’s father. - -“Yes. This place is dead,” replied Quentin. - -“No, no--not that,” replied the younger Springer. “It isn’t dead; -Cordova is merely asleep. All the kings have punished it. Its natural, -its own civilization has been suppressed, and they have endeavoured to -substitute another for it. And even to think that a town can go on -living prosperously with ideas contrary to its own, and under laws -contrary to its customs and instincts, is an outrage.” - -“My dear lad,” rejoined Quentin rather cynically, “I don’t care about -the cause for it all. What I know is that one cannot live here.” - -“That is the truth,” asserted the older Springer. “One can attempt -nothing new here, because it will turn out badly. No one does his part -in throwing off this inertia. No one works.” - -“Don’t say that, father.” - -“What your father says, is right,” continued Quentin “and not only is -that true, but the activity of the few who do work, annoys and often -offends those who do nothing. For instance: I, who have done nothing so -far but live like a rowdy, have friends and even admirers. If I had -devoted myself to work, everybody would look upon me as a -good-for-nothing, and from time to time, secretly, they would place a -stone in my way for me to stumble over.” - -“No, it would not be a stone,” said Springer, “it would be a grain of -sand.” - -“Still more outrageous,” rejoined Quentin. - -“No,” added his friend, “because it would not be done with malice. These -people, like nearly all Spaniards, are living an archaic life. Every one -here is surrounded by an enormous cloud of difficulties. The people are -all dead, and their brains are not working. Spain is a body suffering -from anchylosis of the joints; the slightest movement causes great pain; -consequently, in order to progress, she will have to proceed -slowly,--not by leaps.” - -“But among all this rabble of lawyers and soldiers and priests and -pawn-brokers, do you believe there is one person who is the least bit -sane?” asked Quentin. - -“I think not,” the father broke in. “There are no elements of progress -here; there are no men who are pushing on, as there are in my country.” - -“I think there are,” replied his son; “but those who are, and they stand -alone, end by not seeing the reality of things, and even turn -pernicious. It is as if in our shop here, we found the wheel of a tower -clock among the wheels of pocket watches. It would be no good at all to -us; it would not be able to fit in with any other wheel. Take the -Marquis of Adarve, who was a good and intelligent man; well, now he -passes for a half-wit, and he is, partly--because as a reaction against -the others, he reached the other extreme. He carries an automatic -umbrella, a mechanical cigar-case, and a lot of other rare trifles. The -people call him a madman.” - -“All you have to be here,” said the older Springer, “is either a farmer -or a money-lender.” - -“The vocations in which you don’t have to work,” Quentin asserted. “The -Spaniard’s ideal is: to work like a Moor, and to earn money like a Jew. -That is also my ideal,” he said for his own benefit. - -“As we were saying before,” added the younger Springer; “it is an -archaic life, directed by romantic, hidalguesque ideas....” - -“Ah, no!” replied Quentin. “You are absolutely wrong there. There is -none of your romance, nor of your hidalgos; it is prose, pure prose. -There is more romance in the head of one Englishman, than in the heads -of ten Spaniards, especially if those Spaniards are Andalusians. They -are very discreet, friend Springer; _we_ are very discreet, if you like -that better. A great deal of eloquence, a lot of enthusiastic and -impetuous talk, a great deal of flourish; a superficial aspect of -ingenuous and candid confusion; but back of it all, a sure, straight -line. Men and women;--most discreet. Believe me! There is exaltation -without, and coldness within.” - -It was time to work, and the two Springers went down to their shop. - -“Do you see?” said the Swiss to Quentin, as he sat in his chair and -fastened his lens to his eye, “perhaps you are right in what you say, -but I like to think otherwise. I am romantic, and like to imagine that I -am living among hidalgos and fine ladies.... There you have me--a poor -Swiss plebeian. And I am so accustomed to it, that when I go away from -Cordova, I immediately feel homesick for my shop, my books, and the -little concerts my mother and I have in which we play Beethoven and -Mozart.” - -Quentin gazed at Springer as at a strange and absurd being, and began to -walk up and down the store. Suddenly he paused before his friend. - -“Listen,” he said. “Do you think that I could deceive you, give you -disloyal advice through interest or evil passion?” - -“No; what do you mean by that?” - -“Don’t compromise yourself with María Lucena.” - -“Why?” - -“Because she is a perverse woman.” - -“That’s because you hate her.” - -“No; I know her because I have lived with her without the slightest -feeling of affection; and even so she was more selfish and cold than I -was. She is a woman who thinks she has a heart because she has sex. She -weeps, laughs, appears to be good, seems ingenuous: sex. Like some -lascivious and cruel animal, in her heart she hates the male. If you -approach her candidly, she will destroy your life, she will alienate you -from your father and mother, she will play with you most cruelly.” - -“Do you really believe that?” asked the Swiss. - -“Yes, it is the truth, the pure truth. Now,” Quentin added, “if you are -like a stone in a ravine, that can only fall, you will fall; but if you -can defend yourself, do so. And now--farewell!” - -“Farewell, Quentin; I shall think over what you have told me.” - - * * * * * - -Quentin put up at one of the inns on the Paseo del Gran Capitán. He -intended to leave the city as soon as he possibly could. - -Accordingly, that night after supper, he left the house and walked -toward the station; but as he crossed the Victoria, he noticed that four -persons were following him. He returned quickly, as he did not care to -enter any lonesome spots when followed by that gang, and took refuge in -the inn. - -Who could be following him? Perhaps it was Pacheco’s brother. Perhaps -one of his creditors. He must be on his guard. His room at the inn -happened to be in an admirably strategic situation. It was on the lower -floor, and had a grated window that looked out upon the Paseo. - -The next day Quentin was able to prove that Pacheco’s friends were -constantly watching the inn. Their number was frequently augmented by -the money-lenders who came to ask for Quentin. - -In the daytime, he did not mind going into the street, but when night -fell, he locked his room, and placed a wardrobe against the door. -Quentin was afraid that his last adventure might result fatally for him. - -“I’ve got to get out of here. There are no two ways about it; and I’ve -got to get out quietly.” - -One day after the battle of Alcolea, Quentin was being followed and -spied upon by Pacheco’s men, when as he passed the City Hall, Diagasio -the hardware dealer, who was standing in the doorway, said: - -“Don Paco is upstairs.” - -Quentin climbed the stairs, slipped through an open door, and beheld the -terrible Don Paco surrounded by several friends, up to his old tricks. - -The revolutionist had ordered the head porter to take down a portrait of -Isabella II, painted by Madrazo, which occupied the centre of one wall. -After heaping improprieties and insults upon the portrayed lady, much to -the astonishment and stupefaction of the poor porter, Don Paco had a -ferocious idea; an idea worthy of a drinker of blood. - -He produced a penknife from his vest pocket, and handing it to the -porter and pointing to the portrait, said: - -“Cut off her head.” - -“I?” stammered the porter. - -“Yes.” - -The poor man trembled at the idea of committing such a profanation. - -“But, for God’s sake, Don Paco! I have children!” - -“Cut off her head,” repeated the bold revolutionist contumaciously. - -“See here, Don Paco, they say that this portrait is very well painted.” - -“Impossible,” replied Don Paco, with a gesture worthy of Saint-Just. “It -was executed by a servile artist.” - -Then the porter, moaning and groaning, buried the penknife in the -canvas, and split it with a trembling hand. - -At that moment several persons entered the hall, among them Paul -Springer. - -“Are you playing surgeon, Don Paco?” asked the Swiss with a mocking -smile. - -“Sí, Señor; one must strike kings in the head.” - -After cutting the canvas, the porter took the piece in his hand, and -hesitatingly asked Don Paco: - -“Now what will I do with it?” - -“Take that head,” roared Don Paco in a harsh voice, “to the President of -the Revolutionary Junta.” - -Quentin looked at the Swiss and saw him smile ironically. - -“How do you like this execution in effigy of yonder chubby Marie -Antoinette?” - -“Magnificent.” - -“Just as I said. We are the City of the Discreet.” - -The two friends bid each other good-bye with a laugh, and Quentin went -home. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIII - -THE DEPARTURE - - -Quentin returned to the inn and shut himself up in his room. He wrote a -farewell article for _La Víbora_ entitled “And this is the End.” - -When night fell, he lit his lamp and sent for his supper. He ate in his -room to avoid any unpleasant encounters in the dining-room. - -With his supper, the waiter brought two letters. One, by the rudely -scrawled envelope, he saw was from Pacheco’s brother. It read as -follows: - - If you do not return the pocketbook you found in my brother’s - house, you will not leave Cordova alive. Don’t fool yourself; you - will not escape. Every exit is watched. You can leave the money in - El Cuervo’s tavern, where some one will go and get it. - - A FRIEND. - -“Very good,” said Quentin, “let’s see the other letter.” He opened it, -and it was still more laconic than the first. - - We know that you have money, and do not wish to pay. Be careful. - - VARIOUS CREDITORS. - -“Well, sir,” murmured Quentin, “a whole conspiracy of bandits and -money-lenders is plotting against me.” - -It suited neither him nor the others to have the law mixed up in the -affair. The cleverest, the strongest, or he who had the most cunning, -would gain the day. - -Quentin figured that he possessed those qualities to a greater degree -than his enemies; this thought calmed him a little, but in spite of it, -he could not sleep that night. - -When he got up, he looked, as was his daily habit, through the windows -of his room. Directly opposite, seated upon a bench, there were several -loathsome individuals spying on him. At that very moment others took -their places. Evidently there was a relief. - -After eating, Quentin left the inn. When he reached the corner of the -Calle de Gondomar, he looked cautiously behind him. Three men were -following him, though apparently unconcerned with his movements. Quentin -went down the street to Las Tendillas, turned to the left, entered the -Casino, and sat down to take his coffee near a window that looked out -upon the street. - -The three individuals continued their espionage. - -Quentin pretended not to see them. He seized several newspapers; and -while he appeared to be deeply engaged in reading them, he was thinking -up plans of escape and turning them over and over in his mind. The -important thing was to keep the law from interfering, that there might -be no scandal. - -Don Paco, who had come in to take coffee, surprised him in this -caviling. The man was oozing joy. The Revolution was made, the most -glorious, the most humane that the centuries had ever witnessed. The -entire world, the French, the English, the Swiss, the Germans;--all -envied the Spaniards. Spain was going to be a different sort of country. -Now, now, the great conquests of Progress and Democracy would be -realized: Universal Suffrage, Freedom of Worship, Freedom of -Association. - -“And do you believe that all that will make life any better?” asked -Quentin coldly. - -“Why, of course!” exclaimed Don Paco, astonished at the question. “I -tell you that the whole Progressist program is to be realized!” - -Quentin smiled mockingly. - -Don Paco continued his oration. His eternal sorrow was to see that after -what he had done for the Revolution, they did not appreciate his true -worth. - -While the old man discoursed, Quentin continued to ruminate on his -plans, and to absently watch his pursuers. Suddenly an idea occurred to -him. - -“Well, good afternoon, Don Paco!” he said; and without another word, he -rose from his chair and left the room. He crossed the patio of the -Casino, went up a stairway, asked a waiter for the key to the terrace, -waited for it a moment, and went out upon the azotea. He could escape in -that way, but there was still the danger of his exit from the city.... - -“Suppose I go to El Cuervo’s tavern and leave by the convent route?” he -said to himself. “That would be admirable. Place myself in the wolf’s -mouth to make my escape! That’s just what I’ll do. I’ll wait for it to -get dark first.” - -He went down to the salon again and took his place by the window. The -espionage still continued. Late in the afternoon, Carrahola and El Rano -passed along the street. - -Quentin went to the door of the Casino and called to Carrahola. - -“Do you mind telling me what this persecution means?” he said. - -“You know better than any one else, Don Quentin,” answered Carrahola. -“You are wrong not to return that money.” - -“Bah!” - -“Sí, Señor; that’s the truth. Everything is guarded; the station, the -roads,--you won’t leave Cordova unless you pay.” - -“Really?” asked Quentin apparently frightened. - -“You hear me. So you’d better hand over that money and not expose -yourself to a stab with a dagger.” - -“The devil! You very nearly convince me.” - -“Do it, Don Quentin.” - -“To whom shall I hand the money?” - -“To Pacheco, Señor José’s brother. He goes to El Cuervo’s tavern every -night about eight o’clock.” - -“I’ll think it over.” - -“Don’t stop to think, my friend! You ought to take that money back right -away.” - -“Well, you have persuaded me. I’ll go right away.” - -Quentin made his way to the inn, followed by Carrahola and El Rano. He -entered his room, closed the window, and lit the lamp. He still had in -his pocket the pocketbook that he had found in Pacheco’s house. He took -it out and placed it on the table. - -He opened the wardrobe, searched the drawers, and in one of them found -some copy paper written by a child, and in another a torn, and well-worn -catechism by Father Ripalda. - -He took the copy paper and the catechism, tied them together with a -pack-thread, and thrust the package into the pocketbook which he tied up -with another bit of thread. - -“Very good,” he murmured with a smile. - -This done, he put out the light, thrust the purse into his coat pocket, -and left the inn. He began to walk rapidly, as one who has made a quick -decision. He made his way to El Cuervo’s tavern, escorted by Carrahola -and El Rano. - -He looked into the office, and when he saw El Cuervo, exclaimed sourly: - -“Hello!” - -“Hello, Don Quentin!” - -“Is Pacheco’s brother here?” - -“No, Señor.” - -“What time will he come?” - -“Oh, somewhere around eight o’clock.” - -“Good. I have come to have an understanding with him, and I can’t make -up my mind whether to give him the money or a stab with a dagger. Look -here, here’s the pocketbook he’s looking for. Keep it. I’m going to wait -in here for Pacheco, because I have some letters to write.” - -“Go right upstairs.” - -Quentin and El Cuervo went upstairs to a room with a balcony overlooking -a patio. - -“I’ll bring you some paper and ink presently,” said the landlord. - -“Good. Until Pacheco comes, I do not wish to be disturbed by any one. Do -you understand?” - -“Very good.” - -“When he comes, call me, and he and I will come to an understanding. But -he must agree not to open the pocketbook until I am with him.” - -“Never fear.” - -The innkeeper went out and left Quentin alone in the room. He listened -for a moment and heard the gay voices of Carrahola and El Rano. -Evidently they were already celebrating their victory. - -“Come, there’s no time to be lost,” said Quentin. Climbing to the -outside of the balcony, which was not very high, and clinging to a water -pipe, he lowered himself to the patio. This he skirted, hugging close to -the wall. He pushed open the little door, closed it noiselessly behind -him, and began slowly to climb the stairs. The steps creaked beneath his -weight. - -When Quentin arrived at the top of the stairs, he saw that the door -through which he had once passed with El Cuervo, was locked. It had a -transom, which he opened, and with a superhuman effort, managed to -squeeze himself through, not without injuring one of his feet. He made a -slight noise as he jumped down. - -He listened for a while to see if any one were following him. He heard -nothing. He closed the transom. - -“Any one could tell where I went out,” he murmured. - -He lit a match which he held in the hollow of his hand until he found -the stairway made of beam ends sticking from the wall. When he had -located it, he blew out the match, and climbed to the attic in the dark. - -He lit another match and hunted for the aperture through which he and El -Cuervo had passed, but he could not find it. Looking more carefully, he -saw that it was fastened up by some boards held in place by bricks. He -tore these aside with his nails one by one then he removed the boards, -and the hole appeared. - -Quentin went out on the roof. It was still light. - -“Let’s get oriented,” he said to himself. “That’s the garret, which is -the first place to go.” - -Stooping on all fours, he slid along until he reached it. He paused to -get his bearings again. - -“Now I’ve got to cross that azotea where we abandoned Doña Sinda: it -must be that one. Here goes.” - -He went on his way, jumped the balustrade on one side, then on the -other, went a little further,--and turned the wrong way. He was -confused, not knowing which way to go: whether to the right or to the -left. It was beginning to get dark, and Quentin went around and around -fruitlessly, unable to find the cornice along which he had passed with -Pacheco. - -Suddenly he heard the _ding dong_ of a bell and supposing it to be that -of the convent, he followed the direction of the sound, climbed a ridge -pole, and saw beneath him the patio of a convent where several nuns were -walking to and fro. - -Quentin climbed down the whole side of a roof, found the cornice, and -reached the balcony on all fours. The little window was open, and he -jumped to the stairs. - -There was a little passageway opposite, on one side of which was an open -door that led into a kitchen. It was probably the gardener’s house; in -the middle of the kitchen, seated upon the floor, was a child playing. -Upon the wall hung a dirty blouse and an old hat. - -“At them!” cried Quentin. - -He entered the kitchen, seized the blouse with one hand and the hat with -the other, and beat a hasty retreat. The child was frightened and began -to cry. Quentin descended the stairs into the garden, and as no one was -looking, put on the blouse, stuck the hat on his head, and went out into -the street. - -He went through alley after alley in the direction of El Matadero and -the Campo de San Antón. As night fell, he was already well on his way to -Madrid. - - * * * * * - -Meanwhile in El Cuervo’s tavern, everything was excitement and merry -making. The news, divulged by Carrahola, that Quentin was there with -the money, had attracted all the ruffians who had taken part in -Pacheco’s chimerical attempt. They thought they would get paid for their -services, and El Cuervo trusted them for wine. - -They awaited impatiently the arrival of Pacheco, who was later than -usual that evening. At eight-thirty he appeared. - -“Pacheco! He’s come!” they all shouted at once when they saw him. - -“Who?” - -“Quentin. Here’s the pocketbook.” - -“Did you let him go without following him?” asked the man, fearing a -trick. - -“_Ca!_” replied El Cuervo. “He’s upstairs. He said not to open the -pocketbook until he was with you.” - -“All right,” and Pacheco turned pale. “Tell him I am here.” - -Pacheco knew from his brother what kind of a man Quentin was, and it -irked him. He expected a surprise, and prepared himself accordingly. - -El Cuervo went up to the room where he had left Quentin, and called -several times: - -“Don Quentin! Don Quentin!” - -No one answered. - -“Don Quentin! Don Quentin!” - -The same silence. - -El Cuervo gently opened the door. The bird had flown. But where? - -In response to El Cuervo’s cries, Pacheco, Carrahola, and El Taco, came -hurrying up the stairs. - -“What’s the matter?” they asked. - -“He’s not here.” - -“That’s what I thought!” exclaimed Pacheco. “What can be in the -pocketbook? Let’s look at it.” - -They descended rapidly, Pacheco cut the threads, opened the pocketbook, -and spilled upon the counter the child’s copy papers and Father -Ripalda’s catechism, worn and shabby. - -A cry of rage burst from every throat. - -“We must look for him,” said one, “and make him pay for this joke.” - -They ran through the whole house and looked into every corner. Nothing. - -“Ah!... Now I know where he went,” said the innkeeper, “that way,”--and -he pointed to the door in the patio. He lit a lantern and examined the -steps one by one to see if there were any tracks in the dust. There was -some discussion as to whether the traces they found were Quentin’s or -not, but when they saw the closed door upstairs, nearly all of them were -of the opinion that he could not have passed that way. - -“Nevertheless,” said El Cuervo, “we’ll keep on going.” He opened the -door, climbed to the attic, and saw the boards which had been torn down -to allow free passage to the roof. - -“He escaped through here.” - -“What can we do?” asked Pacheco. - -“A very simple thing,” replied El Cuervo; “surround this whole block of -houses. He is probably waiting for it to get dark before he leaves, so -perhaps we can catch him yet.” - -“Good,” said Pacheco; “let’s go downstairs right away.” - -The idea seemed an admirable one to all those who were in the tavern. -Pacheco placed them on guard, and told them to warn the watchmen. - -With the hope of pay, the whole gang of ruffians firmly stood their -posts. Now and then they returned to the tavern for a glass. - -Day dawned, and Pacheco’s men were still walking the streets, now -hopeful, now with no hope at all. - -The morning of the following day the rowdies were still on guard, when -two lancers came up the street at a smart trot and drew rein before the -tavern. - -“Is this El Cuervo’s tavern?” asked one of them. - -“Sí, Señor.” - -“Good. Here’s a letter.” - -The innkeeper, his face the picture of surprise, took the missive, and -as he could not read, handed it to Pacheco, who opened it and read: - - _Dear Friends_: - - By the time you receive this letter, I shall be many leagues away. - I have left Cordova alive, in spite of your warnings. I left no - money in the pocketbook, but something better for the salvation of - your souls. Regards to my dear friends. - - Q. - - - -Pacheco went white with anger. - -“Now we can’t do a thing,” he murmured. - -That night in the coterie at the Casino, they were talking about -Quentin. - -A gentleman was reading the farewell article that Quentin had published -in _La Víbora_ under the title, “And this is the End.” - -“Let’s hear it; let’s hear the end of it,” said several. - -The gentleman began to read the ending. It went like this: - - Adiós, Cordova, City of the Discreet, Mirror of the Prudent, - Cross-roads of the Cunning, Nursery of the Sagacious, Encyclopedia - of the Witty, Shelter of Those who Sleep in Straw, Cave of the - Cautious, Conclave of the Ready-witted, Sanhedrim of the Moderate! - Adiós, Cordova! And this is the end. - -“Fine!” said some one with a laugh. “The fact is, Quentin is a very -likable lad.” - -“He’ll prosper.” - -“Rather!” - -“Some day he’ll be a deputy.” - -“Or a minister.” - -“He really is a most likable boy.” - -And Escobedo, he of the black beard, who was present, added: - -“He who triumphs is always likable.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIV - -THE END - - -Six years after, on the terrace of the Casino at Biarritz, Quentin was -listlessly smoking a cigar. They were playing _La Fille de Madame -Angot_, and the seducing music and the warm autumn air, made him sleepy. - -Upon the table before him was the _liste rose_ of an hotel; and among -the names of dukes and marquises could be seen: “Quentin García Roelas, -Deputy, Madrid.” This made Quentin smile as at the memory of a childish -vanity. - -Quentin’s face had changed, especially as to expression; he was no -longer a boy; a few wrinkles furrowed his forehead, and crows’ feet were -beginning to appear at the corners of his eyes. For six years the -quondam dare-devil had displayed a tireless activity. He went from -triumph to triumph. During Amadeo’s reign, he had made his father a -marquis; he had amassed a considerable fortune by his operations in the -Bourse; and if his political position was not greater, it was because he -was keeping quiet, waiting for an Alphonsist or Carlist situation. - -And yet, in spite of his successes and his triumphs, his heart was -empty. He was thirty-two years old. He could continue the brilliant -career he had won for himself, could become a minister, and enter -aristocratic society; but all this held no enchantment for him. In the -bottom of his heart he realized that he was growing ill-natured. -Biarritz bored him frightfully. - -“Perhaps the best thing for me to do would be to take an extended -voyage,” he thought. - -With this idea in mind he got up from his chair, left the Casino, and -went for a walk along the beach. He was standing near the Place Bellevue -watching the sea, when he heard a voice that made him tremble. - -It was Rafaela, Rafaela herself, with two children clinging to her -hands, and another carried by a nurse and protected by a parasol. -Quentin went over to her. - -They greeted each other emotionally. - -Rafaela was scarcely recognizable; she had taken on flesh and looked -extremely healthy; she dressed very elegantly. The only thing that she -retained of her former appearance was her sweet, gentle eyes, clear and -blue. Her smile was now motherly. - -Rafaela and Quentin talked for a long time. She told him of her great -grief over the illness of her children. One had died; fortunately the -other two children had become stronger, thanks to the open air; and the -little girl, the baby at breast, promised to be very strong. - -“And Remedios?” asked Quentin. - -“Remedios!” exclaimed Rafaela. “You don’t know how provoked I am with -her.” - -“Why?” - -“Because she has an impossible nature. She will not yield to anything.” - -“Yes, even as a child one could see that she had a will of her own.” - -“Well, she has a much greater one now. She has hated my husband and my -mother-in-law from the very first; and they have done all in their power -to please her and spoil her ... but no.” - -“She is terrible,” said Quentin with a smile. - -“We wanted to bring her here, and then to Paris; but at the last minute -she refused to come. Then, you see, she is twenty-two years of age, and -most attractive; she could marry very easily, for she has suitors,--rich -boys with titles; but she will have none of them. She has too much -heart. I tell her that one cannot be like that in life; one must conceal -one’s antipathies, and moderate one’s affections, somewhat.... Doing as -Remedios does exposes one to much suffering.” - -“And yet, isn’t it almost better to deceive one’s self than to find out -the truth, at the cost of withering one’s heart little by little?” - -“I think it is better to know the truth, Quentin.” - -“I don’t know about that. You are as discreet as ever, Rafaela.” - -“No, I am much more practical than I was. But you, too, have lost -something.” - -“It’s true,” said Quentin with a sigh. - -At this moment an elegantly dressed gentleman, with a white waistcoat -and grey gloves, presented himself. - -“Don’t you know each other? My husband ... Quentin, our relative.” - -The two men shook hands, and they and Rafaela sat down upon a rock while -the children played in the sand. Quentin was astonished at the change in -Juan de Dios. The rude, coarse lad had been metamorphosed into a correct -and polished gentleman with Parisian manners. There was no reminder of -the Cordovese gawk. - -Juan de Dios spoke pleasantly; Quentin could see that he was dominated -by his wife, because every minute or two he glanced at her as if begging -her approval of what he was saying. She encouraged him with a gesture, -with a look, and he continued. He spoke of the situation into which the -Republicans had led Spain, of the factious parties that were organizing -on the frontier.... - -Quentin did not listen to him, as he was thinking about Remedios; that -little wilful child, so big-hearted, who despised her suitors. In the -midst of their chat, he asked Rafaela: - -“Where is Remedios now?” - -“On one of our farms, near Montoro.” - -“I’m going to write to her.” - -“Yes, do,” said Rafaela; “you don’t know how happy she would be. She -attaches great importance to those matters. She thinks of you very -often. She has read every one of the speeches you made in the Cortes.” - -“Really?” asked Quentin with a laugh. - -“Yes, really,” replied Juan de Dios. - -“What address shall I put on the letter?” - -“Just Maillo Farm, Montoro.” - -Quentin waited a moment while he formulated a plan; then he exchanged a -few phrases of farewell with Rafaela and her husband, and went to his -hotel. He had decided to take the train and go in search of Remedios. -Why not attempt it? Perhaps she had thought about him since childhood. -Perhaps that was why she rejected her suitors. - -Yes, he must try it. He ordered his baggage packed, boarded the train, -and in a few moments got off at San Juan de Luz. - -“There’s no sure way of crossing to Burgos without getting into -trouble,” they told him at the station. - -“What can I do?” - -“Take ship to Santander, and go from there to Madrid by rail.” - -He did this, and the next day, without stopping, he took the train for -Andalusia. - -He descended at Montoro in the morning, hired a horse, asked the -direction of the Maillo farm, and immediately left town. - -It was a foggy October day. It began to sprinkle. - -Eight years before Quentin had come to that country on his return from -school, on a morning that was also drizzly and sad. - -What a wealth of energy and life he had spent since then! True, he had -conquered, and was on the road to being a somebody, but--what a -difference between the triumph as he had looked forward to it, and the -same triumph as he looked back upon it! It was best not to remember, nor -to think--but just to hope. - -Ahead of him, along the misty horizon, he could see a line of low convex -hills. Quentin had been told that he must go toward them, and in that -direction he went at the slow pace of his horse. The road wound in and -out, tracing curves in the level country between fields of stubble. - -Here and there yokes of huge oxen tilled the dark soil; magpies skimmed -along the ground; and overhead, flocks of birds like triangles of black -dots, flew screeching by. - -At this point a man mounted on a horse appeared in the road. He carried -a long pike, with the point up and the butt supported by his stirrup, -like a lance. He signalled Quentin to get to one side of the road. As -he did so, several bulls and bell-oxen rushed past. Behind them rode two -_garrochistas_ or bull-stickers on horseback, each with a pike held in -the middle and balanced horizontally. - -“The peace of God be with you, Señores,” said Quentin. - -“Good morning, _caballero_.” - -“Am I taking the right direction for the Maillo farm?” - -“Sí, Señor; you are right.” - -“Thanks very much.” - -Quentin continued his way. Just before he reached the somewhat hilly -country, a farmhouse appeared before his eyes. He went up to it, riding -his horse across a red field which had been converted into a mud-hole by -the rain. - -“Hey!” he shouted. - -An old man appeared in the doorway; he wore a pair of black leather -overalls adorned with white bands, and fastened at the knee by clasps. - -“Is this the Maillo farm?” asked Quentin. - -“No, Señor. This is the Las Palomas farm, which is owned by the same -man. Do you see that hill with the trees on it? When you pass that you -can see the farm.” - -Quentin thanked him and urged on his horse. A drizzly rain was falling. -Among the distant trees, which were yellow and nearly bare of leaves, -flowed a bluish mist. - -From the top of the hill he could see an enormous valley divided into -rectangular fields; some still covered with stubble, others black with -recently tilled soil, and some that were beginning to turn green. In -the middle of it all, like dark and barren islands, were small hills -covered with olive orchards; in the distance horses were grazing in huge -pastures. - -Quentin had stopped for a moment on the top of the hill, hesitating, not -knowing which road to take, when he heard behind him a tinkling of -bells, and then a voice shouting: - -“_Arre_, Liviano! _Arre_, Remendao!” - -It was a youth mounted on the haunches of a donkey, with his feet nearly -touching the ground, and leading an ass laden with a pannier by the -halter. - -“The Maillo farm?” asked Quentin. - -“Are you going there? So am I.” - -The boy began to talk, and chatting like old friends, they reached the -farm. It was a huge place, with a very large fence that enclosed all the -departments and apparatus of the house. Inside was a chapel with a cross -and weather-vane. - -“Who can tell me where Señorita Remedios is?” asked Quentin. - -“Call the manager.” - -The manager was not in, and he had to wait. At last a man of some forty -years came toward him; he was powerfully built, and round-faced. -Learning Quentin’s wishes, he pointed to a garden with a little gate at -one end of it. Quentin knocked, the gate was opened to him, and an old -woman appeared on the threshold. - -“Is Señorita Remedios in?” - -“It’s you!” exclaimed the old woman. “How glad the child will be! Come -in, come in!” - -“You are Rafaela’s nurse, are you not?” asked Quentin. - -“Sí, Señor.” - -They crossed a patio and entered an immense kitchen with a cooking-stove -in one corner. Near the fire was a little old man with white hair. - -“Don’t you know him?” said she who had opened the door. “It is Juan, the -gardener of the other house. Juan!” she cried, “Señorito Quentin has -come!” - -The old man arose and seizing Quentin’s hand, held it between his for -some time. - -“I cannot see well. I’m getting blind and deaf.” And Juan burst out -laughing. - -“You must be getting on in years, eh?” - -“Seventy-five. Ha! ha! Sit down here and dry yourself a bit. The little -girl will be here soon. It’s a long time since you have seen her, isn’t -it?” - -“Six years.” - -“Well, she’s a beauty!... A lily! And then, so affectionate! If you -could see her! She is teaching the children of all the farm hands to -read and to sew.” - -“So you are here with her, Juan?” - -“Sí, Señor, always with her. All my children are on the place. That’s -what you ought to do. Señorito: come and live here.” - -“If I only could,” sighed Quentin. - -As they were conversing, the door opened, and Remedios came running in. - -Quentin rose to his feet and stared at her in surprise. - -“It’s Quentin!” she cried. - -“That’s who it is!” - -“At last you have come,” she added, and held out her hand. “What are you -looking at me like that for? Have I changed so very much?” - -“Yes, very much.” - -She was charming in her white dress, which clung to her graceful figure -and well-rounded hips. There was a gracious smile on her lips, and her -black eyes were shining. - -“You are just the same,” she said. - -“Yes, the same--but older. I saw Rafaela and Juan de Dios in Biarritz. -They told me you were here.” - -“And you came here immediately?” - -“Yes.” - -“Very well done. Let’s go to the dining-room. I am now the mistress of -the house.” - -They went into the dining-room. It was a large whitewashed room, with -blue rafters in the ceiling, and a large, unpolished cabinet for the -table-service. In the centre was a heavy table of oak, with a white -oil-cloth cover, in the middle of which was a glass vase full of -flowers. Near the window was an embroidery frame, and a small wicker -basket full of balls of coloured yarn. - -“Come, sit down,” said she. “They’ll set the table presently. Why do you -look at me so much?” - -“You are changed, child; but changed for the better.” - -“Really?” - -“Yes, really; you no longer have that restless look.” - -A young girl set the table, and Remedios and Quentin sat down. Remedios -talked of her life, a most simple one. - -“I’ve already heard that you are giving lessons to the children,” said -Quentin. “Does that entertain you?” - -“Very much. They are all such clever little creatures!” - -After dinner, the old servant showed Quentin to a large room with an -alcove. He sat down in an armchair, preoccupied. The presence of -Remedios had produced a most unusual effect upon him. He felt attracted -to her as he had never felt attracted to any other woman. At the same -time he was restrained by a feeling of humility; not because she was an -aristocrat and he wasn’t, nor because she was young and pretty, and he -was already growing old; but because he realized that she was good. - -“If this visit turns out well,” he thought, “how glad I shall be that I -came! But if it does not turn out well, my life will be ruined.” - -Quentin arose and paced the room for over an hour. He gazed at the -Carmen Virgin, with her bead-work shawl, that stood upon the walnut -dressing-table; he looked absent-mindedly at the coloured lithographs on -the wall, of which some represented scenes from the novel “Matilde, o -las Cruzadas,” and others, scenes from “Paul et Virginie.” - -“I must speak to Remedios immediately,” he thought. - -Having made up his mind, with beating heart he went to look for her. She -was sewing in the dining-room. - -Quentin seated himself and began to talk on different subjects. - -“When are you going to marry?” Quentin suddenly asked her. - -“How do I know?” replied Remedios. - -“Rafaela told me that you have refused many suitors.” - -“You see, they want me to marry a man,” she replied, “because he has -money or a title. But I don’t wish to. It makes no difference to me -whether he is rich or poor; what I want is for him to be good, for him -to have a blind trust in me, as I shall have in him.” - -“And what do you call being good?” asked Quentin. - -“Being worthy, sincere, incapable of treachery, incapable of deceit....” - -Quentin fell silent, got up, and returned to his room. There he spent -the entire afternoon pacing up and down like a wild beast in a cage. - -At supper he said nothing; nor could he eat, no matter how hard he -tried. As he rose from the table, he said in a voice choked with -emotion: - -“Listen, Remedios.” - -“What is it?” she asked, perceiving his emotion without knowing the -cause for it. - -“I am going away.” - -“You are going, Quentin? Why?” - -“Because I am not sincere, nor am I capable of self-sacrifice and -abnegation.” - -“Aren’t you?” - -“No. I am a deceiver, Remedios. I have lied so many times that now I do -not know when I am lying, and when I am telling the truth.” - -“And I believed in you, Quentin,” she said sadly. - -“Now you know me. I have confessed this to no one but you. I cannot -deceive you. No; I would deceive most any one--I’m so used to it!--but -not you. Believe me, this is a great sacrifice on my part.” - -“Aren’t you honest, Quentin?” - -“Just enough so to keep out of jail.” - -“And no more?” - -“No more. I have been interested in no one but myself. I have been an -ingrate.” - -“Ungrateful too, Quentin?” - -“Yes, that too. I am self-centred, a liar, a deceiver.... But even so, -Remedios, there are men who have filthier souls than I.” - -“You hurt me, Quentin.” - -“What would you? I wished to be rich; and my heart, along with what few -good qualities there were in it--if there were any--has gone on -withering and being lacerated by the brambles along the road.” - -“How sad it must be to live like that!” - -“Pst!--Not sad.... No. It is like a magic lantern, understand?--Things -happen; just happen, and that’s all.” - -“Without love or hate?” - -“Without anything.” - -“Before--when you first met us, were you a deceiver then?” - -“That is when I first began.” - - * * * * * - -“Adiós, Remedios. Believe that I have made, with this confession, a very -great sacrifice.--Good-bye!” And Quentin held out his hand to her. - -She drew back. - -“Do I frighten you still?” - -“No.” - -“But won’t you give me your hand?” - -“No. Not until you are good.” - -“And then?” - -“Then--perhaps.” - -Quentin left the room with lowered head. - -He sat at his window for many hours, smoking. - -The night was clear, cool, and soft. The moon silvered the distant -hills; a nightingale sang softly in the darkness. A flood of thoughts -crowded Quentin’s brain. - -“Conscience,” he said to himself, “conscience is a weakness. What is -honesty? Something mechanical. For a woman it is the certainty of living -with the mate provided by the Church; for a man, the proof that the -money he owns was won by methods not included in books. But another, a -higher honesty, such as that girl wants; is it not madness in a world -where no one concerns himself with it? This girl has completely upset -me.” - -Quentin felt a strong desire to weep at the thought of having been so -near happiness. He might have deceived Remedios.... No, he could not -have deceived _her_.... Then he would not have been happy. As he -thought, the full moon was climbing the heavens; its light, filtering -through the leaves of a grape-vine, made beautiful little lace patterns -on the ground. He could hear the continuous tinkling of the bells on the -goats and cows; now and then there came to him the distant sound of -footsteps and voices, the whispering of the wind in the foliage, the -lowing of oxen, the neighing of horses and the knocking of the cows’ -horns against the corral fence. - -Suddenly Quentin made up his mind. He must go. It was necessary. He left -his room, descended the stairs noiselessly, and made his way to the -stable. He lit a lantern, saddled his horse, put on the bridle, and -taking the animal by the bit, led him into the patio. He opened the -wooden gate and followed the fence until he came to the road. - -Quentin mounted and remained for a long time contemplating the front of -the farmhouse, which was bathed in the moonlight. - -“Ah, poor Quentin,” he murmured. “Your sophistry and cunning have been -of no avail, here. Are you not good? Then you cannot enter paradise. You -are not fighting brokers here, nor politicians, nor insincere folk. But -a mere slip of a girl who knows not the world other than what her heart -tells her. She has conquered you, you cannot enter paradise.” - -The horse walked slowly along; Quentin looked back. A great cloud -covered the moon; the whole country lay in darkness. - -Quentin’s heart was heavy within him, and he sighed deeply. Then he had -a surprise. He was weeping. - -He continued on his way. - -And the nightingales went on singing in the shadows, while the moon, -high in the heavens, bathed the country in its silver light. - -EL PAULAR, June, 1905. - - THE END - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The city of the discreet, by Pío Baroja - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CITY OF THE DISCREET *** - -***** This file should be named 56324-0.txt or 56324-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/6/3/2/56324/ - -Produced by Bryan Ness, Chuck Greif and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - -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. Special rules, -set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to -copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to -protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project -Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you -charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you -do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the -rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose -such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and -research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do -practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is -subject to the trademark license, especially commercial -redistribution. - - - -*** START: FULL LICENSE *** - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project -Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at -http://gutenberg.org/license). - - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy -all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. -If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the -terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or -entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement -and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" -or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the -collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an -individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are -located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from -copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative -works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg -are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project -Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by -freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of -this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with -the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by -keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project -Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in -a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check -the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement -before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or -creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project -Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning -the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United -States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate -access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently -whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, -copied or distributed: - -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/license - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived -from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is -posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied -and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees -or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work -with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the -work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 -through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the -Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or -1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional -terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked -to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the -permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any -word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or -distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than -"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version -posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), -you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a -copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon -request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other -form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided -that - -- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is - owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he - has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the - Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments - must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you - prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax - returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and - sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the - address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to - the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." - -- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or - destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium - and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of - Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any - money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days - of receipt of the work. - -- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set -forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from -both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael -Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the -Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm -collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain -"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or -corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual -property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a -computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by -your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with -your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with -the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a -refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity -providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to -receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy -is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further -opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER -WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO -WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. -If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the -law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be -interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by -the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any -provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance -with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, -promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, -harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, -that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do -or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm -work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any -Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. - - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers -including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists -because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from -people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need, are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. -To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation -and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 -and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. - - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive -Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at -http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent -permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. -Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered -throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at -809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email -business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact -information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official -page at http://pglaf.org - -For additional contact information: - Dr. Gregory B. Newby - Chief Executive and Director - gbnewby@pglaf.org - - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide -spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To -SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any -particular state visit http://pglaf.org - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. -To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate - - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. - -Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm -concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared -with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project -Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. - - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. -unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily -keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. - - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: - - http://www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/old/56324-0.zip b/old/56324-0.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 1a5ca7d..0000000 --- a/old/56324-0.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/56324-h.zip b/old/56324-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 342d956..0000000 --- a/old/56324-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/56324-h/56324-h.htm b/old/56324-h/56324-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 9a41652..0000000 --- a/old/56324-h/56324-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,13806 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" -"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> - -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en" xml:lang="en"> - <head> <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> -<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> -<title> - The Project Gutenberg eBook of The City of the Discreet, by Pío Baroja. -</title> -<style type="text/css"> - p {margin-top:.2em;text-align:justify;margin-bottom:.2em;text-indent:4%;} - -.blk {margin:auto 50% auto 5%;font-weight:bold;} -.blkk {margin:auto auto;max-width:50%;} - -.c {text-align:center;text-indent:0%;} - -.cspc {text-align:center;text-indent:0%;font-weight:bold; -letter-spacing:.5em;} - -.hang {text-indent:-2%;margin-left:2%;} - -.lftspc {margin-left:.25em;} - -.letra {font-size:350%;float:left;margin-top:-1.1%;} - @media print, handheld - { .letra - {font-size:250%;padding:0%;} - } - -.nind {text-indent:0%;} - -.r {text-align:right;margin-right: 25%;margin-top:5em;} - -.rt {text-align:right;} - -small {font-size: 70%;} - -big {font-size: 130%;} - - h1 {margin-top:5%;text-align:center;clear:both;} - - h2 {margin-top:4%;margin-bottom:2%;text-align:center;clear:both; - font-size:120%;} - - hr {width:90%;margin:2em auto 2em auto;clear:both;color:black;} - - hr.full {width: 60%;margin:2% auto 2% auto;border-top:1px solid black; -padding:.1em;border-bottom:1px solid black;border-left:none;border-right:none;} - - table {margin-top:2%;margin-bottom:2%;margin-left:auto;margin-right:auto;border:none;} - - body{margin-left:4%;margin-right:6%;background:#ffffff;color:black;font-family:"Times New Roman", serif;font-size:medium;} - -a:link {background-color:#ffffff;color:blue;text-decoration:none;} - - link {background-color:#ffffff;color:blue;text-decoration:none;} - -a:visited {background-color:#ffffff;color:purple;text-decoration:none;} - -a:hover {background-color:#ffffff;color:#FF0000;text-decoration:underline;} - -.smcap {font-variant:small-caps;font-size:100%;} - - img {border:none;} - -.blockquot {margin:1% auto 1% 4%; -font-size:90%;max-width:80%;} - -.bbox {border:solid 2px black;font-weight:bold;padding:.5em; -font-size:85%;} -.bboxx {border:double 6px black;padding:2em 4em 12em 1em; -margin:auto auto;max-width:15em;} - -div.poetry {text-align:center;} -div.poem {font-size:90%;margin:auto auto;text-indent:0%; -display: inline-block; text-align: left;font-style:italic;} -.poem .stanza {margin-top: 1em;margin-bottom:1em;} -.poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} -.poem span.i1 {display: block; margin-left: .45em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} -.poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 1em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} -.poem span.i3 {display: block; margin-left: 2em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} - -.pagenum {font-style:normal;position:absolute; -left:95%;font-size:55%;text-align:right;color:gray; -background-color:#ffffff;font-variant:normal;font-style:normal;font-weight:normal;text-decoration:none;text-indent:0em;} -@media print, handheld -{.pagenum - {display: none;} - } -</style> - </head> -<body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The city of the discreet, by Pío Baroja - -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/license - - -Title: The city of the discreet - -Author: Pío Baroja - -Translator: Jacob Sloat Fassett - -Release Date: January 6, 2018 [EBook #56324] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CITY OF THE DISCREET *** - - - - -Produced by Bryan Ness, Chuck Greif and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - - - - - -</pre> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<p class="c"> -<a href="images/cover_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" -alt="[Image of the book's cover unavailable.]" -/></a></p> - -<div class="blkk"> -<div class="blk"> -<p class="c">THE<br /> -CITY OF THE DISCREET -</p> -</div></div> - -<p class="r"> -<img src="images/deco.png" width="100" alt="[text decoration not visible]" title="" /> -</p> - -<div class="bboxx"> -<div class="bbox"> -<p class="c">THE BORZOI<br /> -SPANISH TRANSLATIONS</p> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="3" cellspacing="0" summary=""> -<tr valign="top"><td class="rt">I</td><td align="left">THE CABIN (LA BARRACA)<br /> <i>By V. Blasco Ibáñez</i></td></tr> -<tr valign="top"><td class="rt">II</td><td align="left">THE CITY OF THE DISCREET<br /> <i>By Pío Baroja</i></td></tr> -<tr valign="top"><td class="rt">III</td><td align="left">MARTIN RIVAS <br /><i>By Alberto Blest-Gana</i></td></tr> -<tr valign="top"><td class="c" colspan="2"><i>Other volumes in preparation</i></td></tr> -</table> -</div> -</div> - -<h1> -<a href="images/title_lg.png"> -<img src="images/title.png" -width="" -alt="THE CITY OF THE -DISCREET - -BY -PIO BAROJA - -TRANSLATED FROM THE SPANISH -By JACOB S. FASSETT, Jr. - -NEW YORK -ALFRED A. KNOPF -1917" -/></a> -</h1> - -<p class="c"><small>COPYRIGHT, 1917, BY<br /> -ALFRED A. KNOPF<br /> -<br /> -<i>Published October, 1917</i><br /> -<br /> -PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA<br /></small> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="INTRODUCTION" id="INTRODUCTION"></a>INTRODUCTION</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">I</span>N San Sebastián, a beautiful watering place on the northern coast of -Guipúzcoa, Spain, Don Pío Baroja y Nessi was born on the 28th day of -December, 1872. There, wandering among the foothills of the Pyrenees, -listening to the talk of the hardy Basque peasants, playing on the -beautiful crescent of the <i>playa</i>, sailing about the pretty land-locked -harbour, he spent his childhood. In those early days he became -thoroughly conversant with the Basque tongue—that mysterious and -impossibly difficult language of whose true origin students are still in -doubt.</p> - -<p>His father was Don Serafín Baroja. Born in San Sebastián in 1840, Don -Serafín was a well known mining engineer, and enjoyed no small amount of -fame as a writer. As far as literature is concerned, he is perhaps best -known for his songs and ballads written in the Basque tongue. He -composed the libretto of the first Basque opera ever produced, the music -of which was by Santesteban. He is said to have been responsible for the -libretto of one other opera—a Spanish one.</p> - -<p>His son, Don Pío, decided to take up the study of medicine, and he went -to Valencia for that purpose. He received his doctorate in 1893, when he -was but twenty-one years of age.</p> - -<p>He practised his profession in Cestona, in the Province of Guipúzcoa. -Life in that small, provincial town proved<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span> very dull indeed, and he -decided that the medical profession was not his proper sphere. After two -years in Cestona, he moved to Madrid. There he tried his hand at several -kinds of business. He even set up a bakery in partnership with his -brother Ricardo, a painter and engraver of no mean ability! We do not -hear of his return to the practice of medicine. Evidently he had proved -to his own satisfaction that he was not suited to it.</p> - -<p>After he had failed in several attempts at business, he began writing -for the newspapers. He succeeded in obtaining positions on <i>El País</i>, -<i>El Imparcial</i>, and <i>El Globo</i>. His success in this line of work -inspired him to further effort, and, from that time on (1900), he -devoted himself entirely to literature.</p> - -<p>His first published work was a collection of short stories, or sketches, -entitled <i>Vidas Sombrías</i>. Among them are some exquisite pictures of -Basque life. This volume was closely followed by a novel, <i>La casa de -Aizgorri</i>. These two books scarcely caused a ripple in the literary -circles of the Cortes. Certainly, Baroja cannot claim to have sprung -into fame over night! His next attempt was a humorous novel which he -called <i>Aventuras, inventos y mixtificaciones de Silvestre Paradox</i>. It -was scarcely more successful than the first two.</p> - -<p>His next book, <i>Camino de perfección</i>, was characterized as “a book of -apparently sane tendencies”! From that time on, he became a recognized -figure in the Spanish literature of the day. <i>Idilios vascos</i> appeared -that same year, and in 1903 he produced <i>El mayorazgo de Labraz</i>, a -novel that has been compared most favourably (by Spanish critics) with -the best of contemporary novels both in Spain and abroad.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span></p> - -<p>In all lists of the works of Pío Baroja, most of his novels are divided -into trilogies. For the sake of convenience, I shall follow the same -plan, without any attempt at chronological order:</p> - -<p><i>Tierra vasca (Basque Country): La casa de Aizgorri; El mayorazgo de -Labraz; Zalacaín, el aventurero.</i></p> - -<p><i>La vida fantastica (Life Fantastic): Camino de perfección; Inventos, -aventuras y mixtificaciones de Silvestre Paradox; Paradox, rey.</i></p> - -<p><i>La Raza (Race): La dama errante; La ciudad de la niebla; El árbol de la -ciencia.</i></p> - -<p><i>La lucha por la vida (The Struggle for Life): La busca; Mala hierba; -Aurora roja.</i> (In this trilogy, Don Pío evinces a “spirit of opposition -to the present social organization and the prejudices that embitter life -and kill human spontaneity.”)</p> - -<p><i>El pasado (The Past): La feria de los discretos; Los últimos -romanticos; Las tragedias grotescas.</i></p> - -<p><i>Las ciudades (Cities): César o nada, El mundo es así</i> (incomplete).</p> - -<p><i>El mar (The Sea): Las inquietudes de Shanti Andía</i> (incomplete).</p> - -<p>Besides these trilogies, Baroja has written several novels under the -general title of <i>Memorias de un hombre de acción (Memoirs of a Man of -Action)</i>, long winded affairs in which any real action is sadly lacking.</p> - -<p>In addition to his novels, he has published several volumes of essays, -and not a little verse. Few of his works have been translated into other -languages; none (except the present novel) into English.</p> - -<p>Personally, Señor Baroja is somewhat of an enigma, a mystery. He is -extremely modest and retiring, and seldom appears prominently before the -public. It has<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span> been said of him that, although he apparently knows what -every one else thinks and believes, there is no one who can say for sure -just what his thoughts and beliefs are. He is an ardent, pious Catholic, -with very advanced ideas. One is led to believe from some of his works -that he is an ardent Republican. Some even go so far as to assert that -he entertains strong anarchistic views. But, just as we have about made -up our minds as to his political creed, along comes a novel like <i>La -feria de los discretos</i>, in which he ridicules Republicans and -Anarchists, and we are forced to reject our conception.</p> - -<p>While his name is often coupled with that of V. Blasco Ibáñez, there is -more difference than similarity between the two, especially in their -style. The Valencian spreads his canvas with the broad, brilliant, -impressionistic strokes of a Sorolla, while Baroja employs the more -subtle and delicate methods of a Zuloaga. He is a stylist. His -vocabulary is remarkably extensive, and he employs it in a masterly -fashion—not as one who would overwhelm his readers with a flood of -ponderous verbiage, but rather as one who, knowing all the delicate -shades and nuances of his language, employs words as an artist uses his -colours—to produce the proper effects. His power of description is -marvellous. In a sentence, sometimes in a single phrase, he brings a -character or scene vividly before our mental vision. The chapter headed -“Spring,” in <i>The City of the Discreet</i>, fairly aches with the -drowsiness of an Andalusian Spring.</p> - -<p><i>La feria de los discretos</i> has been chosen for this series mainly on -account of its Spanish atmosphere. Though not his best novel, it is -perhaps the best one with which to introduce him to the English reading -public. Above all else, it demonstrates his powers of description, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span> -his subtle, quaint humour. It is not my purpose in this paper to write a -criticism of this novel. I shall leave that to abler pens. I might say, -however, that in this work, Pío Baroja has no special message to convey, -no propaganda. His purpose here is essentially to entertain, to amuse. -One suspects that he derived no little pleasure himself from its -creation. It is said that its appearance aroused a storm of protests -from Republicans on account of the sorry light into which he put them. -Be that as it may, the details of his description of Cordova and its -environs are accurate in the extreme. <i>The City of the Discreet</i> might -almost serve as a guide book to that ancient city. One can follow -Quentin’s adventures on any accurate map of Cordova. Of his knowledge of -Masonry, one cannot speak quite so highly!</p> - -<p class="rt"> -J. S. F., Jr.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="hang"> -Cambridge, Mass.<br /> -October, 1917.<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS</h2> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary=""> - -<tr><td class="rt"><small>CHAPTER</small></td><td> </td> <td class="rt"><small>PAGE</small></td> </tr> -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">I</a></td><td valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">A conversation on the train</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#Page_9">9</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">II</a></td><td valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">O, oriental, romantic city!</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#Page_25">25</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">III</a></td><td valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">Infancy: sombre vestibule of life</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#Page_33">33</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">IV</a></td><td valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">Blue eyes, black eyes</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#Page_43">43</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">V</a></td><td valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">Noble and ancient ancestral homes!</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#Page_54">54</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">VI</a></td><td valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">Concerning an adventure of Quentin’s in the neighbourhood of El Potro</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#Page_65">65</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">VII</a></td><td valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">In which is told the history of a tavern on Sierra Morena</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#Page_82">82</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">VIII</a></td><td valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">A fight in an olive orchard</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#Page_95">95</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">IX</a></td><td valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">In which Señor Sabadía abuses words and wine</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#Page_105">105</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">X</a></td><td valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">Don Gil finishes his story</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#Page_114">114</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">XI</a></td><td valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">More incomprehensible than the heart of a grown woman, is that of a girl-child</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#Page_124">124</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">XII</a></td><td valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">In search of a jewel-case</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#Page_132">132</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">XIII</a></td><td valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">A picnic and a ride</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#Page_145">145</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">XIV</a></td><td valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">Spring</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#Page_156">156</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">XV</a></td><td valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">Where his beautiful expectations went!</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#Page_163">163</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">XVI</a></td><td valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">The man of action begins to make himself known</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#Page_171">171</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">XVII</a></td><td valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">“I am a little Catiline”</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#Page_182">182</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">XVIII</a></td><td valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">The tavern in the Calle del Bodegoncillo</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#Page_193">193</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">XIX</a></td><td valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">The pleasant ironies of reality</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#Page_207">207</a><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_XX">XX</a></td><td valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_XX">Philosophers without realizing the fact</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#Page_211">211</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">XXI</a></td><td valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">Juan talks</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#Page_222">222</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">XXII</a></td><td valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">Sticks, shots, and stones</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#Page_227">227</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">XXIII</a></td><td valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">Pursuit and escape</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#Page_233">233</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">XXIV</a></td><td valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">The victim of a feuilleton</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#Page_245">245</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXV">XXV</a></td><td valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXV">An abduction is prepared</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#Page_250">250</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI">XXVI</a></td><td valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI">Explanations</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#Page_261">261</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVII">XXVII</a></td><td valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVII">In which a countess, a professional bandit, and a man of action have a talk</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#Page_273">273</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVIII">XXVIII</a></td><td valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVIII">The mason’s message</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#Page_285">285</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIX">XXIX</a></td><td valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIX">A conference</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#Page_292">292</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXX">XXX</a></td><td valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXX">Projects</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#Page_305">305</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXI">XXXI</a></td><td valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXI">Night and day</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#Page_314">314</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXII">XXXII</a></td><td valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXII">The city of the discreet</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#Page_322">322</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIII">XXXIII</a></td><td valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIII">The departure</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#Page_332">332</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIV">XXXIV</a></td><td valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIV">The end</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#Page_343">343</a></td></tr> -</table> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span></p> - -<h1>THE CITY OF THE DISCREET</h1> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I<br /><br /> -<small>A CONVERSATION ON THE TRAIN</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">Q</span>UENTIN awoke, opened his eyes, looked about him, and exclaimed between -his yawns:</p> - -<p>“We <i>must</i> be in Andalusia now.”</p> - -<p>The second-class coach was occupied by six persons. Opposite Quentin, a -distinguished-looking Frenchman, corpulent, clean-shaven, and with a red -ribbon in his buttonhole, was showing a magazine to a countryman in the -garb of a wealthy cattle owner, and was graciously explaining the -meanings of the illustrations to him.</p> - -<p>The countryman listened to his explanations smiling mischievously, -mumbling an occasional aside to himself in an undertone:</p> - -<p>“What a simpleton.”</p> - -<p>Leaning against the shoulder of the Frenchman, dozed his wife—a faded -woman with a freakish hat, ruddy cheeks, and large hands clutching a -portfolio. The other persons were a bronze-coloured priest wrapped in a -cloak, and two recently-married Andalusians who were whispering the -sweetest of sweet nothings to each other.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span></p> - -<p>“But haven’t we reached Andalusia yet?” Quentin again inquired -impatiently.</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes!” replied the Frenchman. “The next station is Baeza.”</p> - -<p>“Baeza!—Impossible!”</p> - -<p>“It <i>is</i>, never-the-less—It <i>is</i>,” insisted the Frenchman, rolling his -r’s in the back of his throat. “I have been counting the stations.”</p> - -<p>Quentin arose, his hands thrust into his overcoat. The rain beat -incessantly against the coach windows which were blurred by the -moisture.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know my own country,” he exclaimed aloud; and to see it better -he opened the window and looked out.</p> - -<p>The train was passing through a ruddy country spotted here and there -with pools of rainwater. In the distance, small, low hills, shadowed by -shrubs and thickets raised themselves into the cold, damp air.</p> - -<p>“What weather!” he exclaimed in disgust, as he closed the window. “This -is no land of mine!”</p> - -<p>“Are you a Spaniard?” inquired the Frenchman.</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> - -<p>“I would have taken you for an Englishman.”</p> - -<p>“I have just left England, where I spent eight years.”</p> - -<p>“Are you from Andalusia?”</p> - -<p>“From Cordova.”</p> - -<p>The Frenchman and his wife, who had awakened, studied Quentin. Surely -his looks were not Spanish. Tall, stout, and clean-shaven, with a good -complexion and brown hair, enveloped in a grey overcoat, and with a cap -on his head; he looked like a young Englishman sent by his parents to -tour the continent. He had a strong nose, thick lips, and the expression -of a dignified<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span> and serious young man which a roguish, mischievous, and -gipsy-like smile completely unmasked.</p> - -<p>“My wife and I are going to Cordova,” remarked the Frenchman as he -pocketed his magazine.</p> - -<p>Quentin bowed.</p> - -<p>“It must be a most interesting city—is it not?”</p> - -<p>“Indeed it is!”</p> - -<p>“Charming women with silk dresses ... on the balconies all day.”</p> - -<p>“No; not <i>all</i> day.”</p> - -<p>“And with cigarettes in their mouths, eh?”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“Ah! Don’t Spanish women smoke?”</p> - -<p>“Much less than French women.”</p> - -<p>“French women do not smoke, sir,” said the woman somewhat indignantly.</p> - -<p>“Oh! I’ve seen them in Paris!” exclaimed Quentin. “But you won’t see any -of them smoking in Cordova. You French people don’t know us. You believe -that all we Spaniards are toreadors, but it is not so.”</p> - -<p>“Ah! No, no! Pardon me!” replied the Frenchman, “we are very well -acquainted with Spain. There are two Spains: one, which is that of the -South, is Théophile Gautier’s; the other, which is that of Hernani, is -Victor Hugo’s. But perhaps you don’t know that Hernani is a Spanish -city?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I know the place,” said Quentin with aplomb, though never in his -life had he heard any one mention the name of the tiny Basque village.</p> - -<p>“A great city.”</p> - -<p>“Indeed it is.”</p> - -<p>Having made this remark, Quentin lit a cigarette, passed his hand along -the blurred windowpane until he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span> had made it transparent, and began to -hum to himself as he contemplated the landscape. The humid, rainy -weather had saddened the deserted fields. As far as one could see there -were no hamlets, no villages—only here and there a dark farmhouse in -the distance.</p> - -<p>They passed abandoned stations, crossed huge olive groves with trees -planted in rows in great squares on the ruddy hillsides. The train -approached a broad and muddy river.</p> - -<p>“The Guadalquivir?” inquired the Frenchman.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know,” replied Quentin absently. Then, doubtless, this -confession of ignorance seemed ill-advised, for he looked at the river -as if he expected it to tell him its name, and added: “It is a tributary -of the Guadalquivir.”</p> - -<p>“Ah! And what is its name?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t remember. I don’t believe it has any.”</p> - -<p>The rain increased in violence. The country was slowly being converted -into a mudhole. The older leaves of the wet olive trees shone a dark -brown; the new ones glistened like metal. As the train slackened its -speed, the rain seemed to grow more intense. One could hear the patter -of the drops on the roof of the coach, and the water slid along the -windows in broad gleaming bands.</p> - -<p>At one of the stations, three husky young men climbed into the coach. -Each wore a shawl, a broad-brimmed hat, a black sash, and a huge silver -chain across his vest. They never ceased for an instant talking about -mills, horses, women, gambling, and bulls.</p> - -<p>“Those gentlemen,” asked the Frenchman in an undertone, as he leaned -over to Quentin, “What are they—toreadors?”</p> - -<p>“No,—rich folk from hereabouts.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Hidalgos, eh?”</p> - -<p>“Pst! You shall see.”</p> - -<p>“They are talking a lot about gambling. One gambles a great deal in -Andalusia, doesn’t one?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“I have heard some one say, that once a hidalgo was riding along on -horseback, when he met a beggar. The horseman tossed him a silver coin, -but the beggar, not wishing to accept it drew a pack of cards from among -his rags and proposed a game to the hidalgo. He won the horse.”</p> - -<p>“Ha! Ha! Ha!” laughed Quentin boisterously.</p> - -<p>“But isn’t it true?” asked the Frenchman somewhat piqued.</p> - -<p>“Perhaps—perhaps it is.”</p> - -<p>“What a simpleton!” murmured the countryman to himself.</p> - -<p>“Isn’t it true either, that all beggars have the right to use the -‘Don’?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, indeed, that’s true enough,” answered Quentin, smiling his gipsy -smile.</p> - -<p>The three husky youths in the shawls got off at the next station to -Cordova. The sky cleared for an instant: up and down the platform walked -men with broad-brimmed Andalusian hats, young women with flowers in -their hair, old women with huge, red umbrellas....</p> - -<p>“And those young men who just went by,” asked the Frenchman, full of -curiosity about everything, “each one carries his knife, eh?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes!—Probably,” said Quentin, unconsciously imitating his -interlocutor’s manner of speech.</p> - -<p>“The knives they carry are very large?”</p> - -<p>“The knives! Yes, very large.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“What might their dimensions be?”</p> - -<p>“Two or three spans,” asserted Quentin, to whom a span more or less -mattered very little.</p> - -<p>“And is it hard to manage that terrible weapon?”</p> - -<p>“It has its difficulties.”</p> - -<p>“Do you know how?”</p> - -<p>“Naturally. But the really difficult thing is to hit a mark with a knife -at a distance of twenty or thirty metres.”</p> - -<p>“How do they do that?”</p> - -<p>“Why, there’s nothing much to it. You place the knife like this,” and -Quentin assumed that he had placed one in the palm of his hand, “and -then you throw it with all your might. The knife flies like an arrow, -and sticks wherever you wish.”</p> - -<p>“How horrible!”</p> - -<p>“That is what we call ‘painting a <i>jabeque</i> [a facial wound].’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> - -<p>“A ca—a cha—a what?”</p> - -<p>“<i>Jabeque.</i>”</p> - -<p>“It is truly extraordinary,” said the Frenchman, after attempting in -vain to pronounce the guttural. “You have doubtless killed bulls also?”</p> - -<p>“Oh! yes, indeed.”</p> - -<p>“But you are very young.”</p> - -<p>“Twenty-two.”</p> - -<p>“Didn’t you tell me that you have been in England for eight years?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“So you killed bulls when you were fourteen?”</p> - -<p>“No ... in my vacations.”</p> - -<p>“Ah! You came from England just for that?”</p> - -<p>“Yes—for that, and to see my sweetheart.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span>”</p> - -<p>The Frenchwoman smiled, and her husband said:</p> - -<p>“Weren’t you afraid?”</p> - -<p>“Afraid of which?—The bulls, or my sweetheart?”</p> - -<p>“Of both!” exclaimed the Frenchman, laughing heartily.</p> - -<p>“What a simpleton!” reiterated the countryman, smiling, and looking at -him as he would at a child.</p> - -<p>“All you have to do with women and bulls to understand them,” said -Quentin, with the air of a consummate connoisseur, “is to know them. If -the bull attacks you on the right, just step to the left, or <i>vice -versa</i>.”</p> - -<p>“And if you don’t have time to do that?” questioned the Frenchman rather -anxiously.</p> - -<p>“Then you may count yourself among the departed, and beg them to say a -few masses for the salvation of your soul.”</p> - -<p>“It is frightful—And the ladies are very enthusiastic over a good -toreador, eh?”</p> - -<p>“Of course—on account of the profession.”</p> - -<p>“What do you mean by ‘on account of the profession’?”</p> - -<p>“Don’t the ladies bully us?”</p> - -<p>“That’s true,” said the countryman, smiling.</p> - -<p>“And he who fights best,” continued the Frenchman, “will have the doors -of society opened to him?”</p> - -<p>“Of course.”</p> - -<p>“What a strange country!”</p> - -<p>“Pardon me,” asked his wife, “but is it true that if a girl deceives her -lover, he always kills her?”</p> - -<p>“No, not always—sometimes—but he is not obliged to.”</p> - -<p>“And you—have you killed a sweetheart?” she inquired, consumed with -curiosity.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I!”—and Quentin hesitated as one loath to confess—“Not I.”</p> - -<p>“Ah!—Yes, yes!” insisted the Frenchwoman, “you have killed a -sweetheart. One can see it in your face.”</p> - -<p>“My dear,” said her husband, “do not press him: the Spaniards are too -noble to talk about some things.”</p> - -<p>Quentin looked at the Frenchman and winked his eye confidentially, -giving him to understand that he had divined the true cause of his -reserve. Then he feigned a melancholy air to conceal the joy this farce -afforded him. After that, he diverted himself by looking through the -window.</p> - -<p>“What a bore this weather is,” he murmured.</p> - -<p>He had always pictured his arrival at Cordova as taking place on a -glorious day of golden sunshine, and instead, he was encountering -despicable weather, damp, ugly, and sad.</p> - -<p>“I suppose the same thing will happen to everything I have planned. -Nothing turns out as you think it will. That, according to my schoolmate -Harris, is an advantage. I’m not so sure. It is a matter for -discussion.”</p> - -<p>This memory of his schoolmate made him think of Eton school.</p> - -<p>“I wonder what they are doing there now?”</p> - -<p>Absorbed in his memories, he continued to look out the window. As the -train advanced, the country became more cultivated. Well-shaped horses -with long tails were grazing in the pastures.</p> - -<p>The travellers commenced to prepare their luggage for a quick descent -from the train: Quentin put on his hat, stuffed his cap into his pocket, -and placed his bag on the seat.</p> - -<p>“Sir,” said the Frenchman to him quickly, “I thank<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span> you for the -information with which you have supplied me. I am Jules Matignon, -professor of Spanish in Paris. I believe we shall see each other again -in Cordova.”</p> - -<p>“My name is Quentin García Roelas.”</p> - -<p>They shook hands, and waited for the train to stop: it was already -slowing up as it neared the Cordova station.</p> - -<p>They arrived; Quentin got off quickly, and crossed the platform, pursued -by four or five porters. Confronting one of these who had a red -handkerchief on his head, and handing him his bag and check, he ordered -him to take them to his house.</p> - -<p>“To the Calle de la Zapatería,” he said. “To the store where they sell -South American comestibles. Do you know where it is?”</p> - -<p>“The house of Don <i>Rafaé</i>? Of course.”</p> - -<p>“Good.”</p> - -<p>This done, Quentin opened his umbrella, and began to make his way toward -the centre of the city.</p> - -<p>“It seems as though I hadn’t crossed the Channel at all,” he said to -himself, “but were walking along one of those roads near the school. The -same grey sky, the same mud, the same rain. Now I am about to see the -parks and the river—”</p> - -<p>But no—what he saw was the orange trees on the Victoria, laden with -golden fruit glistening with raindrops.</p> - -<p>“I’m beginning to be convinced that I am in Cordova,” murmured Quentin, -and he entered the Paseo del Gran Capitán, followed the Calle de -Gondomar as far as Las Tendillas, whence, as easily as if he had passed -through the streets but yesterday, he reached<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span> his house. He scarcely -recognized it at first glance: the store no longer occupied two windows -as before, but the whole front of the house. The doors were covered with -zinc plates: only one of them having a window through which the interior -could be seen full of sacks piled in rows.</p> - -<p>Quentin mounted to the main floor and knocked several times: the door -was opened to him, and he entered.</p> - -<p>“Here I am!” he shouted, as he traversed a dark corridor. A door was -heard to open, and the boy felt himself hugged and kissed again and -again.</p> - -<p>“Quentin!”</p> - -<p>“Mother! But I can’t see you in all this darkness.”</p> - -<p>“Come”—and his mother, with her arms about him, led him into a room. -Bringing him to the light of a balcony window, she exclaimed: “How tall -you are, my son! How tall, and how strong!”</p> - -<p>“I’ve become a regular barbarian.”</p> - -<p>His mother embraced him again.</p> - -<p>“Have you been well? But you will soon tell us all about it. Are you -hungry? Do you want something to drink?—A cup of chocolate?”</p> - -<p>“No, no—none of your chocolate. Something a bit more solid: ham, -eggs.... I’m ferociously hungry.”</p> - -<p>“Good! I’ll tell them to get your breakfast ready.”</p> - -<p>“Is everybody well?”</p> - -<p>“Everybody. Come and see them.”</p> - -<p>They followed a narrow corridor and entered a room where two boys, aged -fifteen and twelve respectively, had just finished dressing. Quentin -embraced them none too effusively, and from the larger room they went<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span> -into a bedroom, where a little girl between eight and nine years old was -sleeping in a huge bed.</p> - -<p>“Is that Dolores?” asked Quentin.</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“The last time I saw her she was a tiny little thing. How pretty she -is!”</p> - -<p>The child awoke, and seeing a stranger before her, became frightened.</p> - -<p>“But it’s your brother Quentin, who has just arrived.”</p> - -<p>Her fears immediately allayed, she allowed herself to be kissed.</p> - -<p>“Now we shall go and see your father.”</p> - -<p>“Very well,” said Quentin reluctantly.</p> - -<p>They left the bedroom, and at the end of the corridor, found themselves -in a room in whose doorway swung a black screen with a glass panel.</p> - -<p>“We’ll wait a moment. He must have gone into the store,” said his -mother, as she seated herself upon the sofa.</p> - -<p>Quentin absently examined the furnishings of the office: the large -writing-desk full of little drawers; the safe with its gilt knobs; the -books and letter-press lying upon a table near the window. Upon the wall -opposite the screen hung two large, mud-coloured lithographs of Vesuvius -in eruption. Between them was a large, hexagonal clock, and below it, a -“perpetual” calendar of black cardboard, with three elliptic apertures -set one above the other—the upper one for the date, the middle one for -the month, and the lower one for the year.</p> - -<p>Mother and son waited a moment, while the clock measured the time with a -harsh <i>tick-tock</i>. Suddenly the screen opened, and a man entered the -office. He was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span> clean-shaven, elegantly dressed, with a full, pink face, -and an aristocratic air.</p> - -<p>“Here is Quentin,” said his mother.</p> - -<p>“Hello!” exclaimed the man, holding out his hand to the youth. “So you -have arrived without notifying us in advance? How goes it in England?”</p> - -<p>“Very well.”</p> - -<p>“I suppose you’re quite a man now, ready to do something useful.”</p> - -<p>“I believe so,” answered Quentin.</p> - -<p>“I am glad—I am very glad to see you so changed.”</p> - -<p>At this point an elderly man entered the office. He was tall and thin, -with a drooping grey moustache. He bowed low by way of a greeting, but -Quentin’s mother, nodding toward her son, said:</p> - -<p>“Don’t you know him, Palomares?”</p> - -<p>“Whom, Doña Fuensanta?”</p> - -<p>“This boy. It’s Quentin.”</p> - -<p>“Quentin!” the old man fairly shouted. “So it is! My boy, how you have -grown! You’re a regular giant! Well, well! How do you like the English? -They’re a bad race, aren’t they? They’ve done me many a bad turn! When -did the boy come, Doña Fuensanta?”</p> - -<p>“This very minute.”</p> - -<p>“Well—” said Quentin’s father to Palomares.</p> - -<p>“Come,” announced his mother, “they have work to do.”</p> - -<p>“We shall have a little more time to talk later on at the table,” said -his father.</p> - -<p>Mother and son left the office and made their way to the dining-room. -Quentin sat at the table and ravenously devoured eggs, ham, rolls, a bit -of cheese, and a plate of sweets.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span></p> - -<p>“But you’ll lose your appetite for dinner,” warned his mother.</p> - -<p>“<i>Ca!</i> I never lose my appetite. I could go right on eating,” replied -Quentin. Then, smacking his lips over the wine as he stuck his nose into -the glass, he added: “What wine, mother! We didn’t drink anythink like -this at school.”</p> - -<p>“No?”</p> - -<p>“I should say not!”</p> - -<p>“Poor boy!”</p> - -<p>Quentin, touched, cried:</p> - -<p>“I was lonesome, oh, so lonesome over there for such a long time. And -now ... you won’t love me as you do the others.”—</p> - -<p>“Yes, I shall—just the same. I’ve thought about you so much—” and the -mother, again embracing her son, wept for a time upon his -shoulder—overcome with emotion.</p> - -<p>“Come, come, don’t cry any more,” said Quentin, and seizing her by her -slender waist, he lifted her into the air as easily as if she had been a -feather, and kissed her upon the cheek.</p> - -<p>“What a brute! How strong you are!” she exclaimed, surprised and -pleased.</p> - -<p>Then they went over the house together. Some of the details demonstrated -very clearly the economic stride the family had made: the hall with its -large mirrors, marble consoles, and French hearth, was luxuriously -furnished: displayed in a cabinet in the dining-room, were a -table-service of Sèvres porcelain, and dishes, teapots, and platters of -repoussé silver.</p> - -<p>“This table-service,” said Quentin’s mother, “we bought for a song from -a ruined marquis. Every one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> of the dishes and platters had a crown and -the marquis’ initials painted on it—but between the three girls and me, -we have rubbed them all off with pumice stone. It took us months.”</p> - -<p>After seeing the entire house, mother and son descended to the store. -Here, the commercial ballast of the house was in evidence: heaped-up -piles of sacks of all sorts separated by narrow aisles. The employés of -the store came forward to greet Quentin; then he and his mother -reclimbed the stairs and entered the house.</p> - -<p>“Your room is all ready for you,” said his mother. “We shall have dinner -directly.”</p> - -<p>Quentin changed his clothes, washed, and presented himself in the -dining-room, very much combed and brushed, and looking extremely -handsome. His father, elegant in the whitest of collars, presided at the -table: his mother distributed the food: the children were clean and -tidy. A girl in a white apron served the meal.</p> - -<p>Throughout the entire meal there existed a certain coldness, punctuated -by long and vexatious moments of silence. Quentin was furious, and when -the meal was finished, he arose immediately and went to his room.</p> - -<p>“They have forgotten nothing here,” he thought. “I don’t believe I shall -be able to stay in this house for any length of time.”</p> - -<p>His baggage had been brought to his room, so he devoted himself to -unpacking his books, and to arranging them in a bookcase. It was still -raining, and he had no desire to go out. It soon grew dark; for these -were the shortest days of the year. He went down to the store, where he -came upon Palomares, the old dependent of the house.</p> - -<p>“How did you like England?” he was asked.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Very much. It is a great country.”</p> - -<p>“But a bad race, eh?”</p> - -<p>“<i>Ca</i>, man! Better than ours.”</p> - -<p>“Do you think so?”</p> - -<p>“I certainly do.”</p> - -<p>“Maybe you’re right. Have you seen the store?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, this morning.”</p> - -<p>“We’ve made a great fight here, my boy. We have worked wonders—your -mother most of all. When she’s around, I can laugh at any other woman, -no matter how clever she may be.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, she must be clever.”</p> - -<p>“Indeed she is! She is responsible for everything. When I used to go -into the office upstairs, and turn the screws on the calendar, I thought -‘Today we’ll have the catastrophe’—but no, everything turned out well. -I’m going upstairs for a while. Are you coming?”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>Quentin seized an umbrella and took a stroll through the city. It was -pouring rain; so, very much bored, he soon returned to the house.</p> - -<p>His mother, Palomares, and all the children were playing Keno in the -dining-room. They invited him to take part in the game, and although it -did not impress him as particularly amusing, he had no choice but to -accept. It was a source of much laughter and shouting when Quentin -failed to understand the nicknames which Palomares gave to the numbers -as he called them; for beside those that were common and already -familiar to him, such as “the pretty little girl” for the 15, he had -others that were more picturesque which he had to explain to Quentin. -The 2, for example, was called “the little turkey-hen”; the 11, “the -Catalonians’ gal<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span>lows”; the 6, “the clothier’s rat”; the 22, “mother -Irene’s turkeys”; the 17, “the crooked <i>Maoliyo</i>.” Among the nicknames, -were some that were surprisingly fantastic; like the 10, which Palomares -designated by calling “María Francisca, who goes to the theatre in dirty -petticoats.”</p> - -<p>At the end of each game, Palomares took a tray with a glass of water on -it, and said to the winner:</p> - -<p>“You who have won behold your glass of water and your sugar-loaf: you -who have lost,” and he pointed to the loser, “go whence you came.”</p> - -<p>His fun was hailed with delight every time he went through the ceremony.</p> - -<p>“Now tell us what you did in Chile,” said one of the youngsters.</p> - -<p>“No, no,” said Quentin’s mother. “You two boys must study now, and my -little girl must go to bed.”</p> - -<p>They obeyed without a protest, and soon after, one could hear the -buzzing of the two boys as they read their lesson aloud.</p> - -<p>“Well,” said Palomares, “I’m going to supper,” and taking his cloak, he -went out into the street.</p> - -<p>Quentin’s father came in, and they had supper. The evening meal had the -same character as the dinner. As soon as they had finished dessert, -Quentin arose and went to his room.</p> - -<p>He climbed into bed, and amid the great confusion of images and -recollections that crowded his brain, one idea always predominated: that -he was not going to be able to live in that house.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II<br /><br /> -<small>O, ORIENTAL, ROMANTIC CITY!</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">O</span>N the following day, Quentin awoke very early. An unusual sensation of -heat and dryness penetrated his senses. He looked through the balcony -window. The delicate, keen, somewhat lustreless light of morning glowed -in the street. In the clear, pale sky, a few white clouds were drifting -slowly.</p> - -<p>Quentin dressed himself rapidly, left the house in which all were still -sleeping, turned down the street, went through a narrow alley, crossed a -plaza, followed a street, and then another and another, and soon found -himself without knowledge as to his whereabouts.</p> - -<p>“This is amusing,” he murmured.</p> - -<p>He was completely at sea. He did not even know on which side of the city -he was.</p> - -<p>This made him feel very gay; happily, and with a light heart, thinking -of nothing in particular, but enjoying the soft, fresh air of the winter -morning, he continued with real pleasure to lose himself in that -labyrinth of alleys and passages—veritable crevices, shadow-filled....</p> - -<p>The streets narrowed before him, and then widened until they formed -little plazas: they were full of sinuous twists; they traced broken -lines through the city. Water-spouts, terminating in wide-open dragon -mouths,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span> threatened each other from opposite eaves, and the two lines of -tiled roofs, broken now and then by projecting bay-windows, and azoteas -(flat roofs or terraces upon the house-tops), were so close together -that the sky was reduced between them to a ribbon of blue—of a very -pure blue.</p> - -<p>When one narrow, white street came to an end, on either side there -opened out others equally narrow, white, and silent.</p> - -<p>Quentin never imagined that there could be so much solitude, so much -light, so much mystery and silence. His eyes, accustomed to the filtered -and opaque light of the North, were blinded by the reverberation of the -walls. The air buzzed in his ears like a huge, sonorous sea-shell.</p> - -<p>How different everything was! What a difference between this clear and -limpid atmosphere, and that grey northern air: between the refulgent sun -of Cordova, and the turbid light of the misty, blackened towns of -England!</p> - -<p>“This is a real sun,” thought Quentin, “and not that thing in England -that looks like a wafer stuck on brown paper.”</p> - -<p>In the plazoletas, white houses with green blinds, with their eaves -shaded by tracings of blue paint, their intersecting angles twisted, and -splashed with lime, sparkled and shone. And from the side of one of -these sunbaked plazas, there started a narrow, damp, and sinuous alley, -full of violet shadows.</p> - -<p>Sometimes Quentin paused before sumptuous façades of old manorial -houses. At the furthest end of the broad entrance, the wrought-iron -flowers of the grating stood out against the brilliant clarity of a -resplendent<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span> patio. That drowsy spot was surrounded by rows of arches, -and jardinières were hung from the roofs of the corridors; while from a -marble basin in the centre, a fountain of crystalline water plashed in -the air.</p> - -<p>In the houses of the rich, great plantain trees spread their enormous -leaves, and cactus plants in green wooden pots, decorated the entrance. -In some of the poorer houses, the patios could be seen overflowing with -light at the end of very long and shadowy corridors.</p> - -<p>The day was advancing: from time to time a figure wrapped in a cloak, or -an old woman with a basket, or a girl with her hair down her back and an -Andújar pitcher on her well-rounded hip, would pass quickly by, and -suddenly, instantaneously, one or the other of them would disappear in -the turn of an alley. An old woman was setting up a small table, on top -of which, and upon some bits of paper, she was arranging coloured taffy.</p> - -<p>Without realizing where he was going, Quentin came to the Mosque, and -found himself before the wall facing an altar with a wooden shed, and a -grating decorated with pots of flowers. On the altar was this sign:</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Si quieres que tu dolor<br /></span> -<span class="i0">se convierta en alegría,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">no pasarás, pecador,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">sin alabar a María.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>(If you wish your grief to be changed to joy, you will not pass by, O -sinner, without first praising the Virgin Mary.)</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>Near the altar was an open gate, and through it, Quentin passed into the -Patio de los Naranjos.</p> - -<p>Above the archway of the entrance, the cathedral<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span> tower, broad, strong, -and resplendent in the sun, raised itself toward heaven, standing out in -clear and sharp silhouette in the pure and diaphanous morning air.</p> - -<p>Now and then a woman crossed the patio. A prebendary, with cap and -crimson mozetta, was walking slowly up and down in the sun, smoking, -with his hands clasped behind his back. In the shelter of the Puerta del -Perdón, two men were piling oranges. As Quentin neared the fountain, a -little old man asked him solicitously:</p> - -<p>“Do you wish to see the Mosque?”</p> - -<p>“No, sir,” replied Quentin pleasantly.</p> - -<p>“The Alcázar?”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“The Tower?”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“Very well, Señorito, pardon me if I have molested you.”</p> - -<p>“Not at all.”</p> - -<p>When Quentin left the Patio de los Naranjos, he met the French couple of -the train near the Triunfo column. M. Matignon hastened to greet him.</p> - -<p>“Oh, what a town! What a town!” he cried. “Oh, my friend, what an -extraordinary affair!”</p> - -<p>“Why, what has happened to you?”</p> - -<p>“A thousand things.”</p> - -<p>“Good or bad?”</p> - -<p>“Both. Just fancy: last night as I was coming out of a house, and was -about to enter my hotel, a man with a lantern in his hand, and a short -pike, commenced to pursue me. I went into the hotel and locked myself in -my room; but the man came into the hotel; I’m sure of it, I’m sure of -it.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Quentin laughed, realizing that the man with the lantern and the short -pike was a night watchman.</p> - -<p>“Pay no attention to the man with the pike,” said he. “If he sees you -again and starts to follow you, look him straight in the eye, and say to -him firmly: ‘I have the key.’ It is the magic word. As soon as he hears -it, he will go away.”</p> - -<p>“Why?”</p> - -<p>“Ah! That is a secret.”</p> - -<p>“How strange! One says to him, ‘I have the key,’ and he goes?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“It is marvellous. Something else happened to me.”</p> - -<p>“What?”</p> - -<p>“Last night we went to a café, and I left my stick upon a chair. When I -went back after it, it was no longer there.”</p> - -<p>“Naturally! Some one carried it off.”</p> - -<p>“But that is not moral!” declared M. Matignon indignantly.</p> - -<p>“No. We Spaniards have no morals,” replied Quentin somewhat dejectedly.</p> - -<p>“One cannot live without morality!”</p> - -<p>“But we <i>do</i> live without it. With us, stealing a stick, or stabbing a -friend are things of small importance.”</p> - -<p>“You cannot have order in that way.”</p> - -<p>“Of course not.”</p> - -<p>“Nor discipline.”</p> - -<p>“True.”</p> - -<p>“Nor society.”</p> - -<p>“Assuredly not: but here we live without those things.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span>”</p> - -<p>M. Matignon shook his head sadly.</p> - -<p>“Are you going to continue your walk?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“We shall go with you if we won’t be in your way.”</p> - -<p>“Come by all means.”</p> - -<p>Together the trio began to wander through that puzzling entanglement of -alleys. The barrio, or district into which they penetrated (the vicinity -of El Potro), was beginning to come to life. A few old women with -sour-looking faces, some with mantles of Antequera baize, others with -black mantillas, were on their way to mass, carrying folding chairs -under their arms.</p> - -<p>“Dueñas, eh?” said the Frenchman, pointing his finger at the old women. -“But their ladies, where are they now?”</p> - -<p>“Probably snoring at their ease,” replied Quentin.</p> - -<p>“But, do they snore?”</p> - -<p>“Some of them, yes.”</p> - -<p>“Snore? What is that?” Madame Matignon inquired of her husband in -French.</p> - -<p>“<i>Ronfler</i>, my dear,” said Matignon, “<i>ronfler</i>.”</p> - -<p>His wife made a disdainful little grimace.</p> - -<p>When the gossips in the streets caught sight of the trio, they exchanged -a jest or two from door to door. Servant girls were scrubbing the floors -of the patios with mops, and singing gipsy songs; balcony windows flew -open with a bang, as women came out to shake their rugs and carpets.</p> - -<p>Grimy-looking men passed them, pushing carts and shouting: “Fish!” -Vendors of medicinal herbs languidly cried their wares; and a muleteer, -mounted upon the hindmost donkey of his herd, rode along singing to the -tune of the tinkling bells on his decorated asses.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span></p> - -<p>Once, behind a window-grating, they caught sight of a pallid, anæmic -face with large, sad, black eyes, and a white flower stuck in the ebony -hair.</p> - -<p>“Oh! Oh!” cried Matignon, and immediately ran to the window.</p> - -<p>The maiden, offended by his curiosity, pulled down the curtain, and went -on embroidering or sewing, waiting for the handsome gallant, who perhaps -never came.</p> - -<p>“They are odalisques,” declared the Frenchman rather spitefully.</p> - -<p>In the doorways on some of the streets, they saw men working at turning -lathes in the Moorish fashion, using a sort of bow, and helping -themselves in their tasks with their feet.</p> - -<p>Quentin, who was already tired of the walk and of the observations and -comments of the Frenchman, announced his intention of leaving them.</p> - -<p>“I would like to ask you a question first,” said Matignon.</p> - -<p>“Proceed.”</p> - -<p>“I wish to see an undertaking establishment.” “An und<i>air</i>tak<i>ing</i> -estableesh<i>ment</i>,” the good man called it.</p> - -<p>“There are none here,” replied Quentin. “They are all far away; but if -you should see a shop where they sell guitars, you may be pretty sure -that that is where they make coffins, too.”</p> - -<p>“Can it be possible?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. It’s a Cordovese custom.”</p> - -<p>M. Matignon’s mouth fell open in surprise.</p> - -<p>“It is extraordinary!” he exclaimed when he had recovered from his -astonishment, and he drew a memorandum book and a pencil from his -pocket. “Where did this custom come from?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Oh! It is very ancient. The casket-makers here declared that they were -loath to confine their efforts to sad things, so from the same wood out -of which they make a coffin, they take a piece for a guitar.”</p> - -<p>“Admirable! Admirable! And they do not know that in France! What a -philosophy is that of the casket-maker! O, Cordova, Cordova! How little -thou art known in the world!”</p> - -<p>At that moment, a tattered, bushy-haired vendor of sacred images crossed -a very small plaza which contained a very large sign-post. Upon his -white, matted hair he wore a greasy and dirty hat as large as a portico. -His loose-fitting, long-sleeved cloak was worn wrong side to: the back -across his breast, and the sleeves, knotted and bulky at the ends, -falling down his back. Under his right arm he carried the saint, and in -his belt was a cash-box with a slot for pennies.</p> - -<p>“Pst! Silence!” said Quentin. “You are about to behold a most -interesting spectacle.”</p> - -<p>“What is it?”</p> - -<p>“Do you see that man?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll wager you cannot guess who he is?”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“The Bishop of Cordova!”</p> - -<p>“The Bishop!”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> - -<p>“But he hasn’t the appearance of a bishop, nor even of a cleanly -person.”</p> - -<p>“That doesn’t matter. If you follow him cautiously, you will be able to -see something very strange.”</p> - -<p>After he had said this, Quentin bowed to the couple, and walked rapidly -away in the direction of his home.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III<br /><br /> -<small>INFANCY: SOMBRE VESTIBULE OF LIFE</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">A</span>RCHÆOLOGISTS guard those curious, twice-written documents called -palimpsests as carefully as though they were so much gold. They are -parchments from which the first inscriptions were erased years and years -ago, to be substituted by others. More recently, assiduous investigators -have learned how to bring the erased characters to light, to decipher -them, and to read them.</p> - -<p>The idea of those strange documents came to Quentin’s mind as he thought -about his life.</p> - -<p>Eight years of English school had apparently completely erased the -memories of his early childhood. The uniformity of his school life, the -continual sports, had dulled his memory. Night after night Quentin went -to bed overcome with fatigue, with nothing to preoccupy his mind save -his themes and his lessons; but his removal from the scholarly -atmosphere, and his return to his home, had been sufficient to reawaken -memories of his childhood—vaguely at first, but daily growing stronger, -more distinct, and more detailed.</p> - -<p>The erased inscription of the palimpsest was again becoming -comprehensible: memories long dormant were crowding Quentin’s mind: of -these recollections, some were sad and gloomy; others, and these were -very few, were gay; still others were not as yet very clear to him.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span></p> - -<p>Quentin endeavoured to reconstruct his childhood. He remembered having -passed it in a house on the Calle de Librerías, near the Calle de la -Feria and the Cuesta de Luján, and he went to see the place. It was on a -corner of the street: a rose-coloured house with a silversmith’s shop on -the lower floor, two large and pretentious balconies on the main floor, -and above them, two rectangular windows. On top of the roof, was a -diminutive azotea surrounded by a rubble-stone wall.</p> - -<p>“That is where I was as a child,” said Quentin to himself.</p> - -<p>He remembered vaguely that hedge-mustard used to grow between the slabs -of the azotea, and that he had a white cat with which he used to play.</p> - -<p>He peeped into the shop, and there came to his mind the picture of a man -with white hair whom his mother tried to get him to kiss—something she -never succeeded in doing.</p> - -<p>“I must have been a little savage in those days,” thought Quentin.</p> - -<p>He strolled along the Calle de la Feria and recalled his escapades with -the little boys of the vicinity of La Ribera and El Murallón where they -used to play.</p> - -<p>His memory did not flow smoothly. There were large gaps in it: persons, -things, and places were blurred confusedly. His vivid recollections -began in the Calle de la Zapatería, where his parents established their -first shop. From there on, the incidents were linked together; they had -an explanation, a conclusion.</p> - -<p>Quentin was taken to school when he was very young—three or four years -old—because he was in the way at the store. As a very small child he -was distinguished as a dare-devil, a rowdy, and a swaggering boaster; -and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span> many times he returned from school with his trousers torn, or a -black eye.</p> - -<p>Once he had a fight with one of his schoolmates who came from a town -called Cabra (Goat). For this reason, the others used to poke fun at -him, calling him a “son of a goat,” and making rude derivations from the -name of his home town. Quentin was one of the most insulting, and one -day the tormented lad answered him:</p> - -<p>“You’re a bigger son of a goat than I am, and your mother is living with -a silversmith.”</p> - -<p>Quentin waited for his comrade to come out of school, and then punched -his nose—only to be thrashed by his victim’s older brother afterwards. -This affair gave origin to a continual series of fights, and nearly -every day Quentin was crippled by the beatings he received.</p> - -<p>“Why, what’s the matter with you?” his mother once asked.</p> - -<p>“They told me at school that my mother was living with a silversmith.”</p> - -<p>“Who told you?”</p> - -<p>“Everybody,” replied Quentin with a frown.</p> - -<p>“And what did you do?”</p> - -<p>“Fought ’em all!”</p> - -<p>His mother said nothing more, but she withdrew Quentin from that school -and took him to another, which was presided over by a dominie, and -attended by a couple of dozen children.</p> - -<p>The dominie was a secularized monk by the name of Piñuela—an old fossil -full of musty prejudices. He was a strong partisan of the ancient -pedagogic principle, so much beloved by our ancestors, of “La letra con -la sangre entra” (Learn by the sweat of thy brow).</p> - -<p>Dominie Piñuela was a ridiculous and eccentric indi<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span>vidual. His nose was -large, coarse, and flaming red: his under lip hung down: his great eyes, -turbid, and bulging from their sockets like two eggs, were always -watery: he wore a long, tight-fitting frock coat, which was once black, -but now with the passage of time, covered with layers of dirt and grease -and dandruff; narrow trousers, bagging loosely at the knees, and a black -skull-cap.</p> - -<p>Piñuela’s only store of knowledge consisted of Latin, rhetoric, and -writing. His system of instruction was based on the division of the -class into two groups, Rome and Carthage, a book of translations, and a -Latin Grammar. Besides these educational mediums, the secularized monk -counted upon the aid of a ferrule, a whip, a long bamboo stick, and a -small leather sack filled with bird-shot.</p> - -<p>Piñuela taught writing by the Spanish method, with the letters ending in -points. To do this one had to know how to cut and trim quill pens; and -few there were who had the advantage of the Dominie in this art.</p> - -<p>Besides this, Piñuela corrected the vicious pronunciation of his pupils; -and in order to do so, he exaggerated his own by doubling his z’s and -s’s. One of the selections of his readings began as follows: <i>Amanezzía; -era la máss bella mañana de primafera</i> (Dawn was breaking; it was the -most beautiful day of Spring): and all the children had to say -“primafera” and “fida” unless they wished their lessons to be -supplemented by a blow with the ferrule.</p> - -<p>The Dominie walked constantly to and fro with his pen behind his ear. If -he saw that a child was not studying, or had not pointed his letters -sufficiently in his copy-book, according to the principles of -Iturzaeta,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span> he beat him with the stick, or threw the bag of shot at his -head.</p> - -<p>“Idling, eh?—Idling?” he would murmur, “I’ll teach you to idle!”</p> - -<p>For more serious occasions, the stupid Dominie had his whip; but nearly -all of the parents warned him not to use it on their children—which for -Piñuela was the plainest symptom of the decadence of the times.</p> - -<p>At first Quentin felt the profoundest hate for the Dominie: he tormented -him every time he could with unutterable joy; he broke his inkwells; he -bored holes in his writing-desk; and Piñuela retaliated by boxing his -ears. Between master and pupil there began to arise a certain ironical -and joyous esteem by force of beatings from the one, and pranks from the -other. They looked upon each other as faithful enemies; Quentin’s -mischief provoked laughter from Piñuela, and the Dominie’s beatings -wrested an ironical smile from Quentin.</p> - -<p>Once the pupils saw Piñuela advancing with his pointer raised on high, -and Quentin running, hiding behind tables, and throwing inkwells at the -Dominie’s head.</p> - -<p>One day two old women were gossiping in the shop at home. They were two -street vendors, one of whom was called Siete Tonos, on account of the -seven different tones she used in crying her wares.</p> - -<p>“They have hard luck with the little scamp. He’s a wicked little devil,” -said one of them.</p> - -<p>“Yes; he’s not like his father,” added the other.</p> - -<p>“But El Pende isn’t his father.”</p> - -<p>“Ah! Isn’t he?”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>Quentin waited for them to say more, but the clerk entered the store, -and the gossips fell silent.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span></p> - -<p>El Pende was the nickname of the man who passed for Quentin’s father. -The boy thought about the conversation of the two old gossips for a long -time, and came to the conclusion that there had been something obscure -about his birth. He was proud and haughty, and considered himself worthy -of royal descent, so the idea of dishonour irritated him, and made him -desperate.</p> - -<p>One day his mother went to ask the Dominie how her son was behaving -himself.</p> - -<p>“How is he behaving himself?” cried Piñuela with ironic geniality. -“Badly! Very badly! He’s the worst boy in the class. A veritable -dishonour to my school. He knows nothing about Latin, nor grammar, nor -logic, nor anything. I’m sure that he doesn’t even know how to decline -<i>musa, musae</i>.”</p> - -<p>“So you think he is no good at studying?”</p> - -<p>“He is a rowdy, incapable of ever possessing the sublime language of -Lacius.”</p> - -<p>His mother told her husband what Piñuela had said, and El Pende launched -a sermon at Quentin.</p> - -<p>“So this is the way you behave after the sacrifices we have made for -you!”</p> - -<p>Quentin did not reply to the charges they made against him, but when El -Pende told him that if he continued his pranks he would throw him out of -the house, the thought that was in Quentin’s heart rushed to his lips.</p> - -<p>“It makes no difference to me,” he cried, “because you are not my -father.”</p> - -<p>El Pende boxed the boy’s ears; the mother wept; and that night Quentin -left the house and roamed the fields half-starved, until Palomares, the -clerk, found him and brought him to his parents.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span></p> - -<p>The boy began to take notice of things, and made it plain to his mother -that instead of studying Latin, he preferred to learn French and go to -America, as a schoolmate of his—the son of a Swiss watch-maker—had -done.</p> - -<p>Accordingly they took him to the academy of a French <i>emigré</i>, a violent -republican, who, at the same time that he taught his pupils to conjugate -the verb <i>avoir</i>, spoke to them enthusiastically about Danton, -Robespierre, and Hoche.</p> - -<p>Perhaps this excited Quentin’s imagination; perhaps it did not need to -be excited; at any rate, one Sunday morning he decided to put into -execution his great <i>projét de voyage</i>.</p> - -<p>His mother was accustomed to hide the key to the cabinet where she kept -her money under her pillow. While she was at mass, Quentin seized the -key, opened the cabinet, stuffed the seventy dollars that he found there -into his pocket, and a few minutes later was calmly increasing the -distance between himself and his home.</p> - -<p>Fifteen days after his escape he was apprehended in Cadiz just as he was -about to set sail for America, and was brought back to Cordova in the -custody of the <i>guardia civil</i>.</p> - -<p>Then his mother took him to a monastery, but Quentin had made up his -mind to run away from everything, so he attempted to escape several -times. At the end of a month, the friars intimated that they did not -wish to keep him any longer.</p> - -<p>To the boys of his age, Quentin was now the prototype of wildness, -impudence, and disobedience. People predicted an evil future for him.</p> - -<p>At this point his mother said to him one day:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span></p> - -<p>“We are going to a certain house. Kindly answer politely anything they -may ask you there.”</p> - -<p>Quentin said nothing, but accompanied his mother to a palace on the -Calle del Sol. They climbed some marble stairs, and entered a hall where -a white-haired old man was sitting in a large, deep armchair, with a -blond little girl who looked like an angel to Quentin, by his side.</p> - -<p>“So this is the little scamp?” inquired the little old man with a smile.</p> - -<p>“Sí, Señor Marqués,” replied Quentin’s mother.</p> - -<p>“And what do you wish to do, my boy?” the Marquis asked him.</p> - -<p>“I!—Get out of here as soon as I possibly can,” replied Quentin in a -dull voice.</p> - -<p>“But, why?”</p> - -<p>“Because I hate this town.”</p> - -<p>The little girl must have looked at him in horror; at least he supposed -she did.</p> - -<p>His mother and the old man chatted a while, and at last the latter -exclaimed:</p> - -<p>“Very well, my boy. You shall go to England. Get his baggage ready,” he -added, turning to the mother, “and let him go as soon as possible.”</p> - -<p>Quentin departed, making the journey sometimes in the company of others, -sometimes alone, and entered Eton School, near Windsor. In a short time -he had forgotten his entire former life.</p> - -<p>In the English school the professor was not the enemy of the scholar, -but rather one of his schoolmates. Quentin met boys as daring as he, and -stronger than he, and he had to look alive. That school was something -like a primitive forest where the strong devoured the weak, and -conquered and abused them.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span></p> - -<p>The brutality of the English education acted like a tonic upon Quentin, -and made him athletic and good-humoured. The thing of paramount -importance that he learned there, was that one must be strong and alert -and calm in life, and ready to conquer always.</p> - -<p>In the same way that he accepted this concept on account of the way it -flattered him, he rejected the moral and sentimental concepts of his -fellow-pupils and masters. Those young men of bulldog determination, -valiant, strengthened by football and rowing, and nourished by underdone -meat, were full of ridiculous conventions and respect for social class, -for the hierarchy, and for authority.</p> - -<p>In spite of the fact that he passed for an aristocrat and a son of a -marquis in order to enjoy a certain prestige in the school, Quentin -manifested a profound contempt for the principles his schoolmates held -in such respect. He considered that authority, wigs, and ceremonies were -grotesque, and consequently was looked upon as the worst kind of a -poser.</p> - -<p>He used to maintain, much to the stupefaction of his comrades, that he -felt no enthusiasm for religion, nor for his native land; that not only -would he not sacrifice himself for them, but he would not even give a -farthing to save them. Moreover, he asserted that if he should ever -become rich, he would prefer to owe his money to chance, rather than to -constant effort on his part; and that to work, as the English did, that -their wives might amuse themselves and live well, was absurd—for all -their blond hair, their great beauty, and their flute-like voices.</p> - -<p>A man with his ideas, and one, moreover, who followed women—even -servant girls—in the street, and made<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span> complimentary remarks to them, -could not be a <i>gentleman</i>, and for this reason, Quentin had no intimate -friends. He was respected for his good fists, but enjoyed absolutely no -esteem....</p> - -<p>During his last years at school, his only real friend was an Italian -teacher of music named Caravaglia. This man communicated to Quentin his -enthusiasm for Bellini, Donizetti, Rossini, and Verdi. Caravaglia used -to sit at the piano and sing. Quentin listened to him and was much -softened by the music. The <i>Alma innamoratta</i> from <i>Lucia</i>, and <i>La -cavattina</i> from <i>Hernani</i>, made him weep; but his greatest favourites, -the songs that went straight to his heart, were the manly arias from the -Italian operas like that in <i>Rigoletto</i>, that goes:</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">La constanza teranna del core.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>This song, overflowing with arrogance, merry fanfaronade, indifference, -and egoism, enchanted him.</p> - -<p>On the other hand, to his psalm-singing comrades, this merry and -swaggering music seemed worthy of the greatest contempt.</p> - -<p>In the farewell banquet which Quentin gave to his four or five -companions, and to the Italian professor, there were several toasts.</p> - -<p>“I am not a Protestant,” said Quentin at the last, somewhat befuddled -with whiskey, “nor am I a Catholic. I am a Horatian. I believe in the -wine of Falernus, and in Cécube and his wines of Calais. I also believe -that we mortals must leave the task of calming the winds to the gods.”</p> - -<p>After this important declaration, nothing more is known, except the fact -that the diners all fell asleep.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV<br /><br /> -<small>BLUE EYES, BLACK EYES</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">“S</span>EE here, Quentin,” said his mother, “you ought to go and call on the -Marquis.”</p> - -<p>“Very well,” Quentin answered, “must I go today?”</p> - -<p>“You’d better.”</p> - -<p>“Then I shall.”</p> - -<p>“Do you remember where he lives?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I think I can find the house.”</p> - -<p>“It’s in the Calle del Sol; any one will point out the palace to you.”</p> - -<p>Quentin left the house, turned into the Plaza de la Corredera, and from -the Calle del Poyo, by encircling a church, he came out upon the Calle -de Santiago. It was a moderately warm day in January, with an overcast -sky. A few drops of rain were falling.</p> - -<p>Quentin was very much preoccupied by the visit he was about to make.</p> - -<p>So far, he had not asked what relation he was to that man. Surely some -relationship did exist; a bastard kinship; something defamatory to -Quentin.</p> - -<p>Sunk deep in these thoughts, Quentin wandered from his way, and was -obliged to ask where the street was.</p> - -<p>The palace of the Marquis of Tavera stood in a street in the lower part -of town, which with different names<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span> for its different parts, stretched -from the Plaza de San Pedro to the Campo de la Madre de Dios.</p> - -<p>The Marquis’ palace was extremely large. Five bay-windows, framed in -thick moulding, with ornate iron-work and brass flower-pots, opened from -a façade of a yellow, porous stone. On either side of the larger centre -balcony, there rose two pilasters surmounted by a timpanum, in the -middle of which was the half-obliterated carving of a shield. The -decayed iron-work of the balustrade was twisted into complicated -designs.</p> - -<p>On the ground floor, four large gratings clawed the walls of the palace, -and in the centre was a large opening closed by a massive door studded -with nails, and topped by a fan-shaped window.</p> - -<p>Before the palace, the street widened into a small-sized plaza. Quentin -entered the wide entrance, and his footsteps resounded with a hollow -sound.</p> - -<p>Some distance ahead of him, through the iron bars of the grating at the -end of a dark gallery, he could see a sunny garden; and that shady zone, -terminating in such a brilliant spot of light, recalled the play of -light and shade in the canvases of the old masters.</p> - -<p>Quentin pulled a chain, and a bell rang in the distance with a solemn -sound.</p> - -<p>Several minutes elapsed without any one coming to the entry, and Quentin -rang again.</p> - -<p>A moment later the vivid sunlight of the distant garden, which shone -like a square patch of light at the end of the shadowy corridor, was -dimmed by the silhouette of a man who came forward until he reached and -opened the grating. He was small in stature, and old, and wore overalls, -an undershirt, and a broad-brimmed hat.</p> - -<p>“What did you wish?” asked the old man.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Is the Señor Marqués at home?”</p> - -<p>“Sí, Señor.”</p> - -<p>“May I see him?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know; ask upstairs.” The old man opened the grating, and -Quentin passed through.</p> - -<p>Through a door on the right he could see a deserted patio. In the centre -of it was a fountain formed by a bowl which spilled the water into a -basin in six sparkling jets. On the left of the wide vestibule rose a -monumental stairway made of black and white marble. The very high -ceiling was covered with huge panels which were broken and decayed.</p> - -<p>“Is this the way?” Quentin asked the old man, pointing to the stairway.</p> - -<p>“Sí, Señor.”</p> - -<p>He climbed the stairs to the landing, and paused before a large, -panelled, double door. In the centre of each half, he discerned two -large and handsomely carved escutcheons. To the left of this door there -was a window through which Quentin peeped.</p> - -<p>“Oh, how beautiful!” he murmured in astonishment.</p> - -<p>He saw a splendid garden, full of orange trees laden with fruit. In the -open, the trees were tall and erect; against the walls they took the -form of vines, climbing the high walls, and covering them with their -dark green foliage.</p> - -<p>A light rain was falling, and it was a wonderful sight to see the -oranges glistening like balls of red and yellow gold among the dark, -rain-soaked leaves. The glistening brilliancy of the foliage, and of the -golden fruit, the grey sky, and the damp air created an extraordinary -effect of exuberance and life.</p> - -<p>Silence reigned in the shady garden. From time to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span> time, from his -hiding-place in a tree, some bird poured forth his sweet song. A pale -yellow sunbeam struggled to illuminate the spot, and as it was reflected -upon the wet leaves, it made them flash with a metallic brilliancy....</p> - -<p>Above the opposite wall, rose the silhouette of a blackened and -moss-covered belfry, surmounted by the figure of an angel. In the -distance, over the house-tops, rose the dark sierra, partially hidden by -bluish mists. These mists were moved about by the wind, and as they -drifted along, or dissipated into the air, they disclosed several white -orchards which heretofore had been concealed by the haze.</p> - -<p>On the mountain-top, as the white penants of mist floated among the -trees, they left tenuous filaments like those silver threads woven among -the thorn bushes by lemures.</p> - -<p>Quentin was gazing tirelessly upon the scene, when he heard footsteps -behind him. He turned and saw a little girl of ten or twelve years, with -her hair down her back.</p> - -<p>“Good-afternoon,” said the child with a marked Andalusian accent, as she -came up to him.</p> - -<p>Quentin removed his hat respectfully, and the child smiled.</p> - -<p>“Have you rung?” she asked.</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>She rang the bell, and a large, over-grown servant girl opened the door -and asked Quentin what he wanted.</p> - -<p>“Give the Señor Marqués my card,” he said, “and tell him that I have -come to pay him my respects.”</p> - -<p>“Come in, Señor.”</p> - -<p>Quentin entered. He rather wished that the Marquis<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span> would not care to -receive him, hoping in this way to avoid making a tiresome call, but his -wish was not granted, for in a short time, the over-grown servant girl -asked him to kindly follow her.</p> - -<p>They traversed a gallery whose windows looked out upon the patio of the -fountain; then, after crossing two large, dark rooms, they came to a -high-ceilinged hall panelled in leather, and with a red rug, tarnished -by the years, upon the floor.</p> - -<p>“Sit down, Señor; the master will be here directly,” said the maid.</p> - -<p>Quentin seated himself and began to examine the hall. It was large and -rectangular, with three broad, and widely-separated balcony windows -looking out upon the garden. The room possessed an air of complete -desolation. The painted walls from which the plaster had peeled off in -places, were hung with life-size portraits of men in the uniforms and -habiliments of nobility: in some of the pictures the canvas was torn; in -others, the frames were eaten by moths: the great, rickety, -leather-covered armchairs staggered under the touch of a hand upon their -backs: two ancient pieces of tapestry with figures in relief, which -concealed the doors, were full of large rents: on the panels in the -ceiling, spiders wove their white webs: a very complicated seventeenth -century clock, with pendulum and dial of copper, had ceased to run: the -only things in that antique salon that were out of harmony, were the -French fire-place in which some wood was burning, and a little gilt -clock upon the marble mantel, which, like a good parvenu, impertinently -called attention to itself.</p> - -<p>When he had waited a moment, a curtain was pulled aside, and an old man, -bent with age, entered the salon.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span> He was followed by a little -bow-legged hunchback, crosseyed, grey-haired, and dressed in black.</p> - -<p>“Where is the boy?” asked the old man in a cracked voice.</p> - -<p>“Right in front of you,” replied the hunchback.</p> - -<p>“Come closer!” exclaimed the Marquis, addressing Quentin. “I do not see -very well.”</p> - -<p>Quentin approached him, and the old man seized his hand and looked at -him very closely.</p> - -<p>“Come, sit by me. Have you enjoyed good health at school?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, Señor Marqués.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t call me that,” murmured the old man, patting Quentin’s hand. -“Have you learned to speak English?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> - -<p>“But, well?”</p> - -<p>“I speak it as well as I do Spanish.”</p> - -<p>“English is very hard,” said the hunchback, who had seated himself upon -the floor. “Yes means yesca (tinder); <i>verigüel</i> means muy bien (very -well), and as for the rest—when you can say, ‘I catch, I go, I -say’—you know English.”</p> - -<p>“Hush, Colmenares,” said the Marquis, “don’t be a fool.”</p> - -<p>“You’re more of a fool than I am,” replied the dwarf.</p> - -<p>The old man, paying no attention to him, said to Quentin:</p> - -<p>“I already know, I already know that you have not been up to any more -foolishness.”</p> - -<p>The hunchback burst into noisy laughter.</p> - -<p>“Then he doesn’t belong to your family,” he ex<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span>claimed, “because every -one of your family, beginning with you, is a fool.”</p> - -<p>“Hush, buffoon, be quiet; I’ll warm your ribs for you if you don’t.”</p> - -<p>This threat from the lips of the sickly octogenarian, was absolutely -absurd; but the hunchback appeared to take it in earnest, for he began -to make faces and grin in silence.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Colmenares,” said the old man, “kindly call Rafaela, will you?”</p> - -<p>“Very well.”</p> - -<p>The hunchback went out, leaving the Marquis and Quentin alone.</p> - -<p>“Well, my boy, I have asked your mother about you very often. She told -me that you were well, and that you were working hard. I am very glad to -see you”—and again he pressed Quentin’s hand between his own weak and -trembling ones.</p> - -<p>Quentin regarded the old man tenderly, without knowing what to say. At -this moment, the hunchback returned, followed by a young lady and a -little girl. The little girl was the one Quentin had greeted upon the -stairs; the young lady was the same girl he had seen several years -before—probably in that very same room.</p> - -<p>Quentin rose to greet them.</p> - -<p>“Rafaela,” said the old man, addressing the older girl, “this boy is a -relative of ours. I am not going to recall incidents that sadden me: the -only thing I want is that you should know that you are related. Quentin -will come here often, will you not?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir,” answered he, more and more astounded at the direction the -interview was taking.</p> - -<p>“Good. That is all.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span>”</p> - -<p>At this point, the hunchback, clutching the Marquis by the sleeve, -asked:</p> - -<p>“Would you like me to play for you?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, do.”</p> - -<p>The hunchback brought a small, lute-shaped guitar, drew up a tabouret, -and sat at the feet of the Marquis. Then he began to pluck the strings -with fingers as long and delicate as spiders’ legs. He played a guitar -march, and then, much to Quentin’s astonishment, the old Marquis began -to sing. He sang a patriotic song in a cracked voice. It was a very old -one, and ended with the following stanza:</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Ay mi patria, patria mía,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">y tambien de mi querida;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">luchar valiente por patria y amor,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">es el deber del guerrero español.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>(Ah, my country, country of mine, and also of my sweetheart; to fight -for country and love, is the duty of the Spanish warrior.)</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>When the old man had finished the song, his grand-daughters embraced -him, and he smiled most contentedly.</p> - -<p>Quentin felt as though he had been transported to another century. The -shabby house, the old Marquis, the buffoon, the beautiful -girls—everything seemed unusual.</p> - -<p>The two sisters were pretty; Rafaela, the older sister, was extremely -attractive. Some twenty-three or twenty-four years of age, she had -clear, blue eyes—eyes the colour of pale blue satin—blond hair, a -straight nose, and an enchanting smile. Lacking the freshness of her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span> -first youth, there was a suspicion of marcidity in her face, which, -perhaps, enhanced her attractiveness.</p> - -<p>The face of Remedios, the child, was less symmetrical, but more -positive: she had large, black eyes, and an expression of mixed -audacity, childishness, and arrogance. Now and then she smiled silently -and mischievously.</p> - -<p>When Quentin felt that he had stayed long enough, he rose, gave his hand -to the two girls, and hesitantly approached the old man, who threw his -arms about his neck and tearfully embraced him.</p> - -<p>He saluted the hunchback with a nod of his head which was scarcely -answered; descended the stairs, and upon reaching the vestibule, the man -who had let him in, asked:</p> - -<p>“Excuse me, Señor, but are you the man who got back from England a -little while ago?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“That’s what I thought. Are you going to stay in Cordova?”</p> - -<p>“I believe so.”</p> - -<p>“Then we shall see you?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I shall call from time to time.”</p> - -<p>The two men shook hands, and Quentin stepped into the street.</p> - -<p>“The old man is my grandfather,” said Quentin, “that’s <i>just</i> what he -is. His emotion, his harrowed look—that’s <i>just</i> what he is.”</p> - -<p>Perhaps the best thing to do would be to ask his mother exactly what the -circumstances of his birth were; but he feared to offend her.</p> - -<p>He soon forgot about that, and began to think about<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span> the blond-haired -girl Rafaela. She was pretty. Indeed she was! Her clear, soft eyes; her -pleasant smile; and above all, her opaque voice had gone straight to -Quentin’s heart: but as Quentin was not a dreamer, but a Bœotian, a -Horatian, as he himself had remarked, he associated with Rafaela’s soft, -blue eyes, the ancestral home, the beautiful garden, and the wealth -which her family must still possess.</p> - -<p>Quentin devoted the days following this visit to cogitating upon this -point.</p> - -<p>Rafaela was an admirable prize—pretty, pleasant, and aristocratic. He -must attempt the conquest. True, he was an illegitimate child. He had a -desire to laugh at that thought, it seemed so operatic to him: now he -could sing the aria from <i>Il Trovatore</i>:</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Deserto sulla terra.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>Bastard or no bastard, he considered that the thing was possible. He was -tall, handsome, and above all, strong. In Eton, he had noticed that -after all, the greatest attraction in a man for women is strength.</p> - -<p>They said that the Marquis’ house was going to ruin: he would save it -from ruin and restore it splendidly. Then—into the street with those -who got in his way! It was a great plan.</p> - -<p>Truly, Rafaela was an admirable prize. To marry her, and live in that -sumptuous house with the two sisters until the place was completely -repaired, would be a life indeed! He would write his school friends and -tell them about his marriage to an Andalusian descendant of the Cid, and -describe the patios filled with orange trees.... Then he could say with -his poet: “Let them serve us quickly this bottle of Fa<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span>lernus in the -neighbouring gorge.” After that ... then came new chapters, as yet -scarcely outlined in his imagination....</p> - -<p>He would represent himself from the very first as a romanticist, an -idealist, a scorner of the impurities of reality. He would manifest a -respectful enthusiasm for her, like that of a man who dares not even -dream of so much felicity.</p> - -<p>“You’ll win, Quentin, you’ll win,” he said to himself joyously. “What do -you desire? To live well, to have a beautiful home, not to work. Is that -a crime, forsooth? And if it were a crime, then what? They do not carry -one off to jail for that. No. You are a good Bœotian, a good swine in -the herd of Epicurus. You were not born for the base bodily wants of a -merchant. Dissemble a little, my son, dissemble a little. Why not? -Fortunately for you, you are a great faker.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span>”</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V<br /><br /> -<small>NOBLE AND ANCIENT ANCESTRAL HOMES!</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">A</span> WEEK later, on a rainy day which recalled that of his first visit, -Quentin approached the palace. In spite of his Epicureanism and his -Bœotianism, he dared not enter; he passed by without stopping until he -reached the Campo de la Madre de Dios.</p> - -<p>He leaned over the railing on the river bank. The Guadalquivir was -muddy, clay-coloured: some fishermen in black boats were casting their -nets near the Martos dam and mill: others, with poles, perched upon the -rocks of the Murallón, were patiently waiting for the shad to bite.</p> - -<p>Quentin returned to the Calle del Sol disgusted with his weakness, but -as soon as he reached the house, his energy again disappeared. -Fortunately for him, the man who had opened the gate for him a few days -before was seated on a stone bench in the vestibule.</p> - -<p>“Good-afternoon,” said Quentin.</p> - -<p>“Good-afternoon, Señor. Did you come to see the Marquis?”</p> - -<p>“No; I was just out for a walk.”</p> - -<p>“Won’t you come in?”</p> - -<p>“Very well, I’ll come in for a while.”</p> - -<p>The old man opened the gate, shut it again, and they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span> went down the long -gallery. At the end of it, after climbing two steps, they came into the -garden. It was large and beautiful: the walls were hidden by the -fan-shaped foliage of the orange and lemon trees. Close-trimmed myrtles -lined the walks, and underfoot, yellow and green moss carpeted the -stones.</p> - -<p>“I have taken care of this garden for fifty years,” said the man.</p> - -<p>“<i>Caramba!</i>”</p> - -<p>“Yes; I began to work here when I was eight or ten years old. It is -rather neglected now, for I can’t do much any more.”</p> - -<p>“Why are those orange trees in the centre so tall?”</p> - -<p>“Orange trees grow taller when they are shut in like that than they do -in the country,” answered the gardener.</p> - -<p>“And what do you do with so many oranges?”</p> - -<p>“The master gives them away.”</p> - -<p>At one end of the garden was a rectangular pool. On one of its long -sides rose a granite pedestal adorned with large, unpolished urns which -were reflected in the greenish and motionless water.</p> - -<p>Quentin was contemplating the tranquil water of the pool, when he heard -the halting notes of a Czerny étude on the piano.</p> - -<p>“Who is playing?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“Señorita Rafaela, who is giving her sister a lesson. Why don’t you go -up?”</p> - -<p>“Why, I think I shall.”</p> - -<p>And with throbbing heart, Quentin left the garden and climbed the -stairs. He rang, and a tall, dried-up maid led him through several rooms -until he reached one in which Remedios was playing the piano while<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span> -Rafaela, just behind her, was beating time upon an open book of music.</p> - -<p>An old woman servant was sewing by the balcony window.</p> - -<p>Quentin greeted the two sisters, and Rafaela said to him:</p> - -<p>“You haven’t been here for several days! Grandfather has asked for you -again and again.”</p> - -<p>“Really?” asked Quentin idiotically.</p> - -<p>“Yes, many times.”</p> - -<p>“I couldn’t come; and besides, I was afraid I would be an annoyance, -that I would bother you.”</p> - -<p>“For goodness’ sake!”</p> - -<p>“Well, you see you have already stopped the lesson on my account.”</p> - -<p>“No; we were just about to finish anyway,” said Remedios. “Go on,” she -added, turning to Rafaela, “why don’t you play for us?”</p> - -<p>“Oh! Some other day.”</p> - -<p>“No. Do play,” urged Quentin.</p> - -<p>“What would you like me to play?”</p> - -<p>“Anything you like.”</p> - -<p>Rafaela took a book, placed it on the rack, and opened it.</p> - -<p>Quentin could read the word <i>Mozart</i> upon the cover. He listened to the -sonata in silence: he did not know very much about classical music, and -while the girl played, he was thinking about the most appropriate -exclamation to make when she had finished.</p> - -<p>“Oh! Fine! Fine!” he exclaimed. “Whose is that delicious music?”</p> - -<p>“It is Mozart’s,” replied Rafaela.</p> - -<p>“It’s admirable! Admirable!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Don’t you play the piano, Quentin?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, very little. Just enough to accompany myself when I sing.”</p> - -<p>“Ah! Then you sing?”</p> - -<p>“I used to sing a little in school; but I have a poor voice, and I use -it badly.”</p> - -<p>“Very well, sing for us; if you do it badly, we’ll tell you,” said -Rafaela.</p> - -<p>“Yes, sing—do sing!” exclaimed Remedios.</p> - -<p>Quentin sat down at the piano and played the introductory chords of -Count di Luna’s aria in <i>Il Trovatore</i>:</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Il balen del suo sorriso<br /></span> -<span class="i0">d’una stella vince al raggio.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>Then he began to sing in a rich, baritone voice, and as he reached the -end of the <i>romanza</i>, he imparted an expression of profound melancholy -to it:</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Ah l’amor, l’amore ond’ ardo<br /></span> -<span class="i0">le favelli in mio favor<br /></span> -<span class="i0">sperda il sole d’un suo sguardo<br /></span> -<span class="i0">la tempesta, ah!... la tempesta del mio cor.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>And he repeated the phrase with an accent that was more and more -expressive. Any one listening to him would have said that truly, <i>la -tempesta</i> was playing havoc with his heart.</p> - -<p>“Very good! Very good!” cried Rafaela. Remedios applauded gleefully.</p> - -<p>“It’s going to rain,” announced the old woman servant as she glanced at -the sky.</p> - -<p>“That’s because I did so badly,” said Quentin with a smile.</p> - -<p>They went to the window. The sky was darkening; it was beginning to -rain. The heavy drops fell in ob<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span>lique lines and glistened on the green -leaves of the orange trees, and on the moss-covered tiles; the -continuous splashing of the drops in the pool, made it look as if it -were boiling....</p> - -<p>The rain soon ceased, the sun came out, and the whole garden glowed like -a red-hot coal; the oranges shone among the damp foliage; the green -hedge-mustard spotted the glittering grey roof tiles with its gay note; -water poured from the dark, ancient belfry of a near-by tower; and -several white gardens smiled upon the mountain side.</p> - -<p>“That is a regular gipsy sun,” lisped Remedios, who at times had an -exaggerated Andalusian pronunciation.</p> - -<p>Quentin laughed; the little girl’s manner of speech amused him -immensely.</p> - -<p>“Don’t laugh,” said Rafaela to Quentin with mock gravity; “my little -girl is very sensitive.”</p> - -<p>“What did you say to him?” demanded Remedios of her sister.</p> - -<p>“Oh, you rascal! He’s heard it, now,” Rafaela exclaimed humorously; and -seizing the child about the waist, she kissed the back of her neck.</p> - -<p>It was beginning to clear up; the dark clouds were moving off, leaving -the sky clear; a ray of sunshine struck a tower formed by three arches -set one above the other. In the three spaces, they could see the -motionless bells; a figure of San Rafael spread its wings from the peak -of the roof.</p> - -<p>“What is that figure?” asked Quentin.</p> - -<p>“It belongs to the church of San Pedro,” replied the servant.</p> - -<p>“Is it hollow like a weather-vane?”</p> - -<p>“No; I think it is solid.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“It’s stopped raining now,” said Remedios. “Have you seen the house -yet,” she added, turning to Quentin, and using the familiar second -person.</p> - -<p>“No,” he replied.</p> - -<p>“She uses ‘thou’ to everybody,” explained Rafaela.</p> - -<p>They left the music-room, and in the next room, they showed Quentin -various mirrors with bevelled edges, a glass cabinet full of miniatures -with carved frames and antique necklaces, two escritoires inlaid with -mother-of-pearl, bright-coloured majolica ware, and pier-glasses with -thick plates.</p> - -<p>“It is my mother’s room,” said Rafaela; “we’ve kept it exactly as it was -when she was alive.”</p> - -<p>“Did she die very long ago?”</p> - -<p>“Six years ago.”</p> - -<p>“Come on,” said Remedios, seizing him by the hand, and looking into her -sister’s face with her great, restless eyes.</p> - -<p>The three descended the stairs and traversed the gallery that connected -the vestibule with the garden. On either side of them were an infinite -number of rooms; some large and dark, with wardrobes and furniture -pushed against the walls; others were small, with steps leading up to -them. At the end of the gallery were the stables, extremely large, with -barred windows. They entered.</p> - -<p>“Now you’ll see what kind of a horse we have here,” said Rafaela. -“Pajarito! Pajarito!” she called, and a little donkey which was eating -hay in a corner came running up.</p> - -<p>In the same stable was an enormous coach, painted yellow, very ornate, -with several very small windows, and the family coat-of-arms on the -doors.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Grandfather used to ride in this coach,” said Rafaela.</p> - -<p>“It must have taken more than two horses to draw it.”</p> - -<p>“Yes; they used eight.”</p> - -<p>“These girls are admirably stoical,” thought Quentin.</p> - -<p>After the stables, they saw the corrals, and the cellar, which was huge, -with enormous rain-water jars that looked like giants buried in the -ground.</p> - -<p>“We can’t go in there,” said Rafaela ironically.</p> - -<p>“Why not?”</p> - -<p>“Because this little idiot,” and she seized her sister, “is afraid of -the jars.”</p> - -<p>Remedios made no reply; they went on; through crooked passages that were -full of hiding-places, and labyrinthic corridors, until they came to a -large, abandoned garden.</p> - -<p>“Would you like to go in?” Rafaela asked Remedios.</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Aren’t you afraid of the genet any more?”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“What is it?” inquired Quentin.</p> - -<p>“The gardener keeps a caged animal in here, and it frightens us because -it looks like such a monster.”</p> - -<p>“You’re a naughty girl,” said Remedios to her sister. “What will you bet -that I won’t go to the genet, take it out of the cage, and hold it in my -hand?”</p> - -<p>“No, no; he might bite you.”</p> - -<p>“Where is this monster?” asked Quentin.</p> - -<p>“You’ll soon see.”</p> - -<p>It was a specie of weasel with a long tail and a fierce eye.</p> - -<p>“The animal certainly has an evil look,” said Quentin.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span></p> - -<p>They walked about the abandoned garden: a thick carpet of burdock and -henbane and foxglove and nettles covered the soil. In the middle of the -garden, surrounded by a circle of myrtles, was a summer-house with a -decayed door; inside of it they could see remnants of paint and gilt. On -the old wall, was a tangled growth of ivy. Enveloped in its foliage, and -close to the wall, they could make out a fountain with a Medusa head, -through a dirty pipe in whose mouth flowed a crystalline thread which -fell sonorously into a square basin brimful of water. There were two -broad, moss-covered steps leading up to the fountain, and the weeds and -wild figs, growing in the cracks, were lifting up the stones. From among -the weeds there rose a marble pedestal; and a wild-orange tree near by, -with its little red fruit, seemed spotted with blood.</p> - -<p>“There are all sorts of animals here in the summer,” said Rafaela. -“Lizards come to drink at the fountain. Some of them are very beautiful -with their iridescent heads.”</p> - -<p>“They are woman’s enemies,” warned Remedios.</p> - -<p>Quentin laughed.</p> - -<p>“Some of the foolishness the servant girls tell her,” explained Rafaela. -“I’ve forbidden them to tell her anything now.”</p> - -<p>The three returned to the corridor.</p> - -<p>“What about the roof? We haven’t showed him the roof,” said the little -girl.</p> - -<p>“Juan must have the key; I’ll go and ask him for it.”</p> - -<p>Remedios ran out in search of the gardener, and returned immediately.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span></p> - -<p>They climbed the main stairs until they reached a door near the roof.</p> - -<p>“What panels!” exclaimed Quentin.</p> - -<p>“They are full of bats,” said Rafaela.</p> - -<p>“And thalamanderth,” lisped Remedios.</p> - -<p>Quentin suppressed a smile.</p> - -<p>“How funny! How very funny!” murmured the child somewhat piqued.</p> - -<p>“I am not laughing at what you said,” replied Quentin, “I was just -remembering that that is the way we boys used to talk.”</p> - -<p>“She talks like the rowdies in the streets,” said Rafaela.</p> - -<p>“Well, I don’t want anything more from you,” cried Remedios. “You’re -always saying things to me.”</p> - -<p>“Come, girlie, come; the genet isn’t coming here to eat you.”</p> - -<p>“He couldn’t.”</p> - -<p>From the door, and through a corridor, they came out upon a broad, tiled -terrace with an iron railing.</p> - -<p>“Let’s go up higher,” said Remedios.</p> - -<p>They climbed a winding staircase inside a tower until they came out upon -a small azotea, whence they could command a view of nearly the entire -city.</p> - -<p>The wind was blowing strongly. From that height, they could see Cordova, -a great pile of grey roofs and white walls, between which they could -make out the alleys, which looked like crooked lines inundated with -light. Sierra Morena appeared in the background like a dark wave, and -its round peaks were outlined in a gentle undulation against the sky, -which was cloudless. The gardens stood out very white against the skirts -of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span> the mountain, and upon a sharp-pointed hill at the foot of the dark -mountain wall, stood a rocky castle.</p> - -<p>Toward Cordova la Vieja, pastures glistened, a luminous green; in the -country, the sown ground stretched out until it was lost in the -distance, interrupted here and there by some brown little hill covered -with olive trees.</p> - -<p>“I’m going to fetch the telescope,” announced Remedios suddenly.</p> - -<p>“Don’t fall,” warned her sister.</p> - -<p>“<i>Ca!</i>”</p> - -<p>Rafaela and Quentin were left alone.</p> - -<p>“How charming your sister is,” said he.</p> - -<p>“Yes; she’s as clever as a squirrel, but more sensitive than any one I -know. The slightest thing offends her.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps you have petted her too much?”</p> - -<p>“Of course. I am years older than she. She is like a daughter to me.”</p> - -<p>“You must be very fond of her.”</p> - -<p>“Yes; I put her to bed and to sleep even yet. Sometimes she has fits of -temper over nothing at all! But she has a heart of gold.”</p> - -<p>At this point the little girl returned, carrying a telescope bigger than -she was.</p> - -<p>“What a tiny girl!” exclaimed Rafaela, taking the telescope from -Remedios.</p> - -<p>They rested the instrument on the wall of the azotea and took turns -looking through it.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>The afternoon was steadily advancing; yellow towers and pink belfries -rose above the wet roofs, their glass windows brilliant in the last rays -of the setting sun; a broad, slate-covered cupola outlined its bulk -against the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span> horizon; here and there a cypress rose like a black pyramid -between great, white walls, and the thousands of grey tiled roofs; and -the iron weather-vanes, some in the shape of a peaceable San Rafael, -others in the form of a rampant dragon with fierce claws and pointed -tongue, surmounted the gables and sheds, and decorated the ancient -belfries, covered with a greenish rust by the sun of centuries....</p> - -<p>Toward the west, the sky was touched with rose; flaming clouds sailed -over the mountain. The sun had set; the fire of the clouds changed to -scarlet, to mother-of-pearl, to cold ashes. Black night already lurked -in the city and in the fields. The wind commenced to murmur in the -trees, shaking the window blinds and curtains, and rapidly drying the -roofs. A bell clanged, and its solemn sound filled the silent -atmosphere.</p> - -<p>Slowly the sky was invaded by a deep blue, dark purple in some places; -Jupiter shone from his great height with a silver light, and night took -possession of the land; a clear, starry night, that seemed the pale -continuation of the twilight.</p> - -<p>From the house garden arose a fresh perfume of myrtles and oranges; of -the exhalations of plants and damp earth.</p> - -<p>“We must go now,” said Rafaela. “It’s getting cold.”</p> - -<p>They descended the stairs. Quentin took leave of the two girls and -stepped into the street.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI<br /><br /> -<small>CONCERNING AN ADVENTURE OF QUENTIN’S IN THE NEIGHBOURHOOD OF EL POTRO</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">F</span>OR a whole week Quentin walked through the Calle del Sol day and night, -hoping to see Rafaela without going to her house. It did not seem -expedient to him to call again so soon; he was afraid of being -considered inopportune; and he would have liked it had chance—more -apparent than real—granted him a meeting with Rafaela while he was -strolling about the neighbourhood of the palace.</p> - -<p>One warm night in January, Quentin left his house with the intention of -walking by the palace in the Calle del Sol.</p> - -<p>It was a beautiful, serene night, without a breath of air stirring. The -great, round face of the moon was shining high overhead, its light -dividing the streets into two zones—one white, and the other bluish -black.</p> - -<p>Some of the plazas seemed covered with snow, so white were the walls of -the houses and the stones of the pavements.</p> - -<p>Absently strolling along, Quentin approached the Mosque; its walls rose -as solemn and black as those of a fortress; above their serrated -battlements, the moon floated giddily in the deep, veiled blue of the -sky.</p> - -<p>“All this contains something of the stuff that dreams are made of,” he -thought.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span></p> - -<p>No one was passing there, and his footsteps echoed loudly on the -pavement.</p> - -<p>Quentin started toward El Potro in order to reach the Calle del Sol, -which was nearly at the other end of the town, and he was thinking of -the thousand and one possibilities, both for and against his plans, when -a little hunchback boy came running up to him, and said:</p> - -<p>“A little alms, Señorito, my mother and I have nothing to eat.”</p> - -<p>“You come out at this time of night to ask alms!” murmured Quentin. -“You’ll have a fine time finding any people here.”</p> - -<p>“But my mother has fainted.”</p> - -<p>“Where is she?”</p> - -<p>“Here, in this street.”</p> - -<p>Quentin entered a dark alley, and had no sooner done so, than he felt -himself seized by his arms and legs, and tied by his elbows, and then -blind-folded with a handkerchief.</p> - -<p>“What’s this? What do you want of me?” he exclaimed, trying vainly to -disengage himself. “I’ll give you all the money I have.”</p> - -<p>“Shut up,” said a gruff voice with a gipsy accent, “and come with -us—Somebody wants to settle a little account with you.”</p> - -<p>“With me! Nobody has any accounts to settle with me.”</p> - -<p>“Be quiet, my friend, and let’s be going.”</p> - -<p>“Very well; but take off the handkerchief; I’ll go wherever you tell me -to.”</p> - -<p>“It can’t be done.”</p> - -<p>When Quentin found that he was overpowered, he felt the blood rush to -his head with anger. He began to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span> stumble along. When he had gone about -twenty paces, he stopped.</p> - -<p>“I said that I would go wherever he is.”</p> - -<p>“No, Señor.”</p> - -<p>Quentin settled himself firmly on his left leg, and with his right, -kicked in the direction whence he had heard the voice. There was a dull -thud as a body struck the ground.</p> - -<p>“Ay! Ay!” groaned a voice. “He hit me on the hip. Ay!”</p> - -<p>“You’ll either go on, or I’ll knock your brains out,” said the gipsy’s -voice.</p> - -<p>“But why don’t you take off this handkerchief?” vociferated Quentin.</p> - -<p>“In a minute.”</p> - -<p>Quentin went on stumblingly, and they made several turns. He was not -sufficiently acquainted with the streets near El Potro to get his -bearings as he went along. After a quarter of an hour had elapsed, the -gipsies stopped and made Quentin enter the door of a house.</p> - -<p>“Here’s your man,” said the voice of the gipsy.</p> - -<p>“Good,” said a vigorous and haughty voice. “Turn him loose.”</p> - -<p>“He wounded Mochuelo bad,” added the gipsy.</p> - -<p>“Was he armed?”</p> - -<p>“No, but he gave him a kick that smashed him.”</p> - -<p>“Good. Take off the handkerchief so we can see each other face to face.”</p> - -<p>Quentin felt them remove his bandage, and found himself in a patio -before a pale, blond, little man, with a decisive manner, and a calañés -hat on his head. The moonlight illuminated the patio; jardinières and -flower<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span>-pots hung upon the walls; and overhead, in the space between the -roofs, gleamed the milky veil of the blue night sky.</p> - -<p>“Whom have you brought me?” exclaimed the little man. “This isn’t the -sergeant.”</p> - -<p>“Well! So it isn’t! We must have made a mistake.”</p> - -<p>“You are lucky to have escaped, my friend,” exclaimed the little man, -turning to Quentin. “If you had been the sergeant, they would have had -to pick you up in pieces.”</p> - -<p>“Bah! It wouldn’t be that bad,” said Quentin as he gazed in disgust at -the boastful little man.</p> - -<p>“Wouldn’t it?”</p> - -<p>“Of course not.”</p> - -<p>“Do you know to whom you are speaking?”</p> - -<p>“No; and the most curious thing about it is that I don’t care. Still, if -you want us two to fight it out alone, come with me, and we’ll see if it -is your turn to win or to lose.”</p> - -<p>“I never lose, young man.”</p> - -<p>“Neither do I,” replied Quentin.</p> - -<p>“We’ll have to give this lad a lesson,” said the gipsy, “to teach him -how to talk to quality folk.”</p> - -<p>“Be quiet, Cantarote,” said the little man in the calañés. “This -gentleman is a man, and talks like a man, and we are going to drink a -few glasses this very minute to celebrate our meeting.”</p> - -<p>“That’s the way to talk,” said Quentin.</p> - -<p>“Well, come on. This way, please.”</p> - -<p>Quentin followed the little fellow through a small door and down three -or four steps to a corridor, through which they reached a dark cellar. -It was dimly lighted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span> by several lamps which hung on wires from the -ceiling. Seated upon benches about a long, greasy table, were gathered a -dozen or so persons, of whom the majority were playing cards, and the -rest drinking and chatting. Upon entering the cellar, Quentin and the -little man in the calañés made their way to a small table, and sat down -facing each other. The blackened lamp, hanging by a wire from a beam in -the ceiling, distilled a greenish oil drop by drop, which fell upon the -greasy table.</p> - -<p>The little man ordered the innkeeper to bring two glasses of white wine, -and while they waited, Quentin observed him closely. He was a blond -individual, pale, with blue eyes, and slender, well-kept hands. To -Quentin’s scrutinizing glance, he responded with another, cool and -clear, without flinching.</p> - -<p>At this point, a queer, ugly-looking man who was talking impetuously, -and showing huge, yellow, horselike teeth, came toward the table and -said to Quentin’s companion:</p> - -<p>“Who is this bird, Señor José?”</p> - -<p>“This ‘bird,’<span class="lftspc">”</span> replied the other, “is a hard-headed -bull—understand?—The best there is.”</p> - -<p>“Well, that’s better.”</p> - -<p>Quentin smiled as he gazed at the man who had called him a bird. He was -an individual of indefinite age, clean-shaven, a mixture of a barber and -a sacristan, with a forehead so low that his hair served him as -eyebrows, and with a jaw like a monkey’s.</p> - -<p>“And this chap, who is he?” asked Quentin in turn.</p> - -<p>“He? He is one of the most shameless fellows in the world. He wanders -about these parts to see if they won’t give him a few pennies. Though he -is old and musty, you will always find him with sporting women<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span> and -happy-go-lucky folk. Ask any one in Cordova about Currito Martín, and no -matter where you are, they can tell you who he is.”</p> - -<p>“Not everywhere, Señor José,” replied Currito, who had listened -impassively to the panegyric, gesticulating with a hand whose fingers -resembled vine-creepers. “If you should ask the Bishop, he would not -know me.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I would have taken him for a sacristan,” said Quentin.</p> - -<p>“I’m a sacristan of blackbirds and martens, if you must know,” said -Currito somewhat piqued. “The only places where I am known are the -taverns, the huts in the Calle de la Feria, and the Higuerilla.”</p> - -<p>“And that’s enough,” said one of the card-players.</p> - -<p>“That’s right.”</p> - -<p>Two of the onlookers got up from the bench and began to chaff Currito. -The sly rascal was at home among jests, and he answered the repartee -that they directed at him with great impudence.</p> - -<p>“That’s a fine amber cigarette-holder, Currito,” said one of them.</p> - -<p>“The Marquis,” he replied.</p> - -<p>“A fine little cape, old boy,” said the other, turning over the muffler -of the scoundrel’s cloak.</p> - -<p>“The Marquis,” he repeated.</p> - -<p>“This Currito,” said Señor José, “hasn’t an ounce of shame in him; for a -long time he has lived on his wife, who is kept by a marquis, and he has -the nerve to brag about it. Come here, Currito.”</p> - -<p>Currito came to their table.</p> - -<p>“Why do you keep boasting about your shame?” asked Señor José. “Don’t -you do it again in front of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span> me. Do you understand? If you do, I’ll skin -you alive.”</p> - -<p>“Very well, Señor José.”</p> - -<p>“Come, have a glass, and then see if La Generosa is in any of the rooms -here.”</p> - -<p>Currito emptied the wine-glass, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, -and left the cellar.</p> - -<p>“Are you a foreigner?” Señor José asked Quentin.</p> - -<p>“I was educated outside of Spain.”</p> - -<p>“Will you be in Cordova for some time?”</p> - -<p>“I think so.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I’m glad, because I like you.”</p> - -<p>“Many thanks.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll tell you who I am, and if after that, it doesn’t seem a bad idea -to you, we’ll be friends.”</p> - -<p>“Before, too.”</p> - -<p>“No, not before. I am Pacheco, the horseman, or rather Pacheco, the -bandit. Now, if you care to be Pacheco’s friend, here’s my hand.”</p> - -<p>“Here is mine.”</p> - -<p>“Well, you’re a brave chap,” exclaimed Pacheco. “That’s the way I like -to have a fellow act. Listen: any time you need me, you will find me -here, in El Cuervo’s tavern. Now let’s see what these lads are talking -about.”</p> - -<p>Pacheco got up, and followed by Quentin, went over to the card-players’ -table.</p> - -<p>“Hello, Pajarote!” said Pacheco to the banker.</p> - -<p>“Hello, Señor José! Were you here? I didn’t see you.”</p> - -<p>“What’s doing in Seville and the low country?”</p> - -<p>“Nothing.... It’s pretty slow. Everything is closed by hunger and -poverty, and here I am with these<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span> thieves who would even steal a man’s -breath.... Why, I’m beginning to lose faith even in San Rafael himself.”</p> - -<p>“Now you’ve spoiled my luck, comrade,” said one of the players, throwing -down his cards angrily. “What business did you have ringing in that -angel? Look here, I’m not going to play any more.”</p> - -<p>Pajarote smiled. He was a scoundrel and a card sharp, and he always took -delight in pretending to be unlucky while he was cleaning his friends of -their money. He dealt the cards.</p> - -<p>“I’ll bet,” said a man with one eye higher than the other whom they -called Charpaneja, in the thin voice of a hunchback.</p> - -<p>“I’ll bet six,” gruffly replied a charcoal-burner nicknamed El Torrezno.</p> - -<p>More cards were tossed upon the table, and, as before, Pajarote won.</p> - -<p>“I don’t want to play,” squeaked Charpaneja.</p> - -<p>“Why not?” asked the banker.</p> - -<p>“Because your hands are always lucky.”</p> - -<p>“The fact is, you haven’t any spirit,” replied Pajarote coldly. “You -start out like a Cordovese colt, and quit like a donkey of La Mancha.”</p> - -<p>At this point Currito returned, and coming up to Señor José, said:</p> - -<p>“La Generosa hasn’t come yet, but Señora Rosario with her two girls, and -Don Gil Sabadía are in the next room.”</p> - -<p>“Well, let’s go in,” said Pacheco.</p> - -<p>He and Quentin again came out into the patio, and entered a room -illuminated by a brass lamp set upon a round table. By the light of the -lamp he could see a frightful-looking old woman with a hooked nose and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span> -moles on her chin, two young girls with flowers in their hair, and a -bushy-haired old man with a long beard.</p> - -<p>“The peace of God be with you,” said Pacheco as he entered. “How is Don -Gil? Good evening, Señora Rosario; what’s the news?”</p> - -<p>“Nothing: we just came here so these girls could have a drink of -something.”</p> - -<p>“You mean these rosebuds,” interrupted Currito.</p> - -<p>“Thanks, Currito,” said one of the girls with a smile.</p> - -<p>“Child!” exclaimed Pacheco, “be very careful of Currito, for he’s -dangerous.”</p> - -<p>“He!” replied the old woman, “he is already among the down-and-outs.”</p> - -<p>“I’m like the old guide in the Mosque,” replied Currito. “Every time he -saw me, he used to say, ‘Let me have an old suit of clothes—I’m more -dead than alive.’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> - -<p>“Heavens! What little wit you have!” said one of the girls with a -gesture of contempt.</p> - -<p>“Well, I live by my wits, my girl,” answered Currito, piqued.</p> - -<p>“Then, confound them, my man,” she replied with the same gesture of -contempt.</p> - -<p>Currito peevishly fell silent, and Pacheco presented Quentin to the -bushy-haired man.</p> - -<p>“This gentleman,” and he indicated Quentin, “is a brave chap whom I have -had the pleasure of meeting this evening by mistake. This man,” and he -nodded to the old man with the long beard, “is Don Gil Sabadía, the only -person in Cordova who knows the history of every street, alley, and -by-way in the city.”</p> - -<p>“Not as much as that, man, not as much as that,” said Don Gil with a -smile.</p> - -<p>“If there is anything you don’t know,” Pacheco went<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span> on, “nobody in -Cordova knows it. Well, if you and the girls would like to drink a -bottle of the best Montilla, I’ll treat.”</p> - -<p>“Accepted.”</p> - -<p>“Cuervo!” shouted Pacheco, stepping outside the door.</p> - -<p>The innkeeper appeared; a man of some fifty years, stoop-shouldered, -ill-shaven, with hatchet-shaped side whiskers, and a red sash about his -waist.</p> - -<p>“What does Señor José wish?” he inquired.</p> - -<p>“Bring a few bottles of your best.”</p> - -<p>While they were waiting for the wine, the ill-tempered girl and Currito -resumed their quarrel.</p> - -<p>“Look out for that girl,” said Currito, “she hasn’t much sense.”</p> - -<p>“Did anybody speak?” she asked in disgust.</p> - -<p>“I believe the girl is suffering from jaundice.”</p> - -<p>“My goodness! What a bad-tempered old uncle he is!” said she.</p> - -<p>“Listen, my child,” continued Currito, “I’m going to make you a present -of a sugar-plum to see if we can’t sweeten your mouth.”</p> - -<p>“Currito, we don’t need any sugar around here,” answered the other girl -easily.</p> - -<p>“Girls! There’s no need of getting scared,” said the old woman in a -gruff voice.</p> - -<p>“I’ve left her hanging like a fresco painting, haven’t I?” Currito -remarked to Quentin.</p> - -<p>“I’ve never noticed that fresco paintings were hung.”</p> - -<p>“He’s a fool,” explained the contemptuous girl.</p> - -<p>The innkeeper arrived with the bottle and the glasses, and Currito -seized the former and served every one.</p> - -<p>“You know so much, Don Gil, what will you bet that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span> you don’t know what -that Italian bishop said when he saw the Mosque?” said Currito.</p> - -<p>“What did he say? Let’s hear it,” inquired Don Gil with an ironic smile.</p> - -<p>“Well, the canon Espejito went up to him, and pointing out the Christ of -the Column, explained to him how it was made: ‘A prisoner made that -Christ with his finger-nails,’ and the Bishop said to him, ‘The man who -did it must have had good nails.’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> - -<p>“He must be a heretic,” said Señora Rosario.</p> - -<p>“And who told you that fake?” asked Don Gil.</p> - -<p>“El Moji told me.”</p> - -<p>“Well, he fooled you like a Chinaman.”</p> - -<p>“No, sir, he did not fool me,” replied Currito. “El Moji was a man’s -man, El Moji never lied, and El Moji....”</p> - -<p>“But you are trying to tell me what the Bishop said, when I was there at -the time,” exclaimed Don Gil.</p> - -<p>“You there! Why, it was the time you went to Seville!”</p> - -<p>“Very well, I was not there. Blas told me, and there’s an end to it.”</p> - -<p>“But of what importance is all this?” asked Quentin.</p> - -<p>“Let them be,” interrupted the ill-tempered girl; “they’re two -disagreeable old uncles!”</p> - -<p>“Don Gil,” said Pacheco, smiling and winking his eye, “permits no one to -be informed of anything he does not know about himself.”</p> - -<p>“Well, what will you bet,” Currito presently broke out, “that you don’t -know what El Golotino said when he had the lawsuit with El Manano?”</p> - -<p>“Let’s hear, let’s hear. This is most important,” remarked Pacheco.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Well, there isn’t much to it. El Golotino, as you know, had a herd of a -couple of dozen goats, and El Manano, who was a charcoal-burner, had -rented a hill; and to find out whether the goats had wandered on the -hill or not, they had a lawsuit, which El Golotino lost. Don Nicanor, -the clerk, was making an inventory of the property of the owner of the -goats, and was adding: ‘two and four are six, and four are ten—carry -one; fourteen and six are twenty, and three are twenty-three—carry two; -twenty-seven and eight are thirty-five, and six are forty-one—carry -four.’ El Golotino thought that when the clerk said, ‘carry one,’ he -meant that he was going to carry off one goat, so he shouted tearfully: -‘Well, for that, you can carry off the whole bunch of them!’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> - -<p>“That is not the way it was,” Señor Sabadía started to remark, but every -one burst out laughing.</p> - -<p>“Come, girls, we must go home,” announced Señora Rosario.</p> - -<p>“I’m going out,” said Don Gil, annoyed by the laughter.</p> - -<p>“I am too,” added Quentin.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>They took leave of Pacheco, and the innkeeper accompanied the three -women and the two men to the door with the lamp. They went through -several alleys and came out in the lower part of the Calle de la Feria. -They stopped, before a miserable white hut, the old woman knocked on the -door with her knuckles, it was opened from within, and Señora Rosario -and the three girls entered. Through a small window next the door could -be seen a very small, whitewashed room, with a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span> glazed tile pedestal, a -varnished bureau, and flower-pots full of paper flowers.</p> - -<p>“What a cage! What a tiny house!” said Quentin.</p> - -<p>“All the houses on this side of the street are like this,” answered -Señor Sabadía.</p> - -<p>“Why?”</p> - -<p>“On account of the wall.”</p> - -<p>“Ah! Was there a wall here?”</p> - -<p>“Of course! The wall that separated the upper city from the lower. The -upper city was called Almadina, and the lower, Ajerquía.”</p> - -<p>“That’s curious.”</p> - -<p>They walked up the Calle de la Feria. The sloping street, with its tall, -white houses bathed in the moonlight, presented a fantastic appearance; -the two lines of roofs were outlined against the blue of the sky, broken -here and there by the azoteas on some of the houses.</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes,” continued the archæologist, “this wall used to extend from -the Cruz del Rastro, to the Cuesta de Luján; then it stretched on -through the Calle de la Zapatería and the Cuesta del Bailío, until it -reached the tower on the Puerta del Rincón, where it ended.”</p> - -<p>“So it cut the town in two, and one could not go from one side to the -other? That was nice!”</p> - -<p>“No. What nonsense! There were gates to go through. Up there near the -Arquillo de Calceteros, was the Puerta de la Almadina, which in the time -of the Romans, was called Piscatoria, or Fish Gate. The Portillo did not -exist, and when they built against the wall, in the place it now -occupies, there stood a house which the city bought in 1496 from its -owner, Francisco<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span> Sánchez Torquemada, in order to open up an arch in the -wall. This data,” added Don Gil confidentially, “comes from an original -manuscript which is preserved in the City Hall. It’s curious, isn’t it?”</p> - -<p>“Most curious.”</p> - -<p>They climbed the Cuesta de Luján. The neighbouring streets were -deserted; within some of the houses they could hear the vague sound of -guitars; lovers whispered to each other at the grated windows.</p> - -<p>“See?” said Don Gil, looking toward the lower end of the Calle de la -Feria, “the fosses of the wall followed the line the moon makes in the -street.”</p> - -<p>“Very interesting,” murmured Quentin.</p> - -<p>“Have you noticed how high the houses are in this street?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, indeed; why is that?”</p> - -<p>“For two reasons,” answered Don Gil, turned dominie. “First, to gain the -height the wall deprived them of; and second, because in times gone by, -the majority of the spectacles were celebrated here. Here is where -executions were held; where they baited bulls; and broke lances; and -where, during the week preceding the Day of the Virgin of Linares, the -hosiers held a grand fair. That is why there are so many windows and -galleries in these houses, and why the street is called the Calle de la -Feria.”</p> - -<p>The archæologist seized Quentin’s arm and proceeded to relate several -stories and legends to him. The two men traversed narrow alleys, and -plazoletas lined with white houses with blue doors.</p> - -<p>“You know no one here?” inquired the archæologist.</p> - -<p>“Not a soul.”</p> - -<p>“Absolutely no one?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“No. That is ... I know a Cordova boy who was educated with me in -England. His name is ... Quentin García Roelas. Do you know him?”</p> - -<p>“Not him; but I know his family.”</p> - -<p>“He is a silent, taciturn chap. It seems to me that there is something -unusual connected with his life. I’ve heard something....”</p> - -<p>“Yes, there is an interesting story.”</p> - -<p>“Do you know it?”</p> - -<p>“Of course,” replied Don Gil.</p> - -<p>“But you are so discreet that you will not tell it?”</p> - -<p>“Naturally.”</p> - -<p>“Very well, Don Gil. I’m going; I’m sorry to leave your agreeable -company, but....”</p> - -<p>“Must you go?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I must.”</p> - -<p>“My dear man; don’t go. I must show you a most interesting spot, with a -history....”</p> - -<p>“No, I cannot.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll take you to a place that you will have to like.”</p> - -<p>“No, you must excuse me.”</p> - -<p>“Moreover, I’ll tell you the story of your friend and schoolmate.”</p> - -<p>“You see....”</p> - -<p>“It’s early yet. It’s not more than one o’clock.”</p> - -<p>“Very well, we’ll go wherever you say.”</p> - -<p>They passed through very nearly the whole city until they came to the -Paseo del Gran Capitán.</p> - -<p>“What a city this is!” exclaimed Don Gil. “They can’t talk to <i>me</i> about -Granada or Seville; for look you, Granada has three aspects: the -Alhambra, the Puerta Real, and the Albaicín—three distinct things. -Seville is larger than Cordova, but it is already more -cosmo<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span>politan—it’s like Madrid. But not so Cordova. Cordova is one and -indivisible. Cordova is her own sauce. She is a <i>city</i>.”</p> - -<p>From the Paseo del Gran Capitán, they followed Los Tejares, and on the -right hand side, Señor Sabadía paused before some little houses that -were huddled close to a serrated wall. There were four of them, very -small, very white, each with only one story, and all closed up except -one, which merely had its door shut.</p> - -<p>“Read this placard,” said Don Gil, pointing to a sign in a frame hanging -on one side of the door.</p> - -<p>Quentin read by the light of the moon:</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Patrocinio de la Mata dresses<br /></span> -<span class="i0">corpses at all hours of the day<br /></span> -<span class="i0">or of the night in which she is<br /></span> -<span class="i0">notified, at very regular prices.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>“The devil! What a lugubrious sign!” exclaimed Quentin after reading it.</p> - -<p>“Do you see this hut?” asked Don Gil. “Well, every intrigue that God -ever turned loose, goes on here. But let us go in.”</p> - -<p>They entered, and a cracked voice shouted:</p> - -<p>“Who is it?”</p> - -<p>“I, Señora Patrocinio, Don Gil Sabadía, who comes with a friend. Bring a -light, for we’re going to stay a while.”</p> - -<p>“One moment.”</p> - -<p>The old woman descended with a lamp in her hand, and led the two men -into a small parlour where there was a strong odour of lavender. She -placed the lamp on the table and said:</p> - -<p>“What do you want?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Some small olives, and a little wine.”</p> - -<p>The old woman opened a cupboard, took out a dish of olives, another of -biscuits, and two bottles of wine.</p> - -<p>“Is there anything else you want?”</p> - -<p>“Nothing more, Señora Patrocinio.”</p> - -<p>The old woman withdrew and shut the door.</p> - -<p>“How do you like the place, eh?” asked Don Gil.</p> - -<p>“Magnificent! Now for the history of my friend Quentin.”</p> - -<p>“Before the history, let’s drink. Your health, comrade.”</p> - -<p>“Yours.”</p> - -<p>“May all our troubles vanish into thin air.”</p> - -<p>“True,” exclaimed Quentin. “Let us leave to the gods the care of -placating the winds, and let us enjoy life as long as fortune, age, and -the black spindle of the Three Sisters will permit us.”</p> - -<p>“Are you a reader of Horace?” asked Don Gil.</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“One more reason for my liking you. Another glass, eh?”</p> - -<p>“Let us proceed. Go on with the story, comrade.”</p> - -<p>“Here goes.”</p> - -<p>Don Gil cleared his throat, and commenced his story as follows....<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII<br /><br /> -<small>IN WHICH IS TOLD THE HISTORY OF A TAVERN ON SIERRA MORENA</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>OWARD the first part of last century, upon one of the folds of Sierra -Morena, stood a tavern called El Ventorro de la Sangre (Bloody Tavern). -It was half way between Pozo Blanco and Cordova, in a fertile little -pasture near an olive orchard.</p> - -<p>Its name arose from a bloody encounter between the dragoons and -guerillas in that spot at the time of the French intervention.</p> - -<p>The tavern was situated on a small clearing that was always kept green. -It was surrounded by tall prickly-pears, a ravine, and an olive orchard -in which one could see ruins—vestiges of a fortress and a watch-tower. -This land belonged to a village perched upon the most rugged and broken -part of the mountain.... Its name does not at present concern the story.</p> - -<p>The tavern was neither very large, nor very spacious; it had neither the -characteristics of a hostelry, nor even of a store. Its front, which was -six metres long, whitewashed, and pierced by a door and three windows, -faced a bad horse-shoe road strewn with loose stones; its humble roof -leaned toward the ground, and joined that of a shed which contained the -stables, the manger, and the straw-loft.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span></p> - -<p>One passed through the entrance of the little tavern from whose lintel -hung a bunch of sarment—which indicated, for your enlightenment, that -in the house thus decorated wine was sold—and entered a miserable -vestibule, which also served as a kitchen, a larder, and, at times, a -dormitory.</p> - -<p>During the years 1838 and ’39, the proprietor of El Ventorro de la -Sangre was a man named El Cartagenero, who, so evil tongues asserted, -had been a licentiate—though not of philosophy—in a university with -mayors for professors, and sticks for beadles. No one knew the truth—a -clear indication that the tavern was not run badly; the man paid well, -behaved himself as a man should, and was capable, if the occasion arose, -of lending a hand to any of the neighbouring farmers.</p> - -<p>El Cartagenero demonstrated in his delightful and entertaining -conversation, that he had travelled extensively, both by land and by -sea; he knew the business of innkeeping—which has its secrets as well -as anything else in the world; robbed very little; was hard-working, -sensible, upright, and if need be, firm, generous, and brave.</p> - -<p>El Cartagenero was to all appearances a fugitive; and that very -condition of his made him most reserved and taciturn, in no way a prier, -and very little given to mixing himself in other people’s affairs.</p> - -<p>When he had run the little tavern for six years, El Cartagenero rented -an oil-press; he then installed a tile-kiln, and by his activity and -perseverance, was getting along splendidly, when one day, unfortunately -for him, while he was loading a cart with bricks, he fell in such a way -that he struck his head on the iron-shod wheel, and was instantly -killed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span></p> - -<p>From that very day, the tavern began to run down; La Cartagenera did not -care to continue the renting of the press, because, as she said, she -could not attend to it; she abandoned the kiln for the same reason, and -neglected the tavern for no pretext at all, though, if there was no -pretext or motive, there was an explanation; and this was La -Cartagenera’s vice of drinking brandy, and the laziness and idleness of -her daughters—two very sly and very slothful un-belled cows.</p> - -<p>The elder of El Cartagenero’s daughters made her arrangements with a -swaggering rascal from Cordova; and the other, not to be outdone by her -sister, took for her good man, one of those country loafers—and what -with the sweetheart of the former, and the friend of the other, and the -brandy of the mother, the house began to run down hill.</p> - -<p>The muleteers soon guessed what was up; they no longer found good wine -there as before; nor a diligent person to prepare their meals and feed -their animals; so now because the hosier had left the place swearing -mad, again because the pedlar had quarrelled with them, all of their -customers began to leave; and for a whole year no one dismounted at the -tavern; and the mother and her daughters, with the two corresponding -swains, passed the time insulting and growling at each other, stretched -out in the sun in the summer, toasting sarment at the fire-place in the -winter, and in all the seasons hurling bitter complaints against an -adverse destiny.</p> - -<p>After a year of this régime, there was nothing left in the house to eat, -nor to drink, nor to sell—for they had sold everything including the -doors—the family determined to get rid of the tavern. The girls’ two<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span> -friends came to Cordova and opened up negotiations with all their -acquaintances, and were about despairing of making a sale, when a farmer -from these parts by the name of El Mojoso, presented himself at the -tavern. He was a clever, sensible chap, and the owner of a drove of five -very astute little donkeys.</p> - -<p>El Mojoso entered into negotiations with the widow, and for less than -nothing, became possessed of the establishment. El Mojoso was very -sagacious, and immediately comprehended the situation at the tavern; so -he began to think about conducive methods of restoring the credit of the -house. The first thing that occurred to him after he had been installed -a few days, was to change its name, and he had a painter friend of his -paint in huge letters upon the whitewashed wall above the door, this -sign:</p> - -<p class="c"><small> -THE CROSS-ROADS STORE</small><br /> -</p> - -<p>El Mojoso had a wife and three children: one, employed as a miner in -Pueblo Nuevo del Terrible; and two girls, with whom and his wife he -established himself in the store.</p> - -<p>His wife, whom they called La Temeraria, was a tall, strong, -industrious, and determined matron. The daughters were splendid girls, -but too refined to live in that deserted spot.</p> - -<p>El Mojoso himself was a tough sort of a chap, crazy about bulls, slangy, -and somewhat of a boaster. As a man who had spent his childhood in the -Matadero district, which is the finest school of bull-fighting in the -world, he knew how to differentiate the several tricks of the -bull-ring.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span></p> - -<p>At first, El Mojoso did not abandon his drove; the returns from the inn -were very small, and it did not seem expedient to him to quit his -carrying business. But instead of walking the streets of Cordova, he -devoted himself to going to and from the mountain villages carrying -wheat to the mill, farming utensils to the farms, and doing a lot of -errands and favours that were gaining him many friends in the -neighbourhood.</p> - -<p>When he had no errands or favours to do, he carried stones to his house -on his donkeys and piled them under the shed. After a year of this work, -when he had gathered together the wherewithal, he got a mason from -Cordova, and under his direction, La Temeraria and he and his daughters, -and a youth whom they had hired as a servant, lengthened the house, -raised it a story, tiled the roof, and whitewashed it.</p> - -<p>El Mojoso had to sell his donkeys to pay the costs—only keeping one. -The muleteers were already resuming their old custom of stopping at the -store.</p> - -<p>During the first months, the wine was pure, and there was a <i>pardillo</i> -and a claret such as had not been known in those parts for many years. -Little by little the store commenced to grow in fame; lively and genial -folk met there; the wine grew worse, according to the opinion of the -intelligent, but good wine was not lacking if the customer who asked for -it had the means of paying without protest or objection three or four -times its worth. During the slaughter season there was pork chine when -they wanted it, and at other times of the year, pork sausage, blood -pudding and other such delicacies.</p> - -<p>El Mojoso learned his new business very quickly. Without doubt, he was a -thief <i>a nativitate</i>. He watered<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span> the wine and perjured himself by -swearing that it was the only pure wine that was sold in the entire -mountain district; he put pepper in the brandy; he cheated in grain and -hay; tangled up the accounts, and—always came out ahead.</p> - -<p>Nearly every day he went to the city with his donkey under the pretext -of shopping; but the truth is that his trips were to carry instructions -and orders from a few timid men who went about the mountain, blunderbuss -in hand, to some poor chaps in prison.</p> - -<p>La Temeraria knew how to help her husband. She was a quiet, hard-working -woman as long as no one interfered with her; but if any one dared to -fail her, she was a she-wolf, more vengeful than God. She had enough -spirit to look upon robbing as a pardonable and permissible thing, and -even to the extent of not considering it extraordinary for a man to -bring down a militia-man and leave him on the ground chewing mud.</p> - -<p>In fine, the husband and wife were the most artful ... innkeepers in -these parts. At the Cross-roads Store, the traveller could spend the -night in peace, whether he was an orderly person or had some little -account to settle with the police; or whether he was a merchant or a -horseman, he could be sure of being undisturbed. One day . . . .</p> - -<p class="cspc">. . . . . . . . . . . . .</p> - -<p>“But tell me, my friend,” Don Gil asked Quentin; “how does the beginning -of the story strike you?”</p> - -<p>“Very well.”</p> - -<p>“Did you like the exposition?”</p> - -<p>“I should say so! You are a master.”</p> - -<p>“Thanks!” exclaimed Don Gil, satisfied. “To your health, comrade.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“To yours.”</p> - -<p>“Now you’ll hear the good part.”</p> - -<p class="cspc">. . . . . . . . . . . . .</p> - -<p>One rainy day in the month of February, just at dusk, there was gathered -in the kitchen of the Cross-roads Store, a group of muleteers from the -near-by village. Some of them, imbued with a love of heat, were seated -upon two long benches on either side of the hearth; others were seated -upon chairs and stools of wicker and lambskin, further away from the -fire.</p> - -<p>By the light of the blackened lamp and the flame of the candle, the -whole circumference of the kitchen, which was a large one, could be -seen: its enormous mantel, its rafters twisted and blackened with smoke, -the big stones in the floor, and the walls adorned with a collection of -pot-covers, saucepans, wooden spoons, and coloured jars hung upon nails.</p> - -<p>The muleteers were engaged in an animated conversation while they waited -for the supper which La Temeraria was at that moment preparing in two -frying-pans full of pork chine and potatoes; El Mojoso was filling the -measure with barley which he took from a bin; then, pouring the grain -into a leather sieve, he handed it to a youth who was going to and from -the kitchen and the stable.</p> - -<p>Night had already fallen, and it was raining torrents, when repeated -knocks sounded upon the door.</p> - -<p>“Who is it?” shouted El Mojoso in a loud voice. “Come in, whoever it -is.”</p> - -<p>This said, the host took a lantern, lit it with a brand from the fire, -crossed the kitchen, and stood in the vestibule with the light held high -to see who was coming in. The vestibule was as narrow as a corridor; it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span> -had board walls, and upon them, hanging from wooden pot-hooks, could be -seen several kinds of pack-saddles, panniers, headstalls, and other -harness of leather, cloth, and esparto-grass. Upon the slanting stone -floor, several muleteers who had made their beds there were sleeping -peacefully.</p> - -<p>The knock on the door was repeated.</p> - -<p>“Come in!” said El Mojoso.</p> - -<p>The wooden half-door opened with a screech, and a man appeared on the -threshold, wrapped in a Jerez shawl which was drenched with water.</p> - -<p>“Is there lodging here?” the man asked.</p> - -<p>“There’s good will,” answered the innkeeper. “Did you come on -horseback?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Come in. I’ll take your horse to the stable. Walk right in there.”</p> - -<p>The man went to the kitchen.</p> - -<p>“The peace of God be with you, gentlemen!” he said.</p> - -<p>“May He keep you,” they all answered.</p> - -<p>The recent arrival went in, took off his long, tasseled shawl, and sat -down upon a grass-bottomed chair near the fire.</p> - -<p>The innkeeper’s daughter, more out of curiosity than anything else, -threw an armful of dry rose-wood upon the fire, which began to burn -brilliantly, producing a large flame, and filling the kitchen with the -odour of its incense.</p> - -<p>By the light of the flames they could see that the recent arrival was a -tall and strong young man of about twenty years, upon whose upper lip -the down had not yet begun to appear. He looked like a gentleman of -noble blood; he wore a short coat, knee breeches<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span> fastened with silver -buttons, buckled leggings, a blue sash, a coloured silk handkerchief -about his neck, and a small, creased calañés. The hostess noticed that -his shirt studs were made of diamonds.</p> - -<p>“You have bad weather for travelling,” she said.</p> - -<p>“Bad it is,” replied the youth dryly, without removing his eyes from the -fire.</p> - -<p>The muleteers examined the young man in silence. El Mojoso came back -from the stable where he had taken the horse, brought in a half-filled -sack on his back, and emptied it into the bin, weighed the barley in the -measure, and asked the horseman:</p> - -<p>“What shall I give the animal?”</p> - -<p>“Give him a good feed.”</p> - -<p>“Shall I give him two quarts?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>El Mojoso went out with the measure in one hand and the lantern in the -other.</p> - -<p>“This chap,” he murmured into his cloak, “is a rich youngster who has -been in some escapade in Cordova. His horse is out there with an -embossed saddle. The boy will pay well.”</p> - -<p>El Mojoso was a man who knew his profession. Convinced of the character -of the young man, he returned to the kitchen with a broader smile than -usual, and said:</p> - -<p>“What would your worship like for supper?”</p> - -<p>“Anything.”</p> - -<p>“And would you like a bed?”</p> - -<p>“Have you one?”</p> - -<p>“Sí, Señor.”</p> - -<p>“Good: Then I shall sleep in a bed.”</p> - -<p>“Very well; they’ll get it ready for you directly.”</p> - -<p>The hostess took one of the large frying-pans from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span> the fire and emptied -its contents into a dish which she placed upon a low table.</p> - -<p>The muleteers prepared themselves for the meal. La Temeraria took one of -the blackened lamps from the grime of the mantel-piece, lit it, and -seeing that it did not give a very good light, took a hairpin from her -hair, stuck it into the wick to trim and ventilate it, and this done, -fastened it with a wooden peg to a beam that stuck out of the wall.</p> - -<p>“Bring wine, Mojoso,” she then said to her husband.</p> - -<p>The innkeeper passed behind a counter which he had at the right of the -kitchen door, and filled two bottles from a wine-skin; then, from -another skin, using great care lest he spill the wine, he filled a small -Andújar jar. One of the large bottles he placed upon the table about -which the muleteers had seated themselves as they chatted and waited for -their supper to be prepared.</p> - -<p>La Temeraria placed a tripod over the fire, and presently the older -daughter of the house entered with a large lamp.</p> - -<p>“The room is ready, father,” she murmured.</p> - -<p>Turning to the youth, the innkeeper said:</p> - -<p>“You may go up now, if you wish.”</p> - -<p>The young man arose and followed the landlord, who lighted his way. They -went into the vestibule, and, one behind the other, climbed up a steep -stairway to a granary. The wind blew strongly through the cracks in the -roof; by the flickering lamp-light they could see piles of walnuts and -acorns upon the floor, and large gourds hanging in rows. El Mojoso -pushed open a white door of freshly-painted wood, entered a room with an -alcove attached, placed the lamp upon the table, and after trimming it -by all the rules of the art, said:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Supper will be served to you directly. If you need anything, call;” and -he shut the door as he went out.</p> - -<p>The youth listened to the innkeeper’s footsteps in the attic, and when -he found himself alone, drew two pistols from his sash, entered the -alcove, and hid them on the bed under the pillow; he inspected the door, -and found that it was solid with a strong lock; next he opened the -window, and a gust of cold air made the flame of the lamp flicker -violently. He looked out.</p> - -<p>“This doubtless looks out upon the other side of the road,” he said to -himself.</p> - -<p>He closed the outside shutter and paced back and forth, waiting for his -supper. The room was narrow and low and whitewashed, with blue rafters -in the ceiling, and an alcove at one end occupied by a bed covered with -a red quilt. Pushed against the wall was a mahogany bureau with a Carmen -Virgin in a glass case; opposite the bureau was a straw couch with a -mahogany frame. There was a round table in the middle of the room upon -whose coarse top were two plates, a glass, and the lamp. Upon the walls -were several rough engravings and a gun.</p> - -<p>The young man showed signs of impatience, listening attentively to the -slightest distant noises. Tired of pacing to and fro, he sat upon the -couch and thoughtfully contemplated the rafters in the ceiling.</p> - -<p>A half hour had elapsed since El Mojoso’s departure, when there came a -shy knock at the door. The youth was so preoccupied that he heard -nothing until the third or fourth knock, and a voice saying:</p> - -<p>“May I come in?”</p> - -<p>“Come!”</p> - -<p>The door opened and a girl entered—the landlor<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span>d’s second -daughter—with a dish in one hand, and an Andújar jar in the other.</p> - -<p>The youth was astounded at seeing such a pretty maid, and completely -upset by the sight.</p> - -<p>“What is it?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“Your supper.”</p> - -<p>“Ah! You are the landlord’s daughter?”</p> - -<p>“Sí, Señor,” she replied with a smile.</p> - -<p>The girl set the dish upon the table, and he sat down without taking his -eyes off her. She made a tremendous impression upon him. The child was -truly charming; she had black, almond-shaped eyes, a pale complexion, -and in her hair, which was cleverly done up and as black and lustrous as -the elytra of some insects, was a red flower.</p> - -<p>“What is your name, my dear, if I may ask?” said he.</p> - -<p>“Fuensanta,” she replied . . . . </p> - -<p class="cspc">. . . . . . . . . . . . .</p> - -<p>“Ah! Her name was Fuensanta!” exclaimed Quentin involuntarily.</p> - -<p>“Yes. It’s a very common name in these parts. Why does it surprise you?”</p> - -<p>“Nothing, nothing: proceed....”</p> - -<p>“Well, I shall.”</p> - -<p class="cspc">. . . . . . . . . . . . .</p> - -<p>The youth sighed, and as his admiration had doubtless not taken away his -appetite, he attacked the slices prepared by La Temeraria with his fork, -and after several drinks from the jar, he succeeded in emptying it, and -doing away with the portions of the savoury country food.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span></p> - -<p>The little girl returned directly to his room to bring the traveller his -dessert, and they talked.</p> - -<p>He asked her if she had a sweetheart, and she said she hadn’t; he asked -her if she would like to have him, and she answered that gentlemen could -not very well love poor girls who lived in taverns, and then they talked -for a long time.</p> - -<p>The next day, the young horseman left the tavern to proceed on his -journey, and El Mojoso went down to Cordova to his business . . . . . . </p> - -<p class="cspc">. . . . . . . . . . . . .</p> - -<p>“And who was that young man?” asked Quentin.</p> - -<p>“Wait, comrade. Everything in its time. How do you like the way I tell -it, eh?”</p> - -<p>“You certainly are a past master.”</p> - -<p>“Well, now comes the best part of it. You’ll see....<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span>”</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII<br /><br /> -<small>A FIGHT IN AN OLIVE ORCHARD</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">S</span>EVERAL days afterward, just at dawn, El Mojoso was returning from -Cordova to his tavern, when, at a turn in the road, he came upon a small -cavalcade made up of six men—five of whom were soldiers, and the other, -an elegantly dressed young man.</p> - -<p>El Mojoso, who had little liking for evil encounters, pricked up his -beast in order to get into the paths ahead of the group, but the chief, -who wore the insignia of a sergeant, when he noticed the innkeeper’s -intention, shouted to him:</p> - -<p>“Hey, my good man, wait a moment!”</p> - -<p>El Mojoso stopped his donkey.</p> - -<p>“What do you want?” he asked ill-humouredly.</p> - -<p>“We’ve got something to say to you.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I can’t lose anything by listening to it.”</p> - -<p>“You are the owner of the Cross-roads Store, aren’t you?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir: what else do you want?”</p> - -<p>“Why, just don’t go so fast, friend, we feel like going along with you.”</p> - -<p>“Are you going to Pozo Blanco?”</p> - -<p>“No, sir.”</p> - -<p>“To Obejo, perhaps?”</p> - -<p>“No. We’re going to the Store.”</p> - -<p>“To the Store!” exclaimed El Mojoso, overcome with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span> astonishment. “Whom -are you looking for in my house?”</p> - -<p>“We’re looking for the Marquesito.”</p> - -<p>“The Marquesito? What Marquesito?”</p> - -<p>“Don’t you know him?”</p> - -<p>“Upon my word I do not! I hope to die if I’m not telling you the truth.”</p> - -<p>“Well, it seems that your daughter knows him very well,” replied the -soldier meaningly.</p> - -<p>El Mojoso’s face darkened, not that it had ever been exactly light, and -looking back at the sergeant, he murmured in a dull voice:</p> - -<p>“You’ve either said too much or too little.”</p> - -<p>“I’ve said all that was necessary,” answered the soldier gruffly.</p> - -<p>El Mojoso fell silent and urged on his donkey, while the soldiers and -the unknown young gentleman followed him.</p> - -<p>The sun came out from behind the mountain; in the distance they could -see a series of low-lying hills and the Cross-roads Store in its little -green clearing near the ravine.</p> - -<p>When they reached the Store, El Mojoso dismounted from his donkey and -began to pound furiously upon the door. He beat frantically with hands -and feet.</p> - -<p>“Open! Open!” he shouted impatiently.</p> - -<p>“Who is it?” came from within.</p> - -<p>“Me,” and El Mojoso ripped out a string of angry oaths.</p> - -<p>A lock screeched, the door opened, and La Temeraria appeared -half-dressed on the threshold.</p> - -<p>“Why didn’t you open sooner?” El Mojoso vociferated.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span></p> - -<p>“What’s the matter?” she asked as she drew a short skirt over head and -fastened it rapidly about her waist.</p> - -<p>“A whole lot’s the matter. Are there any travellers in the house?”</p> - -<p>“The young man who was here a few days ago passed the night here.”</p> - -<p>The unknown gentleman and the chief of the soldiers exchanged a look of -understanding. El Mojoso entered his house, and La Temeraria followed -behind him.</p> - -<p>“Go and see if there is a horse in the stable,” said the sergeant to one -of his men, “and if there is, bring it here.”</p> - -<p>The soldier dismounted, went into the stable, and returned after a -little, leading a horse by the bridle.</p> - -<p>La Temeraria, who had heard the noise, intercepted the soldier.</p> - -<p>“Where are you taking that horse?” she asked.</p> - -<p>“The sergeant ordered me to bring him out.”</p> - -<p>“What for?”</p> - -<p>“So the man who is here can’t escape.”</p> - -<p>“What has the young man done?” asked La Temeraria, looking -contemptuously at the soldier.</p> - -<p>“He killed a man in Cordova about a month ago.”</p> - -<p>At this moment, the innkeeper, who had been inside the house, returned -shouting to the vestibule.</p> - -<p>“Where is Fuensanta?” he asked his wife.</p> - -<p>“She must be in her room.”</p> - -<p>“She isn’t there.”</p> - -<p>“Not there?”</p> - -<p>“No. I just looked.”</p> - -<p>El Mojoso and La Temeraria looked at each other furiously and -understandingly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span></p> - -<p>Meanwhile the sergeant, followed by one of his soldiers, went up the -stairs to the garret. When the fugitive heard the noise their boots and -spurs made, he must have realized his danger, for they heard the thud of -a body as he threw himself against the door, then the turning of a key -in the lock, and then a murmur of voices.</p> - -<p>The sergeant drew his sword, went up to the door behind which he had -heard the voices, and knocked with the hilt of his weapon.</p> - -<p>“Open in the name of the law!” he shouted in a thundrous voice.</p> - -<p>“Wait a moment, I’m dressing,” came the answer from within.</p> - -<p>After a minute had elapsed, the sergeant exclaimed impatiently:</p> - -<p>“Come, come! Open the door!”</p> - -<p>“Wait just a second.”</p> - -<p>“I won’t wait a minute longer. Open: I promise not to hurt you.”</p> - -<p>“Words are air, and the wind carries them all away,” replied the -fugitive ironically.</p> - -<p>“Will you open, or will you not?”</p> - -<p>“I will not; and he who contradicts me is in danger of his life. You’ll -have to kill me here.”</p> - -<p>At the risk of breaking his neck, the sergeant ran down the stairs three -steps at a time, and addressing his soldiers, said:</p> - -<p>“Boys, come upstairs with your guns. We’ve got to break down the door. -One of you stay here on guard, and if any one tries to escape, fire on -him.”</p> - -<p>Two of the men dismounted rapidly, crossed the vestibule, and, preceded -by the sergeant, rushed headlong<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span> upstairs, reached the garret, and -began to beat upon the door with the butts of their heavy guns.</p> - -<p>“Surrender!” shouted the sergeant again and again.</p> - -<p>No one answered.</p> - -<p>“Quick now! Throw down the door.”</p> - -<p>The door was new and did not yield to the first blows, but little by -little the panels gave way, and at last, a formidable blow with the butt -broke the lock....</p> - -<p>The soldiers entered:—stretched upon the floor lay a half-dressed -woman. The window was open.</p> - -<p>“The scoundrel escaped through that,” said one of the men.</p> - -<p>“My God! We can’t let him escape,” shouted the sergeant, and sticking -his head through the window, he saw a man running across a field half -hidden among the olive trees. Without making sure whether it was the man -they were after or not, he drew a pistol from his belt and fired.</p> - -<p>“No—he’s gone. We’ve got to catch him.”</p> - -<p>They all left the room; there came a devilish noise of boots and spurs -on the stairs, and they crossed the vestibule.</p> - -<p>“To your horses,” said the sergeant.</p> - -<p>The order was obeyed instantly.</p> - -<p>“You, Aragonés, and you, Segura, get behind that hay-stack,” and the -chief indicated a great pile of black straw. “You two, ride around that -field, and this gentleman and I will go and look for the Marquesito face -to face.”</p> - -<p>The two pairs of troopers took their appointed places, and the sergeant -and the unknown gentleman advanced through the middle of the olive -orchard.</p> - -<p>Aragonés and Segura were the first to see the fugi<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span>tive, who was running -along hiding behind the olive trees, with a gun in his hand. The two -soldiers cocked their guns and advanced cautiously; but the youth saw -them, stopped and waited for them, kneeling upon one knee. The soldiers -attempted to make a detour in order to get near their game, but as they -described an arc, the youth kept the trunk of an olive tree between him -and them. Seeing that he was making sport of them, the soldiers advanced -resolutely. The Marquesito aimed his gun and fired, and one of the -horses, that of Aragonés, fell wounded in the shoulder, throwing his -rider. Segura, the other soldier, made his horse rear, in order to guard -against a shot, but the Marquesito fired a pistol with such good aim, -that the man fell to the ground with blood pouring from his mouth.</p> - -<p>Then the youth, realizing that the other pursuers would immediately come -to the spot where they had heard the shots, ran until he came to a -century-old olive tree with a great, deformed trunk whose gnarled roots -resembled a tangled mass of snakes. He took advantage of the respite to -load his gun and pistol. Then he waited. Presently a shot was fired -behind him, and he felt a bullet enter his leg. He turned rapidly and -saw the sergeant and the gentleman approaching on horseback.</p> - -<p>“My death will cost you dear,” murmured the Marquesito angrily.</p> - -<p>“Surrender!” shouted the sergeant, and approached the fugitive at a -trot.</p> - -<p>The Marquesito waited, and when the sergeant was twenty paces from him, -he fired his gun and pierced him with a bullet.</p> - -<p>“Hey, boys!” shouted the sergeant. “Here he is.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span> Kill him!” Then he put -his hand to his breast, began to bleed at the mouth, and fell from his -horse murmuring, “Jesus! He’s killed me!”</p> - -<p>One of the sergeant’s feet caught in the stirrup, and the horse, -becoming frightened, dragged his rider’s body for some distance over the -ground.</p> - -<p>“Now it’s your turn, coward!” shouted the Marquesito, addressing the -gentleman.</p> - -<p>But that person had turned on his croup and couldn’t get away fast -enough.</p> - -<p>The youth began to think that he was safe: the blood was flowing -copiously from his wound, so he took the handkerchief from about his -neck and bound his leg firmly with it. Next, he reloaded his weapons, -and limping slowly, sheltering himself behind the olive trees and -glancing from side to side, he advanced.</p> - -<p>When he had reached a little plaza formed by a space that was bare of -trees, he saw one of the soldiers in ambush. Perhaps it was the last -one.</p> - -<p>When they saw each other, pursuer and pursued immediately took refuge -behind the trees. The soldier fired; a ball whistled by the Marquesito’s -head; then he rested his gun against a tree trunk, fired, and the -soldier’s helmet fell to the ground.</p> - -<p>They both concealed themselves while they reloaded their weapons, and -for more than a quarter of an hour, they kept shooting at each other, -neither of them making up his mind to come out into the open.</p> - -<p>The Marquesito was beginning to feel faint from the loss of blood; so he -decided to risk all for all.</p> - -<p>“Let’s see if we can’t finish this business,” he murmured between his -clenched teeth; and he advanced, limping resolutely toward the soldier. -After a few steps<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span> he discharged his gun point blank, and immediately -after, his pistol.</p> - -<p>When he saw that his enemy had not fallen, that he was still standing, -he tried to escape, but his strength failed him. Then the soldier took -aim and fired. The Marquesito fell headlong ... he was dead. The ball -had struck him in the back of the neck and had come out through one of -his eyes, shattering his skull.</p> - -<p>“He was a brave chap,” murmured the soldier as he gazed at the corpse; -then he kneeled by his side and searched his clothes. He wrapped his -watch and chain, his shirt studs, and his money, in a handkerchief, tied -it in a knot, and made his way back to the tavern.</p> - -<p>As he drew near, he heard a voice wailing in despair:</p> - -<p>“Oh, mother! Oh, mother! Oh, my dearest mother!”</p> - -<p>In the clearing before the house was Fuensanta, half-undressed, livid, -with her face black and blue from the beating her father had given her. -The girl was moaning upon the ground, terror-stricken. La Temeraria, -with her arms lifted tragically, was shouting:</p> - -<p>“She has dishonoured us! She has dishonoured us!”</p> - -<p>The innkeeper’s other daughter stood in the doorway, watching her sister -as she dragged herself along the ground, exhausted by her beating.</p> - -<p>“Don’t beat the girl like that,” said the soldier.</p> - -<p>“Don’t beat her!” shouted El Mojoso. “No, I won’t beat her any more,” -and seizing his daughter by the arm he pushed her brutally from him, -shouting:</p> - -<p>“Go ... and never come back!”</p> - -<p>The bewildered girl hid her face in her hands, and then the poor little -thing began to walk away, weeping,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span> and not knowing what she was doing, -nor where she was going.</p> - -<p>Months later, a woman from an Obejo mill came to El Mojoso and announced -that Fuensanta had given birth to a son, and that she desired to be -forgiven and to return home; but the innkeeper said that he would kill -her if she ever came near him.</p> - -<p class="cspc">. . . . . . . . . . . . .</p> - -<p>“The scoundrel! The bandit!” exclaimed Quentin, striking the table a -blow with his fist.</p> - -<p>“Who is a scoundrel?” asked Señor Sabadía in surprise.</p> - -<p>“That Mojoso fellow, the dirty thief ... his daughter dishonoured him -because she loved a man, yet he did not dishonour himself, though he -robbed every one that came along.”</p> - -<p>“That’s different.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, it’s different,” cried Quentin furiously. “To the hidalgos of -Spain it is a different matter; to all those commonplace and thoughtless -men, a woman’s honour is beneath contempt. Imbeciles!”</p> - -<p>“I see that you are enraged,” said Don Gil with a smile. “Does the story -interest you?”</p> - -<p>“Very much.”</p> - -<p>“Shall I proceed?”</p> - -<p>“Please do.”</p> - -<p>“Then kindly call Señora Patrocinio and ask her to bring more bottles of -wine, for my throat is very dry.”</p> - -<p>“But you are a regular cask, my dear Don Gil.”</p> - -<p>“Yes I’m the Cask of the Danaides. Call her, please.”</p> - -<p>“Señora Patrocinio! Señora Patrocinio!” called Quentin.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Isn’t she coming?”</p> - -<p>“No. She is probably busy with her witchcraft. Perhaps this very minute -she is burning in her magic fire the sycamore torn from the sepulchre.”</p> - -<p>“Or the funereal cypress, and the feathers and eggs of a red owl soaked -in toad’s blood,” added Don Gil.</p> - -<p>“Or the poisonous herbs which grew in such abundance in Iolchos, and in -far-off Iberia,” continued Quentin.</p> - -<p>“Or the bones torn from the mouth of a hungry bitch,” added the -archæologist.</p> - -<p>“Señora Patrocinio! Señora Canidia!” shouted Quentin.</p> - -<p>“Señora Patrocinio! Señora Canidia!” echoed Señor Sabadía.</p> - -<p>“What do you want?” asked the old woman as she suddenly entered the -room.</p> - -<p>“Ah! She <i>was</i> here!” exclaimed Quentin.</p> - -<p>“She <i>was</i> here!” echoed Señor Sabadía. “We want some more bottles.”</p> - -<p>“What kind do you want?”</p> - -<p>“I believe, venerable dame,” Quentin ejaculated, “that it is all the -same to my friend here, whether it be wine from the vines of Falernus, -Phormio, or Cécube, as long as it is wine. Is that not true, Don Gil?”</p> - -<p>“Of course. I see that you are a sagacious young man. Bring them, old -woman,” said the archæologist, turning to Señora Patrocinio, “bring -fearlessly forth that excellent wine that you have guarded so jealously -these four years in the Sabine pitchers.”</p> - -<p>The old woman brought the bottles, Quentin filled Don Gil’s glass and -then his own, they emptied them both, and Señor Sabadía went on with his -story in these words:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX<br /><br /> -<small>IN WHICH SEÑOR SABADÍA ABUSES WORDS AND WINE</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">Y</span>EARS ago in the Calle de Librerías, in a little corner near the Cuesta -de Luján, there stood a silversmith’s shop, with an awning stretched -over the doorway, a very narrow show-case in which a number of rosaries, -rings, medals, and crosses were displayed, and a miserable -half-obliterated sign with these words: “Salvador’s Shop.” From one end -of this sign, symbolically, hung a pair of pasteboard scales.</p> - -<p>Salvador, the proprietor of this silversmith’s shop, was a wealthy -bachelor who had lived with a sister for many years before her death.</p> - -<p>At the time of my story, Don Andrés, as the silversmith was called, was -a man of some sixty years, small, clean-shaven, with white hair, rosy -cheeks, clear eyes, and smiling lips. He resembled a silver medal.</p> - -<p>With all his sweet, beatific countenance, Don Andrés was at heart, an -egoist. Possessing little intelligence and less courage, life made a -coward of him. He had an idea that things advanced too rapidly, and was, -therefore, an enemy to all innovations. Any change whatever, even if it -were beneficial, disturbed him profoundly.</p> - -<p>“We have lived like this so far,” he would say, “and I can see no -necessity for any change.”</p> - -<p>Don Andrés Salvador was equally conservative in his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span> business: all he -had was an ability for work that required patience. Rosaries, crosses, -rings, and medals left his house by the gross, but everything -manufactured in his shop was always the same; unchanged, and -unimproved—wrought with the same old-fashioned and decadent taste.</p> - -<p>Besides being a conservative, Don Andrés was distrust personified; he -did not want any one to see him at work. At that time, repoussé work was -still something mysterious and secret, and the silversmith, to prevent -any one from surprising his secrets, shut himself up in his own room -when he was about to make something of importance, and there worked -unseen.</p> - -<p>One morning when Don Andrés was standing in the doorway of his shop, he -saw a girl running toward him along the Calle de la Feria, pursued by an -old woman.</p> - -<p>His instinct as a law-abiding citizen made him go out and stop the girl.</p> - -<p>“Let me go, Señor,” she cried.</p> - -<p>“No. Is that your mother following you?”</p> - -<p>“No, she isn’t my mother,” and the child began to cry disconsolately. In -a broken voice she told him how she had been ill for some time in a hut -on the Calle de la Feria, and how, when she had become well, the -mistress of the house had tried to force her to remain as her ward, and -how she had escaped.</p> - -<p>By this time the old woman had come up behind the girl, and as a group -of children began to form around the shop door, the silversmith led the -two women inside.</p> - -<p>He asked the old woman if what the girl had said was true, and the -Celestina in her confusion said that it was, but defended herself by -declaring that she had kept the girl because she had not paid for what -she had spent on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span> medicines during her illness, and for dresses, -stockings, and underclothes with which to clothe her.</p> - -<p>The silversmith realized that it was a matter of an infamous -exploitation, and whether he was indignant at this, or whether he was -touched by the girl’s appearance, the fact is, he said with more -vehemence than he was accustomed to use:</p> - -<p>“I see, Señora Consolación, that you are trying to exploit this child in -an evil way. Leave her alone, for she will return your clothes, and go -back to your house; for if you don’t, I shall warn the authorities, and -you will rest your old bones in jail.”</p> - -<p>The old woman, who knew the influence and prestige the silversmith -enjoyed in the district, began once more to complain of the great -prejudice they had against her, but Don Andrés cut her argument short by -saying:</p> - -<p>“Either you get out, or I will call the alguacil.”</p> - -<p>The Celestina said not another word, but tied her handkerchief about her -neck as if she wished to strangle herself with it, and moved off down -the street, spouting curses as she went.</p> - -<p>The girl and the silversmith were left alone in the shop. He followed -the old woman with his eyes as she went screaming along the Calle de la -Feria among the noisy people who came running to their doorways as she -passed. When she was out of sight, he said to the girl:</p> - -<p>“You can go now. She’s gone.”</p> - -<p>When she heard this, the girl began to sob again.</p> - -<p>“For God’s sake, don’t send me away, Señor! For God’s sake!”</p> - -<p>“I’m not going to send you away. You may stay a while if you wish.”</p> - -<p>“No. Let me stay here always. You are good. I’ll<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span> be your servant, and -you won’t have to give me a thing for it.”</p> - -<p>“No, no—I cannot,” replied the silversmith.</p> - -<p>Then the child knelt on the floor, and with her arms thrown wide apart, -said:</p> - -<p>“Señor! Señor! Let me stay!”</p> - -<p>“No, no. Get up! Don’t be silly.”</p> - -<p>“Then if I kill myself,” she cried as she regained her feet, “it will be -your fault.”</p> - -<p>“Not mine.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, yours,” and the girl, changing her tone, added, “But you don’t -want me to go. You won’t throw me out; you’ll let me live here; I’ll -serve you, and take care of you; I’ll be your servant, and you needn’t -give me a thing for it; and I will thank you and pray for you.”</p> - -<p>“But, what will people say?” murmured Don Andrés, who foresaw a -complication in his life.</p> - -<p>“I swear to you by the Carmen Virgin,” she exclaimed, “that I won’t give -them a chance to talk, for nobody shall see me. You’ll let me live here, -won’t you?”</p> - -<p>“How can I help it! You stick a dagger into one’s heart. We’ll give it a -try. But let me warn you about one thing: the first time I notice a -failing—even if it is only a man hanging around the house—I’ll throw -you out immediately.”</p> - -<p>“No one will hang around.”</p> - -<p>“Then I shall give you some old clothes this very minute, and you may -send those to Señora Consolación’s house. Then go to work in the kitchen -immediately.”</p> - -<p>And so it was done; and Fuensanta, for the girl was Fuensanta, the -daughter of El Mojoso, entered the house of the silversmith as a -servant, and became, as she had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span> promised, circumspect, submissive, -silent and industrious.</p> - -<p>Little by little the silversmith grew fond of her; Don Andrés’ sister -had been a basilisk, a violent and ill-tempered old maid for whose fits -of bad temper he had always suffered. Fuensanta paid the old man -delicate attentions to which he was unaccustomed, and he looked forward -to an old age in an atmosphere of affection and respect.</p> - -<p>“See here,” Don Andrés once said to her, “you must not be separated from -your son. Bring the boy here.”</p> - -<p>Fuensanta went to Obejo, and returned the following day with the boy. He -was three years old, and a regular savage. Fuensanta, who realized that -such a wild creature would not please such an orderly and meticulous -person as the silversmith, always kept him segregated on the roof, where -the little lad passed the long hours in play.</p> - -<p>After she had been in Don Andrés Salvador’s house for three years, -Fuensanta got married.</p> - -<p>Among the agents and pedlars who were supplied in the shop, there was a -young man, Rafael by name, whom they nicknamed El Pende.</p> - -<p>This Rafael was at that time a gracious, pleasant chap of some -twenty-odd years; he had the reputation of being lazy—firstly because -he came from the Santa Marina district, and secondly because he was the -son of Matapalos, one of the biggest loafers in Cordova.</p> - -<p>Matapalos, a distinguished member of the Pende dynasty, was a carpenter, -and such a poor one, so they said, that the only things he could make -were wedges, and even these never came out straight.</p> - -<p>El Pende junior, in spite of his reputation as a loafer,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span> used to work. -He took up the business of peddling from town to town; selling necklaces -and rosaries throughout the entire highlands, and buying old gold and -lace wherever he went.</p> - -<p>He was a gaudy and elegant lad, who spent nearly everything he earned on -jewels and good clothes.</p> - -<p>“I’d rather wear jewels than eat,” he said.</p> - -<p>Rafael, or El Pende, as you will, began promptly to pay court to the -girl. She duly checked his advances, but he grew stronger under -punishment, and she, seeing that the man persisted, told him the story -of her misfortune.</p> - -<p>El Pende made light of it all. He was very much enamoured, or perhaps he -saw something in the woman that others had missed for, though she had no -money, nor any possibility of inheriting any, he did not give up trying -until he succeeded in persuading her to marry him.</p> - -<p>“Now I’ve got to persuade the master,” said Fuensanta, after coming to -an understanding with her sweetheart. “Because, if he opposes us—I -won’t marry you.”</p> - -<p>Slowly, insinuatingly, Fuensanta prepared the ground day by day. -Allowing herself to stumble, she suggested the idea of marriage to the -silversmith, until Don Andrés himself advised his servant to marry, and -pointed out to her the advantages she would have should she join herself -to Rafael.</p> - -<p>They were married, and lived in an attic next the roof. The silversmith -gladly granted them the attic, for they scared away thieves, and he -liked to have a young man around to look after the house.</p> - -<p>Fuensanta continued to serve him as before. El<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span> Pende made his trips; he -had made advantageous terms with the silversmith in his commissions, and -he and the old man understood each other admirably.</p> - -<p>Fuensanta began to behold a useful collaborator in her husband. He was -intelligent and sagacious; he had a latent ambition which was awakened -with real violence at his marriage.</p> - -<p>The child was an obstacle to the peace of the household. Quentin was -stupid, brutal, proud, and meddlesome.</p> - -<p>After two years of matrimony, Fuensanta gave birth to a son whom they -called Rafael, after his father. Quentin had no use for the boy, a fact -that caused El Pende to hate his stepson.</p> - -<p>Quentin did not go to school, so he knew nothing. He played about the -streets in rags with rowdies and toughs. One day, when El Pende saw him -with some gipsies, he seized him, carried him home, and said to his -mother:</p> - -<p>“We’ve got to do something about this child.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, we must do something,” she agreed.</p> - -<p>“Why don’t you ask the master if he knows of a cheap school?”</p> - -<p>Fuensanta spoke to the silversmith, who listened to her attentively.</p> - -<p>“Do you know what we’ll do?” said Don Andrés.</p> - -<p>“What?”</p> - -<p>“We’ll find out who his father’s family are. How long ago was he -killed?”</p> - -<p>“Seven years.”</p> - -<p>“Good. Then I’ll find out.”</p> - -<p>On that same street, on the corner of the Calle de la Espartería, in a -house upon whose chamfer was an iron cross, there lived a retired -captain of militia, Don Matías<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span> Echavarría. The silversmith called on -him, related what had happened in the Cross-roads Store, and asked the -captain if he remembered the affair, and if he knew the name of the -protagonist.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Don Matías, “the boy who ran away and was killed on the Pozo -Blanco road, was the son of the Marquis of Tavera. When the thing -happened, they hushed it up, saying that he had met his death by a fall -from his horse, and no one ever knew anything about it.”</p> - -<p>When the silversmith returned to his house, he said nothing to -Fuensanta, but, shut up in his room, he wrote a letter to the old -Marquis, giving him a detailed account of the facts, and telling him -that a grandson of his was living in his modest home.</p> - -<p>He had to wait for the answer. At the end of two weeks, Don Andrés -received a message from the Marquis telling him to send Fuensanta to his -house to talk with him, and to bring the boy with her.</p> - -<p>Fuensanta made Quentin as presentable as possible, and went with him to -the Marquis’ palace. The old man received her very pleasantly, bade her -tell him her story, caressed the child, and murmured from time to time:</p> - -<p>“He’s just like him, just like him....” Then he added, turning to the -mother, “Are you in needy circumstances?”</p> - -<p>“Sí, Señor Marqués.”</p> - -<p>“Very well; take one hundred dollars for the present. We shall see what -we can do for the boy.”</p> - -<p>Fuensanta told her husband what had happened in the Marquis’ house, and -El Pende immediately took possession of the hundred dollars.</p> - -<p>The economical chap already had a like amount, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span> he believed that the -moment had arrived to realize his plans of establishing himself. -Consequently, a little later, he rented a store in the Calle de la -Zapatería.</p> - -<p class="cspc">. . . . . . . . . . . . .</p> - -<p>“What’s the matter with you, Don Gil?” asked Quentin, as he saw the -narrator looking about for something.</p> - -<p>“Why, you’re not pouring wine for me.”</p> - -<p>“There’s none left.”</p> - -<p>“Then call Señora Patrocinio.”</p> - -<p>“What will you have, Don Gil? Falernus? Or shall we devote ourselves -this time to the vines of Calais?”</p> - -<p>“No, no; Montilla.”</p> - -<p>“Can’t we make a change?”</p> - -<p>“Mix one wine with another? Never! It’s very dangerous. But are you, or -are you not going to call that old woman? If you do not, I will not go -on with my story.”</p> - -<p>“Do go on with it, Don Gil,” said Señora Patrocinio, opening the door -and placing two bottles upon the table. “I was almost asleep out here, -and was amusing myself by listening to what you were saying.”</p> - -<p>“Eh!” exclaimed Don Gil, “I must be a great historian if even Sister -Patrocinio listens to my tale. Allow me to wet my throat. Now for it, -ladies and gentlemen, now for it!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span>”</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X<br /><br /> -<small>DON GIL FINISHES HIS STORY</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">S</span>EÑORA PATROCINIO seated herself at the table. She was a thin, lean old -woman, with a yellow complexion, a hooked nose which was on friendly -terms with her chin, grey hair, and a wrinkled skin.</p> - -<p>Don Gil took a drink, and continued as follows:</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>The store was located in a large, antique house, painted blue. On the -ground floor were four grated windows, a door, and two little shops. One -of these was a mat store, and the other was the one El Pende had rented.</p> - -<p>It was a tiny apartment, scarcely three metres square, with a few -living-rooms beyond a dark back room.</p> - -<p>El Pende put neither signs nor decorations on his shop; he placed a -counter painted with red ochre in the middle of the floor, set up a few -pine shelves, and commenced business.</p> - -<p>All kinds of things to eat and to drink and to burn were sold at the -store; a heterogeneous assortment was heaped upon the shelves; there -were soaps, silks, taffy of all kinds, and dyes from the most -distinguished factory in the whole world, which is that of the Calle de -Mucho Trigo; there were hemp-seeds roasted in honey, candied pine-nuts, -almond paste, and those thin little wafers that you must have seen, that -look like priests’ hats.</p> - -<p class="cspc">. . . . . . . . . . . . .</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Come, don’t get tiresome,” said Señora Patrocinio.</p> - -<p>“If you interrupt me, Sister Patrocinio, I shall refuse to go on,” -answered the narrator.</p> - -<p>“You are losing the thread of your story. Come to the point, Don Gil, -come to the point.”</p> - -<p>“Very well, then—I refuse to continue.”</p> - -<p>“Go on, man, go on; you’re crankier than a wheat-sifter,” said the old -woman.</p> - -<p>“Where was I?” murmured Don Gil. “I believe I’ve forgotten.”</p> - -<p>“You were telling us what the store contained,” suggested Quentin.</p> - -<p class="cspc">. . . . . . . . . . . . .</p> - -<p>Of drinkables (the archæologist continued), there were all sorts of -brandies and refreshing beverages; rossolis, which they call <i>ressolis</i> -here; Cazalla, and wild cherry brandy in green jars which some call -<i>parrots</i>, and others <i>greenfinches</i>.</p> - -<p>The little store in the Calle de la Zapatería soon had customers. -Country folk used to go there to take a little nip in the morning; a few -servant girls and a great many children used to stop there to buy -sweets.</p> - -<p>El Pende stayed behind the counter where he received his friends, who -sometimes spent a little money. The most assiduous in his attendance at -these gatherings, was a ruined hidalgo by the name of Palomares, whom El -Pende had known since childhood, and who, having nothing to do, used to -take refuge in the shop. In order not to be in the way, and at the same -time to make himself useful, he used to wait on customers himself.</p> - -<p>This hidalgo, Diego Palomares, was an adventurer, a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span> son of Lucena. He -had departed from his home town for the first time when he was eighteen -years old, to attend the Seville Fair. He lost all his money and his -desire to return to his native city, by gambling, and acquired, in -exchange, a desire to see the world; so he went to Cadiz and embarked -for America. There he had his ups and downs successively: he was a -merchant, a super-cargo on a ship, and after many years of hard and -fatiguing work, he returned to Cordova, thirty-six years old, penniless, -and prematurely aged.</p> - -<p>When Diego Palomares saw that his friend was getting on well with the -store, he joined him.</p> - -<p>While El Pende sat at the counter tending the store, Fuensanta continued -to help the silversmith.</p> - -<p>Six months after the first gift, the old Marquis sent for Fuensanta and -gave her another hundred dollars.</p> - -<p>From the wife’s hands they passed into those of her husband, who used -them all in the store.</p> - -<p>El Pende asked the landlord to give him another room, and to remove one -of the grated windows, that he might enlarge his store. His request was -granted, and in place of the grating, they installed a show-window.</p> - -<p>Then El Pende had a sign painted, and hanging from the board, a gilt, -many-pointed star.</p> - -<p>How many arguments he and Palomares had as to whether the star was right -or not!</p> - -<p>I remember that one day, when I was on my way to the Casino, they called -me in to elucidate the question for them; and you ought to have heard me -give them a talk about office-signs of all kinds! It is a matter to -which few people pay any attention.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span></p><p> </p> - -<p>“Come, there you go again, wandering away from your subject,” said the -old woman.</p> - -<p>“Be quiet,” Don Gil ejaculated. “This matter of signs is very -interesting; don’t you think so?” he asked Quentin.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know anything about it.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, don’t you? Well, for example, some night you may see a closed store -with a sign which reads ‘Perez,’ with two red hands hanging from the -board. What kind of business do those red hands indicate?”</p> - -<p>“A glove store, perhaps?” asked Quentin.</p> - -<p>“That’s right. How clever the lad is! What does a basin indicate?”</p> - -<p>“That’s well known—a barber shop.”</p> - -<p>“And a rooster on top of a ball?”</p> - -<p>“That I don’t know.”</p> - -<p>“Why, a poultry shop. And a red or blue ball in a show-case?”</p> - -<p>“A drug store.”</p> - -<p>“Very good. And a little tiny mattress?”</p> - -<p>“A mattress-maker’s store.”</p> - -<p>“And one or two black hands holding a bunch of keys?”</p> - -<p>“I think I have seen that in front of locksmiths’ shops.”</p> - -<p>“That’s right. And a large book?”</p> - -<p>“A bindery.”</p> - -<p>“But what a clever chap he is! And large eyeglasses—very large?”</p> - -<p>“An optician’s.”</p> - -<p>“And the bust of a woman leaning from a balcony as though taking the -air?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“A ladies’ hair-dressing salon: but they don’t have as many here as they -do in Madrid. And a horse-shoe?”</p> - -<p>“You’re the one that ought to be horse-shoed,” ejaculated Señora -Patrocinio. “Are you going on with the story or not, Don Gil?”</p> - -<p>“But you two are confusing me! You make me lose the thread. Where was -I?”</p> - -<p>“You were telling us,” said Señora Patrocinio, “about how they fixed up -the store with the Marquis’ money.”</p> - -<p>“Ah! That’s so.”</p> - -<p class="cspc">. . . . . . . . . . . . .</p> - -<p>They widened the store; left off several articles that were not very -productive, and devoted themselves exclusively to selling comestibles. -They bought casks of Montillo wine, Montero oil, sugar, coffee, and -hired some chocolate makers to make chocolate.</p> - -<p>Palomares, whom El Pende had engaged as a clerk when he saw the -prosperity of the establishment, spent the day wrapping up cakes of -chocolate, toasting coffee, and mixing peanuts and chicory.</p> - -<p>Palomares had a great talent for labelling his mixtures. When he had -faked up something, he called it “Extra-Superior”; if the fake was so -complete that one could not tell what kind of a product it was, then he -called it “Superior” or “Fine.”</p> - -<p>Besides these hyperbolical names, there were other more modest ones, -such as “First Class,” “Second Class,” and “Third Class.” These -divisions were hard to define; yet Palomares asserted, not that they -were good, but that one could easily distinguish a difference between -them.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span></p> - -<p>According to him, it was clear that the “Second Class” was worse than -the “First Class,” and that the “Third Class” was worse than the “Second -Class”; but this was not saying that the “First Class” and the “Second -Class” were good, or even passably so.</p> - -<p>In spite of the chemistry that El Pende and his assistant employed, the -store grew in reputation. The show-window was full of sausages wrapped -in tinfoil, prunes, and tins of preserves. On the shelves were loaves of -sugar, bottles of sherry, and jugs of gin. Upon the floor in sacks, were -rice, kidney-beans, and casks of sardines.</p> - -<p>Money began to flow into the store in such a quiet and unobtrusive -manner that no one was aware of it. The old silversmith grumbled at the -thought that some fine day they would leave him; but Fuensanta deceived -him by telling him that the store was not getting along very well, and -that they would get rid of it if they had a chance.</p> - -<p>El Pende, who lacked the patience of his wife, wished to emancipate -himself completely from the old man, so he rented the first floor of the -house in which the store was located, giving the back room to Palomares.</p> - -<p>Then Fuensanta hired a servant girl, and every minute she had free, she -went to keep the old silversmith company. This procedure was very much -praised by the old wives of the community, and Fuensanta enjoyed much -popularity. At the same time, El Pende succeeded in making people forget -his family nickname, and everybody called him Rafael, or Señor Rafael, -and some even called him Don Rafael.</p> - -<p>The family was progressing economically, and acquiring more -respectability, when the lad Quentin began<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span> to make trouble. He ran away -from home; he stole; once he came near poisoning the whole family; he -did terrible things.</p> - -<p>Then the old Marquis, to whose knowledge his grandson’s escapades had -come, had him brought before him and sent him away to school in England.</p> - -<p>Quentin left, and the family continued their progress. Fuensanta had her -fourth child, a daughter; and during the confinement, Don Andrés -Salvador, the silversmith, died from heart failure.</p> - -<p>When they opened the old man’s will, they found that his fortune, almost -in its entirety, with the exception of a few bequests to two distant -relatives, was left to Fuensanta. The fortune, including the money and -the house, amounted to somewhere near thirty thousand dollars.</p> - -<p>Then Fuensanta and El Pende tried to rent the whole lower floor of the -house on the Calle de la Zapatería, with the idea of converting it into -a large warehouse. The landlord was willing, but the man who rented the -mat store said that he would not move, that he had a ten-year contract -with the landlord, and that he did not intend to leave. They offered to -pay him an indemnity, but he persisted in his recalcitrant attitude.</p> - -<p>And maybe the fool wasn’t stubborn! El Capita was a man of evil intent -with a magnificent history. Some time ago he lived with a widow who had -two daughters in school. When the elder daughter graduated, the man fell -in love with her, and married her; though he continued his relations -with her mother. El Capita was an artful chap. His wife found out about -the affair, and was indignant. She ran away with her husband’s clerk out -of revenge; but El Capita did not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span> worry about the matter. Along came -the second daughter, and El Capita, who was very astute, began to make -advances to her, which she, more accommodating than her elder sister, -willingly accepted.</p> - -<p>El Capita was very content with his store; doubtless he had an affection -for all those panniers and headstalls—mute witnesses of his drunken -parties and tempestuous love affairs, and he got it into his head that -he was not going to move. But the man reckoned without his hostess; and -in this case, his hostess was Fuensanta, who when she said that she was -going to do a thing, did it regardless of all obstacles.</p> - -<p>Fuensanta very quietly transferred the inherited silversmith’s shop; -then she sold the house in the Calle de Librerías, and with the money -from the transfer and the sale, bought the house in the Calle de la -Zapatería; and El Capita had to get out in a hurry, willy nilly, with -all his pack-saddles and panniers.</p> - -<p>Fuensanta and El Pende converted the whole lower floor into a warehouse. -They furnished the barracks and the prison with goods at wholesale; but -as they did not wish to kill their retail trade, they rented a store in -the Calle de la Espartería near the Arco Alto and the Calle de Gitanos. -This place, which was known in ancient times by the name of El Gollizno -on account of its extreme narrowness, is one of the busiest corners in -Cordova. Certainly there . . . .</p> - -<p class="cspc">. . . . . . . . . . . . .</p> - -<p>“Good lord! Another digression?” exclaimed Quentin. “Haven’t you -finished yet?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Tell us the rest,” said the old woman. “What happened to that El Pende -fellow?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Nothing: they elected him to the council, then they made him -lieutenant-mayor, and now he is a wealthy merchant, a banker; and we who -were rich once, haven’t a penny now. Eh? Well, that is the story. -Come—pass me some more wine.”</p> - -<p>Don Gil seized the bottle with one hand, brought it to his mouth, and -began to drink.</p> - -<p>“Enough, man, enough,” said Señora Patrocinio.</p> - -<p>The archæologist paid no attention to her, and never stopped until he -had emptied the bottle. Then he gazed about the room, shut his eyes, -leaned his head upon the table, and an instant later, commenced to snore -noisily.</p> - -<p>“The compadre is rather intoxicated,” said Quentin as he looked at Don -Gil.</p> - -<p>“Come, you’re feeling pretty good yourself,” replied the old woman.</p> - -<p>“I? I was never so calm in my life. It takes a lot to get us people from -England drunk.”</p> - -<p>“Ah! Are you English?”</p> - -<p>“No; I come from here.”</p> - -<p>“And are you a friend of the Quentin of whom there has been so much talk -tonight?”</p> - -<p>“Ha ... ha ... ha!”</p> - -<p>“What are you laughing at?”</p> - -<p>“Why, that Quentin ... is me!”</p> - -<p>“You?” and she used the familiar <i>tu</i>.</p> - -<p>“Ha ... ha! Now the old dame is beginning to ‘thee and thou’ me!”</p> - -<p>“Is it you, Quentin?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“I am a relative of yours.”</p> - -<p>“Really? I’m very glad to hear it.”</p> - -<p>“I can’t explain anything to you now, because you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span> are drunk. Come some -other day and we’ll talk it over. I’ll help you.”</p> - -<p>“Very good; I shall take advantage of your protection.... Ha, ha!”</p> - -<p>“You shall see. You won’t have to work.”</p> - -<p>“Work! Ha ... ha ... ha! That is an idea that never occurred to me, good -dame. Far from me is that vulgar thought.... Ah!... Ha ... ha ... ha!”</p> - -<p>Señora Patrocinio seized Quentin by the arm and led him to the street.</p> - -<p>“Now, go home,” she said to him; “some other day I shall tell you -something that may interest you. Should you need money, come here before -you go anywhere else.”</p> - -<p>This said, she pushed Quentin into the middle of the street. The -coolness of the night air cleared his head. Day had not yet dawned; the -sky was clean and cloudless; the moon was low in the heavens—just -touching the horizon.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI<br /><br /> -<small>MORE INCOMPREHENSIBLE THAN THE HEART OF A GROWN WOMAN, IS THAT OF A GIRL-CHILD</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">Q</span>UENTIN did not abandon the idea of becoming intimate with Rafaela.</p> - -<p>He now knew the close relationship that united them. They were of the -same family. Things would have to turn out badly indeed not to be -advantageous to him.</p> - -<p>One morning Quentin again went to his cousin’s house. He found the gate -open, and went as far as the interior of the garden without ringing. He -found Juan, the gardener, busily occupied in trying to turn the key -which let the water out of the pool; an undertaking in which he was not -successful.</p> - -<p>“What are you trying to do?” Quentin asked him.</p> - -<p>“To turn this key; but it’s so dirty....”</p> - -<p>“Let me have it,” said Quentin; and taking a large crowbar, he turned -the key with scarcely an effort. A jet of water ran into a small trough, -from which it flowed through the various ditches that irrigated the -different parts of the garden.</p> - -<p>“Where are the young ladies?” asked Quentin.</p> - -<p>“At mass: they’ll be back in a little while.”</p> - -<p>“What’s doing here? How is everything getting on?”</p> - -<p>“Badly. Worse every day,” answered the gar<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span>dener. “How different this -house used to look! Money used to flow here like wheat. They said that -every time the clock struck, the Marquis made an ounce of gold. And such -luxury! If you had walked through these patios thirty years ago, you’d -have thought you were in heaven!”</p> - -<p>“What was here?”</p> - -<p>“You would have met the armed house-guards, all gaudily attired—with -short coats, stiff-brimmed hats, and guns.”</p> - -<p>“What did they do?”</p> - -<p>“They accompanied the Marquis on his trips. Have you seen the coach? -What a beauty it is! It will hold twenty-four persons. It’s dirty and -broken now, and isn’t a bit showy; but you should have seen it in those -days. It used to take eight horses and postillions <i>a la Federica</i> to -haul it. And what a to-do when they gave the order to start! The guards, -mounted on horseback, waited for the coach in that little plazoleta in -front. Then the cavalcade started off. And what horses! He always had -two or three of those animals that cost thousands of dollars.”</p> - -<p>“It must have cost him a lot to maintain a stable like that.”</p> - -<p>“Just think of it!”</p> - -<p>“When did these grandeurs come to an end?”</p> - -<p>“Not very long ago, believe me. When the Queen came to Cordova, she rode -from the Cueva del Cojo to the city in our coach.”</p> - -<p>“How is it that the family could fall so far?”</p> - -<p>“It has been everybody’s fault. God never granted much sense to the -members of this household; but the administrator and the Count, who is -the young ladies<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span>’ father, were the ones who brought on most of the -ruin. The latter, besides being a libertine and a spendthrift, is a -fool. People are always deceiving him; and what he doesn’t lose through -foolishness, he does through distrust. Once he bought twenty thousand -gallons of oil in Malaga at seventy <i>reales</i>, brought them here, and -sold them in a few days, at forty.”</p> - -<p>“That certainly was an idiotic thing to do.”</p> - -<p>“Well, he’s done lots more like it.”</p> - -<p>“What has become of him now? Where does he live?”</p> - -<p>“He goes about the city with toreadors and horse-dealers. He has -separated from his wife.”</p> - -<p>“Did he marry again?”</p> - -<p>“Yes; the second time, he married the daughter of an olive merchant: a -beautiful, but ordinary woman who is giving the town a lot to talk -about. Since he is a fool, and she a sinner, after two or three years of -married life, they separated—throwing things at each other’s heads. Now -he is living with a gipsy girl named La Mora, who relieves him of what -pennies he has left. The girl’s brothers and cousins go into retirement -with him in taverns, and make him sign papers by threatening him with -violence: why, they haven’t left him a penny! And now that he has no -money, they no longer love him. La Mora throws him out of his house, and -I believe he crawls back to her on his knees.”</p> - -<p>“Meanwhile, what about his wife?”</p> - -<p>“She gets worse and worse. She has been going about here with a -lieutenant ... she’s a wild hussy.”</p> - -<p>The gardener took his spade and made a pile of earth in a ditch to keep -the water away from a certain spot.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span> While Juan worked, Quentin turned -his ambitious projects over and over in his mind.</p> - -<p>“What a superb stroke!” he was thinking. “To marry the girl, and save -the property! That surely would be killing two birds with one stone. To -have money, and at the same time, pass for a romantic chap! That would -be admirable.”</p> - -<p>“Here come the young ladies,” said Juan suddenly, looking down the -corridor.</p> - -<p>Sure enough; Rafaela and Remedios, accompanied by the tall, dried-up -servant, appeared in the garden. The two girls were prettier than ever -in their mantillas and black dresses.</p> - -<p>“See how pretty they are!” exclaimed Juan to Quentin, arms akimbo. -“Those children are two slices out of heaven.”</p> - -<p>Rafaela laughed the laugh of a young woman utterly lacking in coquetry; -Remedios looked at Quentin with her great, black eyes, waiting, perhaps, -for a confirmation of the gardener’s compliment.</p> - -<p>Rafaela removed her mantilla, folded it, stuck two large pins in it, and -gave it to the maid; then she smoothed her hair with her long, -delicate-fingered white hand.</p> - -<p>“I have a favour to ask of you,” she said to Quentin.</p> - -<p>“Of me?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Command me: I shall consider myself most happy to be your slave.”</p> - -<p>Rafaela laughed musically and said:</p> - -<p>“Goodness me! How quickly you take your ground!”</p> - -<p>“I am not exaggerating; I am saying what I feel.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Then be careful, for you seem to me to be a trifle restless for a -slave, and I may have to put you in irons.”</p> - -<p>“It won’t be necessary for you to do that. Tell me what you want me to -do.”</p> - -<p>“Well, a very simple thing. My father, who is not all a gentleman should -be, took a little silver jewelcase out of my room the other day. It is a -souvenir of mother. I think he must have sold it, and I wish you would -take the trouble of looking for it. You’ll find it in some pawn-shop on -the plaza. There is a coronet upon the cover of the case, and in the -silk lining are the initials, R. S. If you find the little box, please -buy it, and I shall pay you whatever it amounts to.”</p> - -<p>“No, not that.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I don’t want it under any other condition.”</p> - -<p>Apropós of the little box, Rafaela spoke sadly of her mother.</p> - -<p>Remedios, who had taken off her mantilla, took a hoop from a corner and -began to play with it.</p> - -<p>“Remedios!” said Rafaela. “You have your new dress on. Change it, and -study your lessons immediately.”</p> - -<p>“No, not today,” replied the child.</p> - -<p>“Why not? And she says it so calmly! Big girls don’t play with hoops. If -I don’t watch this child, she plays all sorts of games, just like a -little street urchin. Do you think that is right, girlie?”</p> - -<p>Remedios looked at her sister impudently, and only whistled as an -answer.</p> - -<p>“Don’t whistle, please.”</p> - -<p>“I will,” answered Remedios.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I’ll shut you up in the dark room. We’ve had two days this week without -our lessons. If you don’t learn any more than that, you’ll be a little -donkey.... Just about as clever as Pajarito.”</p> - -<p>“No!” exclaimed the little girl, stamping her foot.</p> - -<p>“Yes, yes,” said Rafaela, smiling.</p> - -<p>“No.”—And throwing her arms about her sister’s neck, Remedios climbed -into her lap.</p> - -<p>“I believe you have lost your moral strength,” Quentin said to her.</p> - -<p>“Yes; I think so too,” added Rafaela.</p> - -<p>Safe in her sister’s lap, Remedios began to chatter, while Rafaela -patted her like a baby. She told several stories in which Pajarito, Juan -and the genet appeared.</p> - -<p>“What a little story-teller you are!” said Rafaela, laughing.</p> - -<p>When she grew tired of this, Remedios jumped from her sister’s lap, and -began to run about the garden. Presently she appeared riding astride of -the donkey.</p> - -<p>“The child is wild today,” said Rafaela, gazing severely at Remedios.</p> - -<p>The little girl noticed that her sister was annoyed, and jumping from -the donkey at the risk of falling, she went up to her.</p> - -<p>“Juan said that we can pick oranges now.”</p> - -<p>“Girlie, will you kindly be less of a busybody, and a little more -quiet?”</p> - -<p>“Well, that’s what he said!” exclaimed Remedios, making an expressive -gesture, and rolling her great, black eyes.</p> - -<p>Quentin began to laugh. Rafaela joined him.</p> - -<p>“What are you laughing at?” demanded Remedios of her sister.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I’m not laughing, child.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, you are. Let’s get out of here.”</p> - -<p>“But, why?”</p> - -<p>“Yes; come on.”</p> - -<p>“It’s just a little notion the girl has taken,” murmured Quentin.</p> - -<p>“What business is it of yours?”</p> - -<p>“My dear child, if you grow up like this, no one will be able to resist -you.”</p> - -<p>Remedios remained frowning by Rafaela’s side; then she saw Juan’s little -dog, took it in her arms, and running to the pool, threw it into the -water.</p> - -<p>“What a creature!” said Rafaela, vexed.</p> - -<p>They went to the pool; the dog swam to the edge and began to flounder -about without being able to get out. Quentin knelt upon the ground, and -stretching out his arm, lifted the little animal from the water.</p> - -<p>“He’s shivering,” said Rafaela. “Do you see what you have done?” she -added, turning to her sister—“He may die.”</p> - -<p>Remedios, who had watched the rescue impassively, went to a corner and -sat upon the ground with her face to the wall.</p> - -<p>“Remedios!” called Rafaela.</p> - -<p>The child made no reply.</p> - -<p>“Come, Remedios,” said Quentin, going over to her.</p> - -<p>“Go away!”</p> - -<p>“Come, you’re exhausting my patience.”</p> - -<p>“I won’t.”</p> - -<p>Rafaela tried to seize the girl, but she began to run, shouting:</p> - -<p>“If you follow me, I’ll throw myself into the pool.”</p> - -<p>And she was making for it when Quentin seized her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span> firmly about the -waist, and heedless of her shrieks and kicks, handed her over to -Rafaela.</p> - -<p>“No, no; you must go into the dark room. What a child!”</p> - -<p>“No, I won’t do any more, I won’t do any more,” sobbed Remedios, hiding -her head on her sister’s shoulder, overcome with shame, and weeping like -a Magdalene.</p> - -<p>“When the tears are over, she’ll be a little lamb. Will you undertake my -mission?” Rafaela asked Quentin.</p> - -<p>“If the little box is in Cordova, you may be sure that I shall find it.”</p> - -<p>“Good! Adiós. We are going in to get over this,” said Rafaela, smiling -ironically.</p> - -<p>Rafaela and Remedios went up to their rooms, and Quentin went out into -the street.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII<br /><br /> -<small>IN SEARCH OF A JEWEL-CASE</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">“I</span>N those days,” asserted Don Gil Sabadía in a notable article in <i>El -Diario de Cordova</i>, “La Corredera was a large, rectangular plaza -surrounded by houses with heavy balconies and porticos supported by -thick columns. At that time the plaza had no dirty and ugly brick -market-place; nor were the houses as neglected as they are today; nor -did so much hedge-mustard grow on the balconies. With a daily open-air -market, a plaza used on great occasions for bull-fights and jousts, La -Corredera constituted a commercial, industrial, and artistic centre for -Cordova. In that spot were celebrated regal fiestas of great renown in -our locality; there <i>autos da fé</i> were consummated; there Señor Pedro -Romero and Pepe Hillo fought bulls when Charles IV visited the city; -there the Tablet of the Constitution was set up in 1823 with great -enthusiasm, only to be torn down and dragged about that same year; there -the bodies of a few splendid youths were exposed, killed in the hills -with their guns in their hands; there also the last executioners of -Cordova, the two Juans—Juan García and Juan Montano—both masters of -the art of hanging their fellow men, had splendid opportunities to -perform the extremely important duties that had been conferred upon -them. Lastly, from there, from La Corredera, sprang the rogues of -Cordova, relatives<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span> of the rascals of Zocodover and Azoguejo, fathers of -the scoundrels of Perchel, and of the lancers of Murcía, and remote -ancestors of the Madrid <i>golfos</i>.”</p> - -<p>And Don Gil, after enumerating the beauties of La Corredera, terminated -his article with the following lament: “One more reason we have for -thanking our much-boasted-of progress!”</p> - -<p>Quentin had been told that nearly all of the pawn shops in Cordova were -situated in La Corredera, and the morning after his conversation with -Rafaela, he appeared there, resolved to leave no stone unturned until he -had discovered the little box which he had been entrusted to find.</p> - -<p>He entered La Corredera through the Arco Alto. From this spot, the plaza -presented a pleasing and picturesque spectacle. It was like a harbour -filled with yellow and white sails shaking in the breeze, shining with -light, and filling the whole extent of the plaza. Under the dark and -sombre porticos, in the tiny shops and booths, there were little piles -of black objects.</p> - -<p>Quentin walked through the centre of the plaza. He saw permanent booths, -like large huts, where they sold grains and vegetables; and some that -were portable, like great umbrellas with long sticks, which belonged to -green-grocers and fruit-sellers. Other booths were a bit more simple, -being merely wide, awningless tables upon which walnuts and hazelnuts -were heaped. Others, simpler still, were upon the ground, “upon the -stone counters,” as the itinerant pedlars called them.</p> - -<p>Quentin left the centre of the plaza and entered the arcade, resolved to -leave no second-hand store or pawn-broker’s establishment unvisited. -Each space beneath the arcade was occupied by a booth, and each column -had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span> a little stand at its base. On the inside of the covered walk were -the gateways of inns with their classic patios, and their splendid old -names; such as the Posada de la Puya, or the Posada del Toro.... The -sandal stores displayed coils of plaited grass as signs; the drink -establishments, shelves full of coloured bottles; the saddleries, -headstalls, cinchas, and cruppers; the tripe shops, bladders, and sieves -made of the skins of Lucena donkeys. Here a cane weaver was making -baskets; there, a pawnbroker was piling up several greasy books; and -near him, an old fright of a woman was taking a piece of hakefish from a -frying-pan and placing it upon a tin plate.</p> - -<p>Even the sidewalks were occupied; a vendor of Andújar ware was pacing up -and down before his dishes: large water-jars, and small, green jugs -which were arranged in squares upon the stones. An old countrywoman was -selling rolls of tinder for smokers; a man with a cap was exhibiting -cigar cases and shell combs upon a folding table.</p> - -<p>At each column there was a grinder with his machine, or a hatter with -his caps in a large basket, or a fritter-maker with his caldron, or a -cobbler with his bench and cut leather and a basin to dampen it in. -There were notes of gaiety which were struck by stockings and -handkerchiefs of vivid colours; and sinister notes: rows of different -sized knives tied to a wall, on whose blades were engraved mottoes as -suggestive as the following:</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Si esta víbora te pica,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No hay remedio en la botica.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>(If this viper should sting thee, there is no cure for it in the -drugstore.)<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span></p> - -<p>Or as that other legend, laconic in its fidelity, written below a heart -graven in the steel:</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Soy de mi dueño y señor.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">(I am of my lord and master.)<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>Although he visited every pawn shop and second-hand dealer in the plaza, -Quentin failed to find the jewel-case. Somewhat dazed by the sun and the -noise, he stopped and leaned against a column for a moment. It was a -babel of shouts and voices and songs—of a thousand sounds. The hardware -dealers struck horse-shoes with their hammers in a queer sort of rhythm; -the knife-grinders whistled on their flutes; the vendor of medicinal -herbs emitted a melancholy cry; the pine-nut seller shouted like a -madman: “Boys and girls, weep for pine-nuts!”</p> - -<p>There were cries that were languid and sad; others that were rapid and -despairing. Some vendors devoted themselves to humour; like the seller -of rolled wafers who began his advertisement by saying: “Here’s where -you get your wafers ... they came from El Puerto—all the <i>way for</i> -you!” and then mixed up a lot of sayings and refrains. Other merchants -added a scientific touch; like the seller of tortoises, who dragged the -little animals along the ground tied to a string, and shouted in a voice -made husky by brandy: “Come and buy my little sea-roosters!”</p> - -<p>All this rabble of vendors, of farmers, of women, of naked children, and -of beggars; talked, shouted, laughed, gesticulated; it flowed from the -Arco Alto to the Calle de la Espartería, where the orchardists from El -Ruedo waited to bargain with the farmers; it entered the Plaza de las -Cañas, and while the multitude moved about, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span> winter sun, yellow, -brilliant as gold, fell upon and reverberated from the white awnings.</p> - -<p>Quentin went through the Arco Bajo to a plazoleta where a group of old -men were sunning themselves, with their cloaks tied to their bodies and -their stiff, broad-brimmed hats pulled down over their eyes. The -majority of them were so preoccupied in their noble task of doing -nothing, that Quentin dared not bother them with questions, so he made -his way toward a lupine-seller who was seated beneath a small awning -which sheltered him from the sun.</p> - -<p>The man had fastened a frame to the wall which served him as an awning. -As the red disk of the sun descended in the heavens, the man changed the -angle of the frame, always keeping himself in the shade.</p> - -<p>This wise fellow, who was reading a paper at the moment through a pair -of glasses, wore a high-crowned, sugar-loaf hat; he had the small, -gentle eyes of a drunkard, a long, twisted, red nose, and a white, -pointed beard. When Quentin accosted him, he lifted his eyes with -indifference, looked over his glasses, and said:</p> - -<p>“Sweetmeats? Lupine?”</p> - -<p>“No; I would like you to tell me if there is a pawn shop around here -besides those in La Corredera.”</p> - -<p>“Sí, Señor; there is one in the Plaza de la Almagra.”</p> - -<p>“Where is that?”</p> - -<p>“Near here. Would you like me to go with you?”</p> - -<p>“No, thanks. They might steal your wares.”</p> - -<p>“Pish! What would they want them for?” And the ingenious chap with the -sugar-loaf hat came out from behind his awning, tipped his hat toward -one ear, caressed his goatee, and flourishing a white stick, abandoned -his basket of lupine to fate, and accompanied<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span> Quentin until he left him -in front of a second-hand store.</p> - -<p>“Thank you very much, <i>caballero</i>,” said Quentin.</p> - -<p>The wise man smiled, shifted his high-crowned hat from his left ear to -his right, swung his stick, and, after bowing ceremoniously, departed.</p> - -<p>Quentin entered the shop and explained to the clerk what he was looking -for. The man, after listening to him, said:</p> - -<p>“I’ve got that jewel-case.”</p> - -<p>“Will you show it to me?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know why I shouldn’t.”</p> - -<p>The man opened a writing-desk, and from the bottom of one of the drawers -took out a small, blackened box. It had a coronet upon the cover, but -the lining had been torn out, so they could not see the initials that -Rafaela had mentioned to Quentin. Nevertheless, it was probably the -right box. Quentin wished to make sure.</p> - -<p>“Do you mind telling me,” he asked, “where this box came from?”</p> - -<p>“Are you so interested in it?” questioned the pawnbroker rather -sarcastically.</p> - -<p>“Yes; but it is because I wish to make sure that it is the one I am -looking for.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I don’t mind saying where it came from, for I am sure that the -man who sold it to me owned it.”</p> - -<p>“Is it from the house of a marquis?”</p> - -<p>“Sí, Señor.”</p> - -<p>“Of one who lives on the Calle del Sol?”</p> - -<p>“Sí, Señor.”</p> - -<p>“How much do you want for it?”</p> - -<p>“Seventy dollars.”</p> - -<p>“The devil! That’s a good deal.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“It’s worth it. A man who knew about such things would give me a hundred -dollars for it; perhaps more....”</p> - -<p>“Very well. If I cannot come and get it today, I shall be here -tomorrow.”</p> - -<p>“Very well.”</p> - -<p>Quentin went home deep in thought. Where was he going to get those -seventy dollars? He entered the store and went to see Palomares.</p> - -<p>“Could you let me have seventy dollars today?” he inquired.</p> - -<p>“Seventy dollars! Where am I going to get it?”</p> - -<p>“Don’t you know any one who lends money?”</p> - -<p>“You’ve got to have a guarantee if you want any one to lend you money; -and what guarantee are you going to give?”</p> - -<p>“The fact is, I’ve got to have the money today.”</p> - -<p>“Look here; come to the store on the Calle de la Espartería this -evening, and we’ll see what we can do.”</p> - -<p>At six o’clock, Quentin went to the store. He had never been there -before. It was small, but overstocked with goods, and, at that hour, -crowded with purchasers.</p> - -<p>“Is Don Rafael in?” Quentin asked a clerk.</p> - -<p>“There, in the back room.”</p> - -<p>Quentin went in, and found himself in a small room with various shelves -full from top to bottom of tins of all kinds and colours, bottles, -flasks, and jars. One breathed there a mixed odour of cinnamon, -petroleum, coffee, and cod-fish. In that little shop of nutritious -produce, three persons were engaged in conversation with Don Rafael. -Quentin greeted them and sat down.</p> - -<p>One of the three persons was a prebendary by the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span> name of Espego, whom -they called Espejito on account of his small stature. Espejito had a sly -look, and was pacing about the back room with his hands behind his back.</p> - -<p>The second member of the coterie was a lean man with very thin legs, -which were wide apart like those of a compass; he had a face like a -tunny-fish, with a fixed, penetrating, and suspicious glance. He was -called Camacha, and was a solicitor. He wore a short moustache, -side-whiskers that reached to the bottom of his ears, a broad-brimmed -hat tipped to one side, and very tight trousers.</p> - -<p>The third member was leaning back in a chair; he was a sexagenarian with -a roman profile; his face was full of fleshy wrinkles; his nose, crooked -and aquiline, hung over his upper lip like a vulture over its prey; his -eyes were staring and sunken; his mouth contemptuous and bitter, and his -skin, lemon-coloured. He wore a black handkerchief tied about his head; -over it, a broad-brimmed hat, also black; and over his shoulders, a -roomy, dark-brown cloak with large folds.</p> - -<p>This gentleman, the owner of a number of farms about Cordova, was called -Don Matías Armenta.</p> - -<p>The four men talked slowly and disjointedly.</p> - -<p>“I believe there are guarantees,” murmured one of them from time to -time.</p> - -<p>“That’s what I think.”</p> - -<p>“The condition of the house....”</p> - -<p>“Is not satisfactory, that’s certain; but to respond....”</p> - -<p>“That’s what I think.”</p> - -<p>“We’ll speak of that some other day.”</p> - -<p>“I’m in the way here,” thought Quentin, and he went<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span> into the store and -sat down upon a bench, waiting for Palomares to appear.</p> - -<p>Palomares went into the back room, and at the end of a short time, came -out and said to Quentin:</p> - -<p>“Well, my lad, it can’t be done.”</p> - -<p>Quentin went into the street cursing his stepfather and the old cronies -who were with him for a trio of usurers of the worst kind. He was -walking along the streets wondering how he was to get the money, when he -remembered the offer Señora Patrocinio had made to him the night he and -Don Gil Sabadía were in her house.</p> - -<p>“Let’s go there,” he said to himself. “We’ll see if she makes good her -offer.”</p> - -<p>He made his way to Los Tejares where Señora Patrocinio lived. The door -of the house was open. Quentin knocked, and, as no one answered, he -walked in.</p> - -<p>“Señora Patrocinio!” he cried.</p> - -<p>“Who is it?” came from above.</p> - -<p>“A man who comes to ask for something.”</p> - -<p>“Well, we give nothing here.”</p> - -<p>“I am Quentin.”</p> - -<p>“Ah! It’s you? Come in and wait for me.”</p> - -<p>“What beautiful confidence!” said Quentin, seating himself in the -vestibule, which was nearly in darkness.</p> - -<p>Just then he heard footsteps upon the stairs, and a woman veiled in a -black mantilla descended with Señora Patrocinio.</p> - -<p>The veiled lady looked at Quentin as she passed; he returned the look -with curiosity, and would have gone to the door to see her better, had -not Señora Patrocinio seized him by the arm.</p> - -<p>“Come,” said the old woman, “what’s the matter?”</p> - -<p>“Señora Patrocinio,” Quentin stammered, “send me<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span> away and take me for -an idiot if my request seems stupid to you. I have come to ask for -money.”</p> - -<p>“Have you been gambling?”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“How much do you need?”</p> - -<p>“Seventy dollars.”</p> - -<p>“Come, that’s not much. Follow me.”</p> - -<p>Quentin and the old woman climbed to the second floor and entered a room -which contained a large bed. Señora Patrocinio took a key from her -pocket, and opened a cabinet. She clawed inside of it with her deformed -hands until she brought forth a bulging purse. She opened it, removed -from it a roll of coins wrapped in paper, broke it over the bed, and -scattered several gold-pieces upon the coverlet. The old woman counted -out twenty twenty-peseta pieces and offered them to Quentin.</p> - -<p>“Take them,” she said.</p> - -<p>“But you’re giving me too much, Señora Patrocinio.”</p> - -<p>“Bah! They won’t weigh you down.”</p> - -<p>“Thanks very much!”</p> - -<p>“You must not thank me. I only want one thing, and that is that you come -to see me now and then. Some day I’ll explain our relationship and what -I expect of you.”</p> - -<p>“Very well.”</p> - -<p>Quentin took the money and left the house joyfully. It was night, and he -thought that the pawn shop on the Plaza de la Almagra might be closed, -but he went by to make sure, and found it still open. He took the -jewelcase and went home.</p> - -<p>“The truth is, I’m a lucky man,” he murmured gleefully.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span></p> - -<p>Quentin slept peacefully, rocked by sweet expectations. The next -afternoon he went to the Calle del Sol.</p> - -<p>He found the gate open, and passed on into the garden. The gardener was -not there. He went upstairs and rang the bell. The tall, dried-up -servant who came to the door, said:</p> - -<p>“The young ladies are in the kitchen.”</p> - -<p>“Well, let’s go there.”</p> - -<p>They went through a series of corridors and entered the kitchen. It was -an enormous place, with a high skylight through which at that moment -there filtered a ray of sunlight that fell upon the blond, somewhat -mussed-up hair of Rafaela.</p> - -<p>Rafaela and Remedios turned at the sound of footsteps.</p> - -<p>“Oh, is it you? You have found us in a pretty mess,” said Rafaela, -showing him her hands covered with flour.</p> - -<p>“What are you making?” asked Quentin.</p> - -<p>“Some fried-cakes.”</p> - -<p>“It smells deliciously in here.”</p> - -<p>“Have you a sweet tooth?” asked Rafaela.</p> - -<p>“Somewhat.”</p> - -<p>“This is the one with a sweet tooth,” said Rafaela, indicating Remedios. -“Let’s get out of here, she’ll have indigestion if we don’t.”</p> - -<p>Rafaela washed her hands and arms, dried them carefully, and led the way -from the kitchen into the drawing-room.</p> - -<p>“I’ve got the little box here,” announced Quentin.</p> - -<p>“Oh, really? Give it to me. Thank you! Thank you very much indeed! How -much did it cost you?”</p> - -<p>“Nothing.... A mere trifle.”</p> - -<p>“No, no, that’s not possible. Please tell me how much you paid for it.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Won’t you accept this small favour from me?”</p> - -<p>“No; for I realize that it must have cost you a lot.”</p> - -<p>“Bah!”</p> - -<p>“I’ll find out, and then we’ll talk about it further.”</p> - -<p>Remedios, approaching Quentin mysteriously, said to him:</p> - -<p>“Is it true that there is a store in your house?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Are there sweets in it?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Will you bring me some?”</p> - -<p>“What do you want me to bring you?”</p> - -<p>“Bring me some white taffy, some hard candy, a ladyfinger, and a -sugar-plum.”</p> - -<p>“But, child, you want a whole candy shop!” said Rafaela.</p> - -<p>“Then just some taffy and cake, eh?”</p> - -<p>“Very well.”</p> - -<p>“But lots of it.”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Fine: now sing for us!”</p> - -<p>“Gracious, what a bold little girl!” exclaimed Rafaela.</p> - -<p>They opened the drawing-room windows, and Quentin sat at the piano and -played the opening chords of the baritone aria from <i>Rigoletto</i>. Then, -in a hearty voice, he began:</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Deh non parlare al misero<br /></span> -<span class="i0">del suo perduto bene....<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>He suddenly recalled his school, his friends; then he felt sentimental, -and put a real sadness in his tones. When he sang, <i>Solo</i>, <i>difforme</i>, -<i>povero</i>, he felt almost like weeping.</p> - -<p>After <i>Rigoletto</i> came the song from <i>Un ballo</i>:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Eri tu che machiavi....<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>Quentin exhausted his repertoire; he sang all the songs from the Italian -operas that he knew; and then, exaggerating his English accent, he sang -<i>Rule Britannia</i>! and <i>God Save the Queen</i>!</p> - -<p>The two sisters and the old servant sewed as they listened to Quentin, -who kept up a steady stream of conversation like a stage comedian. They -laughed at his stories and clownish tricks.</p> - -<p>He had an inexhaustible supply, and related many anecdotes and -adventures that were mostly invented by himself....</p> - -<p>The afternoon passed very quickly. From the balcony they could see the -dark mountain outlined strongly against the blue of the sky. The sun, -very low in the horizon, was leaving long shadows of chimneys and towers -on the grey roofs, and reddening the belfries with an ideal light that -grew paler with each passing moment.</p> - -<p>They could scarcely see within the room; the old servant brought in a -lamp and placed it upon the table. Quentin took leave of the two -sisters.</p> - -<p>On his way out, he paused before the window overlooking the garden. The -atmosphere was unusually clear; the sky was deepening to an intense -blue. Distant objects; the white gardens upon the hillside, the -hermitages among the cypress trees, the great round-topped pine trees -upon the summit, ... all could be seen in detail.</p> - -<p>It grew darker; in the black, rectangular patch of the pool, a star -commenced to twinkle, then another, until a multitude of luminous points -trembled in its deep, quiet waters.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII<br /><br /> -<small>A PICNIC AND A RIDE</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">“A</span>REN’T you going to Los Pedroches?” Remedios asked Quentin one day. The -two sisters and the old woman were sewing in the drawing-room.</p> - -<p>“What’s doing there?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“The Candelaria Picnic,” answered Rafaela.</p> - -<p>“Are you going?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I believe so. We are going with our cousins.”</p> - -<p>Quentin fell silent for a moment.</p> - -<p>“Aren’t you going?” Remedios asked again.</p> - -<p>“I? No. I don’t know any one.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t you know us?” she asked.</p> - -<p>“Yes; but I’d bother you....”</p> - -<p>“Why?” asked Rafaela pleasantly.</p> - -<p>“And if I did not bother you, I should be certain to annoy your cousins; -perhaps they wouldn’t like me to bow to you.”</p> - -<p>Rafaela became silent; implying, though perhaps unwittingly, that what -Quentin had said might be true. So, somewhat embarrassed, he said:</p> - -<p>“What do they do there?”</p> - -<p>“Not much nowadays,” answered the old woman. “There are a few dances and -supper parties ... but the best thing about it used to be the return -home: it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span> was the custom for every lad to bring a lass back to town on -his horse’s croup.”</p> - -<p>“Has that custom died out?” asked Quentin.</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Why don’t they still follow it?”</p> - -<p>“On account of the fights they had coming back,” answered the old woman. -“Boys, and men too, took to scaring the horses, and some of the riders -fell off and began to fight furiously with both fists and guns.”</p> - -<p>“You seem to know all about it,” said Rafaela to the old woman. “Have -you ever been in Los Pedroches?”</p> - -<p>“Yes; with a sweetheart of mine who carried me behind him on his horse.”</p> - -<p>“My! What a rascal!... What a rascal!” exclaimed Rafaela.</p> - -<p>“When we reached Malmuerta,” the old servant continued, “they frightened -our horse, so my sweetheart, who had a short fowling-piece on his -saddle, made as if to shoot it, and the people couldn’t get away fast -enough....”</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>Quentin decided to go to the picnic.</p> - -<p>“I’m going to Los Pedroches, mother,” he said to Fuensanta.</p> - -<p>“That’s good, my son,” she replied, “go out and have a good time.”</p> - -<p>“To tell you the truth, I haven’t any money.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll give you what you need; and I’ll find you some riding clothes, -too.”</p> - -<p>Quentin hired a big horse with a cowboy saddle; then, following his -mother’s instructions, he put on a short jacket covered with ribbons and -braid, fringed leggings,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span> a tasseled shawl across the saddle bow, and a -broad-brimmed hat.</p> - -<p>He mounted at the door of his house. He was a good horseman, and as he -jumped into the saddle, he made his horse rear. He brought him down at -once, waved to his mother who was on the balcony, and rode off at a -smart pace.</p> - -<p>He went out through the Puerta de Osario to the Campo de la Merced, -under the Arco de la Malmuerta and turned his horse’s head toward the -Carrera de la Fuensantilla. There he noticed the unusual exodus of -people making their way in groups toward Los Pedroches.</p> - -<p>It was a splendid February afternoon. The sun poured down like a golden -rain upon the green countryside, and smiled in the fields of new wheat -which were dotted with red flowers and yellow buds. Here and there a -dark hut or a stack of straw surmounted by a cross arose in the broad -expanse of cultivated lands.</p> - -<p>Quentin rode swiftly along the highway, which was bordered at intervals -by large, grey century-plants, from among whose pulpous branches rose -flocks of chirping birds.</p> - -<p>He reached the picnic-grounds: a meadow near the Los Pedroches ravine. -The people were scattered over the meadow in groups. The bright and -showy dresses of the girls shone in the sun afar off against the green -background of the field. As Quentin drew near the fiesta-grounds, some -groups were eating supper, and others were playing the guitar and -dancing.</p> - -<p>In some places, where the dancers were doubtless experts, curious -onlookers crowded about them. An old<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span> man with side-whiskers was playing -the guitar with great skill, and a dancer in a narrow-waisted suit was -pursuing his graceful partner with his arms held high in the air; and -one could hear the clacking of castanets, and the encouraging applause -of the onlookers.</p> - -<p>It was a peaceful happiness, dignified and serene. Girls in showy -dresses, Manilla shawls, and with flowers in their hair, were strolling -about, accompanied by sour-visaged dueñas and proud youths.</p> - -<p>A little apart from the centre of the picnic, the more wealthy families -were lunching peacefully; while little boys and girls were screeching as -they swung in the swings hung from the trees.</p> - -<p>There were vendors of oranges and apples and walnuts and chestnuts; and -taffy women with their little booths of sweets and brandy.</p> - -<p>Quentin went around the grounds looking all about him, searching for his -cousins; and at last, in a little unpopulated grove, he caught sight of -them among a group of several boys and girls.</p> - -<p>Remedios recognized Quentin when he was still some distance away, and -waving her hand at him, she rose to meet him. Quentin rode up to her.</p> - -<p>“Where are you going?” the girl inquired.</p> - -<p>“For a little ride.”</p> - -<p>“Do you want a cake?”</p> - -<p>“If you will give....”</p> - -<p>“Come on.”</p> - -<p>Quentin dismounted, walked up to the group, gave his hand to Rafaela, -and greeted the others with a bow. Undoubtedly Rafaela had informed her -friends who the horseman was, for Quentin noticed that several of the -girls looked at him curiously.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span></p> - -<p>He took the cake that Remedios gave him, and a glass of wine.</p> - -<p>“Won’t you sit down?” Rafaela asked him.</p> - -<p>“Thank you, no. I’m going for a ride along the mountain.”</p> - -<p>As he drew near Rafaela, Quentin noticed the look of hatred that one of -the young men present cast at him.</p> - -<p>“He’s a rival,” he thought.</p> - -<p>From that instant, the two boys were consumed with hatred for each -other. The young man was tall, blond, with a certain rusticity about him -in spite of his elegant clothes. Quentin heard them call him Juan de -Dios. The youth spoke in a rather uncultured manner, converting his -<i>s’s</i> into <i>z’s</i>, his <i>r’s</i> into <i>l’s</i>, and vice versa. He gazed fixedly -at Rafaela, and from time to time said to her:</p> - -<p>“Why don’t you drink a little something?”</p> - -<p>Rafaela thanked him with a smile. Among the girls were Rafaela’s two -cousins; the elder, María de los Angeles, had a nose like a parrot, -green pop-eyes, and a salient under lip; Transito, the younger, was -better looking, but her expression, which was half haughty and half -indifferent, did not captivate one’s sympathies. Like her sister, she -had green eyes, and thin lips with a strange curve to them that gave her -a cruel expression.</p> - -<p>Transito questioned Quentin in a bantering and sarcastic tone; he -replied to her pleasantly, with feigned modesty, and in purposely broken -Spanish. Presently he announced his intention of going.</p> - -<p>“What, are you going?” asked Rafaela.</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Are you afraid of us?” said Transito.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Afraid of being enchanted,” replied Quentin gallantly, as he bowed and -went in search of his horse.</p> - -<p>“Wait! Take me on the croup,” Remedios shouted.</p> - -<p>“No, no; you’ll fall,” said Rafaela.</p> - -<p>“No, I won’t,” replied the child.</p> - -<p>“The horse is gentle,” Quentin put in.</p> - -<p>“Very well then; you may take her for a while.”</p> - -<p>Quentin mounted rapidly, and Remedios climbed upon the step of the -carriage that stood near. Quentin rode up to her and stuck out his left -foot for her to use as a support. The little girl stepped upon it, and -seizing Quentin about the waist, leaped to the horse’s croup and threw -her arms about the rider.</p> - -<p>“See how well I do it,” said she to her sister, who was fearfully -watching these manœuvres.</p> - -<p>“I see well enough.”</p> - -<p>“Where shall we go?” Quentin asked the girl.</p> - -<p>“Right through the picnic-grounds.”</p> - -<p>They rode among the groups; the arrogance of the rider and the grace of -Remedios with her red flower in her hair, attracted the attention of the -crowd.</p> - -<p>“There’s a pair for you!” said some as they watched them ride by; and -she smiled with her shining eyes.</p> - -<p>Following Remedios’ orders, Quentin rode back and forth among the places -which she pointed out to him.</p> - -<p>“Now let’s go to the mountain.”</p> - -<p>Quentin rode up hill for half an hour.</p> - -<p>The afternoon was drawing to a close; the shadows of the trees were -lengthening on the grass; white clouds, solid as blocks of marble, with -their under sides ablaze, floated slowly over the mountain; the air -smelt of rosemary and thyme. Cordova appeared upon the plain enveloped -in a cloud of golden dust; beyond her undu<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span>lated low hills of vivid -green, stretching in echelon one behind the other, until they were lost -in the distance in a golden haze of vibrating light. Over the roofs of -the city rose church towers, slate-covered cupolas, black, sharp-pointed -cypresses. From between the walls of a garden, with a very tall and -twisted trunk, a gigantic palm tree raised its head—like a spider stuck -to the sky....</p> - -<p>Quentin turned back with the idea of leaving Remedios with her sister.</p> - -<p>“Well, well!” Rafaela exclaimed. “You certainly can’t complain. We’ve -been waiting for you to go home with us. Come, get down.”</p> - -<p>“No; he’s going to take me home—aren’t you, Quentin?”</p> - -<p>“Whatever you wish.”</p> - -<p>“Well, let’s be going.”</p> - -<p>“We’re off!”</p> - -<p>“Look out for jokers,” warned Rafaela’s cousin Transito.</p> - -<p>They took the road cityward, riding among the groups who were returning -from the fiesta.</p> - -<p>They could see Cordova in the twilight with the last rays of the sun -quivering upon its towers. In some houses the windows were commencing to -light up; in the dark blue sky, the stars were beginning to appear.</p> - -<p>Neither Quentin nor the girl spoke; they rode along in silence, swaying -with the motion of the horse. They reached the Carrera de la -Fuensantilla, and from there followed Las Ollerías. At the first gate -they came to, El Colodro, Quentin thought he saw a group that might have -stationed itself there with the intention of frighten<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span>ing the horses of -the passers-by; so he went on through the Arco de la Malmuerta to the -Campo de la Merced.</p> - -<p>Here there was a group of little boys and young men, one of whom had a -whip.</p> - -<p>“Be careful, child; hold on to me tightly,” said Quentin.</p> - -<p>She squeezed the rider’s waist with her arms.</p> - -<p>“Are you ready?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>The group of young people came toward Quentin, one of them brandishing -the whip. Before they had time to frighten his horse, Quentin drove in -his spurs and slackened his reins. The animal gave a jump, knocked down -several of the jokers, and broke into a gallop, spreading consternation -among the youngsters. When they had passed the Campo de la Merced, -Quentin reined in his horse and began to walk again.</p> - -<p>“How did you like that, little girl?” asked Quentin.</p> - -<p>“Fine! Fine!” exclaimed Remedios, brimming over with delight. “They -wanted to shoot us.”</p> - -<p>“And they fell down.”</p> - -<p>The girl laughed delightedly. Quentin guided his horse to the Puerta del -Osario, and once through it, threaded his way along lonely alleyways. -The horse went at a walk, his iron shoes resounding loudly on the -pavement.</p> - -<p>“Would you like me to treat you?” asked Quentin.</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>They were passing a tavern called El Postiguillo; so Quentin stopped his -horse, clapped his hands loudly twice, and the innkeeper appeared in the -doorway.</p> - -<p>“What does the little girl want?” said the man.</p> - -<p>“Whatever you have,” answered Remedios.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span></p> - -<p>“A few cakes, and two small glasses of Montilla?”</p> - -<p>“Would you like that?” asked Quentin.</p> - -<p>“Very much.”</p> - -<p>They ate the cakes, drank the wine and went on their way. Just as they -reached the Calle del Sol, a carriage stopped at the door, from which -Rafaela, her cousins, and the blond young man descended. The latter, who -helped the girls down, called to Remedios: “I’ll be with you in a -moment!” But the girl pretended not to hear him, and called Juan. -Quentin took the child by the waist and lifted her into the arms of the -gardener; then he bowed, and turned his horse up the street.</p> - -<p>When he reached his house, he found that his family had not yet returned -from the picnic. He saw Palomares in the street and joined him; gave his -horse to a boy to take to the livery stable, and, in the company of the -clerk, entered a café. He told him how he had passed the afternoon, and -then began to speak casually of his grandfather’s family.</p> - -<p>“It looks as if they were about ruined, eh?”</p> - -<p>“Yes; completely.”</p> - -<p>“Still they must have <i>some</i> cash haven’t they?”</p> - -<p>“Oof! The old man was very rich; more through his wife than himself. He -is a fine man but very extravagant. When the rebel leader Gomez took -possession of Cordova the old Marquis, who was then a Carlist, took him -in and gave him thousands of dollars. He has always spent his money -lavishly.”</p> - -<p>“What about the son?”</p> - -<p>“The son is nothing like his father. He is a disagreeable profligate.”</p> - -<p>“And the son’s wife?”</p> - -<p>“La Aceitunera? She’s a sinner of the first water.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Pretty, eh?”</p> - -<p>“Rather! A fine lass with unbounded wit. When she left her husband, she -went to live with Periquito Gálvez; but now they say she is trotting -about with a lieutenant. Just pull Juan the gardener’s tongue a bit, and -he’ll tell you some curious things.”</p> - -<p>“Didn’t the family ever have any relative clever enough to save it from -ruin?”</p> - -<p>“Yes; the Marquis has a brother called El Pollo Real; but he is a -selfish sort who doesn’t want to mix in anything for fear they will ask -him for money. Have you never seen him?”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“Well, El Pollo Real has been a Tenorio. Now he is a half paralytic. -They say that he is devoting himself to writing the history of his love -affairs, and has hired a painter to paint pictures of all his -mistresses. He’s been at it for years. The first artist he had was a -friend of mine from Seville, and he used to tell me that El Pollo Real -would give him a miniature or a photograph for him to enlarge, and then -he would explain what the subjects looked like: whether blondes or -brunettes, tall or short, marchionesses or gipsies.”</p> - -<p>“Do you know Rafaela?”</p> - -<p>“Do I know her! Rather! Poor little girl!”</p> - -<p>“Why ‘poor little girl’?” exclaimed Quentin, feeling cold from head to -foot.</p> - -<p>“The girl has had hard luck.”</p> - -<p>“Why, what happened to her?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, affairs of a wealthy family, which are always miserable. After she -was thirteen or fourteen years old, Rafaela was engaged to the son of a -Cordovese count. It seemed as if the two children loved each other, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span> -they made a fine couple. They were always seen together; going for -walks, and in the theatre; when it began to be rumoured that the -Marquis’ family was on its way to ruin. Then her sweetheart went away to -Madrid. Month after month went by, and the lad did not return; finally -some one brought the news that he had married a young millionairess in -Madrid. Rafaela was ill for several months, and since that time she has -never been as well or as gay as she used to be.”</p> - -<p>Quentin listened to this story profoundly mortified. He no longer cared -to ask questions; he arose, left the café, and took leave of Palomares.</p> - -<p>He was unable to sleep that night.</p> - -<p>“Why this anger and mortification?” he asked himself. “What difference -does it make whether Rafaela has had a sweetheart or not? Aren’t you -going to work out your problem, Quentin? Aren’t you going to follow out -your plan in life? Aren’t you a good Bœotian? Aren’t you a swine in the -herd of Epicurus?”</p> - -<p>In spite of Quentin’s efforts to convince himself that he ought not to -be irritated, it was impossible to do so. Merely to think that a man, -probably a young whipper-snapper, had scorned Rafaela, offended him in -the most mortifying manner.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV<br /><br /> -<small>SPRING</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">N</span>O; he was no Bœotian; he was no Epicurean; he could not say that in his -heart, he followed the admirable advice of the great poet: “Pluck -today’s flower, and give no thought to the morrow’s.”</p> - -<p>He was passing through all of the most common and most vulgar phases of -falling in love; he had moments of sadness, of anger, of wounded and -maltreated self-esteem.</p> - -<p>He tried to analyze his spiritual condition coldly, and he considered it -best and most expedient to make an effort not to appear at Rafaela’s -house for a long time.</p> - -<p>“I must be active,” he said to himself. At other times his reason -appealed to him: “Why not go to see her as I used to? What is it that I -want? Do I want her to cease having a sweetheart she has already had? -That would be stupid. We must accept things that have already been.”</p> - -<p>At this, his wounded pride responded with fits of anger, obscuring his -intelligence; and the pride generally came out victorious.</p> - -<p>Quentin did not appear at Rafaela’s house for some time. Alone, with -nothing to occupy him, friendless; he was desperately bored. How the -Andalusian spring<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span> oppressed him! He wandered about from place to place, -without plans, without an object, without a destination.</p> - -<p>The sun inundated the silent, deserted streets; the sky, a pure, opaque -blue, seemed something tangible—a huge turquoise, or sapphire in which -roofs and towers and terraces were embedded.</p> - -<p>Everything gave the impression of profound lethargy.... The houses: -blue, yellow, pale rose, cream-coloured, all hermetically sealed, seemed -deserted; the irrigated vestibules flowed with water; one smelt vaguely -the odour of flowers, and a penetrating perfume of orange blossoms arose -from the patios and gardens.</p> - -<p>The plazas, like white whirlpools of sunlight, were blinding with the -reverberation of light against the walls. In the alleys, tenebrous, -narrow, shadowy, one felt a damp, cave-like cold.... Everywhere silence -and solitude reigned; in some lonely spot, a donkey, tied to a grating, -remained motionless; a hungry dog scratched in a heap of refuse; or a -frightened cat ran with tail erect until it disappeared in its -hiding-place.</p> - -<p>In the distance, the crowing of a cock rang out like a bugle call in the -silent air; one heard the melancholy cry of the vendors of medicinal -herbs; and through the deserted plazoletas, through the narrow and -tortuous alleys, there rose the song of love and death that a <i>grancero</i> -was singing as he rode along on his donkey.</p> - -<p>In La Ribera, some vagabonds and gipsies were sunning themselves, while -others played quoits; little children with brown skins ran about -bare-legged, covered only by a scanty shirt; sunburned old women came to -the windows and gratings; and along the white, the very white highway, -which resembled a great chalk furrow, there passed gallant horsemen, -raising clouds of dust.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span></p> - -<p>The river wound peacefully along—blue at times, at times golden; wagons -and herds passed slowly over the bridges—so slowly that from a distance -they seemed motionless.</p> - -<p>An oppressive calm, a tiresome somnolence weighed down upon the city; -and in the midst of this calm, of this death-like silence, there sounded -a bell here, another there—all extremely languid and sad....</p> - -<p>At nightfall, the magic of the twilight touched the city and the distant -landscape with gold—-‘d lights; splendid colours of -extraordinary magnificence. The clouds became rosy, scarlet.... The -country was tinged with gold, and the last rays of the sun set fire to -the rocks and peaks of the mountain-tops.</p> - -<p>In the streets, which were bathed with light, a narrow strip of shadow -appeared upon the walks, which grew and widened until it covered the -whole pavement. Then it slowly climbed the walls, reached the grated -windows and the balconies, scaled the twisted eaves.... The sunlight -completely disappeared from the street, and there only remained the last -vestiges of its brilliancy upon the towers, the high look-outs, and the -flaming windows....</p> - -<p>The air grew diaphanous, acquired more transparency; the horizon more -depth; and the sides of the white walls of garrets and corners, as they -reflected the scarlet or rosy sky, resembled blocks of snow animated by -the pale rays of a boreal sun....</p> - -<p>Presently the lamps were lighted; their little red flames flickering in -the shadows; and squares of lighted windows punctured the façades of the -houses.</p> - -<p>At this hour on work days, women visited the stores; wealthy families -returned in their coaches from their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span> orchards; youths rode back and -forth on horseback; and the nocturnal life of Cordova poured through the -central streets, which were lighted by street lamps and shop windows.</p> - -<p>Quentin wandered from place to place, ruminating on his sadness; walked -indifferently along streets and plazas; watched the young ladies coming -and going with their mammas, and followed by their beaux. When his -irritation disappeared, he felt discouraged. The melancholy calmness of -the city, the dreamy atmosphere, produced within him a feeling of great -lassitude and laziness.</p> - -<p>At times he firmly believed that Rafaela would trouble him no more; that -his feeling of love had been a superficial fantasy.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>In the morning Quentin often went to the Patio de los Naranjos where El -Pende’s father used to spend his time with a coterie of old men, -beggars, and tramps, which all Cordova ironically called <i>La Potrá</i>, or -the herd of young mares.</p> - -<p>El Pende senior, or Matapalos, passed his time there chatting with his -friends. He was an original and knowing fellow who spoke in apothegms -and maxims. He dominated the meetings as few others could. No one could, -like him, so slyly introduce a number of subjects in a conversational -hiatus, or in the act of rolling a cigarette. Of course, for him, this -last was by no means a simple affair; but rather an operation that -demanded time and science. First, Matapalos took out a little knife and -began to scrape a plug of tobacco; after the scraping came the rubbing -of it between his hands; then he tore a leaf of cigarette paper from its -little book, held<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span> it for a moment sticking to his under lip, and then -began to roll the cigarette first on one end, and then on the other, -until the manœuvre was happily consummated. This operation over, -Matapalos removed his calañés, placed it between his legs, and from -somewhere within the hat drew forth a little leather purse, from which -he extracted flint and steel and tinder.</p> - -<p>After this, he slowly covered himself and from time to time, in the -midst of the conversation, struck the steel with the flint until he -happened to light the tinder, and with the tinder, his cigarette.</p> - -<p>The old man lived in a hut in the Matadero district; he knew everything -that had occurred in Cordova for many years, and boasted of it. For -Matapalos, there were no toreadors like those of his own time.</p> - -<p>“I’m not taking any merit away from Lagartijo or Manuel Fuentes,” he -said, “but you don’t see any more toreadors like El Panchón, or Rafael -Bejarano, or Pepete, or El Camará. You ought to have seen Bejarano! He -was such a great rival of no less a person than Costillares, that in my -time they used to sing:</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Arrogante Costillares,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">anda, vete al Almadén<br /></span> -<span class="i0">para ver bien matar toros<br /></span> -<span class="i0">al famoso Cordobés.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>(Proud Costillares, come, and go to the Almadén to see the famous -Cordovese kill bulls right.)</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>In this subject Matapalos had a formidable adversary; another old man -whom they called Doctor Prosopopeya, who, as a native of Seville, never -admitted that a Cordovese toreador could come up to one from Seville.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span></p> - -<p>Quentin found Matapalos very funny and very amusing, and he often went -to listen to him.</p> - -<p>While the old man related ancient history in his quiet, peaceful voice, -Quentin contemplated the Patio de los Naranjos, sometimes listening to -what was said, sometimes not.</p> - -<p>The orange trees were in full blossom, and their penetrating perfume -produced a certain giddiness; from time to time one could hear distant -bells which the cathedral bell seemed to answer, clanging loudly.... -Then silence again reigned; the birds chirped in the trees; the water -murmured in the fountain; the butterflies bathed in the pure air; and -the lizards and salamanders glided along the walls.</p> - -<p>Among the shadows of the orange trees shone vivid splashes of sunlight; -doves tumbled from the cathedral roof and flew softly through the blue -and luminous air, making a slight sound of ripping gauze; sometimes they -made a metallic whirr as they rapidly beat their wings.</p> - -<p>The majority of the <i>Potrá</i> was made up of beggars and tramps. These -beggars were neither emaciated, squalid, nor ill; but strong, vigorous -men, hirsute, with long, matted locks, sunburned, covered with rags.... -Some wore threadbare calañés hats; others, broad-brimmed sombreros worn -over grass handkerchiefs; some, a very few, wore loose, yellowish coats -with long sleeves; a good many wrapped themselves up in grey cloaks of -heavy cloth and many folds. Nearly all of them had private homes where -they were given leavings and cigarette butts; those who did not, went to -the barracks, or to a convent; no one lacked the hodge-podge necessary -for wandering on, though poorly, through the bitter adversities of -life.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span></p> - -<p>From time to time the <i>Potrá</i> came into a little money; and then ten or -twelve of them got up a pool to play the lottery.</p> - -<p>In that troop there was a beggar with a black beard, younger than the -rest, bent almost double at the waist, who went about leaning on a short -crutch. They called this man El Engurruñao. He had one shrunken leg -wrapped in rags, although really he had no illness at all. He howled in -a doleful voice after every decently-dressed passer-by, and he took in -plenty of money.</p> - -<p>Through the conversations of these tramps and beggars, Quentin came to -know Cordova life, and that of the principal families of the town. -Through them he learned that the majority of the great families were on -their way to poverty.</p> - -<p>One example of an economic catastrophe was that of a gentleman who -walked through the arcade of the Mosque every morning. This gentleman -was dressed like a dandy of other days: well-fitting coat, flowing black -cravat, tall silk hat with a flat brim, and, on some cold days, a blue -cape. The poor man was emaciated, had long, grey, bushy hair, and wore -yellow gloves.</p> - -<p>He was a ruined aristocrat. It was pitiful to see that living ruin -walking up and down under the porticos, with his hands behind his back, -talking to himself with a gesture of resignation and sadness....<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV<br /><br /> -<small>WHERE HIS BEAUTIFUL EXPECTATIONS WENT!</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">O</span>NE morning Quentin met Juan, the gardener.</p> - -<p>“You don’t come to the house any more, Señorito.”</p> - -<p>“I’ve had lots to do these days.”</p> - -<p>“Have you heard the important news?”</p> - -<p>“What is it?”</p> - -<p>“The Señorita is going to be married.”</p> - -<p>“Rafaela?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“To whom?”</p> - -<p>“To Juan de Dios.”</p> - -<p>Quentin felt as if all his nerves had let go at once.</p> - -<p>“The Marquis is getting worse every day,” the gardener continued, “so he -thought the Señorita ought to get married as soon as possible.”</p> - -<p>“And she.... What does she say?”</p> - -<p>“Nothing, at present.”</p> - -<p>“But will she oppose it?”</p> - -<p>“How do I know?”</p> - -<p>“Are the family affairs in such bad shape that the Marquis was forced to -take this course?”</p> - -<p>“They are very bad. The grandfather hasn’t much longer to live; the -Señorita’s father is a profligate; and El Pollo Real doesn’t care to do -anything at all. To whom will they leave the girls? Their stepmother, -La<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span> Aceitunera, is no good. Have you ever heard of a Señora Patrocinio -who has a house in Los Tejares? Well, she goes there every day. Why, -it’s a shame.”</p> - -<p>“And this Juan de Dios ... is he rich?” asked Quentin.</p> - -<p>“Very; but he is very coarse. When he was a little boy he used to say: -‘I want to be a horse,’ and he used to go out to the stable, pick up -some filth in his hands, and say to the people, ‘Look, look what I -did.’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> - -<p>“He <i>is</i> coarse, then—eh?”</p> - -<p>“Yes; but he’s got noble blood in him.”</p> - -<p>Quentin left Juan and went home perplexed. Indubitably, he was no -Bœotian, but a vulgar sentimentalist, a poor cadet, an unhappy wretch, -without strength enough to set aside, as useless and prejudicial, those -gloomy ideas and sentiments: love, self-denial, and the rest.</p> - -<p>And he had thought himself an Epicurean! One of the few men capable of -following the advice of Horace: “Pluck today’s flower, and give no -thought to the morrow’s!” He! In love with a young lady of the -aristocracy; not for her money, nor even for her palace; but for her own -sake! He was on a level with any romantic carpenter of a provincial -capital. He was unworthy of having been in Eton, near Windsor, for eight -years; or of having walked through Piccadilly; or of having read Horace.</p> - -<p>In the miserable state in which Quentin found himself, only nonsensical -ideas occurred to him. The first was to go to Rafaela and demand an -explanation; the second was to write her a letter; and he was as pleased -with this idiotic plan as if it had been really brilliant. He made -several rough drafts in succession, and was satis<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span>fied with none of -them. Sometimes his words were high-sounding and emphatic; again, he -unwittingly gave a clumsy and vulgar tone to his letter: one could read -between the lines a common and uncouth irony, as often as extraordinary -pride, or abject humility.</p> - -<p>At last, seeing that he could not find a form clear enough to express -his thoughts, he decided to write a laconic letter, asking Rafaela to -grant him an interview.</p> - -<p>He gave Juan the letter to give to his young mistress. He was waiting at -the door for some one to answer his ring, when Remedios appeared.</p> - -<p>“See here,” said the child.</p> - -<p>“What’s the matter?”</p> - -<p>“Don’t you know? Rafaela is going to marry Juan de Dios.”</p> - -<p>“Does she love him?”</p> - -<p>“No; I don’t think she does.”</p> - -<p>“Then why does she marry him?”</p> - -<p>“Because Juan de Dios is very rich, and we have no money.”</p> - -<p>“But will she want to do it?”</p> - -<p>“She hasn’t said anything about it. Juan de Dios spoke to grandfather, -and grandfather spoke to Rafaela. Are you going to see sister?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, this very minute.”</p> - -<p>“She’s in the sewing-room.”</p> - -<p>They went to the door.</p> - -<p>“Tell her not to marry Juan de Dios.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t you like him?”</p> - -<p>“No. I hate him. He’s vulgar.”</p> - -<p>Quentin went in, glided along the gallery, and knocked upon the door of -the sewing-room.</p> - -<p>“Come in!” said some one.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span></p> - -<p>Rafaela and the old woman servant were sewing. As Quentin appeared a -slight flush spread over the girl’s cheeks.</p> - -<p>“What a long time it is since you have been here!” said Rafaela. “Won’t -you sit down?”</p> - -<p>Quentin gave her to understand with a gesture that he preferred to -remain standing.</p> - -<p>“Have you been so very busy?” asked the girl.</p> - -<p>“No; I’ve had nothing to do,” answered Quentin gruffly. “I’ve spent my -time being furious these days.”</p> - -<p>“Furious! At what?” said she with a certain smiling coquetry.</p> - -<p>“At you.”</p> - -<p>“At me?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. Will you let me speak to you alone a minute?”</p> - -<p>“You may speak here, before my nurse. She will defend me in case you -accuse me of anything.”</p> - -<p>“Accuse you? No, not that.”</p> - -<p>“Well, then, why were you so furious?”</p> - -<p>“I was furious, first because they told me that you once had a -sweetheart whom you loved; and second, because they say that you are -going to get married.”</p> - -<p>Rafaela, who perhaps did not expect such a brusque way of putting the -matter, dropped her sewing and rose to her feet.</p> - -<p>“You, too, are a child,” she murmured at length. “What can one do with -what is gone by? I had a sweetheart, it is true, for six years—and I -was in love with him.”</p> - -<p>“Yes; I know it,” said Quentin furiously.</p> - -<p>“If he acted badly,” Rafaela continued, as if talking to herself, “so -much the worse for him. There is no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span> recollection of my childhood that -is not connected with him. In his company I went to the theatre for the -first time, and to my first dance. What little happiness I have had in -my life, came to me during the time I knew him. My mother was living -then; my family was considered wealthy.... Yet, if that man were free, -and wished to marry me now, I would not marry him; not from spite, -no—but because to me he is a different man.... I say this to you -because I feel I know you, and because you are like my sister Remedios: -you demand an exclusive affection.”</p> - -<p>“And don’t you?” demanded Quentin brusquely.</p> - -<p>“I do too; perhaps not as much as you; but neither do I believe that I -could share my affection with another. I must not deceive you in this. -You would be capable of being jealous of the past.”</p> - -<p>“Probably,” said Quentin.</p> - -<p>“I know it. I don’t believe that I have flirted with you; have I?”</p> - -<p>Rafaela spoke at some length. She had that graciousness of those persons -whose emotions are not easily stirred. Her heart needed time to feel -affection; an impulse of the moment could not make her believe herself -in love.</p> - -<p>She was a woman destined for the hearth; to be seen going to and fro, -arranging everything, directing everything; to be heard playing the -piano in the afternoons. In a burst of frankness, Rafaela said:</p> - -<p>“Had I listened to your hints, I should have made you unhappy without -wishing to, and you would have made me miserable.”</p> - -<p>“Then how is it that you are going to marry Juan de Dios?” asked Quentin -brutally.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span></p> - -<p>Rafaela was confused.</p> - -<p>“That’s different,” she stammered; “in the first place, I have not -decided yet; and besides, I have made my conditions. Then again, there -is this great difference: Juan de Dios is not jealous of my past love -affair ... he wants my title. [In this moment, Rafaela is sure that she -is calumniating her betrothed in order to get out of her difficulty.] -Moreover, my whole family is interested in my marrying him. If I do so, -my grandfather, poor dear, will be easy in his mind; Remedios will be -sure of being able to live according to her station,—and so shall I.”</p> - -<p>“You are very discreet; too discreet—and calculating,” said Quentin -bitterly.</p> - -<p>“No; not too much so. What would happen to us girls otherwise?”</p> - -<p>“What about me?”</p> - -<p>“You?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, me; I would work for you if you loved me.”</p> - -<p>“That could never be.”</p> - -<p>“Why?”</p> - -<p>“For many reasons. First of all, because I am older than you....”</p> - -<p>“Bah!”</p> - -<p>“Let me speak. First, because I am older than you; second, because you -would be jealous of me and would continually mortify me; and lastly, -most important of all, because you and I are both poor.”</p> - -<p>“I shall make money,” said Quentin.</p> - -<p>“How? With what? Why aren’t you making it now?”</p> - -<p>“Now?” questioned Quentin after a pause. “Now I have no ideal; it’s all -the same to me whether I’m rich<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span> or poor. But if you believed in me, -you’d find that I could snatch money from the very bowels of the earth.”</p> - -<p>“Possibly, yes,” said Rafaela calmly; “because you are clever. But those -are my reasons. Some day, when you recall our conversation, you will -say: ‘she was right.’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> - -<p>“You are very discreet,” said Quentin as he turned toward the door; “too -discreet; and you have discreetly torn asunder all my illusions, and -have left my soul in shreds.”</p> - -<p>“Do you hate me now?” she said sadly.</p> - -<p>“Hate you, no!” exclaimed Quentin with emotion, effusively pressing the -hand Rafaela held out to him. “You are an admirable woman in every -respect!”</p> - -<p>And trembling violently, he left the room.</p> - -<p>As he went down the stairs Remedios rushed up to him.</p> - -<p>“What did she say to you?” she asked.</p> - -<p>“It’s no use; she’s going to marry him.”</p> - -<p>“Did she tell you that herself?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“And you. What are you going to do?”</p> - -<p>“What can I do?”</p> - -<p>“I’d kill Juan de Dios,” murmured the girl resolutely.</p> - -<p>“If she wished it, I would, too,” replied Quentin, and he stepped into -the street.</p> - -<p>He walked along in a daze; he repeated Rafaela’s words to himself, and -discovered better arguments that he might have put forward in the -interview, but which did not occur to him at the moment. Sometimes he -thought, more rationally: “At least I came out of it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span> well;” but this -consolation was too metaphysical to satisfy him.</p> - -<p>He spent a sleepless night at his window watching the stars and -thinking. He analyzed and studied his moral problem, proposing -solutions, only to reject them.</p> - -<p>At dawn he went to bed. He believed that he had hit upon a definite -solution—the norm of his existence. Condensed into a single phrase, it -was this:</p> - -<p>“I must become a man of action.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span>”</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI<br /><br /> -<small>THE MAN OF ACTION BEGINS TO MAKE HIMSELF KNOWN</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">Q</span>UENTIN got up late, ate his breakfast and wrote several letters to his -friends in England. In the evening he looked through the amusement -section of the paper and saw that there was to be an entertainment in -the Café del Recreo.</p> - -<p>He asked Palomares where this café was, and was told that it was on the -Calle del Arco Real, a street that ran into Las Tendillas.</p> - -<p>The constant irritation in Quentin’s mind troubled him so, that he -calmly decided to get drunk.</p> - -<p>“Tell me,” he said to the waiter after seating himself at a table in the -café, “what refreshments have you?”</p> - -<p>“We have currants, lemons, blackberries, and French ice-cream.”</p> - -<p>“Fine! Bring me a bottle of cognac.”</p> - -<p>The waiter brought his order, filled his glass, and was about to remove -the bottle.</p> - -<p>“No, no; leave it here.”</p> - -<p>“Aren’t you going to see the show?” asked the waiter with obsequious -familiarity. “They are giving <i>La Isla de San Balandrán</i>: it’s very -amusing.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll see.”</p> - -<p>After Quentin had emptied several glasses, he began to feel heartened, -and ready for any folly. At a near-by table several men were talking -about an actress who took<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span> the principal part in a musical comedy that -had just been put on. One with a very loud voice was dragging the -actress’ name through the mire.</p> - -<p>This man was extremely fat; a kind of a sperm whale, with the bulging -features of a dropsical patient, a shiny skin, and the voice of a -eunuch. He had a microscopic nose that was lost between his two chubby -cheeks, which were a pale yellow; his hatchet-shaped whiskers were so -black that they seemed painted with ink; his stiff, bluish hair grew low -on his forehead, with a peak above the eyebrows. He wore diamonds upon -his bosom, rings upon his pudgy fingers, and, to cap his offensiveness, -he was smoking a kilometric cigar with a huge band.</p> - -<p>The bearing, the voice, the diamonds, the cigar, the waddling, and the -laughter of that man set Quentin’s blood afire to such an extent, that -rising and striking the table where the whale was talking to his -friends, he shouted:</p> - -<p>“Everything you say is a lie!”</p> - -<p>“Are you the woman’s brother or husband?” inquired the obese gentleman, -staring into space and stroking his black sideburns with his much -bediamonded hand.</p> - -<p>“I am nothing of hers,” replied Quentin; “I don’t know her, and I don’t -want to know her; but I do know that everything you say is a lie.”</p> - -<p>“Pay no attention to him,” said one of the fat man’s companions; “he’s -drunk.”</p> - -<p>“Well, he’d better look out, or I’ll strike him with my stick.”</p> - -<p>“You’ll strike me with your stick!” exclaimed Quentin. “Ha ... ha ... -ha!... But have you ever looked into a mirror?... You really are most -repulsive, my friend!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span>”</p> - -<p>The fat man, before such an insult to his appearance, rose and -endeavoured to reach Quentin, but his friends restrained him. Quentin -quickly removed his coat and rolled up his sleeves, ready to box.</p> - -<p>“Evohé! Evohé!” he thundered. “Come who will! One by one, two by two, -every one against me!”</p> - -<p>A thin, blond man with blue eyes and a golden beard, stepped up to him; -not as though to fight, but with a smile.</p> - -<p>“What do <i>you</i> want?” Quentin asked him rudely.</p> - -<p>“Oh! Don’t you remember Paul Springer, the son of the Swiss -watch-maker?”</p> - -<p>“Is that you, Paul?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I’m sorry.”</p> - -<p>“Why?”</p> - -<p>“Because I should have liked it had it been the fat man or one of his -friends, so I could have cut him open with my fist.”</p> - -<p>“I see that you are just as crazy as ever.”</p> - -<p>“I, crazy? I’m one of the few people on this planet in their right -senses! Moreover, I have decided to become a man of action. Believe me!”</p> - -<p>“I can’t believe anything of you now, my lad. What you ought to do is to -put on your coat and go to bed. Come, I’ll go with you.”</p> - -<p>Quentin assented, and went home with his friend.</p> - -<p>“We’ll see each other again, won’t we?” said the Swiss.</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Then, until another day.”</p> - -<p>They took leave of each other. Quentin remained in his doorway.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I’m not going in,” he said to himself. “Am I not a man of action? Well, -<i>adelante</i>! Where can I go? I’ll go and see Señora Patrocinio. I’ll take -a few turns about here until my head is a little clearer....”</p> - -<p>He knocked at the house in Los Tejares, and the door was immediately -opened to him.</p> - -<p>“Ah! Is it you?” said the old woman, as she lifted the candle to see who -it was.</p> - -<p>“Yes, it is I.”</p> - -<p>“Come in.”</p> - -<p>The old woman lit the lamp in the same room on the lower floor that Don -Gil Sabadía and Quentin had occupied.</p> - -<p>“What’s the matter?” asked Señora Patrocinio. “Do you need money?”</p> - -<p>“No. Do you, too, wish to offend me?”</p> - -<p>“No; I just wanted to give you some.”</p> - -<p>“Thanks very much! You are the only person who takes any interest in -me—why, I don’t know.... I have come to see you tonight because I am -unhappy.”</p> - -<p>“I know.... Rafaela is going to get married.”</p> - -<p>“And how do you know that that is the reason for my unhappiness?”</p> - -<p>“Nothing is secret from me. You liked her, but you will get over it -soon. She was fond of you, too.”</p> - -<p>“Do you think ...?”</p> - -<p>“Yes; but the poor girl had a bad beginning in life, and does well not -to get mixed up in adventures; for the majority of men aren’t even worth -the trouble of looking in the face. Still, what her sweetheart did was -disgraceful. Rafaela was brought up weakly,—too carefully guarded; then -she began to grow quite happy, what with taking care of her mother and -her betrothal.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span> Then her mother died; her father remarried immediately; -in a few months it began to be rumoured that her family was on the verge -of ruin, and her sweetheart skipped out. Think of it! The poor abandoned -girl began to turn yellow, and thought she was going to die. I believe -that she owes her cure to the trouble her younger sister gave her.”</p> - -<p>“Yes; I understand that she has no faith in men. Probably I ought not to -have paid any attention to the fact,” Quentin added ingenuously. “But -won’t this Juan de Dios make her suffer?”</p> - -<p>“No. He’s coarse, but good at heart. What are you going to do?”</p> - -<p>“I! I don’t know. We live in such a contemptible epoch. If I had been -born in Napoleon’s time! God! I’d either be dead by now or else on the -road to a generalship.”</p> - -<p>“Would you have enlisted with Napoleon?”</p> - -<p>“Rather!”</p> - -<p>“And would you have fought against your own country?”</p> - -<p>“Against the whole world.”</p> - -<p>“But not against Spain.”</p> - -<p>“Especially against Spain. It would be pretty nice to enter these towns -defended by their walls and their conventionalities against everything -that is noble and human, and raze them to the ground. To shoot all these -flat-nosed, pious fakers and poor quality hidalgos; to set fire to all -of the churches, and to violate all the nuns....”</p> - -<p>“You’ve been drinking, Quentin.”</p> - -<p>“I? I’m as calm as a bean plant, which is the calmest vegetable there -is, according to the botanists.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“You must not talk like that of your native land in front of me.”</p> - -<p>“Are you a patriot?”</p> - -<p>“With all my heart. Aren’t you?”</p> - -<p>“I am a citizen of the world.”</p> - -<p>“It seems to me that you’ve been drinking, Quentin.”</p> - -<p>“No; believe me.”</p> - -<p>“I say this to you,” added the old woman after a long pause, “because -for me, this is a solemn moment. I have told no one the story of my life -until this moment.”</p> - -<p>“The devil! What is she going to tell me?” mumbled Quentin.</p> - -<p>“Are you vengeful?” asked the old woman.</p> - -<p>“I?”</p> - -<p>Quentin was not sure whether he was vengeful or not, but the old woman -took his exclamation for one of assent.</p> - -<p>“Then you shall avenge me, Quentin, and your family. We are of the same -blood. Your grandfather, the Marquis of Tavera, and I are brother and -sister.”</p> - -<p>“Really?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. He doesn’t know that he has a sister living. He thinks I died a -long time ago.”</p> - -<p>Quentin scrutinized the old woman closely and discovered certain -resemblances to the old Marquis.</p> - -<p>She pressed Quentin’s hand, and then commenced her story as follows:</p> - -<p>“In villages, there are certain families in which hatred is perpetuated -through century after century. In cities, after one or two generations, -hatred and rivalry are gradually wiped out until they disappear -altogether. Not so in the villages: people unconcerned in the quarrel -carry<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span> the story of it from father to son, present the chapter of -insults to different individuals, and go on feeding the flame of rancour -when it tends to extinguish itself.</p> - -<p>“I was born in a large, highland village, of such an illustrious family -as that of Tavera. My mother died young, my older brother went to -England, the other to Madrid to take up a diplomatic career, while I -remained in the village with my father and two maiden aunts.</p> - -<p>“My mother, whom I scarcely knew, was very good, but rather simple; so -much so that they say that when the fishes in our pool did not bite, she -called in a professional fisherman and gave him a good day’s wages to -teach them to do so.</p> - -<p>“My family came from an important village in the province of Toledo, -near La Puebla, where long ago there used to stand a tower and a castle -and various strongholds, which are now nothing but ruins.</p> - -<p>“According to my father, a harsh man, proud of his titles and lineage, -we came from the oldest nobility, from the conquerors of Cordova, and -were related to the whole Andalusian aristocracy: the Baenas, Arjonas, -Cordovas, Velascos, and Gúzmans.</p> - -<p>“In spite of our ancestry, our family did not enjoy any especial respect -from the townspeople on account of the display we made, because our -property had diminished somewhat, and also because the new liberal ideas -were beginning to make themselves felt.</p> - -<p>“My father owned nearly the whole village; he received a contribution -from every chimney; he had the only interment chapel in the large -church; and a patronage in several smaller churches and hermitages. In -spite of the prestige of his lineage and his wealth, every<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span> one hated -him—justly, I believe, for he was despotic, violent and cruel.</p> - -<p>“That was about fifty years ago. My nose did not try to meet my chin -then, nor did I lack any teeth; I was a lass worth looking at; graceful -as a golden pine, and blonder than a candle. Any one seeing me in those -days would have liked to know me! I lived with my father, who used to -aim a blow at me every once in a while, and with my aunts, who were -busybodies, meddlers, and crazy.</p> - -<p>“As I have already said, my father had enemies; some openly avowed, -others secret, but who all did the greatest amount of harm they could. -Among them, the most powerful was the Count of Doña Mencia, whose -family, much more recently come to the village than ours, was slowly -acquiring property and power.</p> - -<p>“The rivalry between the two houses was increased by a lawsuit which the -Doña Mencias won against us, and it grew into a savage hatred when my -father committed the offensive act of violating one of the rival -family’s little girls.</p> - -<p>“The Doña Mencias took the child to Cordova; my father once heard a -bullet whistle by his head as he was on his way to a farm—and this was -the state of affairs, my family hated by our rivals and by nearly all of -the townspeople, when I reached my eighteenth year, with no one to -advise me but my aunts.</p> - -<p>“I was, as I have said before, very pretty, and attracted attention -wherever I went. Even at that age I had already had two or three beaux -with whom I used to talk through my window-grating, when the Count of -Doña Mencia’s eldest son began to call upon me, and finally to ask for -my hand. The whole village was sur<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span>prised at this; I was disposed to pay -no attention to him; moreover, I received several anonymous letters -telling me that if I listened to the Count’s son, very disagreeable -consequences might arise, because the hatred was still latent between -the two families. I was just about decided to refuse him, when my aunts, -crazy novel readers that they were, insisted that I ought to listen to -him, for the boy’s intentions were honourable, and in this way I could -once and for all put an end to the rivalry and hatred.</p> - -<p>“My father prided himself upon the fact that he never interfered with -what was happening in the family; his only occupations were hunting, -drinking, and chasing after farm girls, and if I had consulted him about -the affair, he would have sent me harshly about my business.</p> - -<p>“So, following my aunts’ advice, I accepted the enemy of our home as a -sweetheart, and received him for a year. One time in the garden, which -was where we used to see each other, he threw himself upon me and -attempted to overpower me; but people came in answer to my cries. My -betrothed said that I had foolishly taken fright, as he was only trying -to kiss me; I wanted to break the engagement, but instead of breaking -off our relations, the affair only hastened the wedding.</p> - -<p>“Grand preparations were made, but so sure were the townspeople that my -sweetheart would never marry me, that servants, friends, every one, gave -me to understand that the wedding would never take place, and that my -betrothed would be capable of changing his mind at the very foot of the -altar. Thus warned, I attempted to lessen the expense of the wedding, -but my aunts tried to convince me not to do such a crazy thing.</p> - -<p>“In fine, the day which was as dreaded as it was hoped<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span> for, arrived; my -betrothed appeared at the church, and the wedding was celebrated. God -knows how many hopes I had of being happy. The marriage feast was eaten; -the ball was held. The festivities lasted until midnight, when we -retired.</p> - -<p>“The next morning when I awoke, I looked for my husband at my side, but -did not find him. He never appeared all day long; they looked for him, -but in vain. Days and days passed, and more days, while I waited for -him, fearing an accident rather than an insult. After a long time, I -received a mocking letter from him in which he told me that he would -never come back to me.</p> - -<p>“From that one wedding night, I became pregnant, and on this account -suffered much anxiety. My father, in whom the affair had rekindled the -anger at the rival family, assured me that he would strangle the child -if it were born alive: my aunts did nothing but weep at every turn.</p> - -<p>“I was restless; I don’t know whether from pain or what, and gave -premature birth at eight months to a dead boy.</p> - -<p>“A short time after, my father died of a fall from his horse, the -administrator started a lawsuit against us, and took all our property -from us; my older brother was travelling, the other was in Rome; I wrote -to them, and they did not answer; my aunts took refuge in the house of -some relatives, and I went where the will of God took me.</p> - -<p>“At first I was in mortal terror, but I soon got used to it, and did -everything. I’ve lived like a princess and like a beggar; I’ve intrigued -in high circles, and have been an army vivandière. I have been in a -battle in the Carlist wars, and have walked among the bullets with the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span> -same indifference with which I walk the streets of Cordova today.</p> - -<p>“After a while, with the pain I suffered, I forgot -everything,—everything except my husband’s infamy, and that of his -whole family.</p> - -<p>“That family has gone on implacably bringing disgrace to ours. When they -killed your father there was a man pursuing him with the soldiers. Do -you know who he was? My husband’s son. And his grandson was Rafaela’s -sweetheart, the one who left her when he thought she was penniless.</p> - -<p>“My husband married again. He is a bigamist, and probably falsified my -death certificate. Today he moves in high circles, but the blow he gets -from his downfall will be all the greater.”</p> - -<p>“What are you thinking of doing?” asked Quentin.</p> - -<p>“Of denouncing him. I have not done so before on account of my older -brother. I don’t want to bring shame to him in his last days. As for the -other brother, I don’t mind; he is an egoist. When the Marquis dies, -you’ll see what I shall do. If I die before he does, you will avenge me. -Will you, Quentin?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“That’s all I want. Your word is enough. Ask me for whatever you want, -and come to see me.”</p> - -<p>Señora Patrocinio kissed Quentin’s cheek, and he left the house -confounded.</p> - -<p>“Now,” he murmured, “this woman turns out to be the sister of a marquis, -married to a count, and my aunt. And she wants us to avenge ourselves. -Why then let’s do so ... or let’s not. It’s all the same to me. You know -your plan, Quentin,” he said to himself. “Who are you?” he asked -himself, and immediately replied, “You are a man of action. Very good!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span>”</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII<br /><br /> -<small>“I AM A LITTLE CATILINE”</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>HE coterie was the most select in the Casino. Its members used to meet -there in order to speak ill of everybody. There were young men who did -nothing but ride horseback, try the strength of young bulls by prodding -them with long pikes from horseback, and gamble their souls away; old -men whose sole occupation was talking politics; and a great variety of -persons who had made a business of amusing themselves—a fact which did -not prevent one from reading a gloomy weariness in their expressions.</p> - -<p>This meeting of aristocrats and plebeians, of rich men and poor men, of -vagrants employed and unemployed, possessed a rare character, which was -produced by a preponderance of aristocratic prejudices, mixed with a -great simplicity.</p> - -<p>In this coterie, so democratic in appearance, high and low had their -say; even the waiters in the Casino mixed in the conversation. It -possessed those characteristics, partly affable, partly coarse, that the -Spanish aristocracy had had until foreign ideas and customs began to -transform and polish it.</p> - -<p>In that meeting one gleefully flayed one’s neighbour. Amid jests and -laughter, flagellated by jovial satire, every person of significance in -the town marched in review, either on account of their merits or their -vices,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span> their stupidity or their wit. If one believed what was told -there, the city was a hot-bed of imbroglios, obscenities, wild -escapades.</p> - -<p>Among the members of aristocratic families there was a multitude of -alcoholics and diseased individuals; the rotten produce of vicious -living and consanguineous marriages. In these families there were a -great many men who seemed to be obsessed with the idea of going through -their fortunes, of ruining themselves quickly; others travelled the road -to ruin without meaning to, through the robbery of their administrators -and usurers; the majority were simply idiots; the clever ones, the -clear-sighted ones, went to Madrid to play politics, leaving the old -ancestral homes completely dismantled.</p> - -<p>The scandals of the masses were mixed with those of the aristocracy; and -the ingenuous jests of the charcoal-burners, and the dissolute wit of -the Celestinas, were repeated and applauded with relish.</p> - -<p>They spoke, too, and constantly, of the bandits of the Sierra; they knew -who their protectors were in and out of Cordova, where their -hiding-places were: and this friendship with bandits was not looked upon -as a disgrace, but rather as something that constituted, if not a -glorious achievement, at least a spicy and piquant attraction for the -town.</p> - -<p>“The gangs are organized in the very jail itself, while the bandits walk -about the city.”</p> - -<p>“But, is that true?” asked some horrified stranger.</p> - -<p>“Everything you hear is,” they told him with a laugh. “Even the -abductions of Malaga and Seville are planned here.”</p> - -<p>“And why don’t you put an end to the evil?”</p> - -<p>When the Cordovese heard this he smiled at the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span> stranger, and added that -in Cordova they had never looked upon the horsemen as an evil.</p> - -<p>While the aristocrats and plebeians gave food for gossip, the middle -class worked: lawyers, priests, and merchants enriched themselves, -conducted their business, while a cloud of citizens from Soria fell like -locusts upon the town, and took possession of the money and lands of the -old, wealthy families by means of their evil skill at money-lending and -usury.</p> - -<p>One evening in the early part of autumn, several gentlemen were chatting -in one of the salons of the Casino. They were members of the early -coterie. Some were reading newspapers, and others were talking, seated -upon divans, or walking to and fro.</p> - -<p>Springer, the Swiss watch-maker’s son, had come in to read a newspaper, -and as he read, he heard them talking about his friend Quentin, whom he -had not seen for some time. He listened attentively.</p> - -<p>“But is it true he has come into some money?” asked a stout, red-faced -gentleman with a grey moustache.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know,” answered a bald-headed man with a black beard. “He -undoubtedly has money. They say that he has bought a house for María -Lucena.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t believe that.”</p> - -<p>“Quentin is a child of good luck,” added another.</p> - -<p>“I should say he is,” responded he of the black beard. “Lucky at cards, -and lucky at love.”</p> - -<p>“Couldn’t the Marquis have given him some money?” asked the stout -gentleman.</p> - -<p>“The Marquis! He hasn’t a penny.”</p> - -<p>“But where does the boy get his money?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know—unless he steals it.”</p> - -<p>“But that would be found out.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span>”</p> - -<p>The members of the coterie were all silent for a moment while the stout -gentleman took a short nap; then he said:</p> - -<p>“Do you know if that paper that has just been published is his?”</p> - -<p>“What paper? <i>La Víbora?</i>” asked he of the bald head.</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t think so.”</p> - -<p>“Well, they say it is.”</p> - -<p>“It strikes me that that paper is owned by the Masons.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, but don’t you know that Quentin is a Mason?” said a small, dark man -with a black moustache.</p> - -<p>“Really?” asked every one at once.</p> - -<p>“Yes, indeed. I know it for a fact; he joined the Lodge this summer.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps he makes his living from that,” said the fat gentleman.</p> - -<p>“No one makes a living from that,” replied the short man with a laugh. -“It occurred to me when I was a student in Madrid to become a Mason, and -do you know what happened? They carried me about from one place to -another with my eyes bandaged, and ended by taking five dollars away -from me.”</p> - -<p>Every one laughed. At this point a young man entered and stretched out -in an arm chair with an air of deep gloom.</p> - -<p>“What’s up, Manolillo?” asked the bald-headed man.</p> - -<p>“Nothing. Quentin is upstairs plucking everybody. If he quits in time, -he’s going to come out ahead; if he stays in, he may lose everything.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span>”</p> - -<p>As Springer, who heard this, was a man of good intentions and a loyal -friend, he arose, threw his paper upon the table, left the salon, went -through a gallery paved with marble, up a flight of stairs, and entered -the gambling hall.</p> - -<p>Quentin was dealing; he had a pile of bills and gold coins before him. -Springer went up to him, and put his hand upon his shoulder. Quentin -turned.</p> - -<p>“What is it?”</p> - -<p>“I come,” said Springer in a low voice, “to give you the advice of a -gambler who just left here completely plucked. He said that if you quit -in time, you’ll come out ahead; if you stay in, you may lose -everything.”</p> - -<p>“Really?” exclaimed Quentin, rising, as if he had just received -important news. “Well, then, the only thing I can do is to leave. -Gentlemen,” he added, addressing the players, “I shall return in a -little while,” and placing the bills in his folder, he rapidly picked up -the gold coins.</p> - -<p>A murmur of indignation arose among the players.</p> - -<p>“Come!” said Quentin to Springer.</p> - -<p>They left the hall rapidly, descended the stairs, and did not stop until -they had reached the street.</p> - -<p>“But, what has happened to you?” the Swiss asked, utterly surprised.</p> - -<p>“Nothing; it was a stratagem,” answered Quentin with a smile. “I could -not find the right moment to leave decorously. They were all after me -like dogs; and there I was boasting like a man to whom four or five -thousand dollars more or less are of little importance. They would have -gone up in smoke soon.”</p> - -<p>By the light of a lamp, Quentin pulled out a handful of bills, sorted -them, and put them into a folder; and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span> then, unbuttoning first his coat, -and then his vest, he put them in his inside pocket.</p> - -<p>“Aren’t you afraid something may happen to you in the street?” asked the -Swiss.</p> - -<p>“<i>Ca!</i>”</p> - -<p>“Do you know that you are the talk of the town, Quentin?”</p> - -<p>“Am I?”</p> - -<p>“Really. Besides, you have a tremendous reputation.”</p> - -<p>“As what?”</p> - -<p>“As a Tenorio, a dare-devil, a gambler, and a Mason.”</p> - -<p>Quentin burst out laughing.</p> - -<p>“I heard in the Casino here,” Springer went on, “that you were not -living at home any more, but with an actress.”</p> - -<p>“That’s true.”</p> - -<p>“Have you quarrelled with your family?”</p> - -<p>“Yes; I got angry and left my stepfather. Usurers disgust me.”</p> - -<p>“It also seems that you have received a legacy from some relation or -other of yours. Is that true?”</p> - -<p>“Boy, I don’t know,” said Quentin ingenuously. “I’ve invented so many -things, that now I don’t know which is the truth and which is a lie.” -Then, turning melancholy, he added, “The trouble with me is that I am -out of my element. I’m a Northerner.”</p> - -<p>“You!” said Springer; and he began to laugh so heartily that Quentin -joined him.</p> - -<p>“What are you laughing at?”</p> - -<p>“At how well I know you. So you are a Northerner. What a faker you -are!... What shocks me is that you have become a Mason. That’s absurd.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Yes; it’s absurd to you and me, but it isn’t to many people.”</p> - -<p>“Where is your Lodge?”</p> - -<p>“In the Calle del Cister, near the Calle del Silencio. Would you like to -come?”</p> - -<p>“What for?”</p> - -<p>“Man, we’ll baptize you anew; we’ll call you Cato, Robespierre, -Spartacus....”</p> - -<p>“I don’t believe it’s worth while....”</p> - -<p>“As you wish.”</p> - -<p>“Your Masonry disgusts me.”</p> - -<p>“It <i>is</i> ridiculous, but it serves for something: it is useful for -propaganda.”</p> - -<p>“What propaganda are you putting forward?”</p> - -<p>“Just now I am a Federal Republican.”</p> - -<p>Springer burst out laughing again.</p> - -<p>“You’re a Federal Republican! Like my countrymen, the Swiss.”</p> - -<p>“You think it’s funny?”</p> - -<p>“Very, my lad. You couldn’t live if you went to Switzerland.”</p> - -<p>“Well, then, there I would be a Monarchist. I am nothing at heart. I am -a man of action who needs money and complications in order to live. Do -you know what name they have given me at the Lodge?”</p> - -<p>“What?”</p> - -<p>“Catiline. They have hit the nail on the head. I am a little Catiline. -What an admirable chap was that Tribune of the people! Eh? I am very -enthusiastic about him.”</p> - -<p>“Then, Cicero would seem despicable to you.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Ah! absolutely despicable. Charlatan, pedant, coward ... in other -words—he was a lawyer.”</p> - -<p>“Listen,” said the Swiss. “They told me another and more serious thing: -that you are the one who edits that newspaper, <i>La Víbora</i>. Is that -true?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Are you the author of those very violent satires?”</p> - -<p>“Not the author; the inspirer. Catiline turned libeller?... It would be -unworthy of him.”</p> - -<p>“But don’t you realize that you are exposing yourself to a very serious -danger?”</p> - -<p>“<i>Ca!</i> Don’t you believe it. Men are more cowardly than they seem. -Moreover, I am defended by a lot of people; first by those who rejoice -over and enjoy the satires—as long as they are not directed against -themselves; second, by my friends, of whom the majority are very -powerful people; third and last, and this is what I place most -confidence in, I am defended by these fists, and because I don’t give a -fig for anybody.”</p> - -<p>“Well, you certainly are acting without scruple or conscience.”</p> - -<p>“Is it worth while to live otherwise? I believe not.”</p> - -<p>“Man alive! That depends upon the way one looks at it.”</p> - -<p>“That’s the way I look at it. The spectacle is dangerous, but amusing. -Well? Are you coming to the Lodge?”</p> - -<p>“What for?”</p> - -<p>“You will hear several orators declaim their speeches, and I shall -present you to Don Paco Sánchez Olmillo, Master Surgeon and Master -Mason. If you wish I’ll make a speech in your honour on human liberty. -It is a discourse which I have learned by heart, and which, with a few -trifling changes, I turn loose on all occasions, making it seem -different each time.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“The plan does not tempt me.”</p> - -<p>“Then if you don’t wish to go to the Lodge, I shall take you to the -tavern in the Calle del Bodegoncillo.”</p> - -<p>“What are you going to do there?”</p> - -<p>“I’m going to pay my retinue. Then I shall present you to Pacheco.”</p> - -<p>“To which Pacheco? To the bandit?”</p> - -<p>“The same. He is my lieutenant.”</p> - -<p>“The devil! Shall I be safe with you?”</p> - -<p>“Yes; safer than if you were with the Alcalde.”</p> - -<p>“But you keep very bad company.”</p> - -<p>“Whom do you mean by that? Pacheco? Pacheco is an unfortunate chap. Ask -any one, and they will tell you that he was forced to take to the -mountain merely on account of a rooster.”</p> - -<p>“Was that all?”</p> - -<p>“That was all. On account of a rooster called Tumbanavíos or Tumbalobos, -I don’t exactly remember which. Pacheco used to go to the cock-fighting -ring in the Calle de las Doblas, and one day he got mixed up in an -argument with a fellow as to the relative merits of two fighting-cocks -... and, well, they had words. Pacheco stuck a knife into the fellow, -with bad results, and left him cold.... A man’s affair!” added Quentin -resignedly.</p> - -<p>“Then one of those sergeants of the <i>guardia civil</i> who like to stick -their noses into everything, insisted upon hunting Pacheco. He gave -chase to him and caught up to him; but Pacheco, seeing that the game was -about up, and remembering the words of Quevedo: that it is better to be -ahead by a blow in the face than by all Castile, discharged his -fowling-piece at the guard. This also had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span> bad results, for he blew his -skull open and sent him to join the other fellow.”</p> - -<p>The Swiss applauded the story, laughing quietly.</p> - -<p>“And is that chap from this city?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“I think he is from Ecija or thereabouts.”</p> - -<p>“What kind of a man is he?”</p> - -<p>“A good fellow.”</p> - -<p>“Does he hurt any one in the country?”</p> - -<p>“No. He appears at a farmhouse and asks the operator for a loan of ten -or twelve dollars, and the operator gives it to him. He’s a good man.”</p> - -<p>“Is he in Cordova now?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Why don’t they arrest him?”</p> - -<p>“They don’t dare. Don’t you see that I am protecting him?”</p> - -<p>The Swiss looked at his friend, whom he admired deep down in his heart, -and murmured again and again:</p> - -<p>“My, what a faker!”</p> - -<p>“It has been my custom to invite him to dine with me in the Café Puzzini -and in the Rizzi Tavern,” added Quentin, “and no one has dared to -interfere with him.”</p> - -<p>Conversing in this manner, they had come out upon Las Tendillas, and -were going up the Calle de Gondomar toward the Paseo del Gran Capitán. -They walked past San Nicolás de la Villa, and followed the Calle de la -Concepción toward the Puerta de Gallegos.</p> - -<p>A strong breeze was blowing which made the blinds and windows rattle -noisily.</p> - -<p>“Where is that tavern?” asked Springer.</p> - -<p>“Right here,” answered Quentin. “This is the Calle del Niño Perdido, a -sort of <i>cul-de-sac</i>; it is not ours.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span> This other is the Calle de los -Ucedas; nor is that the one we are looking for, either.”</p> - -<p>They walked on a few paces.</p> - -<p>“This is the Calle del Bodegoncillo,” said Quentin, “and here is the -tavern.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span>”</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII<br /><br /> -<small>THE TAVERN IN THE CALLE DEL BODEGONCILLO</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>HE tavern was a small one; it had a red counter covered with zinc, a -door at one side through which one passed into a large cellar lit by two -smoky oil lamps and several black lanterns. That night there was a great -concourse and influx of people in the place. Quentin and Springer -entered, traversed the outer room, then crossed the cellar, where there -were several occupied tables, and sat down at a small one in the light -of an oil lamp.</p> - -<p>“This is our table,” said Quentin.</p> - -<p>He clapped his hands, and the landlord, a man by the name of El Pullí, -appeared; he ordered some crabs, a ration of fried fish, and a bottle of -Montilla. Then he said:</p> - -<p>“Bring me the bill for everything I owe.”</p> - -<p>El Pullí returned presently with the crabs, the fried fish, and the -wine, and, upon a dish; a paper upon which several letters and figures -had been scrawled in blue ink.</p> - -<p>Quentin took the paper, pulled out several bills from his vest pocket, -and proceeded to toss them upon the plate.</p> - -<p>“Is that right?” he asked of El Pullí.</p> - -<p>“It must be right if you counted it,” replied the man.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Here’s something for the boy,” added Quentin, putting a dollar upon the -table.</p> - -<p>“I have two boys, Don Quentin,” answered El Pullí slyly.</p> - -<p>“Well, then, here’s something for the other one.”</p> - -<p>That clinking of silver produced an extraordinary effect in the tavern. -Every one looked at Quentin, who, pretending not to notice the fact, -began to eat and to carry on an animated conversation with his friend.</p> - -<p>At this point two men approached the table: one was tall, smiling, some -thirty years old, toothless, with a black beard and reddish, blood-shot -eyes; the other was short, blond, timid-and insignificant-looking.</p> - -<p>Quentin greeted them with a slight nod, and indicated that they should -be seated.</p> - -<p>“Here,” said Quentin to Springer, indicating the man with the beard, -“you have a thoroughgoing poet; the only bad thing about him is his -name: he is called Cornejo. He is Corneille translated into Cordovese. -But sit down, gentlemen, and order what you like; then we shall talk.”</p> - -<p>The two men seated themselves.</p> - -<p>The poet looked something like a carp, with his dull, protruding eyes. -He wore very short trousers, checked yellow and black, and carried a -cane so worn by use that he had to stretch out his arm to touch the -ground with it. From what Quentin said, Cornejo was a fantastic -individual. He had on a blue, threadbare coat which he called his “black -suit,” and a ragged overcoat which he called his “surtout.” He always -had patches in his trousers; sometimes these were made of cloth, and -sometimes of rawhide; he lived in the perpetual combination of a zealous -appetite and an empty stomach; he fed only<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span> upon alcohol and vanity; -hence his poetical compositions were so ethereal that they were windy, -rather than wingèd verse.</p> - -<p>Once when he was walking with a comrade who was also a poet and a -ragamuffin, he said, pointing to some grand ladies in a carriage:</p> - -<p>“My lad, they are looking at us with a contempt that is ... -inexplicable.”</p> - -<p>The fellow went through life wandering from tavern to tavern, reciting -verses of Espronceda and Zorilla; sometimes between the madrigals and -romances, he composed some terrible poems of his own in which he -appeared as a ferocious person who cared for no liquid but blood, for no -perfume but the odour of graveyards, and for no skies but tempestuous -ones.</p> - -<p>Cornejo was very popular among the workingmen, and he knew all the -toughs and ruffians who swarmed in the taverns. The short, blond chap -who accompanied him was nervous.</p> - -<p>“This gentleman,” said the poet to Quentin, pointing to the little -fellow, “is the printer. If you can give him something....”</p> - -<p>“Very well. How much do I owe you?” asked Quentin.</p> - -<p>“Here is the invoice,” said the little man humbly.</p> - -<p>“Don’t bring any invoices to me! How much is it?”</p> - -<p>“Forty dollars.”</p> - -<p>“Good. That’s all right.”</p> - -<p>Quentin filled a glass of wine, and the printer looked at him rather -anxiously.</p> - -<p>“How much do you need to assure the publication of the paper for three -months?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span>”</p> - -<p>The printer took out paper and pencil and rapidly made some figures.</p> - -<p>“Two hundred dollars,” said he.</p> - -<p>“Good,” replied Quentin, and he took some bills from his pocket-book and -put them upon the table. “Here are the two hundred dollars. I’ll pay you -the forty that I owe you when I can.”</p> - -<p>“That’s all right,” said the printer, picking up the money without -daring to count it. “Would you like me to give you a receipt?”</p> - -<p>“I—What for?”</p> - -<p>The printer rose, bowed ceremoniously, and went out.</p> - -<p>“How about you, Cornejo?” murmured Quentin. “Do you need some?”</p> - -<p>“Throw me ten or twelve dollars.”</p> - -<p>“Here are twenty; but you’ve got to get to work. If you don’t, I’ll kick -you out.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t you worry.” The poet stuck the bill carelessly into his pocket, -and began to listen to the conversation of the persons at the next -table. One of these was a man with a huge beard whom they called El -Sardino; the other was a charcoal-burner with a grimy face called El -Manano.</p> - -<p>“Listen to this conversation,” said the poet. “It’s worth it.”</p> - -<p>“But what does that man give you?” El Manano was saying to El Sardino, -making strange grimaces with his sooty face, and waving his arms.</p> - -<p>“He gives me nothing,” replied the other very seriously, “but he reports -me.”</p> - -<p>“He reports you! You must be easy!”</p> - -<p>“It’s true.”</p> - -<p>“But what good has it done you to know him?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“It’s done me a lot of good, and I am grateful.”</p> - -<p>“That’s almost like scratching a place to lie down in, comrade,” said El -Manano meaningly.</p> - -<p>“Well, I’m like that,” replied El Sardino. “Of course nothing gets ahead -of me, and I always take my hat off so they can see the way my hair is -parted.”</p> - -<p>“You’ve told me that before.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t understand a word of what they are saying,” said the Swiss with -a smile.</p> - -<p>“Nor do they understand each other,” remarked Quentin.</p> - -<p>“That’s their way of talking,” said the poet.</p> - -<p>“And who are those fellows?” asked Springer.</p> - -<p>“El Sardino is an itinerant pedlar,” replied Cornejo. “He makes -sling-shots for the children out of branches of rose-bay, and whistles -out of maiden-hair ferns; the kind that have little seeds in them to -make them trill. El Manano is a charcoal-burner.”</p> - -<p>“Of whom were they speaking?”</p> - -<p>“Probably of Pacheco.”</p> - -<p>“The bandit?” asked Springer.</p> - -<p>Cornejo fell silent; glanced at Quentin, and then, swallowing, murmured:</p> - -<p>“Don’t say it so loud; he has many friends here.”</p> - -<p>“That’s what <i>we</i> are,” replied Quentin.</p> - -<p>The poet could not have been pleased by this turn of the conversation, -for without saying another word, he addressed the charcoal-burner:</p> - -<p>“Hello, Manano!” he cried. “It looks as if we’d caught it now, eh? Well, -look out they don’t take you to La Higuerilla!”</p> - -<p>“Me!—to La Higuerilla?” exclaimed the drunkard; “nobody can do that!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Don’t you want to go there any more?”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“Why not? You used to be glad to go.”</p> - -<p>“Because they used to treat a fellow right; but now, as you’ve said in -poetry, they don’t give you anything but water, a blow or two with a -stick now and then, and that stuff that smells so bad ... <i>pneumonia</i>.”</p> - -<p>The poet smiled at this testimony of his popularity.</p> - -<p>El Sardino and El Manano had resumed their same parabolic manner of -speech, when there came humming into the tavern a small, straight man -with a short, black moustache that looked as if it were painted on his -lip, a broad-brimmed hat pulled over his eyes, a huge watch chain across -his vest, and a knotted and twisted stick.</p> - -<p>When Springer caught sight of this ludicrous individual, he smiled -mockingly, and the poet said:</p> - -<p>“Here’s Carrahola.”</p> - -<p>“What a funny chap!”</p> - -<p>“He’s a bully,” replied Cornejo.</p> - -<p>“Bah!” exclaimed Quentin, “he’s a poor fellow, who because he is so -small, has the fad of carrying everything extra large: his stick, his -sombrero, his cigar-case.”</p> - -<p>And indeed, as if to demonstrate this, Carrahola pulled a silver watch, -as white and as large as a stew-pan, from his vest pocket, and after -ascertaining the time, asked the landlord:</p> - -<p>“Has Señor José come yet?”</p> - -<p>“No, Señor.”</p> - -<p>“But is he coming?”</p> - -<p>“I can’t tell you; I think so.”</p> - -<p>Carrahola went up to the table at which Quentin, Springer, and Cornejo -were sitting, drew up a chair, and sat down without greeting them.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span></p> - -<p>“This is a great night for finding lone jackasses, Carrahola,” said the -poet, turning to the little man.</p> - -<p>The fellow turned his head as if he had heard the voice from the other -side of the room, and paid no attention. Carrahola doubtless considered -himself a great bully; he noted the expectancy in the tavern, so he -seized Quentin’s glass, held it up to the light, and emptied it with one -swallow. Quentin took the glass, and, without saying a word, took -careful aim, and tossed it through an open window. Then, clapping his -hands, he said to El Pullí who came toward him:</p> - -<p>“A glass; and kindly notify this person,” and he pointed to Carrahola, -“that he is in the way here.”</p> - -<p>“Move on,” said the innkeeper; “this table is occupied.”</p> - -<p>Carrahola pretended not to understand; he took a plug of tobacco and a -knife from his coat, and began to scrape tobacco; then he suddenly put -the instrument upon the table.</p> - -<p>“What do you do with that?” inquired Quentin, pointing to the blade with -his finger. “Flourish it?”</p> - -<p>Carrahola rose tragically from the table, put his knife away slowly, -seized his enormous knotted stick, insinuated himself into his broad -hat, gave a little pull to the lapels of his coat, and said dryly and -contemptuously:</p> - -<p>“Some one is talking in here who would not dare to speak thus in the -street.”</p> - -<p>This said, he spat upon the floor, wiped away the spittle by rubbing it -with the sole of his boot, and stood looking over his shoulder.</p> - -<p>“And what does that mean?” asked Quentin.</p> - -<p>“That means, that if you are a man, we’ll have two<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span> glasses now, and -then go and cut each other’s hearts out.”</p> - -<p>Without replying Quentin stood up, seized Carrahola by the neck of his -coat, lifted him like a puppet, and let him fall upon the soles of his -boots, which struck the floor with a ludicrous sound. Everybody burst -out laughing. Carrahola charged furiously at Quentin with lowered head; -but the latter with the easy movement of a boxer, threw him over his hip -into the air; then he took him in his two strong hands, pushed him up to -the window, and watch, knife, broad-brimmed hat and all, tossed him into -the street.</p> - -<p>“You’ll have to learn how to treat people politely,” said Quentin after -the operation was over.</p> - -<p>“What a lad!” exclaimed El Manano. “He dropped him in the box like a -letter!”</p> - -<p>Murmurs of admiration were heard all over the tavern. Then a boy, or a -small man (one could not determine his age easily), with reddish hair -and a very freckled face, a mutilated calañés, and a twill coat, came -hopping toward Quentin.</p> - -<p>“Good evening,” he said. “El Garroso, that carter over there, has some -friends who say that if he ‘tried wrists’ with you, he could beat you. -We say he couldn’t do it. Would you like to try wrists with him, Don -Quentin?”</p> - -<p>“No, not now, thanks.”</p> - -<p>“Excuse me if I was wrong to ask you; but some are betting on you and -others on him.”</p> - -<p>“Whom did you bet on?”</p> - -<p>“On you.”</p> - -<p>“Good, then let’s go over.”</p> - -<p>“El Rano is always making bets,” said Cornejo.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Is his name El Rano?”</p> - -<p>“Haven’t you noticed his face?”</p> - -<p>The little man turned around, and Springer was forced to suppress a -smile. Sure enough, he looked exactly like a frog, with his protruding, -bulgy, stupid-looking eyes, his broad face, bottle-shaped nose, and -mouth that spread from ear to ear.</p> - -<p>“Where is El Garroso?” asked Quentin.</p> - -<p>“At that table over there.”</p> - -<p>A man arose, smiling; he was round shouldered, with bow legs and arms, a -square head, a bull neck, and a swelling something like a coxcomb in the -middle of his forehead.</p> - -<p>El Rano, El Garibaldino, and El Animero placed a table and two chairs in -the middle of the tavern. El Garroso sat down, followed directly by -Quentin.</p> - -<p>“Well, as this is not a fighting matter,” said Quentin to El Garroso, -“we’ll have two rounds, eh?”</p> - -<p>“Sí, Señor.”</p> - -<p>They placed their elbows upon the table, clasped hands, and the chairs, -the table, and even the bones of the adversaries began to creak.</p> - -<p>El Garroso turned red; a vein in his forehead, as large as a finger, -looked as if it were about to burst. Quentin was impassive.</p> - -<p>“Do you think you are going to lose, Rano?” he said to the little man.</p> - -<p>“No, indeed.”</p> - -<p>“That’s right. Now you’ll see.” And without making an apparent -effort—crack! El Garroso’s arm fell to the table, his knuckles striking -the boards forcibly.</p> - -<p>Every one was astonished.</p> - -<p>“Good, now let’s try it again,” said Quentin.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span></p> - -<p>“No, no. You’re stronger than I am,” murmured El Garroso.</p> - -<p>Quentin said that it was all a matter of practice, and was chatting -away, when Carrahola, who could not have been hurt by his fall, -doubtless lifting himself by his hands, and hoisting himself until his -head reached the height of the window through which he had made his exit -so brusquely, shouted with a prolongation of the “o”:</p> - -<p>“<i>Gallego!</i>”</p> - -<p>“I’m going out and beat him up,” said El Pullí. “I’ll show him something -pretty fine;” and the man closed the window and barred it with a stick.</p> - -<p>Presently Carrahola shouted through the keyhole of the street door:</p> - -<p>“<i>Oscurantista!</i>”</p> - -<p>At this moment some one knocked at the door, Pullí opened it, and -Pacheco and a friend, both wrapped in cloaks, entered, followed by -Carrahola.</p> - -<p>“The peace of God be with you, gentlemen,” said Pacheco. “Who is it that -is entertaining himself by throwing my friends through the window?”</p> - -<p>“It was I,” replied Quentin.</p> - -<p>“Ah! Is that you? I didn’t see you.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir; and I’ll throw him out again if he bothers me.”</p> - -<p>“If it was you, that’s another matter,” said Pacheco. “I know that you -don’t like to stick your nose into other people’s affairs.”</p> - -<p>Springer observed with surprise the prestige that Quentin enjoyed among -that class of people. Pacheco and his friend, who was a toreador called -Bocanegra,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span> sat down. Quentin introduced them to the Swiss, and they all -fell into an animated conversation.</p> - -<p>Carrahola remained some distance away, in an attitude of suspicion.</p> - -<p>“Come, Carrahola,” said Pacheco, “it was your fault.”</p> - -<p>“Then excuse me, if I was wrong,” said Carrahola.</p> - -<p>“Nothing has happened at all,” said Quentin, holding out his hand. “Take -a glass, and let’s be friends.”</p> - -<p>Bocanegra, the toreador, said ironically:</p> - -<p>“Come now, Carrahola, this isn’t the first beating you ever had.”</p> - -<p>“Nor will it be the last,” replied the other very seriously.</p> - -<p>Springer watched the people with great curiosity. He was surprised at -Pacheco’s courtesy: one could see that he was cultured; a man of natural -superiority, neat, and with well-kept hands. The toreador was a -strong-looking fellow with bright eyes and white teeth.</p> - -<p>“One moment,” said Quentin. “Pacheco, please come here.”</p> - -<p>The bandit got up, and the two men went to one end of the table and -conversed.</p> - -<p>“Have you seen the Count?” asked Quentin.</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“What does he say?”</p> - -<p>“That the woman is mad; that he has only been married once, like every -one else.”</p> - -<p>“All we have to do is to go to the town and get hold of the wedding -certificate. Send one of your men.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll need money for that, comrade.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“I have some. I’m going to give you all I have left. If you have time, -pay El Cuervo what I owe him.”</p> - -<p>“Very well.”</p> - -<p>Quentin emptied his pocket upon the table.</p> - -<p>“There’s more than enough here,” said the bandit. “You’d better keep -some.”</p> - -<p>Quentin put away a few bills, and they rejoined the group.</p> - -<p>The conversation again turned upon revolutionary ideas, about which -Pacheco and Bocanegra were most enthusiastic. The bandit spoke very -devotedly of General Prim.</p> - -<p>“I don’t think there is a man like him in the world, and you needn’t -laugh, comrade,” said Pacheco to Quentin, “you are not as patriotic as I -am.”</p> - -<p>“Every person admires his own likeness,” replied Quentin coldly.</p> - -<p>“Do you think I am like Prim?” asked the bandit.</p> - -<p>“No. It is Prim who is like Pacheco.”</p> - -<p>“I think I ought to be angry with you....”</p> - -<p>Suddenly El Sardino’s voice interrupted the conversation, shouting:</p> - -<p>“Look here, leave me alone; you’re making my head hot.”</p> - -<p>El Manano, in the midst of the confusion, at that moment doubtless -remembered his business of charcoal-burning, for he examined closely his -interlocutor’s head, which was huge, and murmured in a thick voice:</p> - -<p>“Why, it would take a whole cartload of wood even to soften it a -little!”</p> - -<p>Everybody laughed when they saw El Sardino’s expression of indignation, -and went on talking.</p> - -<p>“One can do nothing here,” said Pacheco to Springer.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span> “We talk a lot, -but words are as far as we get. We Andalusians are very like the colts -from this part of the country: a great deal of hoof with very little -sole.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t say that, Señor José,” Cornejo ejaculated indignantly.</p> - -<p>“I say it because it is true. What do all those men on the committee do? -Will you tell me? What good is that Lodge?”</p> - -<p>“Even God’s interpreter don’t know that,” said El Manano, who had joined -the group in the last stages of alcoholic intoxication. “But here,” and -he struck his chest, “is a man, Señor José ... a man among men ... -willing to die on a barricade. Sí, Señor ... and whenever you or Don -Quentin give the signal, we’ll get after the <i>Oscurantistas</i>.... Long -live the <i>Constipation</i>, and death to Isabella II!”</p> - -<p>“That will do, that will do. Get out,” said the bandit.</p> - -<p>“But I’m always liberal, Señor José ... here, and everywhere else....”</p> - -<p>“Let’s go,” said Quentin. “He’ll be giving us a great drubbing.”</p> - -<p>They got up, and the innkeeper lighted their way to the street door with -a small lamp. They walked together as far as El Gran Capitán; Cornejo, -Bocanegra and Pacheco turned in the direction of Los Tejares; Quentin -and the Swiss went down the Calle de Gondomar.</p> - -<p>“But what do you expect of those people?” Springer asked presently.</p> - -<p>“I! I don’t know, my boy; now—to be strong, ... later—we shall see.”</p> - -<p>“Do you read Machiavelli?”</p> - -<p>“I read nothing. Why?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“You are an extraordinary man, Quentin.”</p> - -<p>“Bah!”</p> - -<p>“Really. A type worth studying.”</p> - -<p>“Well, look here, if you wish to study me, go to the Café del Recreo -some night. There you’ll meet the girl that’s living with me.”</p> - -<p>“I shall go.”</p> - -<p>They had reached Las Tendillas; it was very late, and the two friends -took leave of each other with a warm handshake.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX<br /><br /> -<small>THE PLEASANT IRONIES OF REALITY</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">A</span> FEW days later, on a Sunday afternoon, Quentin went out for a -horseback ride. Before turning toward the mountain, he drew rein in the -Paseo de la Victoria to watch the people as they went by.</p> - -<p>His reputation as a gambler, a dare-devil, and a rude and powerful man, -made it possible for him to have his little successes with the ladies, -and more than one of them looked at him with the long, staring, and -penetrating glance of a woman not altogether understood by her husband.</p> - -<p>As was customary on fiesta days, the carriages were driven to and fro -along the Paseo, and among them rode several horsemen on spirited -mounts. In one of his turns, Quentin saw Rafaela and Remedios alone in a -carriage. Neither of the two girls noticed his presence, and in order -that this should not happen again, Quentin placed himself in such a -position that they would have to see him as they came back.</p> - -<p>Remedios was the first to recognize him, and she told her sister. -Quentin bowed to them very ceremoniously. When they reached the extreme -end of the drive, Rafaela must have told her coachman to leave the -Paseo. Remedios looked back several times. Quentin rode up to the -carriage and entered into conversation with the two sisters. Rafaela was -pale and had dark rings under her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span> eyes; she was in the last month of -pregnancy; her eyes were sunken and her ears transparent.</p> - -<p>Remedios was prettier than ever; she was just reaching that intermediate -stage when the child becomes the woman.</p> - -<p>“Are you two girls well?” Quentin asked them with real interest.</p> - -<p>“I am well,” answered Rafaela a trifle weakly. “Just waiting from day to -day ... and you can see for yourself that Remedios is prettier and -healthier than ever.”</p> - -<p>Remedios burst into one of her silent laughs.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” replied Quentin, “one can see that the country is good for -Remedios.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t you believe it!” exclaimed the child. “I would rather live in our -house on the Calle del Sol.”</p> - -<p>“They say you have become a terrible person,” said Rafaela. “I believe -you write for the papers, ... that you keep bad company....”</p> - -<p>“Nothing to it—just gossip.”</p> - -<p>“And you don’t go to the house any more, either. You have deserted poor -grandfather.”</p> - -<p>“That’s true. I’m always thinking about going, but I never do.”</p> - -<p>“Well, he asks after you all the time. The poor dear is very ill, and so -lonely.... Since we have been in town, we have been to see him every -day.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I’ll go, too, don’t you worry.”</p> - -<p>“Go tomorrow,” said Remedios.</p> - -<p>“Very well, tomorrow it is. But did you two leave the Paseo on my -account?”</p> - -<p>“No,” replied Rafaela, “I don’t like to drive in that line for very long -at a time. It makes my head swim. We are on our way home, now. Adiós, -Quentin.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Adiós!”</p> - -<p>Quentin took the mountain road, and trotted his horse as far as the -Brillante lunch-room.</p> - -<p>The encounter had given rise to a mixture of sadness and irony within -him, which seemed as distressing as it did grotesque to him.</p> - -<p>“Is there anything of special significance about it?” he asked himself.</p> - -<p>No, there was nothing of special significance about it. It was the -logical thing. She had married; her husband was young; she was going to -have a child. It was the natural course of events; and yet, Quentin -wondered at her.</p> - -<p>We often see strange birds flying in the heavens. They are like men’s -illusions. Sometimes these birds fall, wounded by some hunter, and when -one sees them upon the ground with their sad eyes, their white -feathers,—they are a surprise to whomsoever contemplates them.... It is -because man idealizes all distant objects.</p> - -<p>Quentin, dominated by his half-dolorous, half-grotesque impressions, -returned slowly to the town.</p> - -<p>When he reached the Paseo de la Victoria, night had already fallen. The -line of carriages was still filing past. The mountain was wrapped in a -mist; the sun was sinking over the distant meadows, its great, red disk -hiding itself behind the yellow fields; a bluish hill surmounted by a -castle stood out in silhouette against the rosy-tinted horizon.</p> - -<p>Few carriages were passing now; above the old wall and gateway of -Almodóvar, the yellowish tower of the cathedral showed against the azure -sky, which was now beginning to be decorated with stars.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span></p> - -<p>All of the carriages left the Victoria to drive up and down the Paseo -del Gran Capitán.</p> - -<p>Quentin entered a café.</p> - -<p>“I must get out of this city,” he thought. “I ought to go to London.”</p> - -<p>Then he remembered the frequent rain, the wooden coachmen in their cabs, -the blue mist in the fields near Windsor, and the ships that glided down -the Thames in the fog.</p> - -<p>He left the café. The carriages continued to pass up and down El Gran -Capitán, enveloped in an atmosphere of dust.</p> - -<p>Quentin went home. María Lucena was getting ready to go to the theatre.</p> - -<p>“What’s the matter with you?” she said.</p> - -<p>“Nothing.”</p> - -<p>Quentin stretched out upon a sofa and spent hour after hour recalling -the fog, the dampness, and the cool atmosphere of England, until he fell -asleep.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></a>CHAPTER XX<br /><br /> -<small>PHILOSOPHERS WITHOUT REALIZING THE FACT</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>HE next evening, Quentin, whose nebulous and Anglomaniacal fever had -already quieted down, went to sup at the Café del Recreo.</p> - -<p>María Lucena, with her mother and a chorus girl friend were waiting for -him.</p> - -<p>“Well, you’re pretty late,” said María Lucena as she saw him enter the -café.</p> - -<p>Quentin shrugged his shoulders, sat down and called the waiter.</p> - -<p>María Lucena was the daughter of a farm operator near Cordova. She had -little voice, but a great deal of grace in her singing and dancing; a -strong pair of hips that oscillated with a quivering motion as she -walked, a pale, vague-looking face; and a pair of black, shining eyes. -María Lucena married a prompter, who after three or four months of -wedded life, considered it natural and logical that he should live on -his wife; but she broke up the combination by throwing him out of the -house.</p> - -<p>The girl who accompanied María Lucena in the café was a chorus girl of -the type that soon stand out from their sisters and begin to take small -parts. She was a small woman, with very lively black eyes, a thin nose, -a mouth with a mocking smile that lifted the commissures<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span> of her lips -upward, and black hair adorned with two red carnations.</p> - -<p>The old woman with them was María’s mother; fat, wrinkled, and covered -with moles, with a lively but suspicious look in her eyes.</p> - -<p>Quentin began to eat supper with the women. His melancholy fit of blues -of the day before had left him, but he looked sad for dignity’s sake, -and because it was consistent with his character.</p> - -<p>María Lucena, who had noticed Quentin’s abstraction, glanced at him from -time to time attentively.</p> - -<p>“Well, let’s be going,” said María.</p> - -<p>The two girls and the old woman arose, as it was time for the -entertainment to begin, and Quentin was left alone, distracted by his -efforts to convince himself as well as others, that he was very sad.</p> - -<p>Then Springer, the Swiss, came in and sat by Quentin’s side.</p> - -<p>“What’s the matter?” he said, taking his friend’s funereal look -seriously.</p> - -<p>“I feel sad today. Yesterday I saw a girl I used to like. The -granddaughter of a marquis. She who married Juan de Dios.”</p> - -<p>“What then? What happened to you?”</p> - -<p>“She looks badly. She won’t last long.”</p> - -<p>“The poor little thing!”</p> - -<p>In a lugubrious voice Quentin told all about his love affair, heaping on -insignificant details, and wearying excuses.</p> - -<p>Springer listened to him with a smile. His fine, spiritual countenance -changed expression sympathetically with everything his friend said. Then -he himself spoke confusedly. Yes, he too had had a romantic love<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span> -affair, ... a very romantic one, ... with a young lady; but he was only -a poor Swiss plebeian.</p> - -<p>Any one who heard them would have said that Quentin’s affair had lasted -years, and the Swiss’s only days. It was exactly the opposite. Quentin’s -fidelity lasted just about two or three months, at the end of which time -he began his affair with María Lucena. On the other hand, the Swiss had -been faithful for years and years to an impossible love.</p> - -<p>As they chatted, Don Gil Sabadía, the archæologist, appeared in the -café. After shaking hands with the Swiss and with Quentin, he sat down -at their table.</p> - -<p>“It’s a long time since I have seen you,” he said to Quentin. “How about -it—are we gaining ground?”</p> - -<p>“Psh! If I could get out....”</p> - -<p>“Don’t pay any attention to him today,” said Springer. “He’s full of -spleen.”</p> - -<p>“Why, what’s the matter?” asked the archæologist.</p> - -<p>“Women.”</p> - -<p>“The females in this city are very attractive, comrade; they are good to -look at.”</p> - -<p>“They seem insignificant to me,” said Quentin.</p> - -<p>“Man alive, don’t say that,” exclaimed the Swiss.</p> - -<p>“Pale-faced, rings under their eyes, weak, badly nourished....”</p> - -<p>“Will you deny their wit, too?” asked Springer.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” answered Quentin. “They make a lot of gestures, and have a -fantastic manner of speech that is overloaded with imagery. It’s a sort -of negro talk. I always notice that when María Lucena tells something, -she compares everything, whether material or not, with something -material: ‘it’s better than bread,’ or ‘it has <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span>less taste than a -squash’ ... everything must be materialized; if not, I don’t believe she -would understand it.... She is like a child ... like an impertinent -child.”</p> - -<p>“What a portrait!” exclaimed the Swiss, laughing.</p> - -<p>“Then she makes divisions and subdivisions of everything; every object -has twenty names. There is a little bottle of cherry brandy in the -house—of that cherry brandy that I hold as something sacred; well, -sometimes María calls it ‘the parrot,’ sometimes ‘the greenfinch,’ and -sometimes, ‘the green bird.’... And that isn’t all. The other day, -pointing to the bottle, she called to her mother from her bed: ‘Mother, -bring me that what’s-its-name.’... So you see, for that class of -people, language is not language—it is nothing.”</p> - -<p>“Doesn’t that indicate inventive genius?” asked the Swiss.</p> - -<p>“But what do I want of inventive genius, Springer?” exclaimed Quentin -loudly. “Why, a woman doesn’t need inventive genius! All she needs is to -be pretty and submissive, and nothing else....”</p> - -<p>“You are tremendous,” said the Swiss. “So that for you, a woman’s -intelligence is of no account?”</p> - -<p>“But that isn’t intelligence! That is to intelligence what the movement -of those men who go hopping about nodding to one and talking to another, -is to real activity. The former is not intelligence nor is the latter -activity. The thing is to have a nucleus of big, strong ideas that -direct your life.... As the English have.”</p> - -<p>“I have an antipathy for the English,” said the Swiss. “As for -Andalusia, I believe that if this country had more culture, it would -constitute one of the most comprehensive and enthusiastic of peoples. -Other Spaniards are constantly bargaining with their appreciation and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span> -admiration; the national vice of Spain is envy. Not so with the -Andalusians. They are ready to admire anything.”</p> - -<p>“It’s a racial weakness,” exclaimed Quentin. “They are all liars.”</p> - -<p>“You, who are an Andalusian, must not say that.”</p> - -<p>“I? Never. I am a Northerner. From London, Windsor.... Why did I ever -come here?”</p> - -<p>María Lucena, her little friend, and her mother came in. The Swiss and -Don Gil bowed to them.</p> - -<p>“You must defend the Andalusians,” said Springer to the actress; “for -Quentin is turning them inside out.”</p> - -<p>“What’s he here for, then?” inquired María bitterly.</p> - -<p>“That’s just what I was saying,” added Quentin. “What did I come to this -city for?”</p> - -<p>“I know what all this sadness comes from,” said María Lucena in -Quentin’s ear.</p> - -<p>“Do you? Well, I’m glad.”</p> - -<p>“You saw your cousin yesterday; the one with a face that looks as if she -had a sour stomach. They say that she can’t yet console herself for her -former sweetheart’s leaving her. That’s why she is so sad.”</p> - -<p>Quentin shrugged his shoulders.</p> - -<p>“Has she had the baby yet, or is it just dropsy?”</p> - -<p>Again Quentin did not deign to answer. She indignantly turned her head -away.</p> - -<p>“So, because you saw her changed into a worm, you came in so sad and -downhearted yesterday, eh?”</p> - -<p>“Possibly,” said Quentin coldly.</p> - -<p>“If you had seen me in the same condition, you would have felt it less.”</p> - -<p>“What intelligence!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Well, son, it’s time we quit,” replied the actress angrily. “If you -think nothing of me, I feel the same way toward you.”</p> - -<p>Quentin shrugged his shoulders. The others, seeing the prelude to a -tempest, were silent.</p> - -<p>María Lucena’s voice grew shrill and disagreeable.</p> - -<p>“Do you know what her stepmother, the Countess, said? Well, she said: -‘For all her prudishness, that hussy has married Juan de Dios for his -money!’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> - -<p>“What that female said is not important.”</p> - -<p>“All women are just females to you....”</p> - -<p>“And it’s true.”</p> - -<p>“Well, if you say that about me....”</p> - -<p>“Come, come, this is no place for a scene, and don’t shout so.”</p> - -<p>“Are you going to strike me? Tell me, are you going to strike me?”</p> - -<p>“No; I shall prudently withdraw first,” answered Quentin, rising and -getting ready to go.</p> - -<p>At this moment Cornejo, the poet, entered the café accompanied by a -tall, thin gentleman with an aquiline nose, and a very black and very -long beard cut in Moorish fashion. The two came up to the table and sat -down.</p> - -<p>The poet and the other gentleman had just left the last performance, and -were discussing it. Cornejo thought that the musical comedy they had -just seen was not altogether bad, the tall man with the black beard -insisted that as far as he was concerned it had been superbly wearisome. -This gloomy fellow then asserted that for him, life held little promise, -and that of all disagreeable and irritating lives, the most irritating -and disagreeable was that in a provincial capital; and of all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span> the lives -in provincial capitals, the worst was that of Cordova.</p> - -<p>In absolute contradiction to Leibnitz and his disciple, Doctor Pangloss, -the man with the black beard would have asserted, with veritable -conviction, that he lived the worst life in the worst town, in the worst -possible of worlds.</p> - -<p>“You are right,” said Quentin, with the honest intention of molesting -his hearers. “There is nothing so antipathetic as these provincial -capitals.”</p> - -<p>Don Gil, the archæologist, made a gesture of one who does not wish to -heed what he hears, and turning to Springer, said:</p> - -<p>“You are like me, are you not? A partisan of the antique.”</p> - -<p>“In many ways, yes,” replied the Swiss.</p> - -<p>“Theirs was a much better life. How wise were our ancestors! Everything -classified, everything in order. In the Calle de la Zapatería were the -boot-makers; in the Calle de Librerías, the book-sellers; in the Calle -de la Plata, the silversmiths. Each line of business had its street; -lawyers, bankers, advocates.... Today, everything is reversed. A -tremendous medley! There are scarcely any boot-makers in the Calle de la -Zapatería, nor are there any book-sellers in the Calle de Librerías. -These ædiles change the name of everything.... The Calle de Mucho Trigo, -where there used to be warehouses for wheat, today specializes in making -taffy. How absurd, Señor! How absurd! And they call that progress! -Nowadays men are endeavouring to wipe out the memory of a whole -civilization, of a whole history.”</p> - -<p>“What good does that memory do you?” asked the man with the black -beard.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span></p> - -<p>“What good does it do me!” cried Don Gil in astonishment.</p> - -<p>“Yes, what good does it do you?”</p> - -<p>“Merely to show us that we are decadent. Not comparing the Cordova of -today with that of the Arabian epoch, but comparing it with that of the -eighteenth century, one sees an enormous difference. There were hundreds -of looms here then, and factories where they made paper, and buttons, -and swords, and leather, and guitars. Today ... nothing. Factories, -shops, even mansions have been closed.”</p> - -<p>“That may be true; but, Don Gil, why do you want to know these -calamities?”</p> - -<p>“Why do I want to know them, Escobedo?” cried Don Gil, who was stupefied -by the questions of the man with the black beard.</p> - -<p>“Yes; I cannot see what good that knowledge does. If Cordova disappears, -why, another city will appear. It’s all the same!” Escobedo -continued—“Would that we could wipe out history, and with it all the -memories that sadden and wither the lives of men and multitudes! One -generation should accept from the preceding one that which is useful, -that is,—mere knowledge; for example: sugar is refined in this manner, -... potatoes are fried thusly.... Forget the rest. Why should we need -them to say: ‘this love you feel, this pain you suffer, this heroic deed -you have witnessed, is nothing new at all; five or six thousand other -men, exactly like you, felt it, suffered it, and witnessed it.’ What do -we gain by that? Will you tell me?”</p> - -<p>The archæologist shrugged his shoulders.</p> - -<p>“I believe you are right,” said Quentin.</p> - -<p>“History, like everything else we have to learn, ages<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span> us,” Escobedo -proceeded. “Knowledge is the enemy of felicity. This state of peace, of -tranquillity, which the Greeks called with relation to the organism, -<i>euphoria</i>, and with relation to the soul, <i>ataraxia</i>, cannot be -attained in any other way than by ignorance. Thus at the beginning of -life, at the age of twenty, when one sees the world superficially and -falsely, things appear brilliant and worth coveting. The theatre is -relatively fine, the music agreeable, the play amusing; but the evil -instinct of learning will make one some day peer from the wings and -commence to make discoveries and become disillusioned. One sees that the -actresses are ugly....”</p> - -<p>“Thanks!” interrupted María Lucena, dryly.</p> - -<p>“He doesn’t mean you,” Springer assured her.</p> - -<p>“And that besides being ugly, they are sad, and daubed with paint,” -continued Escobedo, heedless of the interruption. “The comedians are -stupid, dull, coarse; the scenery, seen near to, is badly painted. One -sees that all is shabby, rickety.... Women seem angels at first, then -one thinks them demons, and little by little one begins to understand -that they are females, like mares, and cows.... A little worse, perhaps, -on account of the human element in them.”</p> - -<p>“That’s true,” agreed Quentin.</p> - -<p>“You are very indecent,” said María Lucena, rising with an expression of -contempt and anger upon her lips. “Adiós! We’re going.”</p> - -<p>The three women left the café.</p> - -<p>“And the worst of it is,” continued Escobedo, “that they deceive us -miserably. They speak to us of the efficacy of strength; they tell us -that we must struggle with will and tenacity, in order to attain -triumph; and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span> then we find that there are no struggles, nor triumphs, -nor anything; that Fate shuffles our destinies, and that the essence of -felicity is in our own natures.”</p> - -<p>“You see everything very black,” said the Swiss, smiling.</p> - -<p>“I think he sees it all as it is,” replied Quentin.</p> - -<p>“Then one would find out,” said Escobedo, “that some of the exalted, -beautiful things are not as sublime as the poets say they are—love, for -instance; and that other humbler and more modest things, which ought to -be profoundly real, are not so at all.</p> - -<p>“Friendship! There is no such thing as friendship except when two -friends sacrifice themselves for each other. Sincerity! That, too, is -impossible. I do not believe that one can be sincere even in solitude. -Great and small, illustrious and humble, every individual who gazes into -a mirror will always see in the glass the reflection of a pretender.”</p> - -<p>“I’m with you,” said Quentin.</p> - -<p>“I believe,” declared the Swiss, “that you only look upon the dark side -of things.”</p> - -<p>“I force myself to see both sides,” responded Escobedo—“the bright as -well as the dark. I believe that in every deed, in every man, there is -both light and darkness; also that there is almost always one side that -is serious and tragic, and another that is mocking and grotesque.”</p> - -<p>“And what good does that do you?” asked Don Gil.</p> - -<p>“A whole lot. From a funereal and lachrymose individual, I am -metamorphosing myself into a jolly misanthrope. By the time I reach old -age, I expect to be as jolly as a pair of castanets.”</p> - -<p>“Greek philosophy!” said Don Gil contemptuously.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Señor Sabadía,” replied Escobedo, “you have the right to bother us all -with your talk about the signs on the streets of Cordova, and about the -customs of our respectable ancestors. Kindly grant us permission to -comment upon life in our own fashion.”</p> - -<p>“<i>Risum teneatis</i>,” said Don Gil.</p> - -<p>“Do you see?” continued Escobedo—“That’s another thing that bothers me. -Why does Don Gil have to thrust at us a quotation so common that even -the waiters in the café know it?”</p> - -<p>The archæologist, not deigning to notice this remark, commenced to -recite an ancient Cordovese <i>romance</i> that went:</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Jueves, era jueves,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">día de mercado,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">y en Santa Marina<br /></span> -<span class="i0">tocaban rebato.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<div class="blockquot"><p>(Thursday, it was Thursday, Market Day, and in the Church of Santa -Marina they rang the call to arms.)</p></div> - -<p>Escobedo went on philosophising; a waiter in the café began to pile the -chairs upon the tables; another put out the gas, and the customers went -out into the street.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI"></a>CHAPTER XXI<br /><br /> -<small>JUAN TALKS</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>HE afternoon of the following day, Quentin went to the Calle del Sol to -see his grandfather, according to his promise to Rafaela. There was a -carriage at the door. Juan, with his hat in his hand, was talking to an -elegant lady with black eyes.</p> - -<p>“Do you mean to say I cannot go in?” said she unpleasantly.</p> - -<p>“The Señoritas have told me that they were not at home to any one.”</p> - -<p>“Not even to me?”</p> - -<p>“Those are my orders.”</p> - -<p>“Very well. I shall wait until my husband comes.”</p> - -<p>“It will be useless,” said Juan emphatically.</p> - -<p>“Why?” asked she haughtily.</p> - -<p>“Because the Señor Marqués told me that he does not wish to see you.”</p> - -<p>The woman made no reply.</p> - -<p>“Home!” she said to the coachman angrily.</p> - -<p>Quentin went up to Juan.</p> - -<p>“What’s up? May I not come in?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“You may, of course,” replied the gardener, “but not that designing -hussy.”</p> - -<p>“Who is she?”</p> - -<p>“The Countess. After saying all sorts of monstrous<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span> things about Rafaela -and her grandfather, the hussy comes here to boast of her charity.”</p> - -<p>“How is the Señor Marqués?”</p> - -<p>“Very bad.”</p> - -<p>“Has his illness been aggravated, or is it following its natural -course?”</p> - -<p>“It has been aggravated.... And meanwhile, the Count—do you know what -he’s doing? Well, he’s selling everything he can lay his hands on. He’s -even sold the lead pipes and the paving stones in the stable, which he -tore up with his own hands. I tell you it’s a shame....”</p> - -<p>“Why don’t they stop him?”</p> - -<p>“Who is there to do it? It’s very sad. While the master is in bed, the -second-hand men come and cart everything away. They’ve removed -tapestries, bronzes, the gilt writing-desks that were in the hall, the -sideboard, the dressing tables ... and that shrewd female, who knows all -about the business, wants to come and take part in the robbery. One can -say nothing to the Count; but to that wicked woman, it’s different. If -you could see her! I don’t see how she dares look at me after what has -happened between us.”</p> - -<p>“Between whom? You and her?”</p> - -<p>“Sí, Señor. Have they never told you?”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“Well, you know I have a son, who, though not so much to look at now, -was several years ago a very beautiful child, whiter than snow, and with -a pair of cheeks just bursting with blood. Moreover, he was strong, -healthy, and very innocent. Well, pretty soon the lad began to get pale, -and thin, and black circles appeared under his eyes. His mother and I -wondered what was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span> the matter with him, and what his trouble was. But it -was useless; we were unable to understand what was going on, until one -night the coachman saw him climbing about the roof. The man hid himself -and found out everything. At that time the Countess lived here with her -husband, and my son was on his way to her. When I told the Marquis what -was happening, he went and loaded a pistol, and was for shooting his -daughter-in-law. But she, the shrewd thing, came to me and said: ‘If you -need anything for your son, let me know.’—‘Señora,’ I answered, ‘you -are a very vicious woman, and my son shall never see you again.’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> - -<p>“Whom is she living with now?”</p> - -<p>“With Periquito Gálvez.”</p> - -<p>“Who is he?”</p> - -<p>“A rich farmer.”</p> - -<p>“Young?”</p> - -<p>“No; he’s over fifty. But she would take to any one. When he came to an -understanding with her, they say that one day he found one of the -Countess’ garters, which had a little sign on it that read:</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Intrépido es amor;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">de todo sale vencedor.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<div class="blockquot"><p>(Love is fearless; it conquers all obstacles.)</p></div> - -<p>“Periquito had a pair of garters made just like it, with letters of -diamonds and pearls, which he gave to her.”</p> - -<p>“How magnificent!”</p> - -<p>“It certainly was.”</p> - -<p>Quentin left Juan, and went up to see the sick man.</p> - -<p>In a drawing-room near the bedroom, Rafaela and Remedios were talking to -a thin, graceful, very polished-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span>looking gentleman. It was El Pollo -Real, brother of the Marquis and of Señora Patrocinio. From time to time -Colmenares, the hunchback, came out of the bedroom red-eyed, only to go -back again immediately.</p> - -<p>“I am going to pray at the hermitage of La Fuensanta,” said Remedios to -Quentin. “Do you wish to come with me?”</p> - -<p>Remedios, her young maid-servant, and Quentin left the house as evening -fell.</p> - -<p>The two women said their prayers, and then Remedios and Quentin returned -chatting from the hermitage. Remedios told Quentin that some of her -stepmother’s invectives had reached Rafaela’s ears, and Quentin promised -the girl that he would silence the Countess. He thought of dedicating a -few stings to her in <i>La Víbora</i> which might mortify her. Then Remedios -spoke of her brother-in-law. She felt a strong antipathy for him, and, -while realizing that he was good and amiable, she could not bear him.</p> - -<p>To prolong the conversation, they took the longest way home.</p> - -<p>It was an autumn day with a deep blue sky.</p> - -<p>In the west, long, narrow clouds tinged with red, floated one above the -other in several strata. They walked by the Church of San Lorenzo. The -square tower rose before them with its angel figure on the point of the -roof; the great rose-window, lit by the rosy hue of late afternoon, -seemed some ethereal, incorporeal thing, and above the rosette, a white -figure of a saint stood out against a vaulted niche.</p> - -<p>They returned by the Calle de Santa María de Gracia. Remedios read the -signs on the stores as she passed them, and the names of the streets. -One of these was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span> called Puchinelas, another, Juan Palo, another El -Verdugo....</p> - -<p>A lot of questions suggested themselves to the child, to which Quentin -did not know how to reply.</p> - -<p>They went along the Calle de Santa María. Overhead, the rosy sky showed -between the two broken lines of roofs; the water pipes stuck into the -air from the eaves like the gargoyles and cantilevers of a Gothic -church; the houses were bathed in a mysterious light....</p> - -<p>Against the white walls of an ancient convent with tall Venetian blinds, -the scarlet splendour of the sky quivered gently; and in the distance, -at the end of the street, the hoary tower of a church, as it received -the last rays of the sun, shone like a red-hot coal.</p> - -<p>When they reached the house, the sky was already beginning to lose its -blood-red colour; a veil of pale yellow opal invaded the whole celestial -vault; toward the west it was green, to the east, it was blue, an -intense blue, with great, purple bands....<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII"></a>CHAPTER XXII<br /><br /> -<small>STICKS, SHOTS, AND STONES</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>HAT night, Quentin went to look for Cornejo at the print-shop where <i>La -Víbora</i> was published.</p> - -<p>The shop was situated in a cellar, and contained a very antique press, -which took a whole day to print its fifteen hundred copies.</p> - -<p>“For the next number,” said Quentin to the poet, “you’ve got to make up -a poisonous poem in the same style as those that have been published -against the Alguacil Ventosilla, Padre Tumbón, and La Garduña.”</p> - -<p>“Good. Against whom is it to be?”</p> - -<p>“La Aceitunera.”</p> - -<p>“The Countess?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“The devil! Isn’t she a relative of yours?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, on the left hand side.”</p> - -<p>“Let’s have it. What must I say?”</p> - -<p>“You already know that they call her La Aceitunera?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“And you also know that she has no morals to boast of?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Well, with that you’ve got it all made. As a sort of refrain to your -poem, you may use the quotation she wears on her garters; it goes like -this:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Intrépido es amor;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">de todo sale vencedor.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>“Very good; but give me an idea.”</p> - -<p>“Do you need still more? You can begin with a poetic invocation, asking -every crib in Cordova who the lady of such and such a description is; -then give hers; including the fact that she wears garters with this -motto engraved upon them:</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Intrépido es amor;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">de todo sale vencedor.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>“Good! For example: I’ll say that she has black eyes, and a wonderful -pair of hips, and—”</p> - -<p>“An olive complexion.”</p> - -<p>“And an olive complexion ... and I’ll finish up with:</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Y ésta leyenda escrita en la ancha liga,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">que tantos vieron con igual fatiga:<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Intrépido es amor;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">de todo sale vencedor.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<div class="blockquot"><p>(And this legend written upon her broad garter, which so many men -have seen with the same feeling of fatigue: etc.)</p></div> - -<p>“Eh? How’s that?”</p> - -<p>“Very good.”</p> - -<p>“All right, it won’t take a minute to finish it. What shall I call the -poem?”</p> - -<p>“<i>To La Aceitunera.</i>”</p> - -<p>“It’s done. How would you like me to begin like this?:</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">Casas de la Morería;<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Trascastillo y Murallón,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">ninfas, dueñas, y tarascas,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">baratilleras de amor.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<div class="blockquot"><p>(Houses of La Morería, Trascastillo and Murallón; nymphs, -mistresses, and lewd women, second-hand dealers in love.)”</p></div> - -<p>“You may begin as you wish. The idea is that the thing must hurt.”</p> - -<p>“It’ll hurt, all right; never fear.”</p> - -<p>Cornejo finished the poem; two days later the paper came out, and in -cafés and casinos, the only subject of conversation was the Countess’ -garters, and everybody maliciously repeated the refrain:</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Intrépido es amor;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">de todo sale vencedor.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>The following night, Quentin was waiting for the poet in the Café del -Recreo. He had made an appointment with him for ten o’clock, but Cornejo -had failed to appear.</p> - -<p>Quentin waited for him for over two hours, and finally, tired out, he -started to go home. As he left the café, a little man wrapped in a cloak -came up to him at the very door.</p> - -<p>“Listen to me a second,” he said.</p> - -<p>“Eh!”</p> - -<p>“Be very careful, Don Quentin, they are following you.”</p> - -<p>“Me?”</p> - -<p>“Sí, Señor.”</p> - -<p>“Who are you? Let’s hear first who you are.”</p> - -<p>“I am Carrahola.”</p> - -<p>“Aren’t you angry at me for what I did to you the other night?”</p> - -<p>“No, Señor, you’re a brave fellow.”</p> - -<p>“Thanks.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Well, Señor José has sent Cantarote, the gipsy, and me to go home with -you.”</p> - -<p>“Bah! No one interferes with me.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t say what you know nothing about. Take this club”—and he gave him -one which he had concealed under his cloak—“and walk on.”</p> - -<p>“Aren’t you armed, Carrahola?”</p> - -<p>“I?—Look!”—and lifting aside his cloak, he showed his sash, which was -filled with stones.</p> - -<p>Quentin took the club, wrapped himself up to his eyes in his cloak, and -began to walk slowly along the middle of the street, looking carefully -before passing cross-streets and corners. When he reached one corner, he -saw two men standing in the doorway of a convent, and two others -directly opposite. No sooner had he perceived them, than he stopped, -went to a doorway, took off his cloak and wrapped it about his left arm, -and grasped the club with his right hand.</p> - -<p>When the four men saw a man hiding himself, they supposed that it was -Quentin, and rushed toward him. Quentin parried two or three blows with -his left arm.</p> - -<p>“Evohé! Evohé!” he cried; and an instant later began to rain blow after -blow about him with his club, with such vigour, that he forced his -attackers to retreat. In one of his flourishes, he struck an adversary -on the head, and his club flew to pieces. The man turned and fell -headlong to the ground, like a grain-sack.</p> - -<p>Carrahola and Cantarote came running to the scene of the fray; one -throwing stones, the other waving a knife as long as a bayonet.</p> - -<p>Carrahola hit one of the men in the face with a stone, and left him -bleeding profusely. Of the three who were left comparatively sound, two -took to their heels, while<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span> the strongest, the one who seemed to be the -leader of the gang, was engaged in a fist fight with Quentin. The -latter, who was an adept in the art of boxing, of which the other was -totally ignorant, thrust his fist between his adversary’s arms, and gave -him such a blow upon the chin, that he fell backward and would have -broken his neck, had he not stumbled against a wall. As the man fell, he -drew a pistol from his pocket and fired.</p> - -<p>“Gentlemen,” said Quentin to Carrahola and Cantarote; “to your homes, -and let him save himself who can!”</p> - -<p>Each began to run, and the three men escaped through the narrow -alleyways.</p> - -<p>The next afternoon Quentin went to the Casino. The newspapers spoke of -the battle of the day before as an epic; a ruffian known as El Mochuelo, -had been found in the street with concussion of the brain, and a -contusion on his head; besides this, there were pools of blood in the -street. According to the newspaper reports, passions had been at a white -heat. Immediately after the description of the fight, followed the news -that the notable poet Cornejo had been a victim of an attack by persons -unknown.</p> - -<p>“They must have beaten him badly,” thought Quentin.</p> - -<p>He went to Cornejo’s house and found him in bed, his head covered with -bandages, and smelling of arnica.</p> - -<p>“What’s the matter?” asked Quentin.</p> - -<p>“Can’t you see? They gave me the devil of a beating!”</p> - -<p>“They tried to do it to me yesterday, but I knocked a few of them down.”</p> - -<p>“Well, don’t be overconfident.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“No, I’m not; I carry a pistol in each pocket, and I can’t tell you what -would happen to the man who comes near me.”</p> - -<p>“It’s a bad situation.”</p> - -<p>“<i>Ca</i>, man! There’s nothing to be frightened about.”</p> - -<p>“You can do as you like, but I’m not going out until I’m well; nor will -I write for <i>La Víbora</i> any more.”</p> - -<p>“Very well. Do as you wish.”</p> - -<p>“I’ve got to live.”</p> - -<p>“Psh! I don’t see why,” replied Quentin contemptuously. Then he added, -“See here, my lad, if this business scares you, take up sewing on a -machine. Perhaps you’ll earn more.”... And leaving the poet, Quentin -returned to the Casino. He was the man of the hour; he related his -adventure again and again, and in order that the same thing might not be -repeated that night, a group of eight or ten of his friends accompanied -him to his house.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXIII<br /><br /> -<small>PURSUIT AND ESCAPE</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">Q</span>UENTIN was worried, and in spite of his two pistols and the sword-cane -that he carried, he feared that the first chance they got, they would -set a trap for him and leave him in the same condition as they had left -Cornejo.</p> - -<p>He was very mistrustful of María Lucena, because she was beginning to -hate him and was capable of doing him almost any ill turn.</p> - -<p>Some two weeks after the nocturnal attack, Quentin went to the Café del -Recreo. As he was learning to be very cautious, before entering he -looked through a window and saw María Lucena talking to an -elegantly-dressed gentleman. He waited a moment, and when a waiter went -by, he said to him:</p> - -<p>“See here, who is that gentleman there?”</p> - -<p>“The clean-shaven one dressed in black?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Señor Gálvez.”</p> - -<p>“Periquito Gálvez?”</p> - -<p>“Sí, Señor.”</p> - -<p>Quentin entered the café and pretended not to see the fellow. He noticed -that María Lucena was more pleasant to him than ever before.</p> - -<p>“There’s something up,” he said to himself. “They are getting something -ready for me.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Quentin was not jealous, he was already very tired of María Lucena, and -if any one had made off with her, he would have thanked him rather than -otherwise.</p> - -<p>“Between the two of them,” thought Quentin, referring to Gálvez and -María, “they are plotting something against me.”</p> - -<p>Presently, Quentin got up, and left the café without even nodding to -María.</p> - -<p>“I’m going to see Pacheco,” he murmured.</p> - -<p>He was going along the Calle del Arco Real, when he looked back and saw -two men following him.</p> - -<p>“Devil take you,” he remarked, seizing a pistol.</p> - -<p>He raised the muffler of his cloak, and began to walk very rapidly. It -was a cold, disagreeable night; the crescent moon shone fitfully from -behind the huge clouds that were passing over it. Quentin tried to shake -off his pursuers by gliding rapidly through tortuous alleyways, but the -two men were doubtless well acquainted with the twists and turns of the -city, for if he happened to lose them for an instant, he soon saw them -behind him again.</p> - -<p>After a half-hour’s chase, Quentin noticed that there were no longer -only two pursuers, but four of them, and that with them was a watchman. -Presently there were six of them.</p> - -<p>He sought safety in his legs, and began to run like a deer. He came out -opposite the Mosque, went down by the Triunfo Column, through the Puerta -Romana, and along the bridge until he reached the foot of the tower of -La Calahorra. Everywhere he heard the whistles of the watchmen.</p> - -<p>At the exit of the bridge, there were a couple of <i>guardias civiles</i>. -Perhaps they were not warned of his flight; but suppose they were?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span></p> - -<p>Quentin retreated. From the bridge he could see the Cathedral, and the -black wall of the Mosque, whose battlements were outlined against the -sky.</p> - -<p>A vapour arose from the river; below him the dark water was boiling -against the arches of the bridge; in the distance it looked like -quicksilver, and the houses on the Calle de la Ribera were reflected -trembling on its surface.</p> - -<p>As he turned toward the city, Quentin saw his pursuers at the bridge -entrance.</p> - -<p>“They’ve trapped me!” he exclaimed in a rage.</p> - -<p>They were evidently reconnoitering the bridge on both sides, for the -watchman’s lantern oscillated from left to right, and from right to -left.</p> - -<p>Quentin crept toward one of the vaulted niches in the middle of the -bridge.</p> - -<p>“Shall I get in there? They will find that easier than anything else. -What shall I do?”</p> - -<p>To throw himself into the river was too dangerous. To attack his -pursuers was absurd.</p> - -<p>As if to add to his misfortunes, the moon was coming from behind the -cloud that had hidden it, and was shedding its light over the bridge. -Quentin climbed into the niche.</p> - -<p>What irritated him most was being made prisoner in such a stupid way. He -did not fear prison, but rather the loss of prestige with the people. -Those who had been enthusiastic over his deeds, when they learned that -he had been made prisoner, would begin to look upon him as a common, -everyday person, and that did not suit him in the least.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span></p> -<p>“I must do something ... anything. What can I do?”</p> - -<p>To face his pursuers with his pistol from the niche would be gallant, -but it would mean exposing himself to death, or going to prison.</p> - -<p>Turning about in the niche, Quentin stumbled over a huge rock.</p> - -<p>“Let me see. We’ll try a little fake.”</p> - -<p>He removed his cloak and wrapped the stone in it, making a sort of -dummy. Then he took the bundle in his arms and stepped to the railing of -the bridge.</p> - -<p>“There he is! There he is!” shouted his pursuers.</p> - -<p>Quentin tipped the dummy toward the river.</p> - -<p>“He’s going to jump!”</p> - -<p>Quentin gave a loud shout, and pushed the stone wrapped in the cloak -into the water, where it splashed noisily. This done, he jumped back; -and then, on hands and knees, returned quickly to his niche, climbed -into it, and pressed himself against the inside wall.</p> - -<p>His pursuers ran by the niches without looking into either of them.</p> - -<p>“How awful!” said one of the men.</p> - -<p>“I can’t see him.”</p> - -<p>“I think I can.”</p> - -<p>“Let’s go to the mill at El Medio,” said one who appeared to be the -leader. “There ought to be a boat there. Watchman, you stay here.”</p> - -<p>Quentin heard this conversation, trembling in his hole; he listened to -their footsteps, and when they grew fainter in the distance, he got up -and looked through a narrow loophole that was cut in the niche. The -watchman had placed his lamp upon the railing of the bridge, and was -looking into the river.</p> - -<p>“I have no time to lose,” murmured Quentin.</p> - -<p>Quickly he took off his tie and his kerchief, jumped to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span> the bridge -without making the slightest noise, and crept toward the watchman. -Simultaneously one hand fell upon the watcher’s neck, and the other upon -his mouth.</p> - -<p>“If you call out, I’ll throw you into the river,” said Quentin in a low -voice.</p> - -<p>The man scarcely breathed from fright. Quentin gagged him with the -handkerchief, then tied his hands behind him, took off his cap, placed -his own hat upon the watchman’s head, and carrying him like a baby, -thrust him into the niche.</p> - -<p>“If you try to get out of there, you’re a dead man,” said Quentin.</p> - -<p>This done, he put on the watchman’s hat, seized his pike and lantern, -and walked slowly toward the bridge gate.</p> - -<p>There were two men there, members of the <i>guardia civil</i>.</p> - -<p>“There! There he goes,” Quentin said to them, pointing toward the meadow -of El Corregidor.</p> - -<p>The two men began to run in the indicated direction. Quentin went -through the bridge gate, threw the lantern and the pike to the ground, -and began to run desperately. He kept hearing the whistles of the -watchmen; when he saw a lantern, he slipped through some alley and -fairly flew along. At last he was able to reach El Cuervo’s tavern, -where he knocked frantically upon the door.</p> - -<p>“Who is it?” came from within.</p> - -<p>“I, Quentin. They’re chasing me.”</p> - -<p>El Cuervo opened the door, and lifted his lantern to Quentin’s face to -make sure of his identity.</p> - -<p>“All right. Come in. Take the light.”</p> - -<p>Quentin took the lantern, and the innkeeper slid a couple of -formidable-looking bolts into place.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Now give me the lantern, and follow me.”</p> - -<p>El Cuervo crossed the tavern, came out into a dirty courtyard, opened a -little door, and, followed by Quentin, began to climb a narrow stairway -which was decorated with cobwebs. They must have reached the height of -the second story when the innkeeper stopped, fastened the lantern to a -beam on the wall, and holding on to some beam ends that were sticking -from the wall, climbed up to a high garret.</p> - -<p>“Let me have the lantern,” said El Cuervo.</p> - -<p>“Here it is.”</p> - -<p>“Now, <i>you</i> come up.”</p> - -<p>The garret was littered with laths and rubbish. El Cuervo, crouching -low, went to one end of it, where he put out the light, slid between two -beams that scarcely looked as if they would permit the passage of a man, -and disappeared. Quentin, not without a great effort, did the same, and -found himself upon the ridge of a roof.</p> - -<p>“Do you see that garret?” said El Cuervo.</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Well, go over to it, keeping always on this side; push the window, -which will give way, and enter; go down four or five steps; find a door; -open it with this key, and you will be in your room—safer than the King -of Spain.”</p> - -<p>“How about getting out?”</p> - -<p>“You will be notified.”</p> - -<p>“And eating?”</p> - -<p>“Your meals will be sent to you. When Señor José gets back, he’ll come -to see you.”</p> - -<p>“Good; give me the key.”</p> - -<p>“Here it is. Adiós, and good luck.”</p> - -<p>The innkeeper disappeared whence he had come.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span> Quentin, following the -example of a cat, went tearing across the tiles.</p> - -<p>From that height he could see the city, caressed by the silver light of -the moon. Through the silence of the night came the murmuring of the -river. In the background, far above the roofs of the town, he could make -out the dark shadow of Sierra Morena, with its white orchards bathed in -the bluish light, its great bulk silhouetted against the sky, and veiled -by a light mist.</p> - -<p>Quentin reached the attic, pushed open the window, descended the stairs -as he had been told, opened the door, lit a match, and had scarcely done -so when he heard a shriek of terror. Quentin dropped the match in his -fright. There was some one in the garret!</p> - -<p>“Who’s there?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“Oh, sir,” replied a cracked voice, “for God’s sake don’t harm me.”</p> - -<p>When Quentin saw that he was being begged for help, he realized that -there was no danger, so he lit another match, and with it, a lamp. By -the light of this, he saw a woman sitting up in a bed, her head covered -with curlpapers.</p> - -<p>“Have no fear, Señora,” said Quentin; “I must have made a mistake and -entered the wrong room.”</p> - -<p>“Well, if that is the case, why don’t you go?”</p> - -<p>“The fact is, I’m surprised that it should be so. This was the only -garret in the roof. Would you like an explanation? El Cuervo, the -landlord of yonder corner tavern, told me to come here; that this was -his garret.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I came here because José Pacheco brought me.”</p> - -<p>“Pacheco?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Then, this is the right garret.”</p> - -<p>“Do you know Pacheco?” asked the woman.</p> - -<p>“He is a good friend of mine. Do you know him too?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir. He is my lover,” sighed the woman. Quentin felt an -overpowering desire to laugh.</p> - -<p>“Then, my lady,” he said, “I am very sorry, but I am pursued by the -police, and cannot leave this place.”</p> - -<p>“Nor can I, my good sir, permit you to remain in my bedroom.”</p> - -<p>“What do you want me to do?”</p> - -<p>“Go and sleep outside.”</p> - -<p>“Where? Upon the roof? You don’t know what kind of a night it is.”</p> - -<p>“You are not very gallant, Señor.”</p> - -<p>“Pneumonia would be less gallant with me, Señora.”</p> - -<p>“Do you think that I am going to allow you to remain in this room all -night?”</p> - -<p>“See here, Señora, I’m not by any means trying to violate you. Allow me -to take a mattress, and stretch out upon the floor.”</p> - -<p>“Impossible.”</p> - -<p>“If you are afraid, leave the lamp lit. Furthermore, for your better -tranquillity, and as a means of defence for your honour, I hand you -these two pistols. They are loaded,” said Quentin, as he cautiously -unloaded them.</p> - -<p>“Very well, then; I agree,” replied the woman.</p> - -<p>Quentin took a mattress, spread it upon the floor, and threw himself -upon it.</p> - -<p>“Woe unto you, Señor,” said the woman in a terrible voice, “if you dare -to take any undue liberties.”</p> - -<p>Quentin, who was tired, began in a very few minutes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span> to snore like a -water-carrier. The woman sat up in bed and scrutinized him closely.</p> - -<p>“Oh! What an unpoetic person!” she murmured.</p> - -<p>When Quentin awoke and found himself in the room, where a ray of light -poured in through a high, closed window, he got up to open it. The -poetic woman at that moment was snoring, with a pistol clasped in her -fingers.</p> - -<p>Quentin opened the window, and as he did so, he discovered that a cord -was attached to the window lock. He jerked it, found that it was heavy, -and pulled it toward him until a covered basket appeared.</p> - -<p>“Here’s breakfast,” announced Quentin.</p> - -<p>And sure enough; inside was a roast chicken, bread, a bottle of wine, -and rolled in the napkin, a paper upon which was written in huge -letters:</p> - -<p>“Do not come out; they are still hanging around the street.”</p> - -<p>Quentin threw the basket out of the window, and lowered it the full -length of the string. He was preparing to eat his breakfast with a good -appetite, when the woman opened her eyes.</p> - -<p>“Good morning, Señora,” said Quentin. “They have sent me my breakfast. -I’ll treat if you wish. I’ll go out for a stroll on the roof, and -meanwhile, you can be dressing yourself. Then, if you would like to heat -the food....”</p> - -<p>“Oh, no. No cooking,” replied she. “I feel very ill.”</p> - -<p>“Well, then; we’ll eat the chicken cold.”</p> - -<p>Quentin went out on the roof. He took out his pencil and notebook, and -busied himself writing an article for <i>La Víbora</i>.</p> - -<p>When he had finished, he went back to the garret.</p> - -<p>“I’m not dressed yet,” said the woman.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span></p> - -<p>Quentin returned to the roof; wrote two selections for the paper, one -insulting the Government and the other the Mayor; then he crawled about -the roof. On an azotea some distance away, a girl was arranging some -flower pots. Probably she was pretty.... Quentin drew near to watch her.</p> - -<p>He was surprised in this espionage by Pacheco, who came on all fours -along the ridge pole.</p> - -<p>“Good day, comrade,” said Pacheco.</p> - -<p>“Hello, my friend.”</p> - -<p>“I must congratulate you, comrade; what you did yesterday is one of the -funniest things I ever heard of.”</p> - -<p>“Who told you about it?”</p> - -<p>“Why, they talk of nothing else in the whole town! This morning, some -were still betting that your corpse was at the bottom of the river, and -they went out in boats; but instead of the fish they expected to catch, -they pulled out a rock wrapped in a cloak. All Cordova is laughing at -the affair. You certainly were a good one.”</p> - -<p>“But listen, comrade,” said Quentin, pointing to the garret, “what kind -of a lark have you in that cage?”</p> - -<p>“Ah! That’s true! It’s a crazy woman. She says she’s in love with me, -and in order to get rid of her, I brought her to this place, where she -can’t bother me.”</p> - -<p>“How did she get here? Along the roofs, too?”</p> - -<p>“Yes; disguised as a man. In her pantaloons she had a look about her -that was enough to make you want to kick her in the stomach and throw -her into the courtyard.”</p> - -<p>“Very well, then; let’s go to the garret, where breakfast is waiting. -The thing I hate about this, comrade, is not being able to get out.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Well, it’s impossible now; the police have their eyes peeled.”</p> - -<p>“And haven’t they tried to arrest you, my friend?”</p> - -<p>“Me? They can’t do it.... I have a pack of bloodhounds that can smell -from here everything that goes on in the other end of Cordova. Just give -one of them a message, and he tears through the atmosphere faster than a -greyhound.”</p> - -<p>They knocked at the garret.</p> - -<p>“I’m not dressed yet,” came from within.</p> - -<p>“Come, Señora,” exclaimed Quentin. “You are abusing my appetite. If you -don’t want to open the door, give me the basket. I warn you, Pacheco is -here.”</p> - -<p>When she heard this, the woman opened the door and threw herself into -the arms of the bandit. She had her hair crimped, covered with little -bow knots, and was wearing a white wrapper.</p> - -<p>Quentin took the basket.</p> - -<p>“Well,” he said, “I’ll leave you two alone if you wish.”</p> - -<p>“No!” exclaimed Pacheco in terror; then turning to the woman, he added: -“This gentleman and I have some important matters to discuss. We are -gambling with life.”</p> - -<p>“First we’ll eat a little,” said Quentin. “That’s an idea for you.”</p> - -<p>“An alimentary one.”</p> - -<p>They divided the chicken.</p> - -<p>“And do they say in town who it was that ordered them to pursue me?” -asked Quentin.</p> - -<p>“Everybody knows that it was La Aceitunera,” answered Pacheco. “You -insisted upon discrediting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span> her, but she grew strong under the -punishment, and wants no more stings from <i>La Víbora</i>. Then, so they -say, as she seemed no mere stack of straw to the Governor, she allowed -herself to be flirted with, and begged him to throw you into jail, and -to stop your paper.”</p> - -<p>“We’ll see about that.”</p> - -<p>“It will be done. He does what he wants here,” replied the bandit. “You -already know what they say in Cordova: ‘Charity in El Potro, Health in -the cemetery, and Truth in the fields.’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> - -<p>“Then we’ll go into the fields to look for it,” said Quentin.</p> - -<p>“Not that”—answered Pacheco. “I won’t allow you to lose out; but if you -want to give that woman a good scare....”</p> - -<p>“Have you thought of some way?”</p> - -<p>“Not yet; are you capable of doing something on a large scale?”</p> - -<p>“I am capable of anything, comrade.”</p> - -<p>“Good. Wait for me until tonight.”</p> - -<p>“Very well,” said Quentin. “Will you take these papers to the printer -for me?”</p> - -<p>“What are they?”</p> - -<p>“Poison for <i>La Víbora</i>, or articles, if you like that better.”</p> - -<p>“Give them to me. I’ll be here at seven.” Then the bandit, turning to -the woman, said: “Adiós, my soul!”</p> - -<p>“Won’t you stay a little while, José?” she asked.</p> - -<p>“No. Life is too short,” he answered gruffly, and went out through the -attic window.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXIV<br /><br /> -<small>THE VICTIM OF A FEUILLETON</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>HE woman and Quentin were left alone.</p> - -<p>“If you don’t want me to stay here,” said Quentin—“tell me so.”</p> - -<p>“Do you hate me so much for last night?” she said.</p> - -<p>“I? No, Señora; but since this chamber is so narrow that one can -scarcely move in it, you must let me know if I’m in your way.”</p> - -<p>“No; you’re not in my way.”</p> - -<p>Quentin seated himself upon a chair, took out his note book and pencil, -and made up his mind to attempt one of the most disagreeable and -difficult things in the world for him—making verses. Not by any chance -did a consonance occur to him, nor did a single verse come out with the -right number of feet, unless he counted them upon his fingers.</p> - -<p>The good woman, with her crimped hair covered with little bow-knots, and -her white wrapper, was contemplating the roof of the garret with -desperate weariness.</p> - -<p>Thus they remained for a long time. Suddenly the woman exclaimed in a -choked voice:</p> - -<p>“Señor!”</p> - -<p>“What is it, Señora?”</p> - -<p>“I seem very ridiculous in your eyes, do I not?”</p> - -<p>“No, Señora,—why?” asked Quentin, and mumbled<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span> to himself: “nude, -crude, stewed, conclude—No, they don’t seem to come very easily.”</p> - -<p>“I am very unhappy, Señor.”</p> - -<p>“Why, what’s the matter, Señora?” and Quentin went on mumbling: “rude, -gratitude, fortitude.... No, they do not come easily.”</p> - -<p>“Will you listen to me, my good sir? At present you alone can advise -me.”</p> - -<p>“Speak, Señora, I am all ears,” answered Quentin, shutting his note -book, and putting away his pencil.</p> - -<p>The woman heaved a deep sigh, and began as follows:</p> - -<p>“I, my good sir, am called Gumersinda Monleón. My father was a soldier, -and I spent my childhood in Seville. I was an only child, and very much -spoiled. My parents satisfied every caprice of mine that was within -their means. It was ‘Sinda’ here, and ‘Sinda’ there—as they had -abbreviated my name.... As I imagined myself at that time to be a -somewhat exceptional person, and believed that I was out of my proper -sphere in the modest home of my parents, I took up reading romantic -novels, and I think I was by way of having my head turned by them.</p> - -<p>“I lived with all the personages of my books; it seemed to me that all I -had to do was to reach Paris and ask the first gendarme for Guillaboara, -and he would immediately give me her address, or at least, that of her -father, Prince Rudolf of Gerolstein.</p> - -<p>“With my head full of mysteries, bandits, and black doctors, a suitor -came to me—a rich young man who was owner of a fan-making -establishment. I dismissed him several times, but he came back, and, -with the influence of my parents, he succeeded in getting me to marry -him. He was a saint, a veritable saint; I know<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span> it now; but I considered -him a commonplace person, incapable of lifting himself to higher spheres -above the prosaic details of the store.</p> - -<p>“After we had been married two years, he died, and I became a widow of -some thirty-odd years and a considerable fortune; not to mention the -fan-making establishment which I inherited from my husband. A young -widow with money, and not at all bad looking, I had many suitors, from -among whom I chose an army captain, because he wrote me such charming -letters. Later I found out that he had copied them from a novel by -Alfonso Karr that was appearing in the feuilleton of <i>Las Novedades</i>. -Handsome, with a fine appearance, my second husband’s name was Miguel -Estirado. But, my God, what a life he led me! Then I learned to realize -what my poor Monleón had been to me.</p> - -<p>“Estirado had a perfectly devilish humor. If we made a call upon any -one, and the maid asked us who we were, he would say: ‘Señor Estirado -and his wife,’ and if the girl smiled, he would insult her in the -coarsest way.</p> - -<p>“After six months of married life, my husband quit the active service -and retired to take care of the store. Estirado had no military spirit; -he sold the gold braid from his uniform, and put his sword away in a -corner. One day the servant girl used it to clean out the closet, and -after doing so, left it there. When I saw it, I felt like weeping. I -grasped the sword by the hilt, which was the only place I <i>could</i> take -hold of it, and showing it to my husband, said: ‘Look at the condition -your sword is in that you used in defence of your country.’ He insulted -me, clutching his nose cynically, and told me to get out; that he cared -nothing for his sword, nor<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span> for his country, and for me to leave him in -peace. From that day I realized that all was over between us.</p> - -<p>“Shortly after that Estirado dismissed an old clerk who used to work in -the store, and hired two sisters in his place: Asunción and Natividad.</p> - -<p>“Six months later, Asunción had to leave and spend a few months at a -small village. She came back with a little baby. Not long after her -return the trip was repeated.</p> - -<p>“They talked of nothing else in the whole neighbourhood. On account of -the attitude of the two sisters toward me, I dared not go down to the -store, and they did just about as they pleased.</p> - -<p>“One day, after six years, my husband disappeared, taking Natividad, the -younger sister, with him. The other girl, Asunción, brought this news to -me with her four children hanging on her arm; and she told me a romantic -tale about her mother, who was a drunkard, and about her sweetheart. She -reminded me of Fleur de Marie, in ‘The Mysteries of Paris,’ and of -Fantine, in ‘Les Miserables;’ so I comforted her as best I could—what -else was I to do? Time passed, and Estirado began to write and ask me -for money; then the letters ceased, and after half a year my husband -wrote a letter saying that Natividad had run away from him, that he was -seriously ill in a boarding house in Madrid, and for Asunción and me to -come to take care of him. I realized that it was not honourable, nor -Christian, nor right, but at the same time I gave in, and we, his wife -and sweetheart, went and took care of him until he died. At his death I -granted a pension to the girl, left Seville, and came to live in -Cordova. That is the story of my life.”</p> - -<p>“Señora, I think you were a saint,” said Quentin.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span> “What astounds me is -how, after such an apprenticeship, you managed to get mixed up in <i>this</i> -adventure.”</p> - -<p>“Well, you see I did not learn by experience. I met Pacheco one day in -the country, when he entered my farm. He reminded me of a novel by -Fernández y Gonzáles. We spoke together; his life fascinated me; I wrote -to him; he answered my letter, assuredly through civility; my head was -filled with madness, even to the point of disguising myself as a man and -following him.”</p> - -<p>“Fortunately, Señora, you have encountered extremely trustworthy -persons,” said Quentin, “who will not abuse your faith.”</p> - -<p>“What advice do you give me?”</p> - -<p>“Why something very simple. Tonight Pacheco and I shall probably leave -here. You must come with us; we’ll leave you at your house; and that -will be an end to the adventure.”</p> - -<p>“That’s true. It’s the best thing.”</p> - -<p>“Now let’s see,” said Quentin, “if El Cuervo has put any ballast in the -basket.”</p> - -<p>He climbed upon a chair and opened the window.</p> - -<p>“It’s heavy,” said he, jerking the cord; “<i>ergo</i>, there are provisions. -Cheer up, Doña Sinda,” he added, “and get the table ready.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span>”</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXV" id="CHAPTER_XXV"></a>CHAPTER XXV<br /><br /> -<small>AN ABDUCTION IS PREPARED</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">A</span>T nightfall Quentin went out on the roof, stretched his spine along the -ridge, and waited for Pacheco. The Cathedral clock was striking eight, -when the bandit appeared, making his way toward the garret on all fours.</p> - -<p>“Hey!” called Quentin.</p> - -<p>“What is it? Is it you?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Why are you waiting outside for me?”</p> - -<p>“So we can talk without that woman hearing what we say. I have persuaded -her to go home peaceably.”</p> - -<p>“Very good. But listen, comrade; I’ve got a plan ready for something -worth while.”</p> - -<p>“I’m with you in everything. What have you thought of?”</p> - -<p>“Of kidnapping La Aceitunera tonight.”</p> - -<p>“But can it be done?”</p> - -<p>“Absolutely. The Countess is going to the theatre. She will go in her -carriage as usual, and if Cabra Periquito Gálvez doesn’t show up to -accompany her, she will go home alone in her carriage. If Periquito does -show up, and does go with her, we won’t do a thing; if she is alone, -why, we’ll steal her away.”</p> - -<p>“That’s all very well; but how?”</p> - -<p>“First of all, I’ll see to it that the coachman gets<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span> drunk so I can -take his place; meanwhile, you go to the theatre, make sure that she is -alone, then station yourself on the sidewalk opposite the lobby, and -stay there quietly; if she comes out escorted, you light a match as if -you were about to smoke—understand?”</p> - -<p>“Where will you be then?”</p> - -<p>“On the box. If the Countess is escorted, why, I’ll take her home, and -we’ll leave the matter for another day. If she is alone, I’ll trot the -horses as far as the Campo de la Merced, where I’ll stop; you get -on—and away we go!”</p> - -<p>“Very good. You’re a wonder, comrade! But let’s look coldly at the -inconveniences.”</p> - -<p>“Out with them.”</p> - -<p>“First of all, the departure from this place. They are still hanging -around the street, according to El Cuervo.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, but do you think I am such an idiot as to go out through El -Cuervo’s tavern? <i>Ca</i>, man!”</p> - -<p>“No?”</p> - -<p>“Of course not.”</p> - -<p>“Well, where, then?”</p> - -<p>“You’ll see.”</p> - -<p>“Good. That solves the first problem: second, I have to go to the -theatre to see if the Countess is alone, and people know me; if one of -the police....”</p> - -<p>“Nothing will happen. Take this ticket. Steal in when the performance -has begun, and go upstairs, open one of the top boxes which are usually -empty, and if the usher comes in, give him a peseta. He’s a friend of -mine.”</p> - -<p>“Good. Now we’ll tell the woman, and be on our way. Shall we have supper -first?” asked Quentin.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span></p> - -<p>“No; we must have clear heads. We’ll have supper at the El Pino farm, -or—in jail.”</p> - -<p>“You’ve spoken like a man. Let’s go.”</p> - -<p>They entered the garret.</p> - -<p>“Doña Sinda,” said Quentin, “we are going to crawl about the roof a -bit.”</p> - -<p>“Wait a moment, comrade,” said Pacheco. “They won’t do anything to me; -but if they see you, they’ll tie you up,” and as he spoke, he opened a -wardrobe, took out a grey cloak, a kerchief, and a broad-brimmed hat.</p> - -<p>“Who’s that for?”</p> - -<p>“For you.”</p> - -<p>Pacheco made a bundle of the things, and said:</p> - -<p>“Hurry! I’ll go first, then the Señora, and then you, Quentin.”</p> - -<p>They formed themselves in single file and began to move. The night was -dark, threatening a storm; distant flashes of lightning illuminated the -heavens from time to time.</p> - -<p>Doña Sinda moved slowly and painfully.</p> - -<p>“Come, Señora, come,” said Quentin; “we are near you.”</p> - -<p>“My hands and knees hurt me,” she murmured. “If I could only walk on my -feet.”</p> - -<p>“You can’t do it,” said Pacheco. “You would fall into a courtyard.”</p> - -<p>“Ay, dear me! I’m not going a step farther.”</p> - -<p>“We’re going as far as that azotea.”</p> - -<p>Doña Sinda yielded; they crawled along the ridge of a long roof, and -came out upon the azotea. They leaped the balustrade.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Oh, dear! I’m going to stay here!” exclaimed Doña Sinda.</p> - -<p>“But my dear woman, it’s only a little farther,” said Quentin.</p> - -<p>“Well, I won’t budge.”</p> - -<p>“Very well then, we’ll go on alone,” said Pacheco.</p> - -<p>“Are we going to leave her here?” asked Quentin.</p> - -<p>The bandit shrugged his shoulders, and without more ado, leaped over the -balustrade again. Quentin followed him, and the two men rapidly covered -a great distance.</p> - -<p>“Now be careful,” warned Pacheco. “We’ve got to go around this cornice -until we reach that window.”</p> - -<p>It was a stone border about half a metre wide. At the end of it they -could see a little illuminated balcony window, which as it threw the -light against the wall, made the cornice look as if it were on the brink -of a deep abyss. They went along very carefully on all fours, one behind -the other. As they reached the balcony, Pacheco seized the balustrade -and jumped upon the stairway. Quentin followed his example.</p> - -<p>“Do you know, comrade,” remarked Quentin, “that this is scary business?”</p> - -<p>“Then too, that light is enough to drive you crazy. In the daytime it -doesn’t scare you at all to come over it. Now then, put on your cloak -and the other tackle.”</p> - -<p>Quentin tied his kerchief about his head, put on the hat, wrapped -himself in the cloak and the two men descended the stairs into a garden. -Crossing this, they came out upon the street.</p> - -<p>“What is this building?” asked Quentin.</p> - -<p>“It is a convent,” replied the bandit. “Now, we<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span> mustn’t go together any -more. You come along about twenty or thirty paces behind me.”</p> - -<p>Quentin followed him at a distance, and after traversing several -intricate alleys, they came out upon the Plaza de Séneca, and from there -upon the Calle de Ambrosio de Morales, where the theatre was. A gas -light illuminated the door, scarcely lessening the shadows of the -street. The play had not yet begun. Pacheco entered a near-by shop, and -Quentin followed him.</p> - -<p>“You stay here,” said the bandit, “and when everybody has gone in, you -follow. I’m going to the Countess’ house.”</p> - -<p>People were crowding into the theatre; two or three carriages drove up; -several whole families came along, with a sprinkling of artisans. When -he no longer saw anyone in the lobby, Quentin left the little shop, -entered the theatre, relinquished his ticket, climbed the stairs with -long strides until he reached the top floor, and when he saw the usher, -handed him a peseta.</p> - -<p>The usher opened the door of a box.</p> - -<p>“How is Señor José?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“Well.”</p> - -<p>“He’s a fine fellow.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, he is.”</p> - -<p>“I’ve known him for a long time; not that I am from Ecija exactly, for I -come from a little village near Montilla; I don’t know if you’ve heard -its name....”</p> - -<p>“See here,” said Quentin, “I came here because I am a relative of the -actor who takes old men’s parts, and I am interested in hearing the -performance and seeing how he acts; if you talk to me, I won’t be able -to hear anything.”</p> - -<p>“Gonzáles? Are you a relative of Gonzáles?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Of Gonzáles, or Martínez, or the devil! Take another peseta, and leave -me alone, for I’m going to see what kind of an actor my relative makes.”</p> - -<p>“He’s a good comedian.”</p> - -<p>“Very well, very well,” said Quentin, and pushing the garrulous usher -into the aisle, he closed the door.</p> - -<p>As there was scarcely any light up there, no one could recognize -Quentin. The theatre was almost empty; they were giving a lachrymose -melodrama in which appeared an angelic priest, a colonel who kept -shouting “By a thousand bombs!” a traitor money-lender with crooked eyes -who confessed his evil intentions in asides, a heroine, a hero, and a -company of sailors and sailoresses, policemen, magistrates, and others -of the proletariat....</p> - -<p>While Quentin was being bored in his heights, Pacheco, leaning against -the wall of La Aceitunera’s house, was awaiting the return of her -carriage from the theatre.</p> - -<p>He did not have long to wait. The horses stopped before the gate, and -before it could be opened, the bandit approached the coachman and said:</p> - -<p>“Hello, Señor Antonio!”</p> - -<p>“Hello, Señor José!”</p> - -<p>“I want to talk with you a moment.”</p> - -<p>“What about?”</p> - -<p>“About some horses I am ordered to buy, and as you know so much....”</p> - -<p>“I’ll be right out.”</p> - -<p>The house gate opened, the coachman drove his carriage inside, and in a -few moments rejoined Pacheco.</p> - -<p>He was a talkative and gay little man.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Let’s go somewhere and have a little wine with our talk,” suggested the -bandit. “You’ve got time?”</p> - -<p>“I’m free until eleven-thirty.”</p> - -<p>“It’s nine, now.”</p> - -<p>They went into a tavern where Pacheco explained to his friend how the -horses must be. The matter must have been arduous and difficult, for the -coachman lost himself in a labyrinth of endless equinal considerations. -The bandit kept filling and refilling his glass for him as he drank.</p> - -<p>“Man,” said Pacheco, “today I was taken to a tavern where there was a -superior wine that you can’t find anywhere else.”</p> - -<p>“Really?”</p> - -<p>“I should say so. Would you like to go and see if we can find it?”</p> - -<p>“Well, you see I’ve got to go at eleven-thirty.”</p> - -<p>“There’s more than time enough.”</p> - -<p>“All right; let me know when it’s eleven o’clock.”</p> - -<p>“Certainly, don’t you worry. Do you have to go back and get the Señora?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“And harness up the horses again?”</p> - -<p>“No. I left them harnessed. When I get back from the theatre, I go -through the gate, turn the carriage around in the patio, and leave it in -the entryway facing the street,—see? Then I go, open the gate, and I’m -off.”</p> - -<p>Pacheco conducted the coachman through side streets to El Cuervo’s -tavern.</p> - -<p>“But where is that tavern, my friend?” asked the little old man.</p> - -<p>“Right here.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span>”</p> - -<p>They went into the tavern.</p> - -<p>“Bring me wine—the best you have,” said Pacheco, winking at El Cuervo.</p> - -<p>The innkeeper brought a large jar and filled the glasses. The coachman -smelled the wine, tasted it slowly, relished it; then he smacked his -lips, and emptied the glass in one gulp.</p> - -<p>“What wine!” he murmured.</p> - -<p>“Don’t you think it’s a little bit strong?”</p> - -<p>“Well, that’s a good kind of a fault to have, comrade!”</p> - -<p>Pacheco got up and said to El Cuervo:</p> - -<p>“You’ve got to keep this fellow interested.”</p> - -<p>El Mochuelo and Cantarote, the gipsy, came over to Pacheco’s table with -the pretext that there was no light where they had been sitting, and -began to play cards.</p> - -<p>“Would you like to play?” said Cantarote to Pacheco.</p> - -<p>“No, thanks.”</p> - -<p>“And you?” the gipsy asked of the coachman.</p> - -<p>“I? To tell the truth, I’ve got something to do. What time is it?”</p> - -<p>“A quarter past ten,” said El Cuervo.</p> - -<p>“All right, I’ll play a hand.”</p> - -<p>“After all, what have you got to do?” asked Pacheco. “Just knock till -they open the gate, and then climb up on the box....”</p> - -<p>“No, I’ve got the key to the gate here,” remarked the coachman, patting -his vest pocket.</p> - -<p>Pacheco looked at Cantarote, and made a gesture with his hand as if he -were picking up something. Cantarote lowered his eyelids as a sign that -he had understood, and with the utmost neatness put his hand into the -old<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span> man’s vest, took out the key, and, holding his cards in his left -hand, handed it to Pacheco behind the coachman’s back.</p> - -<p>The bandit got up.</p> - -<p>“Let me have a cap,” he said to El Cuervo.</p> - -<p>The innkeeper brought one.</p> - -<p>“Keep him busy for an hour.”</p> - -<p>This said, Pacheco hurried to the Countess’ house, opened wide the gate, -climbed to the box, and drove the carriage outside; then he closed the -gate, climbed back again, and took his place near the theatre.</p> - -<p>From his hiding-place, Quentin had discovered something curious and -worthy of note. In one of the boxes near the curtain was the Countess, -alone, with her back to the stage, and gazing at some one through her -glasses. Quentin followed her look, and by bending low and leaning his -body over the box, he discovered that the box at which she was directing -her glances was occupied by the Governor and two other persons; but the -Countess also looked elsewhere: toward a parquette where there were a -toreador and several young gentlemen.</p> - -<p>“Which is she looking at?” Quentin asked himself. “Is it the Governor, -or the toreador?”</p> - -<p>The Countess rested her opera glasses absently upon the railing of the -box.</p> - -<p>“Perhaps she isn’t looking at any one,” thought Quentin.</p> - -<p>On the stage, they were spilling an ocean of tears: the priest, with his -snow-white hair, saying, “My children” everywhere he went, was busy -making his fellows happy.</p> - -<p>The Countess cast an absent-minded glance at the stage, picked up her -glasses, and took aim.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span></p> - -<p>“It’s the Governor,” said Quentin.</p> - -<p>The woman’s glasses were lowered a bit, and he had to correct himself.</p> - -<p>“It’s the toreador,” he remarked.</p> - -<p>After many vacillations, Quentin realized that the Countess was playing -with two stacks of cards, and was dividing her glances between the First -Authority of the province, and the young toreador, so recently arrived -in cultured society from a butcher shop in the district of El Matadero.</p> - -<p>The Governor, very serious, very much be-gloved, looked at the woman; -the little toreador, with his foot on the parquette rail, preened -himself and smiled, showing the white teeth of a healthy animal.</p> - -<p>At the beginning of the last act, the toreador, who had been concealed -behind the curtains of the parquette, appeared with a square piece of -paper that looked like a note in his hand; he showed it cautiously, and -twisted it about his fingers.</p> - -<p>Presently the woman, looking at the stage, nodded her head in the -affirmative.</p> - -<p>The play was about to come to an end; every one on the stage, from the -priest and the two turtle-doves to the colonel—by a thousand -bombs!—was happy; only, he of the crooked eyes had been seized by the -police at the height of his evil machinations. Quentin opened his box, -descended the stairs by leaps and bounds, and took up his post opposite -the entrance to the theatre. Fat drops of rain commenced to fall, and -the thunder kept grumbling overhead. There were two carriages at the -door of the theatre. Pacheco was not in the first, and Quentin could not -tell whether he was in the second one or not.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span></p> - -<p>The audience began to come out of the theatre; when they saw the heavy -rain drops that spattered the sidewalk, some hesitated to leave, then -they made up their minds and began to hurry along, pressing close to the -walls of the houses.</p> - -<p>A fat lady with her escort entered the first carriage, and drove off -toward the Plaza de Séneca. The second carriage drew up. Pacheco was on -the box. He and Quentin glanced at each other. Everything was going -splendidly.</p> - -<p>Just then the Countess appeared in the lobby of the theatre wrapped in a -white cape; she opened the door of the carriage and climbed rapidly into -it. Behind her appeared the toreador, and as the carriage was about to -move off, he held out his hand and threw a note through the window.</p> - -<p>Pacheco clucked to the horses, and the carriage started up the street -toward the confluence of the Calle del Arco Real and the Cuesta de -Luján. Quentin started off rapidly in the direction of the Campo de la -Merced; he ran as fast as his legs could carry him, fearing all the -while that he might meet some watchman who would recognize him. When he -reached the appointed place he was played out. He waited, soaked in a -torrential downpour. Before long, a carriage came in sight and stopped -before him. Quentin opened the door and stood upon the step. A woman -screamed shrilly. Quentin closed the carriage door; there came two -tremendous cracks of a whip; and the coach moved off through the rain -and obscurity, drawn by the horses at a full gallop....<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVI" id="CHAPTER_XXVI"></a>CHAPTER XXVI<br /><br /> -<small>EXPLANATIONS</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">“B</span>UT good heavens! What is it?—Who are you?—” cried the Countess, -trembling.</p> - -<p>“Don’t be alarmed, Señora,” said Quentin. “We have no idea of harming -you.”</p> - -<p>“What do you want of me? I have no money with me.”</p> - -<p>“We are not looking for money.”</p> - -<p>“Then what <i>do</i> you want?”</p> - -<p>“We’ll tell you that later. Have a little patience.”</p> - -<p>Several moments passed in the carriage without the woman saying a word. -She was huddled motionless against a window.</p> - -<p>After some time had elapsed, the horses moderated their pace, one could -hear the rain on the cover of the carriage. Suddenly Quentin heard the -door-fastening rattle.</p> - -<p>“Don’t be foolish, my lady,” he said rudely. “And don’t try to escape. -It will be dangerous.”</p> - -<p>“This violence may cost you dear,” murmured the Countess.</p> - -<p>“Most assuredly. We men are prepared for anything.”</p> - -<p>“But if you don’t want my money, what do you want? Tell me, and let us -bring this affair to a close at once.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“That is a secret that does not belong to me.”</p> - -<p>“But, sir,” exclaimed the woman—“I’ll give you anything you want if you -will only take me home.”</p> - -<p>At this moment a flash of lightning violently illumined the night, and -the Countess and Quentin were enabled to see each other’s faces in the -spectral light. Then came a thunderclap as loud as a cannon shot.</p> - -<p>“Oh, my God!” gasped the Countess as she devoutly crossed herself.</p> - -<p>Quentin felt a tremor run through him at the sight of the woman’s -terror, and said to her:</p> - -<p>“My dear lady, do not let us cause you any alarm. Please rest assured -that we have no intention of harming you. I rather think that the man on -the box is some gentleman who is in love with you, and not being able in -any other way to attain good fortune, is abducting you in this manner.”</p> - -<p>Quentin’s accent, his gallant meaning in those circumstances must have -surprised the Countess, as she made no answer.</p> - -<p>“Don’t you think so?” said Quentin. “Don’t you believe that this is a -matter of some one courting you?”</p> - -<p>“It’s a fine way to court,” she replied.</p> - -<p>“All ways are good if they come out right.”</p> - -<p>“Do you believe that this method of treating a lady can come out right?”</p> - -<p>“Why not? Other more difficult things have been seen in the world, and -they do say that women like the novel.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I don’t like it a bit.”</p> - -<p>“Are you so prosaic that you are not enchanted by the thought of meeting -soon a young, good-looking, respectful abductor who offers you his heart -and life?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“No, I am not enchanted. What is more, if I could send that abductor to -prison I would do so with much pleasure.”</p> - -<p>“You know that love is intrepid and....”</p> - -<p>Quentin was silent. He thought of the poem written by Cornejo for <i>La -Víbora</i>.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know why,” said the woman at length, “but it seems to me that I -am beginning to realize who my abductor is. It strikes me that he is a -half-relative of mine who dislikes me very much. A waif....”</p> - -<p>“I think you are getting warm, my lady.”</p> - -<p>“Who writes insults and calumnies about a woman who has never offended -him.”</p> - -<p>“You are not quite so near the point, there. Listen: The day before -yesterday, that relative of yours was rushing madly about these -God-forsaken streets, hounded by a dozen men; on a night that was as -cold as the devil, he was on the point of throwing himself into the -river and scraping an acquaintance with the shad that live in it.”</p> - -<p>“So you are Quentin?”</p> - -<p>“I am the lady’s most humble servant.”</p> - -<p>“How you frightened me! I shall never forgive you for this night.”</p> - -<p>“Nor will I forgive you for the one I spent the day before yesterday.”</p> - -<p>“Where is my coachman? Is he on the box?”</p> - -<p>“No, my lady.”</p> - -<p>“Where is he?”</p> - -<p>“He is conveniently drunk in a tavern on the Calle del Potro.”</p> - -<p>“Then who is driving the carriage?”</p> - -<p>“Pacheco.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Pacheco! The bandit?”</p> - -<p>“In person. In all ways a gentleman, and whom I shall have the pleasure -of presenting to you tonight as soon as we reach the farm where we are -to stop.”</p> - -<p>“What are you two going to do with me there?”</p> - -<p>“We shall think it over.”</p> - -<p>“I believe you intend to kill me....”</p> - -<p>“Kill you?—Nothing of the sort. We shall entertain you; you will take -rides over the mountain; you’ll get a trifle brown—Besides, we are -doing you a great favour.”</p> - -<p>“Doing me a favour? What is it?”</p> - -<p>“Keeping you from answering that little toreador who had the presumption -to send you a note.”</p> - -<p>“To send <i>me</i> a note?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, my lady; you. As you came out of the theatre. I saw it with my own -eyes.”</p> - -<p>“It must be true if you saw it.”</p> - -<p>“Of course it is! In the first place, that toreador is a stupid -good-for-nothing who would go about boasting that you looked upon him -with sympathy, and that....”</p> - -<p>“Enough, or I’ll even have to thank you for bringing me here.”</p> - -<p>“And it’s true.”</p> - -<p>The Countess was growing calmer and less timid with every minute.</p> - -<p>“How many days are you going to keep me kidnapped?” she asked rather -jovially.</p> - -<p>“As many as you wish. When you get too bored, we’ll take you back to -Cordova. Then, if you still bear us a grudge, you may denounce us.”</p> - -<p>“And if I don’t?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“If you don’t, then you will permit us to come to call some day.”</p> - -<p>“We’ll see how you act.”</p> - -<p>Just then the carriage stopped. Quentin prepared to get down, and said -to the woman:</p> - -<p>“I don’t know what Pacheco wants. Perhaps he’s tired of riding on the -box.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t leave me alone with him,” murmured the Countess.</p> - -<p>“Never fear; Pacheco is absolutely a gentleman, and will take no undue -liberties....”</p> - -<p>“That makes no difference.”</p> - -<p>“Then I shall tell him of your wish. If you want to be alone, tell me, -and I’ll ride on the box.”</p> - -<p>“No, no: I prefer you to ride with me.”</p> - -<p>Pacheco jumped down from the box, and coming up to Quentin, said:</p> - -<p>“It seems to me that I have done my duty like a man, and that it’s your -turn to take my place on the box.”</p> - -<p>“That’s what I think. Come, I’m going to present you to the Countess.”</p> - -<p>Quentin opened the carriage door and said:</p> - -<p>“Countess, this is my friend.”</p> - -<p>“Good evening, Pacheco.”</p> - -<p>“A very good evening to you, my lady.”</p> - -<p>“How tired you are making yourselves on my account!”</p> - -<p>“Señora Condesa!” stammered the bandit in confusion.</p> - -<p>“You are very nice,” she added graciously.</p> - -<p>“You are most flattering,” replied Pacheco.</p> - -<p>“No; you two are the flatterers!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“But are you sorry, my lady?” asked Pacheco gravely.</p> - -<p>“I!—On the contrary; I am having a very good time.”</p> - -<p>“That’s better, my lady. You mustn’t be afraid; if you order me to, -we’ll go back this minute.”</p> - -<p>The Countess considered for a moment, and then cried gayly:</p> - -<p>“No; let us go on. We’ll go wherever you wish. You stay with me, -Quentin, for I want to talk to you.”</p> - -<p>Again Pacheco climbed to the box, clucked to the horses, and the -carriage went on its way. It was beginning to clear up; here and there a -patch of star-sprinkled sky appeared between the great, black clouds.</p> - -<p>“He seems like a fine fellow,” said the Countess, who was now completely -at her ease, when she and Quentin were alone.</p> - -<p>“Do not deceive yourself; there are only two places where true gentlemen -can be found: in the mountains, or in prison.”</p> - -<p>“How awful!” she cried.</p> - -<p>“That is the way the two extremes meet,” he went on. “When a man is a -great, a very great rascal, and utterly disregards the ideas of the -people and everything else, he has reached the point where the bandit is -joining hands with the gentleman.”</p> - -<p>“See here, Sir Bandit,” said the Countess easily, “why did you take this -dislike to me, and put me in the papers? Because I said that Rafaela was -a hussy, and that she had married Juan de Dios for his money?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, my lady.”</p> - -<p>“Did I not speak the truth?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“It is true that she married; but it was not because she wished it, nor -because she was ambitious to be rich, but because the family made her.”</p> - -<p>“You should laugh at that idea, my friend!” replied the Countess. “Not -that the girl isn’t docile! When a woman does not care to marry a man, -she simply doesn’t marry him.... Of course, you were after her cash.”</p> - -<p>“I?—<i>Ca!</i>”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know why, but I think I see through you. You are very -ambitious, and with all those foolish deeds of yours, you are only -trying to fish for something. You cannot deceive me.”</p> - -<p>“Well, you are wrong,” said Quentin. “I, ambitious? I covet nothing.”</p> - -<p>“Tell that to your grandfather, not to me. You are very ambitious, and -she is a very romantic damsel, but very close with her money. If you two -had married, a fine disappointment you would have had!... And she liked -you, believe me; but as you were not a marquis, or a duke, but a poor -son of a shop-keeper, she would have nothing to do with you.”</p> - -<p>Quentin felt deeply mortified by the phrase, and fell silent. Presently -she burst into gracious laughter.</p> - -<p>“What are you laughing at?” said Quentin, piqued.</p> - -<p>“With all your boasting, you are worth less than I am: all your cravings -are for things that are not worth while. I don’t mind it in the least -when they call me La Aceitunera, but you, on the other hand, are utterly -cast down because I called you the son of a shop-keeper.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, that’s true,” assented Quentin ingenuously.</p> - -<p>“And why is it true, my friend?” asked the Countess. “Why, we of the -proletariat are worth more than dukes and marquises, with all their -ceremonies and frip<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span>peries. Where is the salt of the earth? Among the -masses.... Why am I what I am? Because I married that bell-ox of an -uncle of yours. The ambitions of my family annoyed me; they filled my -head with titles and grandeurs; it’s one and the same thing whether you -are a duke’s son, or the daughter of an olive merchant like me, or the -son of an importer, like you.”</p> - -<p>The Countess was growing in Quentin’s eyes. The sincere contempt that -she felt for aristocratic things, seemed to him to be a stroke of -superiority. As far as the question of birth, and family, and social -position was concerned, Quentin was peevishly susceptible; and though he -concealed these sentiments as best he could, they were often clearly -apparent in him.</p> - -<p>The Countess realized that this was one of Quentin’s vulnerable spots, -and took delight in wounding him.</p> - -<p>“They must sell a great many things in that store. It is a beautiful -shop, very large and....”</p> - -<p>“My dear lady,” said Quentin comically, when the annoyance that the -woman’s words cost him commenced to take on an ironical and gay -character—“You are very sarcastic, but I realize that you have a right -to be.”</p> - -<p>“So, you realize it?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, my lady; and if you keep it up, I shall beg Pacheco to take my -place in this delicate mission.”</p> - -<p>“I will not allow you to leave me,” said the Countess mockingly.</p> - -<p>“Well, if this turns out to be a long journey, I shall be found dead on -the bottom of the coach.”</p> - -<p>“Dead! From what, Quentin?”</p> - -<p>“From the pin pricks you are giving me right square in the heart. You -are about to remind me for the fifth<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span> time that the chocolate we make in -the store is adulterated.... I know you are.”</p> - -<p>“No, I’ve said nothing about it.”</p> - -<p>“Then you are going to talk to me about the coffee which is mixed with -chicory, and then, eventually, and in order to complete the offence, you -will bring my step-father’s nickname before my eyes.”</p> - -<p>“El Pende—that’s it, isn’t it?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, my lady that is what they call him.”</p> - -<p>“Well, to show you that I am more generous than you think me, I shall -not mention it again. Henceforth you shall guard the secret of my -olives, as I will guard the secret of your spices. Tell me: Is it true -that you have a good voice?”</p> - -<p>“For Heaven’s sake! What are you trying to do, my lady? Have pity and -compassion on a poor little chap like me.”</p> - -<p>“Go on, please sing.”</p> - -<p>Quentin hummed the swaggering song from “Rigoletto”:</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Questa o quella per me pari sono.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>“But sing out loud,” said the Countess.</p> - -<p>Quentin sang with his full voice:</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i1">“La costanza tiranna del core<br /></span> -<span class="i0">detestiamo qual morbo crudele<br /></span> -<span class="i0">sol chi vuole si servi fedele<br /></span> -<span class="i0">non v’ha amor se non v’é libertá.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>And this last phrase, which Quentin launched forth with real enthusiasm, -echoed in the damp and tepid night air....</p> - -<p>“Is that a song of circumstances?” said the Countess with a laugh.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Yes, my lady,” answered Quentin, without fully understanding what she -meant.</p> - -<p>“Listen ... another thing. Why don’t you make love to Remedios?”</p> - -<p>“To Remedios! She is only a child.”</p> - -<p>“She’s fourteen. How old are you?”</p> - -<p>“Twenty-four.”</p> - -<p>“That’s just right.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, but how about the groceries?”</p> - -<p>“She would overlook that. Believe me, that child has a soul. My -husband’s older daughter is good, I won’t deny it, but she is a cold -thing. Just as she married Juan de Dios, she would have married any one, -and she will be faithful to him, as she would to any one else, because -she hasn’t the courage to do otherwise; but not so with the little one, -she’s full of it.”</p> - -<p>Quentin recalled the two sisters and thought that perhaps the Countess -was right. With the memory, he fell silent for a long time.</p> - -<p>“Well,” said the Countess, “if you continue this silence, it will seem -as if I were the one who is abducting you, and that doesn’t suit me. -Why, just think if one of those verse-scribbling penny-a-liners should -find out about this! They would paint me green.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll not say another thing against you, my lady, because....”</p> - -<p>“Because why, my friend? What were you going to say?”</p> - -<p>“Nothing; I’ll say that you are one of the most....”</p> - -<p>“One of the most what?”</p> - -<p>“One of the most—but here we are at the farm.”</p> - -<p>And Quentin opened the carriage door.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I thought you were a braver man than that,” said the Countess.</p> - -<p>The carriage stopped and Quentin jumped to the muddy road. It was -beginning to rain again.</p> - -<p>“Can’t you get the carriage closer to the house?” Quentin asked Pacheco.</p> - -<p>“Take hold of the bridle of one of the horses. That’s it.”</p> - -<p>“Shall I knock here?”</p> - -<p>“Knock away.”</p> - -<p>Quentin gave two resounding knocks.</p> - -<p>Several minutes passed, and no one appeared at the door.</p> - -<p>“Knock again,” said Pacheco.</p> - -<p>Quentin did so, adorning his blows with a noisy tattoo.</p> - -<p>“Coming! Coming!” came a voice from within.</p> - -<p>They saw a beam of light in the door jamb; then the wicket opened and a -man appeared with a lantern in his hand.</p> - -<p>“It’s I, Tío Frasquito,” said Pacheco. “I have some friends with me.”</p> - -<p>“Good evening, Señor José and company,” said the man.</p> - -<p>“Is the ground impossible?” inquired the Countess from the inside of the -carriage.</p> - -<p>“Yes, it’s very muddy,” replied Quentin.</p> - -<p>“How can I get out in these white slippers? I’m done for.”</p> - -<p>“Would you like me to carry you in my arms?” said Quentin.</p> - -<p>“No, sir.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Then Pacheco, who had climbed down from the box, removed his cloak, -seized it as if he were about to tease a bull with it, and with a -flourish spread it out upon the damp earth from the step of the carriage -to the door of the house.</p> - -<p>“There! Now you can get out.”</p> - -<p>The Countess, smiling and holding up her silk dress, walked across the -cloak in her white shoes, and quickly entered the vestibule.</p> - -<p>“Long live my Queen!” cried Pacheco, carried away by his enthusiasm. -“And hurrah for all valiant women!”</p> - -<p>It began to pour.</p> - -<p>“What will poor Doña Sinda do?” said Quentin.</p> - -<p>“Who is Doña Sinda?” asked Pacheco.</p> - -<p>“The woman we left out on the roof. She must be soup by this time.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span>”</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVII" id="CHAPTER_XXVII"></a>CHAPTER XXVII<br /><br /> -<small>IN WHICH A COUNTESS, A PROFESSIONAL BANDIT, AND A MAN OF ACTION HAVE A TALK</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">O</span>NE afternoon a few days later, Quentin knocked at the Countess’ door.</p> - -<p>“May I come in?”</p> - -<p>“Come!”</p> - -<p>Quentin opened the door and entered. The room was large, whitewashed, -with a very small window divided into four panes, the floor paved with -red bricks, and blue rafters in the ceiling. Everything was as clean as -silver; in the centre was a table covered with white oil-cloth, upon -which was a glass bottle converted by the Countess into a flower stand -full of wild flowers.</p> - -<p>“My lady,” announced Quentin, “I came to find out if you wanted anything -in Cordova.”</p> - -<p>“Are you going there?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, my lady. If you are bored, we’ll take you in the carriage whenever -you wish.”</p> - -<p>“No, I’m not bored. To the contrary.”</p> - -<p>“Then, why don’t you stay here?”</p> - -<p>“No, I cannot.—When do you go?”</p> - -<p>“I was thinking of going today, but if you want me to go with you, I’ll -wait until tomorrow.”</p> - -<p>“Very well, we’ll wait until tomorrow.”</p> - -<p>The Countess had made friends at the farm. Late in the afternoon she -would take her sewing to the door, and, sitting in the shade, would work -among the women<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span> of the house. They told her about their lives and their -troubles, and she listened with great interest. Quentin and Pacheco used -to join the group and chat until the farm bell signalled the labourers, -and night fell, and the flocks of goats returned with a great tinkling -of bells.</p> - -<p>The labourers’ children used to play in front of the doorway; three of -them had made friends with the Countess. They were three children who -had been left motherless; Miguel, the eldest, was seven, Dolores, the -second, was five, and Carmen, the third, was three.</p> - -<p>The eldest was very lively, already a little rascal; the second had a -tangled mass of blond hair, sad, blue eyes, and a sun-burned face; she -wore one of her father’s vests, a dirty apron, stockings around her -ankles, and a pair of huge shoes. The littlest one spent hour after hour -with her finger thrust into her mouth.</p> - -<p>These three children, accustomed to being alone, were content to play -with each other; they played around, striking and throwing each other -about the ground, and never cried.</p> - -<p>“She bosses ’em all,” said one of the old wives to the Countess, -pointing to the second child.</p> - -<p>“Poor girl. What is your name?”</p> - -<p>“Dolores.”</p> - -<p>The Countess looked at the child, who lowered her eyes.</p> - -<p>“Would you like to come with me, Dolores?” she asked.</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll give you pretty dresses, dolls—Will you come?”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>The Countess kissed the girl, and every afternoon the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span> three children -came, waiting for her to give them some money....</p> - -<p>“Look there,” said the Countess to Quentin, pointing to a hen that was -strutting along the barnyard with her still featherless chicks—“I envy -her.”</p> - -<p>“Do you?” asked Quentin. “You are more romantic than I thought you -were.”</p> - -<p>“Romantic, my friend? Why? That is Truth, Nature.”</p> - -<p>“Ah! But do you believe in the goodness of Nature?”</p> - -<p>“Don’t you?”</p> - -<p>“No, I do not. Nature is a farce.”</p> - -<p>“<i>You</i> are the farce!” said the Countess. “I could never live with a man -like you, Quentin.”</p> - -<p>“Couldn’t you?”</p> - -<p>“No. If I had married you, we would have ended badly.”</p> - -<p>“Would we have beaten each other?”</p> - -<p>“Probably.”</p> - -<p>“Look here; two things would have pleased me,” replied Quentin. “To -allow myself to be struck by you would have been magnificent, but to -give you a drubbing would also have been good.”</p> - -<p>“Would you have dared?” said the Countess with a slight flush in her -cheeks, and her eyes shining.</p> - -<p>“Yes, if I were your husband,” answered Quentin calmly.</p> - -<p>“Don’t pay any attention to this fellow,” said Pacheco, “for all that is -just idle fancy.”</p> - -<p>Pacheco manifested a respectful enthusiasm toward the Countess, but at -times he wondered if Quentin, with his wild ideas and outbursts, might -not interest the Countess more....<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span></p> - -<p>... And as they chatted, the afternoon advanced; the sun poured down, -its reflected rays were blinding as they fell on stones and bushes; and -the air, quivering in the heat, made the outlines of the mountain and -the distant landscape tremble.</p> - -<p>“Would you like to take a ride, my lady?” said Pacheco.</p> - -<p>“Yes, indeed.”</p> - -<p>“Shall I saddle your horse?”</p> - -<p>“Fine!”</p> - -<p>The Countess mounted, followed by Pacheco and Quentin, and the three -made their way toward the top of the mountain by a broad path that ran -between stout evergreens.</p> - -<p>It was late Autumn; the days were sweltering, but as soon as the sun -set, the air became very refreshing.</p> - -<p>The mountain was splendid that afternoon. The dry, clean air was so -transparent that it made even the most distant objects seem near; the -trees were turning yellow and shedding their dried leaves; the harvested -meadows had not yet begun to turn green. In the highways and byways, -brambles displayed their black fruit, and the dog-rose bushes their -carmine berries among their thorny branches.</p> - -<p>“What are you thinking of doing, Quentin? What have you up your sleeve?” -asked the Countess suddenly.</p> - -<p>“Everybody knows,” replied Pacheco—“that he’s a lively fish.”</p> - -<p>“<i>Ca</i>, man,” answered Quentin. “Why, I’m an unhappy wretch. Just now, I -admit, I am capable of doing anything to get money and live well.”</p> - -<p>“He contradicts himself at every turn!” exclaimed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span> the Countess, -somewhat irritated. “I’m beginning to disbelieve everything he says; -whether he tells me that he is bad, or whether he assures me that he is -unhappy.”</p> - -<p>“You see I’m not to be classified by common standards. One half of me is -good, and the other half bad. Sometimes it seems as if I were a -demagogue, and I turn out to be a reactionary. I have all sorts of -humility and all sorts of arrogance within me. For example, if you were -to say to me tomorrow: ‘By selling all the inhabitants of Cordova into -slavery, you can make a fortune,’ I would sell them.”</p> - -<p>“A lie!” replied the Countess. “You would not sell them.”</p> - -<p>“No, I would not sell them if you told me not to.”</p> - -<p>“Really, now!”</p> - -<p>“Do you know what I used to think of doing when I was in England?” said -Quentin.</p> - -<p>“What?” asked Pacheco.</p> - -<p>“Of putting up a money box. You must have seen one of them in Madrid, I -think in the Calle del Fuencarral; people throw lots of money into it. -Well, I saw it on my way through the city, and in school I was always -thinking: ‘When I get to Spain, I’m going to set up four or five money -boxes, and take all the money that’s thrown into them.’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> - -<p>“What ideas you do have!” said the Countess.</p> - -<p>“I have always thought that the first thing to do was to get rich.”</p> - -<p>“Why not work?”</p> - -<p>“One can never make one’s self rich by working. I have two aphorisms -that rule my life; they are: first, be it yours or another’s, you will -never get on without<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span> money; second, laziness has always its reward, and -work its punishment.”</p> - -<p>“You are a faker, and one cannot talk to you,” said the Countess. “What -about you, Pacheco?”</p> - -<p>“He? Why, he’s another romanticist,” replied Quentin.</p> - -<p>“Really?” asked the woman.</p> - -<p>“Yes, somewhat,” replied the bandit with a sigh.</p> - -<p>“Some fine day,” added Quentin, “you will hear that Pacheco has done -something either very foolish, or very heroic.”</p> - -<p>“May God hear you,” murmured the bandit.</p> - -<p>“Do you see?”</p> - -<p>“Isn’t it better to do something famous, than to live in a hole like a -toad all your life?”</p> - -<p>“What would you like to do?” asked the Countess with curiosity.</p> - -<p>“I?—Take part in a battle; lead it if possible.”</p> - -<p>“Then you want to be a soldier.”</p> - -<p>“You mean a general,” interrupted Quentin with a laugh.</p> - -<p>“And why not, if he has good luck?”</p> - -<p>“What does one need to be a general?” asked Pacheco. “To have a soul, to -be valiant, and to be ready to give up your life every minute.”</p> - -<p>“And furthermore, to have a career,” replied Quentin ironically ... “to -have good recommendations.”</p> - -<p>“But you always look upon everything as small and niggardly!” exclaimed -the bandit hotly.</p> - -<p>“And you, my friend, hope to encounter great and strong things in a mean -society. You are deceived.”</p> - -<p>Pacheco and Quentin fell silent, and the Countess<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span> contemplated the two -men as they rode quietly along....</p> - -<p>It was late afternoon. The dry earth, warmed by the sun, exhaled the -aroma of rosemary and thyme and dried grass. Upon the round summit of -the mountain, trees, bushes, rocks, stood out in minutest detail in the -diaphanous air.</p> - -<p>The sun was sinking. The naked rocks, the thickets of heather and furze, -were reddened as if on the point of bursting into flame. Here and there -among the yellow foliage of the trees, appeared the white and smiling -walls of farmhouses....</p> - -<p>Soon night began to fall; bands of deep violet crept along the -hillsides; one could hear in the distance the crowing of cocks and the -tinkling of bells, which sounded louder than usual in that peaceful -twilight; the air was tranquil, the sky azure.... Herds of cattle spread -over the fields, which were covered with dry bushes; and along the damp -pathways, bordered by huge, grey century-plants, a torrent of sheep and -goats flowed, followed by their shepherd and his great, gentle-eyed, -white mastiff.</p> - -<p>When they returned to the farmhouse, Tío Frasquito said to Pacheco:</p> - -<p>“We have been waiting for you.”</p> - -<p>“Why, what’s up?”</p> - -<p>“They just baptized a baby in the farm next to ours, and are having a -little dance. If you people would like to go....”</p> - -<p>“Shall we go?” Pacheco asked the Countess.</p> - -<p>“Why not?”</p> - -<p>“Then we’ll have supper right away, and be there in a moment.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</a></span>”</p> - -<p>They ate their supper; and on foot and well cloaked, as it was rather -cool, they walked along paths and across fields to the neighbouring -farm.</p> - -<p>As they drew near, they could hear the murmur of conversation and the -strumming of a guitar. The entryway in which the fiesta was being -celebrated was large and very much whitewashed. It had a wide, open -space in the centre, with two columns; suspended from the beams of the -ceiling, were two big lamps, each with three wicks. Seated upon benches -and rope chairs were several young girls, old women, sun-blackened men, -and children who had come to witness the baptism.</p> - -<p>In the centre was a space left free for the dancers. Seated near a small -table, which held a jug and a glass, an old man was strumming a guitar, -a man with a face and side-whiskers that just begged for a gun.</p> - -<p>The entrance of the Countess and her escorts was greeted with loud -acclaim; one of the farm hands asked, and it was not easy to tell -whether in jest or in all seriousness, if that lady was the Queen of -Spain.</p> - -<p>The caretaker of the farm, after installing the three guests in the most -conspicuous place, brought them some macaroons and glasses of white -wine.</p> - -<p>Boleras and fandangos alternated, and between times they drank all the -brandy and wine they wanted. The Countess went to see the mother of the -baptized child.</p> - -<p>“Aren’t you going to dance, Pacheco?” asked Quentin.</p> - -<p>“Are you?”</p> - -<p>“Man alive, I’m not graceful enough. I’ll play the guitar. You ask the -Countess to dance with you.”</p> - -<p>“She won’t do it.”</p> - -<p>“Do you want me to ask her for you?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Good idea.”</p> - -<p>Quentin did so when she returned. She burst out laughing.</p> - -<p>“Well, will you do it?”</p> - -<p>“Of course, man.”</p> - -<p>“Hurrah for all valiant women. Ladies and gentlemen,” said Quentin, -turning to the bystanders, “the Señora is going to dance with Pacheco; I -shall play the guitar, and I want the best singer here to stand by me.”</p> - -<p>Quentin sat in the chair where the old man had been, and near him stood -a little dark-haired girl with large eyes. He tuned the guitar, turning -one key and then another, and then began a devilish preparatory -flourish. Little by little this uncouth flourish grew smoother, changing -into a handling of the strings that was finesse itself.</p> - -<p>“Go ahead,” cried Quentin. “Now for the little highlander!”</p> - -<p>The Countess arose laughing heartily, with her arms held high; Pacheco, -very serious, also arose and stood before her. An old woman, a mistress -of the art, began to click her castanets with a slow rhythm.</p> - -<p>“Girlie,” said Quentin to the singer, “let’s hear what you can do.”</p> - -<p>In almost a whisper, the girl sang:</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Con abalorios, cariño,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">con abalorios.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<div class="blockquot"><p>(With glass beads, love, with glass beads.)</p></div> - -<p>The dancers made their start rather languidly.</p> - -<p>The girl went on:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a></span></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">“Con abalorios,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">tengo yo una chapona,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">tengo yo una chapona,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">cariño! con abalorios.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<div class="blockquot"><p>(With glass beads, I have a dressing sack, I have a dressing sack, -love! with glass beads.)</p></div> - -<p>The dancers were a little more lively in the “parade,” the castanets -clicked louder, and the high, treble voice of the girl increased in -volume:</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i1">“Están bailando<br /></span> -<span class="i0">el clavel y la rosa,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">están bailando<br /></span> -<span class="i0">el clavel y la rosa,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">ay! están bailando!”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<div class="blockquot"><p>(They are dancing, the pink and the rose, they are dancing, the -pink and the rose; Ah! they are dancing!)</p></div> - -<p>This last phrase, which was somewhat sad, was accompanied by a ferocious -sound of castanets, as if the player wished to make the dancers forget -the melancholy of the song.</p> - -<p>The girl went on:</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i1">“Porque la rosa<br /></span> -<span class="i0">entre más encarnada,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Porque la rosa<br /></span> -<span class="i0">entre más encarnada<br /></span> -<span class="i0">ay! es más hermosa!”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<div class="blockquot"><p>(For the rose, the more she blushes, for the rose, the more she -blushes, Ah! the more beautiful she becomes.)</p></div> - -<p>Then the castanets clicked wildly, while all the bystanders cheered the -dancers on. Pacheco pursued his partner with open arms, and she seemed -to provoke him and to flee from him, keeping out of his reach when he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span> -was about to conquer her. In these changes and movements, the Countess’ -skirts swished back and forth and folded about her thighs, outlining her -powerful hips. The whole room seemed filled with an effluvia of life.</p> - -<p>Quentin enthusiastically continued to strum the guitar. The singer had -offered him a glass of white wine, and without ceasing to play, he had -stretched out his lips and drained it.</p> - -<p>The dance was repeated several times, until the dancers, worn out, sat -down.</p> - -<p>“Splendid! Magnificent!” exclaimed Quentin with tears in his eyes.</p> - -<p>Suddenly the little girl who had sung told him she was going.</p> - -<p>“Why?”</p> - -<p>“Because some joker is going to put out the lights.”</p> - -<p>Quentin put down the guitar and went over to the Countess.</p> - -<p>“You’d better go,” he told her, “they are going to put out the lights.”</p> - -<p>She got up, but did not have time to go out. Two big youths put out the -lamps with one blow, and the entryway was left in darkness. Quentin led -the Countess to a corner, and stood ready to protect her in case there -was need. There was a bedlam of shrill shrieks from the women, and -laughter, and voices, and all started for the door which was purposely -barred. Quentin felt the Countess by his side, palpitant.</p> - -<p>“That’ll do,” said the landlord, “that’s enough of the joke,” and he -relit the lamps.</p> - -<p>The fiesta became normal once more, and soon after, all began to file -out.</p> - -<p>The following was the day fixed upon for the de<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</a></span>parture. Pacheco had, as -he said, reasons for not going to Cordova, so he did not go. Quentin sat -upon the box and drove off with the Countess. At nightfall, they were on -the Cuesta de Villaviciosa. From that height, by the light of the -half-hidden sun, they could see Cordova; very flat, very extensive, -among fields of yellow stubble and dark olive orchards. A slight mist -rose from the river bed. In the distance, very far away, rose the high -and sharp-peaked Sierra of Granada.</p> - -<p>Carts were returning along the road, jolting and shaking; they could -hear the Moorish song of the carters who were stretched out upon sacks, -or skins of olive oil; riders on proud horses passed them, seated upon -cowboy saddles, their shawls across their saddle bows, and their guns at -their sides....</p> - -<p>When they entered Cordova, night had already fallen; the sky was -sprinkled with stars; on either side of the road, which now ran between -the houses, great, many-armed century plants shone in the darkness.</p> - -<p>Quentin drove the carriage to the Countess’ palace, and jumped from the -box, much to the astonishment of the porter.</p> - -<p>“Good-bye, my lady,” said he, holding out his hand and assisting her -from the carriage.</p> - -<p>“Good-bye, Quentin,” she said rather sadly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVIII" id="CHAPTER_XXVIII"></a>CHAPTER XXVIII<br /><br /> -<small>THE MASON’S MESSAGE</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">“S</span>O you know nothing about him?” asked the Swiss.</p> - -<p>“Not a thing,” replied María Lucena. “He left here the very night they -tried to arrest him, and he hasn’t showed up yet. They say that he and -Pacheco kidnapped the Countess.”</p> - -<p>“The devil! An abduction!”</p> - -<p>“Yes. Let me tell you, that man disgusts me, and I wish I hadn’t met -him.”</p> - -<p>Paul Springer contemplated the pale face of the actress sympathetically.</p> - -<p>“He’ll show up,” he said.</p> - -<p>“I hope he never does!” she replied.</p> - -<p>The Swiss was disturbed.</p> - -<p>“How did you meet Quentin? Through the fracas he started here?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. They told me that there had been a dispute between a young chap -and a vile man who had insulted me. I asked Cornejo, the fellow who -writes topical songs for the musical comedies, who my defender was, and -he said: ‘I’ll show him to you.’ Every night I asked him: ‘Who is he? -Who is he?’—but he never showed up. After awhile I got impatient and -said to Cornejo: ‘Look here; you tell your friend that I want to meet -him, that if he doesn’t come to the theatre, to go to my house, and that -I live near here in a boarding house called<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[286]</a></span> Mariquita’s House.’ Would -you believe it? There I was, waiting day after day, and he never showed -up!”</p> - -<p>“You must have been indignant,” said Springer.</p> - -<p>“Naturally! I said: ‘If he doesn’t know me, why did he defend me? And if -he does know me, why doesn’t he come to see me?’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> - -<p>“How did you get to meet him finally?”</p> - -<p>“You’ll see; one day Cornejo came in here with Quentin, and introduced -him to me as the man who had insulted me and had been struck by my -defender. I said a lot of outrageous and insulting things to him, and -just then a friend of his came in and greeted him with a ‘Hello, -Quentin!’ Then I realized that <i>he</i> was my defender and we made -friends.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, he’s very fond of those farces.”</p> - -<p>“Why did he do it? I can’t understand that man.”</p> - -<p>“Nor does he understand himself, probably; but he’s a good fellow.”</p> - -<p>At the very second that the Swiss was saying these words, Quentin -entered the café, looked about him indifferently and came up to the -table at which María Lucena and Springer were seated.</p> - -<p>When she saw him, María suddenly turned red.</p> - -<p>“Ah! So you’ve come at last!” she cried angrily. “Where have you been?”</p> - -<p>“If you had had your way, my dear, I would have been in prison.”</p> - -<p>“That’s where you ought to be always. Thief! May a nasty viper sting -you! Tell me, what have you been doing all these days?”</p> - -<p>“Why, I’ve been on a farm, hiding from the police.”</p> - -<p>“I’m likely to believe that! You’ve been with a woman.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[287]</a></span>”</p> - -<p>The procedure of extracting the truth with a lie produced results, for -Quentin said candidly:</p> - -<p>“Where did you find that out?”</p> - -<p>“You see, it’s the truth! And now you are tired of her and have come -back here. Well, son, you can clear out; for there’s no more meat on the -hook for lack of a cat, and I want nothing more to do with you. I have -more than enough men who are better than you are, who have more money -than you have, and more heart.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t deny it,” replied Quentin coldly.</p> - -<p>“Ah! You don’t deny it? You don’t deny it?” she shouted, raising her -voice in her fury. “But what do you think I am? What <i>do</i> you think?”</p> - -<p>“Come, don’t shriek so,” said Quentin gently.</p> - -<p>“I’ll shriek if I want to. Tell me, you evil-blooded scoundrel; what did -you take me for? Do you think you can laugh at me like this?”</p> - -<p>“That is admirable logic!” replied Quentin. “One believes here that his -life is the axle of the universe; other people’s lives have no -importance.”</p> - -<p>“Why—”</p> - -<p>“Please; I am talking. I left the café the other night, and thanks to -the influence of Señor Gálvez, with whom you were....”</p> - -<p>“I!” said María. “That’s not true.”</p> - -<p>“I myself saw you.”</p> - -<p>“Where could you see me from?”</p> - -<p>“From the door, my dear.”</p> - -<p>“But you don’t know Gálvez!” she replied, believing that Quentin must -have had the news at second-hand.</p> - -<p>“True; but I know the waiter, and I asked him: ‘Who is the gentleman -talking with María Lucena?’ And he answered: ‘Señor Gálvez.’ So don’t -lie about<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[288]</a></span> it. Very well; thanks to the beneficent influence of that -gentleman friend of yours, I was on the point of being carried off to -prison, or of throwing myself into the river ... yet, I do not go -screeching about the place—because I do not believe that my life can be -the axle of the universe.”</p> - -<p>“Fool, <i>more</i> than fool!”—she shouted. “I’ll pound your brains out this -very minute!”</p> - -<p>“You’ll pound nothing; and listen, if you will.”</p> - -<p>“What for? You’re going to lie.”</p> - -<p>“Very well then: don’t listen.”</p> - -<p>“I wish they’d take you to prison and keep you there all your life with -your head stuck through a pillory.”</p> - -<p>“If you care to listen, I’ll tell you whom I was with.”</p> - -<p>“I’m listening.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I was with the Countess.”</p> - -<p>“Then you haven’t the least bit of shame,” said María furiously.</p> - -<p>“The Countess,” Quentin continued, “was upset by the verses in <i>La -Víbora</i>, and wished to avenge herself, and had asked the Governor to -have me thrown into prison.”</p> - -<p>“Then what?”</p> - -<p>“Well, Pacheco and I joined forces, and instead of her arresting us, we -arrested her, and carried her off in her carriage to a farm.”</p> - -<p>“What happened there?” asked the actress.</p> - -<p>“Nothing; we became good friends.”</p> - -<p>“Bah!”</p> - -<p>“What ideas women have of each other!—” said Quentin sarcastically. -“For them, all other women are prostitutes.”</p> - -<p>“Not all: just <i>some</i>.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[289]</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Do you believe that the Countess is a chorus girl?” said Quentin -acridly.</p> - -<p>María paled and looked at Quentin with concentrated fury.</p> - -<p>“What did the Countess do there?” asked the Swiss.</p> - -<p>“Nothing—rode and walked. She acted like what she is: a fine lady. -Pacheco was crazy about her.”</p> - -<p>“Weren’t you?”</p> - -<p>“You know, Springer, that I am marble as far as women are concerned.”</p> - -<p>“What a faker!” exclaimed the Swiss.</p> - -<p>“What a liar!” added María Lucena.</p> - -<p>“May they pluck my wings, as the gipsies say, if I’m not telling the -truth. You know, María, that I’m like a box of mixed candy that has -neither cover nor flap.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t believe you.”</p> - -<p>“Then I say you’re a St. Thomas in skirts.”</p> - -<p>María was gradually calming down and speaking more pleasantly, as she -prepared to leave for the theatre, when a man, tall, thin, with a black -beard, kangaroo arms, and ferocious-looking hands, came up to Quentin. -After making some mysterious grimaces, and winking his eyes, he -whispered something in Quentin’s ear.</p> - -<p>“What did that man say to you?” asked María.</p> - -<p>“That man is a hardware dealer and a Freemason; he told me that I must -go to the Patrician Lodge tonight.”</p> - -<p>“There you go again with your humbugs. I’ve lost all patience with you. -So he’s a <i>Fleemason</i>, eh? Do you think I’m a fool?”</p> - -<p>“Hey!” called Quentin to the hardware dealer, who had already reached -the door.</p> - -<p>“What is it?” asked the Mason.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[290]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Will you kindly tell this woman what you wanted of me?”</p> - -<p>“Ah! I cannot,” replied the man, smiling and placing one of his -paws—which were worthy of long-handed Artaxerxes—upon his breast. “No, -I cannot.”</p> - -<p>He then raised his hand to his forehead, then to his shoulder, making -several strange gestures.</p> - -<p>“Do you believe he is a <i>Fleemason</i>?” said María to the Swiss in a -whisper.</p> - -<p>“Yes; assuredly.”</p> - -<p>“All right, Diagasio, that will do,” said Quentin.</p> - -<p>“Ha ... ha ...!” laughed the actress. “That poor man really has a -peculiar look.”</p> - -<p>The hardware merchant bowed, a smile appeared within his black beard, -like a ray of sunlight in a thicket, and moving his huge hands lazily, -he thoughtfully retired, not without having knocked a bottle off a table -and stepping on a dog.</p> - -<p>“Poor fellow,” said Quentin, “he has become unbalanced with all this -Masonry.”</p> - -<p>“What did you call him?” asked the Swiss.</p> - -<p>“Diagasio. His real name is Diego, but Diagasio seems more euphonious to -me. In the Lodge we have baptized him Marat.”</p> - -<p>The Swiss smiled, and Quentin left the café. He traversed several -alleys, and was walking along the Calle de los Dolores Chicos toward the -Calle del Cister, when a man wrapped in a cloak approached him.</p> - -<p>“Wait a moment, Quentin,” said a voice.</p> - -<p>“Hello, Don Paco.”</p> - -<p>“Where are you going?”</p> - -<p>“To the Lodge, as I have just received notice to do.”</p> - -<p>“I sent the notice to you.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[291]</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“You did? What’s up?”</p> - -<p>“We must speak alone, Quentin.”</p> - -<p>“Whenever you wish.”</p> - -<p>“Things are moving rapidly, my friend. The Revolution is gaining ground; -but in this city, the Revolutionary Committee does nothing—or almost -nothing. <i>Inter nos</i>, its members haven’t enough patriotism; understand? -We must stir them up; and you, who know many strong-minded people, can -help a lot.”</p> - -<p>“Pacheco has more influence than I have, in that respect.”</p> - -<p>“But to ally oneself with a bandit!”</p> - -<p>“As to that, you chaps will find out whether he suits you or not.”</p> - -<p>“What do you think of him?”</p> - -<p>“I’ll talk to him.”</p> - -<p>“Is he in Cordova?”</p> - -<p>“He is near Cordova.”</p> - -<p>“Good: I shall speak here in the Lodge, and in the Junta: if they are -agreed, you make an appointment with Pacheco, and we shall meet later.”</p> - -<p>“Very well. Will you know tomorrow if they are agreed?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. I’ll let you know; and when you get an answer from Pacheco, we’ll -go to see him.”</p> - -<p>“Very well. Until another time.”</p> - -<p>“Until very soon.”</p> - -<p>The two conspirators shook hands by way of a farewell, and wrapping -themselves to their eyes in their cloaks, they glided along the narrow -alleyways.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[292]</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIX" id="CHAPTER_XXIX"></a>CHAPTER XXIX<br /><br /> -<small>A CONFERENCE</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">A</span> FEW days later, at nine-thirty in the evening, Quentin climbed the -stairs of a house on the Calle del Cister.</p> - -<p>He entered the second floor, traversed the lay-brother’s school—a large -room with tables in rows and placards on the walls—and passed into the -Lodge, which was a garret with a table at one end and an oil lamp that -provided the only light.</p> - -<p>Quentin could not tell whether the honourable Masons there assembled -were in a white meeting or coloured meeting; the session must have been -over, for the President, Don Paco, was perorating—though now deprived -of his presidential dignity—among the rabble of the Aventine Hill.</p> - -<p>Don Paco was a veritable river of words. All of the stock revolutionary -phrases came fluently to his lips. “The rights of a citizen,”—“the -ominous yoke of reaction” ... “the heroic efforts of our fathers” ..., -“a just punishment for his perversity”....</p> - -<p>Don Paco pronounced all these phrases as though by the mere act of -saying them, they were realized.</p> - -<p>If they charged one of the Masonic brothers with a dangerous mission, -and he made the excuse of having a family, Don Paco said, as Cato would -have remarked:</p> - -<p>“Country before family.”</p> - -<p>But if the dangerous mission were for <i>him</i>, Don Paco<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[293]</a></span> would argue that -he did not wish to compromise the sacred cause of liberty by a rash act.</p> - -<p>Sometimes, instead of saying sacred, he said venerable, which, for Don -Paco, had its own value and distinctive meaning.</p> - -<p>If some Progressist leader in Madrid was supposed to have been a traitor -against either the sacred, or the venerable cause, Don Paco cried out in -the Lodge:</p> - -<p>“<i>A la barra</i> with the citizen! <i>A la barra!</i>”</p> - -<p>He himself did not know what <i>la barra</i> was; but it was a matter of a -cry that would sound well, and that sounded admirably: <i>A la barra!</i></p> - -<p>When he was too excited, Don Paco admired English parliamentarism above -everything else. Quentin had once told him that he looked like Sir -Robert Peel.</p> - -<p>Quentin had seen the figure of that orator on an advertisement for -shoe-blacking; he had nothing but the vaguest ideas of Sir Robert’s -existence; but it was all the same to Don Paco, and the comparison made -him swell with pride.</p> - -<p>Aside from these political farces, Don Paco Sánchez Olmillo, Master -Surgeon and Master Mason, was a good sort of person, without an evil -trait; he was a small, bald-headed old man, pimply and apopleptic. He -had a thick neck, eyes that bulged so far from his head that they looked -as if they had been stuck into his skin. At the slightest effort, with -the most insignificant of his phrases, he blushed to the roots of his -hair; if he turned loose one of his cries, his blush changed from red to -violet, and even to blue.</p> - -<p>Don Paco had great admirers among the members of the Lodge; they -considered him a tremendous personage.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[294]</a></span></p> - -<p>Quentin called to Diagasio, the long-handed hardware merchant, and said:</p> - -<p>“Tell Don Paco I’m waiting for him.”</p> - -<p>“He’s speaking.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I’m in a hurry.”</p> - -<p>Diagasio left him, and presently Don Paco came over, still orating, and -surrounded by several friends.</p> - -<p>“No,” he was saying, “I claim it, and I shall always claim it. We -Spaniards are not yet ready to accept the republican form of government. -Ah, gentlemen! If we were in England! In that freest of all lands, the -cradle of liberties, ... of sacred liberties.”</p> - -<p>“Very well,”—said Quentin quickly, “that discourse does not concern me. -I came to tell you that I have received an answer to the letter I sent, -and that he has made an appointment.”</p> - -<p>Don Paco returned to his friends, and now and then a phrase reached -Quentin: “A dangerous mission,” “mysteries,” “the police,” “the result -will be known later.” Then the worthy President came over to Quentin.</p> - -<p>“Will some one accompany us?”</p> - -<p>“No; why should they? The more people that go, the worse it will be.”</p> - -<p>“That’s true. They will mistrust us.”</p> - -<p>Don Paco took leave of his friends as Sir Robert Peel might have done -had they taken that gentleman to the gallows: they descended the stairs, -and came out upon the street.</p> - -<p>They made their way to the Gran Capitán, from there to the Victoria, and -then, passing the Puerta de Gallegos, they travelled toward the Puerta -de Almodóvar.</p> - -<p>Quentin felt a great sense of satisfaction when he ob<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[295]</a></span>served the fact -that the old man was frightened. At every step Don Paco said to him:</p> - -<p>“Some one is following us.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t be idiotic. Who is going to follow us?”</p> - -<p>“Ah! You don’t know what a terrible police force those men have!”</p> - -<p>To Don Paco, life was all mystery, darkness, espionage, conspiracy. To -sum up: it was fear, and the fear in this instance was neutralized by -speaking aloud, and humming selections from comic operas.</p> - -<p>This mixture of petulance and fright amused Quentin greatly. When he saw -that the old man was very animated, humming an air from “Marina,” or -from “El Domino Azúl,” he said to him:</p> - -<p>“Hush, Don Paco, I think I saw a man spying on us from among those -trees.”</p> - -<p>Immediately the animation of the worthy President changed into an -evil-omened silence.</p> - -<p>As the two men followed the wall, the enormous, red moon rose over the -town like a dying sun; the Cathedral tower looked very white against the -dark blue sky.... They passed a tile-kiln, and Quentin, seeing that Don -Paco was dispirited, said:</p> - -<p>“I think we can be at ease now, for from here on there are no guards nor -watchmen to spy on us.”</p> - -<p>These words heartened the old man; a moment later, he was humming a -piece from “El Domino Azúl,” which contained words to the effect that he -did not want his dove so near the hawk.</p> - -<p>Then, absolutely at ease, he commenced to say in a pompous voice:</p> - -<p>“There are moments in the lives of cities as there are in those of -individuals....<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[296]</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“A speech! Don Paco, for Heaven’s sake! At a time like this!” exclaimed -Quentin....</p> - -<p>The old man, seeing that he could not continue his discourse, said -familiarly:</p> - -<p>“The things that have been accomplished in our lifetime, Quentin! When -we first met, there in the Café de Pepon, on the Calle de Antonio de -Morales, we were a mere handful of men with advanced ideas.... Today, -you see how different it is. And all through my efforts, Quentin. I -inaugurated the Reading Centre for workmen, and the Patrician Lodge ...; -I was one of the Hatchet Club, and one of the founders of the Committee. -I was always conspiring.”</p> - -<p>“You are very brave,” said Quentin slyly.</p> - -<p>“No; all I am is patriotic; really, Quentin. How many times at night -have I ventured out in disguise, sometimes along the Gran Capitán, or -through any of the sally-ports on the left, and reached the bridge by -encircling the wall! There I used to glide along the fosses of the -Calahorra castle, climb down to the other bank of the Guadalquivir, and -continue down stream until I struck the Montilla turnpike. At other -times I crossed the river by the Adalid ford, to come out later behind -the Campo de la Verdad in a bit of land called Los Barreros, where a -guard received me most informally.”</p> - -<p>“Why all these masquerades, Don Paco?”</p> - -<p>“You may believe that they were all necessary.”</p> - -<p>Don Paco and Quentin were walking toward the river, when suddenly, -between the Puerta de Seville, and the Cementerio de la Salud, they -heard a loud, harsh voice that rang out powerfully in the silence of the -night.</p> - -<p>“Halt! Who goes there?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[297]</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Two men,” answered Quentin sarcastically, “at least that’s what we look -like.”</p> - -<p>“For God’s sake don’t!” exclaimed Don Paco. “They might shoot.”</p> - -<p>The voice, louder and more threatening than before, shouted again:</p> - -<p>“Halt, in the name of the <i>guardia civil</i>!”</p> - -<p>“We are halted,” stammered Don Paco, trembling.</p> - -<p>“Advance.”</p> - -<p>They approached the spot where they had heard the voices; one of the -guards, after looking at them closely, said:</p> - -<p>“What are you doing here at this time of night?”</p> - -<p>“This gentleman,” said Quentin, “has been called to a farmhouse to bleed -a sick man.”</p> - -<p>“Is he a blood-letter?”</p> - -<p>“I’m a doctor,” said Don Paco.</p> - -<p>“What are you?”</p> - -<p>“I’m his assistant.”</p> - -<p>“Why didn’t you answer us immediately?”</p> - -<p>“On account of the effect you had on us,” said Quentin slyly.</p> - -<p>“Well, you’re lucky to be let off,” remarked the guard.</p> - -<p>“Why, what’s the matter?” asked Quentin.</p> - -<p>“Pacheco has been about these nights.”</p> - -<p>Don Paco began to tremble like a leaf.</p> - -<p>“Well, we must go and bleed that sick man,” said Quentin. “Adiós, -Señores.”</p> - -<p>“Good night.”</p> - -<p>They went around the wall, and suddenly Don Paco came to a determined -halt.</p> - -<p>“No; I’m not going!” he exclaimed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[298]</a></span></p> - -<p>“What’s the matter with you?”</p> - -<p>“It is very imprudent for us to go and see Pacheco,” the old man -stammered. “We shall discredit the cause.”</p> - -<p>“You might have thought of that before.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I’m not going.”</p> - -<p>“Very well; I shall go alone.”</p> - -<p>“No, no.... Ah, my God!”</p> - -<p>“Are you ill, Don Paco?”</p> - -<p>“Yes; I believe I’ve taken cold—” replied the terrible revolutionist in -a trembling voice. “Furthermore, I do not see the necessity of visiting -Pacheco at this time of night.”</p> - -<p>“Then I’ll go if you wish.”</p> - -<p>“What’s the use?” added the old man insinuatingly. “Everybody will think -that we went to see Pacheco. Neither of us need deny the fact; so why -should we go now and expose ourselves to a serious danger? Besides, it’s -a cold night, and cold is not healthy.”</p> - -<p>“But we have an appointment with Pacheco.”</p> - -<p>“What difference does that make?”</p> - -<p>“Then there is still another reason,” continued Quentin.</p> - -<p>“What is it?”</p> - -<p>“If we go back now, and the guards see us, they’ll get suspicious.”</p> - -<p>“Then what shall we do?”</p> - -<p>“I think the best thing to do is to go ahead.”</p> - -<p>Don Paco sighed, and very reluctantly followed after Quentin. The moon -was climbing higher in the sky. The old man walked along profoundly -disheartened. After half an hour had elapsed, he said:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[299]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Now we can go back.”</p> - -<p>“What for? We’ve only a little farther to go.”</p> - -<p>A moment later they left the road and approached the house. Quentin -thrust his fingers into his mouth and whistled shrilly.</p> - -<p>“They’re coming,” said Don Paco, trembling.</p> - -<p>In a few seconds, they heard another whistle. Quentin went to the door -of the house; at the same time, a small window was opened, and Pacheco -said in a low voice:</p> - -<p>“Is that you, Quentin?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll be right down.”</p> - -<p>The door opened noiselessly, and Don Paco and Quentin entered a dark -vestibule.</p> - -<p>“This way,” said Pacheco’s voice.</p> - -<p>“Why don’t you light a lamp?” asked Don Paco.</p> - -<p>“Light can be seen at a distance.”</p> - -<p>They crossed the vestibule and entered a kitchen illuminated by a lamp.</p> - -<p>“Be seated, gentlemen,” said the bandit. He closed the kitchen door, and -threw an armful of dried branches upon the fire. “It’s a cold night,” he -added.</p> - -<p>Don Paco and Quentin sat down, and the latter began to speak:</p> - -<p>“This gentleman,” he said, “is Don Paco Sánchez Olmillo, who, as you -know, is one of the members of the Revolutionary Junta and Chief of the -Patrician Lodge.”</p> - -<p>“No, not Chief,” Don Paco interrupted. “The Masons have no chiefs.”</p> - -<p>“We won’t discuss the use of words now; the idea is to come to an -understanding. This gentleman, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[300]</a></span> other members of the Junta, have -thought that you, comrade, could help them start a movement, and wish to -get into touch with you.”</p> - -<p>“The fact is,” said Don Paco, who believed that Quentin was compromising -him a bit too much, “that I have no power—”</p> - -<p>“It’s not a question of legal power, nor of lawyers,” replied Quentin. -“With us, one’s word is sufficient.”</p> - -<p>“It’s absolute, comrade,” added Pacheco.</p> - -<p>“Don Paco, you wished to know if Pacheco could organize the movement, -did you not?”</p> - -<p>“Yes; that is it essentially.”</p> - -<p>“Very well; now you know, Pacheco. Kindly tell us if you can undertake -the work, and under what conditions.”</p> - -<p>“See here, Quentin,” said the bandit, “you already know my ideas, and -that I am more liberal than Riego. I don’t want a thing for helping -along the Revolution: no money, nor any kind of a reward; I’m not going -to haggle over that. What I do want is, that they will not do me a bad -turn. Because those Junta fellows, and I don’t mean this gentleman, are -capable of ’most any thing. I’ll go to Cordova and see what people I can -count on, and I’ll do all the work there is to do; but under one -condition; and that is, that all those gentlemen of the Junta will -guarantee that the police will not interfere with me. That is to say, I -don’t mind exposing myself to being shot, but I don’t want to get shot -in the belt for nothing.”</p> - -<p>“I have no authority—” said Don Paco, “nor the attributes....”</p> - -<p>“You will have to take that up with the Junta,” said Quentin. “Why don’t -you go, comrade?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[301]</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“No; I’m not going to Cordova.”</p> - -<p>“Why not?”</p> - -<p>“Because I’m afraid that they have sold me, and it wouldn’t go well with -the man who did it.”</p> - -<p>“A couple of guards stopped us yonder, and told us that they were -waiting for you,” said Quentin.</p> - -<p>“Where?”</p> - -<p>“Near the Cementerio de la Salud.”</p> - -<p>“Well, let ’em squat,” said Pacheco, “but let us get at what we are -going to do. Comrade, if you will do me the favour of seeing those Junta -fellows and speaking to them, you can tell them exactly what I want. If -they accept, tell El Cuervo; he’ll see to it that I receive the answer, -and the next day I’ll be in Cordova.”</p> - -<p>“Then, there’s nothing more to say.”</p> - -<p>The three men rose to their feet.</p> - -<p>“Well, let’s be going, Don Paco,” said Quentin.</p> - -<p>“Man alive, wouldn’t it be better for us to stay here all night?”</p> - -<p>“As you wish.”</p> - -<p>“Are there any beds here?”</p> - -<p>“I should say not!”</p> - -<p>“I sleep in the strawloft,” said Pacheco. “I’ll go with you, if you -wish.”</p> - -<p>Don Paco hesitated between going over the road again, and passing a bad -night, and chose the latter.</p> - -<p>“Let us go to the strawloft.”</p> - -<p>Pacheco took a lantern, opened the kitchen door, traversed a patio, then -another, and mounting a staircase, came to a hole; it was the strawloft.</p> - -<p>“Stretch out,” said Pacheco; “tomorrow, day will break, and the one-eyed -man will see his asparagus. Good night!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[302]</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Quentin removed his boots, and in a little while was fast asleep.</p> - -<p>In the morning a loud voice awoke him.</p> - -<p>“Muleteers! Day’s dawning!”</p> - -<p>Quentin sat up; the sun was pouring through the cracks in the loft; -cocks were crowing. Pacheco had gone. Don Paco, seated on the straw, -with a coloured handkerchief on his head, was groaning.</p> - -<p>“What a night! My God, what a night!” Quentin heard him say.</p> - -<p>“What! Didn’t you sleep, Don Paco?”</p> - -<p>“Not a minute. But you slept like a log.”</p> - -<p>“Well, let’s be going.”</p> - -<p>They got up, and picked the straw off their clothes, like feathers from -a goose.</p> - -<p>They left the farm. It was a superb day. When they drew near the -Cementerio de la Salud, they descended to the river, and traversing the -Alameda del Corregidor, between the Seminary and the Arabian mill, they -came out at the bridge gate.</p> - -<p>“This afternoon at the Casino,” said Don Paco, who once within the city -was beginning to regain his presence of mind.</p> - -<p>“At what time?”</p> - -<p>“At dusk.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll be there.”</p> - -<p>“Now you see what one does for one’s ideas,” said Don Paco in the -Casino. “One sacrifices one’s self for the Revolution, and for the -Country; one faces the odium of the Moderates for years and years; one -exposes one’s self to all the dangers imaginable; and even then they do -not count one among the founders. They speak of Olózaga, of Sagasta.... -I tell you it is an outrage.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[303]</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Hello, Don Paco,” greeted Quentin. “Are you all rested from your bad -night?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. Let us interview those men.”</p> - -<p>“Whenever you wish.”</p> - -<p>“Let us go now.”</p> - -<p>“Where do we have to go?”</p> - -<p>“To the house of the Count of Doña Mencia. The Junta is meeting there.”</p> - -<p>The Count lived in one of the central streets of Cordova. They entered -the vestibule and rang. A servant opened the gate and accompanied them -to the main floor, to a large hall with a panelled ceiling, and -illuminated by two wax candles. On the walls were highly polished -portraits, in enormous, heavily carved frames. A young man with a black -beard greeted Don Paco and Quentin, and conducted them into an office -where eight or ten persons were seated.</p> - -<p>These men did not interrupt their conversation at the entrance of the -new comers, but went on talking: the Revolution was spreading throughout -all Andalusia; the Revolutionary troops were marching on Cordova....</p> - -<p>Don Paco heard this news, and then spoke to one of the gentlemen about -his conversation with Pacheco. This gentleman came up to Quentin and -said:</p> - -<p>“Tell Pacheco that he can rest easy as far as I am concerned. I shall do -all in my power to keep them from apprehending him.”</p> - -<p>“Do you hear what the Count of Doña Mencia says?” Don Paco asked -Quentin.</p> - -<p>“Yes, but it is not enough,” replied Quentin, who felt profoundly -irritated upon hearing that name. “I went to see Pacheco because Don -Paco told me that he could be useful to you in organizing the people.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[304]</a></span> -Whether or not my friend has power, I do not know; what I do know is -this, that Pacheco, in order to come to Cordova, makes the condition -that you gentlemen must give your word that he will not be arrested, and -that they will play no tricks on him. Now you may find out whether that -suits you or not.”</p> - -<p>The violent tone employed by Quentin surprised the gentlemen of the -Junta; some of them protested, but the Count went over to the -protestants and spoke to them in a low voice. They discussed Pacheco’s -proposition; some said that such complicity with a bandit was -dishonourable; others were merely concerned with whether he would be -useful or not. Finally they made up their minds, and one of them came up -to Quentin and said:</p> - -<p>“You may tell your friend,” and the man emphasized the word, “that he -will not be molested in Cordova.”</p> - -<p>“Do you all hold yourselves responsible for him?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Very well. Good afternoon.”</p> - -<p>Quentin inclined his head slightly, left the office, crossed the hall, -and went into the street. He made his way to El Cuervo’s tavern, where -he told the landlord to let Señor José know that he could come to -Cordova with absolute safety.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[305]</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXX" id="CHAPTER_XXX"></a>CHAPTER XXX<br /><br /> -<small>PROJECTS</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">I</span>T was very convenient for Quentin to have Pacheco in Cordova. The -latter carried on the conspiracy as smoothly as silk; he had come to an -understanding with the secretary of the Count of Doña Mencia, who was -expecting to contribute the money realized from a sale of some -Government bonds in Madrid. It was also convenient for Quentin to have -Pacheco agitate the people; if the agitation was successful, he would -profit by it; if not, he would peacefully retire.</p> - -<p>Some days later, Quentin had not yet arisen when Pacheco presented -himself at his house. María Lucena’s mother opened the door and -conducted him into the bedroom.</p> - -<p>“Don’t get up,” said Pacheco. “Stay right in bed.”</p> - -<p>“What’s doing? What brings you here?”</p> - -<p>“I came this early because I did not want to meet any one in the -streets; it might prove to be a provocation. I talked with one of the -members of the Junta, and he assured me again that I have no need to be -afraid, that they will not arrest me; then he asked me if I had any -plan, any project, and I told him that I couldn’t explain as yet. -Understand? Now the result is that some of them think that I have the -Revolution all prepared.”</p> - -<p>“That’s funny,” said Quentin.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[306]</a></span></p> - -<p>“What shall I do?”</p> - -<p>“The first thing you ought to do, is to get that money from the Count.”</p> - -<p>“They are going to give it to me this week.”</p> - -<p>“Good; then go on buying arms and organizing a following.”</p> - -<p>“Right in Cordova?”</p> - -<p>“Yes; but without showing yourself in the streets; let every man stay in -his house. We must figure out our strength, and wait for the proper -opportunity.”</p> - -<p>“And then—”</p> - -<p>“Then, circumstances will tell us what to do. If it suits us to start a -row now, why we’ll start it; if we have to shoot a few guns in the -streets tomorrow, why, we’ll shoot them. Nobody knows what may happen. -The troops are out there on the bridge, and messages and letters and -packages come and go. The idea in the city is to be strong, and to keep -hidden.”</p> - -<p>“So I must go ahead and recruit?”</p> - -<p>“Of course.”</p> - -<p>“All right. I’m living outside of the town now, in a hut on the Campo de -la Verdad; you see I don’t like to stay in the city.”</p> - -<p>“You have done well.”</p> - -<p>“The house faces the river, and has a horseshoe over the vestibule. Come -and see me tomorrow.”</p> - -<p>“At what time?”</p> - -<p>“In the afternoon.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll be there.”</p> - -<p>During the subsequent days, Quentin went every afternoon to Pacheco’s -house in the Campo de la Verdad; sat down in a cloth-bottomed -rocking-chair; put his feet on the window sill, and smoked his pipe.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[307]</a></span></p> - -<p>He listened to the conversation, and gazed indifferently at the town.</p> - -<p>Through his half-closed eyes he saw the half-ruined gate of the bridge; -beyond, and above it, rose the grey walls of the Mosque, with their -serrated battlements; above these walls hung the dark cupola of the -cathedral, and the graceful tower rose glistening in the sun, with the -angel on its peak inlayed in the huge sapphire of the sky.</p> - -<p>On one side of the bridge, the Alcázar garden displayed its tall, dark -cypresses, and its short shrub-like orange trees; then the Roman Wall, -grey, spotted with the dusty green of parasite weeds, continued toward -the left, and stretched on, cut here and there by cubes of rock, as far -as the Cementerio de la Salud.</p> - -<p>On the other side, the houses of the Calle de la Ribera formed a -semi-circle, following the horseshoe bend of the river, which flowed on -as though trying to undermine the town.</p> - -<p>These houses, which were reflected in the surface of the river—a -serpent of ever changing colour—were small, grey, and crooked. Upon -their walls, which were continuously calcined by the sun, grew -dark-coloured ivy; between their garden walls blossomed prickly pears -with huge intertwined and pulpy leaves; and from their patios and -corrals peeped the cup-shaped tops of cypress trees and the branches of -silver-leafed fig trees.</p> - -<p>Their roofs were grey, dirty, heaped one above the other; with azoteas, -look-outs, and little towers; a growth of hedge mustard converted some -of them into green meadows.</p> - -<p>Beyond these houses the broken line of the roofs of the town was -silhouetted against the crystal blue sky.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[308]</a></span> This line was interrupted -here and there by a tower, and reached as far as the river, where it -ended in a few blue and rose houses near the Martos mill.</p> - -<p>Some bell or other was clanging almost continuously. Quentin listened to -them sleepily and drowsily, watching the hazy sky, and the river of -ever-changing colour.</p> - -<p>Pacheco’s house had a room with a window that looked out on the other -side: upon a little square where a few tramps peacefully sunned -themselves.</p> - -<p>Among them was one who interested Quentin. This fellow wore a red -kerchief on his head, side-burns that reached the tips of his ears, and -a large, ragged sash. He used to sit on a stone bench, and, his face -resting in his hand, would study the actions and movements of a cock -with flame-coloured plumage.</p> - -<p>This observer of the cock was at the same time the pedagogue of the -feathered biped, which must have had its serious difficulties, to judge -by the reflective attitude which the man struck at times.</p> - -<p>Quentin listened to what they said in the meetings that went on about -him.</p> - -<p>How far away his thoughts were in some instances! From time to time, -Pacheco, or one of the conspirators put a question to him which he -answered mechanically. His silence was taken for reflection.</p> - -<p>Quentin excited the bandit’s self-esteem. He was waiting for the time -when they would get the Count’s money so that he could take his share -and skip off to Madrid. He did not wish this intention of his to become -known, so he gave the bandit to understand that he wanted the money for -revolutionary purposes only.</p> - -<p>Every day Quentin played at the Casino and lost. He had bad luck. He had -become tied up with <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[309]</a></span>money-lenders and was signing I. O. U.’s at eighty -percent, with the healthy intention of never paying them.</p> - -<p>After conferring with all the rowdies that came to see him, Pacheco -consulted with Quentin. The bandit had romantic aspirations; at night he -read books which narrated the stories of great battles; this stirred him -up, and made him believe that he was a man born for a great purpose.</p> - -<p>“Do you know what I’ve been thinking?” Pacheco said one afternoon to -Quentin.</p> - -<p>“What?”</p> - -<p>“That if I have my people organized beforehand in order to win the -battle of Alcolea, I shall become master of the town.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t be foolish,” Quentin told him. “You aren’t strong enough for -that.”</p> - -<p>“No? You’ll see. I have more followers in the city than you think I -have.”</p> - -<p>“But you have no arms.”</p> - -<p>“Wait until the Count’s money comes—it won’t be long now.”</p> - -<p>“Are you going to oppose the troops?”</p> - -<p>“The troops will join us.”</p> - -<p>“Then what? What are you going to do then?”</p> - -<p>“If I win,—proclaim the Republic.”</p> - -<p>Quentin looked closely at Pacheco.</p> - -<p>“The poor man,” he thought, “he has gone mad with the idea of -greatness.”</p> - -<p>At this moment El Taco, a corrupt individual who had been made Pacheco’s -lieutenant, came in to say that some men were waiting for him below.</p> - -<p>“I’ll be back,” said the bandit.</p> - -<p>Quentin was left alone.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[310]</a></span></p> - -<p>“That chap is going to do something foolish,” he murmured, “and the -worst of it is, he’s going to break up my combination. I mustn’t leave -him alone for a minute until I get hold of that money. Suppose he keeps -it here, and then they shoot him in the street? Good-bye cash! How does -one prove that money belongs to one? I could ask him for a key to this -room, but he might get suspicious, and I don’t want him to do that. -Let’s have a look at that key.”</p> - -<p>Quentin went to the door; the key was small, and the lock new; doubtless -Pacheco himself had put it on.</p> - -<p>“I’ve got to take an impression of it,” said Quentin to himself.</p> - -<p>The next day he presented himself at Pacheco’s house with two pieces of -white wax in his pocket. He listened to the discussions and intrigues of -the conspirators as usual, stretched out in his armchair. When he -noticed that they were about to go, he said to the bandit:</p> - -<p>“By the way, comrade, let me have a little paper and ink, I want to do a -little writing.”</p> - -<p>“All right; here you are. We’re going to El Cuervo’s tavern. We’ll wait -for you there.”</p> - -<p>Quentin sat down and made a pretence at writing, but noticed that some -one had stayed behind. It was El Taco. He went on writing meaningless -words, but El Taco still remained in the room. Annoyed and impatient, -Quentin got up.</p> - -<p>“I’ve forgotten my tobacco,” he said; “is there a shop near here?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, right near.”</p> - -<p>“I’m going to buy a box.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll bring you one.”</p> - -<p>“Good.” Quentin produced a peseta and gave it to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[311]</a></span> El Taco. The moment -the man had left the room, he kneaded the wax between his fingers until -he had softened it, took out the key, and made the impression. He was -softening the other piece of wax, in case the first had come out badly, -when he heard El Taco’s footsteps skipping up the stairs. Quentin -quickly inserted the key in the lock and sat down at the table. He went -on pretending to write, thrust the paper in the envelope, and left the -house. El Taco locked the door.</p> - -<p>“Let’s go to El Cuervo’s tavern,” said Quentin.</p> - -<p>They crossed the bridge and entered the tavern.</p> - -<p>There they found, seated in a group, Cornejo, now recovered from his -beating, Currito Martín, Carrahola, El Rano, two or three unknown men, -and a ferocious individual whom they called El Ahorcado (The Hanged -Man), because, strange as it may seem, he had been officially hung by an -executioner. This man had a terrible history. Years ago, he had been the -proprietor of a store near Despeñaperros. One night a man, apparently -wealthy, came into the store. El Ahorcado and his wife murdered the -traveller to rob him, only to discover that their victim was their own -son, who had gone to America in his childhood, and there enriched -himself. Condemned to death, El Ahorcado went to the gallows; but the -apparatus of the executioner failed to work in the orthodox manner, and -he was pardoned. He was sent to Ceuta where he completed his sentence, -and then returned to Cordova.</p> - -<p>El Ahorcado had the names of those in his district who were affiliated -with Pacheco, and he read them by placing one hand on his throat—the -only way in which he could emit sounds.</p> - -<p>“Now then, let’s have the list,” said Pacheco.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[312]</a></span></p> - -<p>El Ahorcado began to read.</p> - -<p>“Argote.”</p> - -<p>“He’s a good one: a man with hair on his chest,” commented Currito.</p> - -<p>“Matute, El Mochuelo, Pata al Hombro,” continued El Ahorcado, “El -Mocarro.”</p> - -<p>“He’s got the biggest nose in Cordova,” interrupted Currito, “and has to -wipe it on his muffler, because handkerchiefs aren’t big enough.”</p> - -<p>Thus the list of names went on, with Currito’s responding commentary.</p> - -<p>“El Penducho.”</p> - -<p>“Good fellow.”</p> - -<p>“Cuco Pavo, El Cimborrio.”</p> - -<p>“There’s a man who cleans his face with a used stocking, and dirties the -stocking by doing it.”</p> - -<p>“Malpicones, Ojancos.”</p> - -<p>“He’s a money-lender who loans at a thousand percent.”</p> - -<p>“Muñequitas, La Madamita.”</p> - -<p>“They’re from Benamejí.”</p> - -<p>“They just got out of the Carraca prison,” said El Rano.</p> - -<p>“El Poyato.”</p> - -<p>“Now we’re coming to the sweepings,” interrupted Currito.</p> - -<p>“Don’t you believe it,” replied El Ahorcado, “El Poyato is no frog; and -even if the wheat does hit him in the chest when he walks through the -fields, he is a very brave man.”</p> - -<p>“That’s right,” said Carrahola, defending a small man from a sense of -comradeship.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[313]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Boca Muerta,” continued El Ahorcado. “El Zurrio, Cantarote, Once -Dedos.”</p> - -<p>“That chap has one arm longer than the other, and an extra finger on -it,” said Currito.</p> - -<p>“Ramos Léchuga.”</p> - -<p>“He’s a great big good-for-nothing,” said one.</p> - -<p>“And very soft mouthed,” replied another.</p> - -<p>“What about women?” asked Pacheco.</p> - -<p>“They are put down on this other paper,” answered El Ahorcado. “La -Canasta, La Bardesa, La Cachumba....”</p> - -<p>“There’s a fine bunch of old aunties for you,” said Currito with a -laugh.</p> - -<p>“La Cometa, La Saltacharcos, La Chirivicha....”</p> - -<p>“That’s very good,” said Pacheco. “Within three days you may come here -and get your money.”</p> - -<p>Quentin understood by this that the bandit was sure of getting hold of -the money by that time. He left the tavern, and inquired at the Lodge -for Diagasio’s hardware shop. It was in a street near La Corredera. He -called on the long-handed individual, and, taking him into a corner very -mysteriously, told him what he wanted.</p> - -<p>“I’ll give you the key tomorrow in the Lodge.”</p> - -<p>Quentin pressed the hardware merchant’s hand, and went home.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[314]</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXI" id="CHAPTER_XXXI"></a>CHAPTER XXXI<br /><br /> -<small>NIGHT AND DAY</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>WO evenings later, Quentin was in the Café del Recreo. His streak of -bad luck at the Casino continued. María Lucena was talking to Springer: -Quentin was smoking, and thoughtfully contemplating the ceiling. Very -much bored, he rose to his feet, with the intention of going to bed.</p> - -<p>In the street he met the clerk, Diego Palomares, who was going in the -same direction.</p> - -<p>“What’s doing, Palomares?” he said.</p> - -<p>“Nothing. I’m living a dull and stupid life.”</p> - -<p>“I too.”</p> - -<p>“You? What you have done is to understand life as few people can. While -I....”</p> - -<p>“Why, what’s the matter with you?”</p> - -<p>“You are a revolutionist, aren’t you?” said Palomares. “Well, if you -ever take up arms against the rich, call on me. I’ll go with all my -heart, even to the extent of making them cough up their livers. There -are nothing but rich men and poor men in this world, say what you will -of your Progressists and Moderates. Ah! The blackguards!”</p> - -<p>“Have they done anything to you at the store?”</p> - -<p>“Not just now; but they have been for many years. Twenty years working -as if it were my own business, and helping them to get rich; they in -opulence, and me with thirty dollars a month. And that man, just -be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[315]</a></span>cause he saw me take home a chicken to my sick girl, said to me: ‘I -see that you are living like a prince.’ Curse him! Would to God he had -sunk in the ocean!”</p> - -<p>Palomares had been drinking, and with the excitement of the alcohol, he -exposed the very depths of his soul.</p> - -<p>“You are terrible,” said Quentin.</p> - -<p>“You think I’m a coward! No; I have a wife and three small children ... -and I’m already decrepit.... Believe me, we should unite against them, -and wish them death. Yes sir! Here’s what I say: the coachman should -overturn his master’s carriage, the labourer should burn the crops, the -shepherd should drive his flock over a precipice, the clerk should rob -his employer—even the wet nurses should poison their milk.”</p> - -<p>“You’re all twisted, Palomares.”</p> - -<p>“Why do you say that?”</p> - -<p>“Because I thought you were a sheep, and you are almost, almost a wolf.”</p> - -<p>“Why, there are some days when I would like to set fire to the whole -town. Then I’d stay outside with a gun and shoot anybody who tried to -escape.”</p> - -<p>“The tortoise will get there,” remarked Quentin.</p> - -<p>He said good-bye to Palomares, and went home. As he opened the door and -stepped into the entryway, he heard some one weeping sadly. Attracted by -the wails, he went through the corridor, crossed a patio, and asked in a -loud voice:</p> - -<p>“What’s the matter?”</p> - -<p>A door opened, and a weeping woman with disheveled hair came out with a -lamp in her hand. In a voice choked with sobs, she told Quentin that her -two-year-old son had died, that her husband was not in town, and that -she had no money with which to buy a casket.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[316]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Would you like to see the boy, Señorito?”</p> - -<p>Quentin entered a small whitewashed room; the boy’s body lay on a -mattress across the table.</p> - -<p>“How much do you need to bury him?” asked Quentin.</p> - -<p>“A couple of dollars.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll see if I have them. If not, we’ll pawn something from my house.”</p> - -<p>Quentin went back through the patio followed by the woman; and the two -climbed up to the main floor. Quentin lit the lamp, and went through all -the drawers. He found four dollars in María Lucena’s bureau, and gave -them to the woman. This done, he closed the door and got into bed.... -The voices of María Lucena and her mother awakened him.</p> - -<p>“There were four dollars here,” cried the actress. “Who took them?”</p> - -<p>“I took them,” said Quentin calmly.</p> - -<p>“Eh?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. One of our neighbours was crying because her baby boy had died and -she could not buy him a casket; so I gave them to her. I’ll return them -to you tomorrow.”</p> - -<p>“That’s it. That’s fine,” said the actress. “Give that woman the money I -earn.”</p> - -<p>“Am I not telling you that I will return them to you?”</p> - -<p>“Little that woman cares for her baby,” screamed María.</p> - -<p>“She’s probably buying drinks with the money by this time,” added her -mother.</p> - -<p>“Señoras,” said Quentin, sitting up in bed, “I find you absolutely -repulsive.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[317]</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“You are the one who is repulsive,” screeched the old woman.</p> - -<p>“Very well; the thing to do now is to get out of this den of harpies; -they are beginning to smell.”</p> - -<p>“Well, son; get out, and never come back,” cried María.</p> - -<p>Quentin dressed rapidly, and put on his boots and his hat.</p> - -<p>“Well; give me the key.”</p> - -<p>“I give the key to no one,” rejoined the actress.</p> - -<p>“See here, don’t you exhaust my patience, or I’ll give you a thumping.”</p> - -<p>When the old woman heard this, thrusting her face close to Quentin’s, -she began to insult him, shaking her hands in his face.</p> - -<p>“Rowdy!” she said, “you’re an indecent rowdy. A fandango-dancing rowdy!”</p> - -<p>“Hush, ancient Canidia,” said Quentin, pushing the old woman away from -him, “and get you gone to your laboratory.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t you call my mother names; do you hear?”</p> - -<p>“Nobody can call me names.”</p> - -<p>“Well: will you give me the key or won’t you?” asked Quentin.</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>Quentin went to the balcony window and opened it wide. He jumped to the -other side of the railing, hung by his wrists, felt for the grated -window of the floor below, and dropped to the sidewalk.</p> - -<p>“Until—never!” he called from the street.</p> - -<p>He had blood on his cheek from one of the old woman’s scratches. He -washed at a fountain, dried himself on his handkerchief, and went to the -Casino. He went<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[318]</a></span> through a door on the right, and entered a large salon -which was lined with enormous mirrors.</p> - -<p>A sleepy waiter approached him.</p> - -<p>“Do you wish something, Don Quentin?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“Yes; put out that light as if there were no one here.”</p> - -<p>“Are you going to stay here?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“But that is not allowed.”</p> - -<p>“Bah! What’s the difference?”</p> - -<p>The lights were put out, and, after a little, Quentin fell asleep on the -divan.</p> - -<p>Two waiters in coarse, white aprons awoke Quentin. One was placing the -chairs upon the tables, and the other was cleaning the divans with a mop -and brush.</p> - -<p>“Have you been asleep, Señorito?” said one of them with a laugh.</p> - -<p>“Yes; what time is it?”</p> - -<p>“Very early. Do you know that there is a great hub-bub in the streets?”</p> - -<p>“What is happening?”</p> - -<p>“Pacheco has entered Cordova with a gang of toughs, and they are all -running through these God-forsaken streets yelling and rioting.”</p> - -<p>Quentin jumped up. There was a bucket of water on the floor.</p> - -<p>“Is it clean?” he asked the waiters.</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>Quentin kneeled on the floor and ducked himself twice. The waiters -laughed, thinking that it was all from the effects of a convivial -evening.</p> - -<p>“Now my head is clear,” said Quentin.</p> - -<p>“I’ll bring you a towel,” announced one of the boys. Quentin dried -himself, and went into the street.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[319]</a></span></p> - -<p>He walked rapidly toward Las Tendillas, where he found great excitement, -and heard all sorts of comments and gossip. He asked a man where Pacheco -was.</p> - -<p>“He’s near the Plaza de la Trinidad now.”</p> - -<p>Quentin ran on, opening a path through the crowd with his elbows.</p> - -<p>“The man is an idiot,” he thought. “Could he have imagined that he was -really going to head the Revolution?”</p> - -<p>After a hard struggle, Quentin could see two horsemen riding at the head -of the rabble. One of them was Pacheco; the other was his brother.</p> - -<p>“Long live Liberty! Long live the Revolution!” shouted the bandit, -waving his arm.</p> - -<p>The crowd echoed his cry with enthusiasm, and added:</p> - -<p>“Long live the second Prim! Long live General Pacheco!”</p> - -<p>“Why, the man is crazy,” murmured Quentin. “I wonder if he’s got the -money yet?” Then he thought—“Suppose he has it with him? He’s fixed me -if he has.”</p> - -<p>Quentin continued to advance, digging right and left with his elbows, in -order to get near enough to speak with Pacheco. Suddenly he heard the -sound of a shot, and immediately after, almost instantaneously, another; -a bit of smoke came from one of the screened windows of the Trinidad -barracks.</p> - -<p>The crowd drew back, terrified; people began to run pell-mell, and in -the alleyways the noise made by the heels of those who fled sounded like -a squadron of horses at a gallop. Quentin was forced to take refuge in a -doorway in order to keep from being trampled. Several<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[320]</a></span> other persons -also pushed their way into the same place.</p> - -<p>“What happened?” they asked one another.</p> - -<p>“They are beginning to shoot, and there’s a great rumpus yonder.”</p> - -<p>Another who had just arrived, said:</p> - -<p>“They’ve killed Pacheco.”</p> - -<p>“Did you see it?” asked Quentin.</p> - -<p>“Sí, Señor. I was going by without knowing what was up, when I saw -Pacheco fall. His brother jumped from his horse, leaned over the corpse, -and said, weeping: ‘He is dead.’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> - -<p>Quentin went into the street.</p> - -<p>“If that fellow had the money in his pocket, there is no way of getting -it. I’ll have to explain where it came from.... But if it is still at -his house?—<i>Cristo!</i> I mustn’t waste any time.”</p> - -<p>He reached the Gran Capitán in a hurry, and took a carriage. “To the -Mosque,” he said, “and hurry.” The coachman left him at one of the doors -of the cathedral.</p> - -<p>“Wait for me,” Quentin instructed him, “I shall be some time.” He jumped -from the carriage, went through the church, rushed like a cannon ball -through the Patio de los Naranjos, went down by the Triunfo Column, -crossed the bridge, and entered Pacheco’s house. He took out the key -which Diagasio, the Mason, had made for him, and opened the door.</p> - -<p>The bed was untouched; he looked through the little night stand, and -found nothing; then he went to the table, took out his penknife and -removed the lock from the drawer. Upon some books lay a Russian leather -pocketbook, tied with a ribbon. He opened it; there were the bills. He -did not count them.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[321]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I am the favourite of Chance,” said he, smiling.</p> - -<p>He closed the door, crossed the bridge, and threw the key into the -river. The news evidently had not reached that part of the city, for the -people were quiet, and there were no gossiping groups. Quentin went up -by the Triunfo, again traversed the Patio de los Naranjos, then the -church, and got into the carriage.</p> - -<p>“To the Gran Capitán,” he said.</p> - -<p>By this time the news was spread all over the city; the old wives were -shouting it to each other from door to door, and from window to window.</p> - -<p>“Where can I leave this money with safety?” Quentin asked himself.</p> - -<p>Whomever he trusted would be apt to ask indiscreet questions. His -stepfather? Impossible. Palomares, perhaps? But Palomares, in his -indignation against the rich, would be likely to keep the money. Señora -Patrocinio? She would probably be angry at him. Springer? He was the -best.</p> - -<p>“I’ll go to his house,” he thought; and he gave the coachman the address -of the Swiss watch-maker.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[322]</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXII" id="CHAPTER_XXXII"></a>CHAPTER XXXII<br /><br /> -<small>THE CITY OF THE DISCREET</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">S</span>PRINGER was somewhat taken aback when he saw Quentin enter his store, -and he rose to his feet and said, turning a trifle pale:</p> - -<p>“I can imagine why you have come.”</p> - -<p>“You can? It would be rather hard. But first do me the favour of giving -me a few pesetas with which to pay the coachman.”</p> - -<p>The Swiss opened a drawer and gave him two dollars. Quentin paid the -coachman, and returned to the watch store.</p> - -<p>“Boy,” he said to his friend, “I came here because you are the only -trustworthy person I know.”</p> - -<p>“Thanks,” said Springer sourly.</p> - -<p>“I would like you to keep a large amount of money for me,” continued -Quentin as he held out the pocketbook.</p> - -<p>“How much is it?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know, I’m going to see.”</p> - -<p>Quentin opened the purse and began counting the bills.</p> - -<p>“Before you place this trust in me,” said the Swiss with the air of a -man making a violent decision, “I have something to tell you—as a loyal -friend. Something that may annoy you.”</p> - -<p>“What is it?” asked Quentin, fearing that the low<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[323]</a></span> trick he had played -on the Count of Doña Mencia had become known in the city.</p> - -<p>“María Lucena and I have come to an understanding—I cannot deceive a -true friend like you....”</p> - -<p>Quentin gazed in astonishment at the Swiss, and seeing him so affected, -felt like bursting into laughter; but laughter seemed improper under the -circumstances.</p> - -<p>“I’m glad you told me,” he said gravely. “I was thinking of leaving -Cordova, and now, knowing this, I shall go as soon as possible.”</p> - -<p>“And it will not cool your friendship?”</p> - -<p>“Not in the least.”</p> - -<p>Springer affectionately pressed his friend’s hand.</p> - -<p>“Well, will you keep this money for me?”</p> - -<p>“Yes; give it to me.”</p> - -<p>The Swiss placed the bills in an envelope.</p> - -<p>“What must I do with it?”</p> - -<p>“I’ll let you know; I shall probably tell you to send it to me in Madrid -in various quantities.”</p> - -<p>“Good; it shall be done.”</p> - -<p>The Swiss climbed the spiral staircase that went from the back room to -the main floor, and returned presently, saying:</p> - -<p>“I’ve put it away.”</p> - -<p>They were chatting together, when Springer’s father entered hurriedly.</p> - -<p>“There’s a riot in the town,” he announced from the door.</p> - -<p>“Is there? What is going on?”</p> - -<p>“They have killed a bandit ... Pacheco, I think they told me his name -was.”</p> - -<p>“Your friend. Did you know it?” the Swiss asked Quentin.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[324]</a></span></p> - -<p>“No,” he answered calmly. “He must have done something foolish.”</p> - -<p>“Let’s ask about it in the streets.”</p> - -<p>The father and son and Quentin went out to Las Tendillas. They passed -from group to group, listening to the comments, and at one of them where -there seemed to be a well-informed gentleman, they stopped.</p> - -<p>“How did his death occur?” asked Springer’s father.</p> - -<p>“Well, like this. Pacheco entered by the bridge, and crossed the city -till he reached the barracks in the Plaza de la Trinidad, where it seems -that the General, when he noticed the riot and uproar, and when he heard -them shout ‘Long live General Pacheco!’ asked: ‘Who is that fellow they -call General? I’m the only General here. ‘It’s Pacheco,’ a lieutenant -answered. ‘The people are calling him a General of Liberty.’—‘The -bandit?’—‘Sí, Señor.’ Then the General, seeing that the crowd was -coming toward the barracks, ordered two soldiers to take their posts -with their guns sticking through the cracks in the shutters. When -Pacheco came opposite the barracks, he shouted several times: ‘Long live -Liberty! Long live the Revolution!’ instantly two shots rang out, and -the man fell from his horse, dead.”</p> - -<p>All listened to the story, and after it was finished there was a series -of remarks.</p> - -<p>“That was treachery,” said one.</p> - -<p>“A trap they set for him.”</p> - -<p>“They’ve wickedly deceived that man.”</p> - -<p>“Deceived him? Why?” Springer’s father asked of a man in a blouse who -had just made the assertion.</p> - -<p>“Because they had promised him a pardon,” replied he of the blouse. -“Everybody knows that.”</p> - -<p>“But promising a pardon, and entering the city the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[325]</a></span> way he did—like a -conqueror—are two very different things,” rejoined the watch-maker.</p> - -<p>“This is going to make a big noise,” replied the man.</p> - -<p>They returned to the watch-maker’s shop, and as the other stores were -closed, the Swiss closed his also.</p> - -<p>“Would you like to dine with us?” said Springer to Quentin.</p> - -<p>“Indeed I should!”</p> - -<p>They climbed the spiral stairs to the floor above, and Springer -presented Quentin to his mother; a pleasant woman, thin, smiling, very -active and vivacious.</p> - -<p>They dined; after dinner, the three men lit their pipes, and Springer’s -father spoke enthusiastically of his home town.</p> - -<p>“My town is a great place,” he said to Quentin with a smile.</p> - -<p>“What is it?”</p> - -<p>“Zurich. Ah! If you could see it!...”</p> - -<p>“But father, he has seen Paris and London.”</p> - -<p>“Oh! That makes no difference. I’ve known many people from Paris and -Vienna who were astounded when they saw Zurich.”</p> - -<p>Springer’s father and mother, though they had been in Cordova for over -thirty years, did not speak Spanish very well.</p> - -<p>What a difference there was between that home, and the house where -Quentin had lived with María Lucena and her mother! Here there was no -talk of marquises, or counts, or actors, or toreadors, or ponies; their -only subjects of conversation were work, improvements in industry, art, -and music.</p> - -<p>“So you are leaving us?” asked Springer’s father.</p> - -<p>“Yes. This place is dead,” replied Quentin.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[326]</a></span></p> - -<p>“No, no—not that,” replied the younger Springer. “It isn’t dead; -Cordova is merely asleep. All the kings have punished it. Its natural, -its own civilization has been suppressed, and they have endeavoured to -substitute another for it. And even to think that a town can go on -living prosperously with ideas contrary to its own, and under laws -contrary to its customs and instincts, is an outrage.”</p> - -<p>“My dear lad,” rejoined Quentin rather cynically, “I don’t care about -the cause for it all. What I know is that one cannot live here.”</p> - -<p>“That is the truth,” asserted the older Springer. “One can attempt -nothing new here, because it will turn out badly. No one does his part -in throwing off this inertia. No one works.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t say that, father.”</p> - -<p>“What your father says, is right,” continued Quentin “and not only is -that true, but the activity of the few who do work, annoys and often -offends those who do nothing. For instance: I, who have done nothing so -far but live like a rowdy, have friends and even admirers. If I had -devoted myself to work, everybody would look upon me as a -good-for-nothing, and from time to time, secretly, they would place a -stone in my way for me to stumble over.”</p> - -<p>“No, it would not be a stone,” said Springer, “it would be a grain of -sand.”</p> - -<p>“Still more outrageous,” rejoined Quentin.</p> - -<p>“No,” added his friend, “because it would not be done with malice. These -people, like nearly all Spaniards, are living an archaic life. Every one -here is surrounded by an enormous cloud of difficulties. The people are -all dead, and their brains are not working. Spain is a body<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[327]</a></span> suffering -from anchylosis of the joints; the slightest movement causes great pain; -consequently, in order to progress, she will have to proceed -slowly,—not by leaps.”</p> - -<p>“But among all this rabble of lawyers and soldiers and priests and -pawn-brokers, do you believe there is one person who is the least bit -sane?” asked Quentin.</p> - -<p>“I think not,” the father broke in. “There are no elements of progress -here; there are no men who are pushing on, as there are in my country.”</p> - -<p>“I think there are,” replied his son; “but those who are, and they stand -alone, end by not seeing the reality of things, and even turn -pernicious. It is as if in our shop here, we found the wheel of a tower -clock among the wheels of pocket watches. It would be no good at all to -us; it would not be able to fit in with any other wheel. Take the -Marquis of Adarve, who was a good and intelligent man; well, now he -passes for a half-wit, and he is, partly—because as a reaction against -the others, he reached the other extreme. He carries an automatic -umbrella, a mechanical cigar-case, and a lot of other rare trifles. The -people call him a madman.”</p> - -<p>“All you have to be here,” said the older Springer, “is either a farmer -or a money-lender.”</p> - -<p>“The vocations in which you don’t have to work,” Quentin asserted. “The -Spaniard’s ideal is: to work like a Moor, and to earn money like a Jew. -That is also my ideal,” he said for his own benefit.</p> - -<p>“As we were saying before,” added the younger Springer; “it is an -archaic life, directed by romantic, hidalguesque ideas....”</p> - -<p>“Ah, no!” replied Quentin. “You are absolutely wrong there. There is -none of your romance, nor of your<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[328]</a></span> hidalgos; it is prose, pure prose. -There is more romance in the head of one Englishman, than in the heads -of ten Spaniards, especially if those Spaniards are Andalusians. They -are very discreet, friend Springer; <i>we</i> are very discreet, if you like -that better. A great deal of eloquence, a lot of enthusiastic and -impetuous talk, a great deal of flourish; a superficial aspect of -ingenuous and candid confusion; but back of it all, a sure, straight -line. Men and women;—most discreet. Believe me! There is exaltation -without, and coldness within.”</p> - -<p>It was time to work, and the two Springers went down to their shop.</p> - -<p>“Do you see?” said the Swiss to Quentin, as he sat in his chair and -fastened his lens to his eye, “perhaps you are right in what you say, -but I like to think otherwise. I am romantic, and like to imagine that I -am living among hidalgos and fine ladies.... There you have me—a poor -Swiss plebeian. And I am so accustomed to it, that when I go away from -Cordova, I immediately feel homesick for my shop, my books, and the -little concerts my mother and I have in which we play Beethoven and -Mozart.”</p> - -<p>Quentin gazed at Springer as at a strange and absurd being, and began to -walk up and down the store. Suddenly he paused before his friend.</p> - -<p>“Listen,” he said. “Do you think that I could deceive you, give you -disloyal advice through interest or evil passion?”</p> - -<p>“No; what do you mean by that?”</p> - -<p>“Don’t compromise yourself with María Lucena.”</p> - -<p>“Why?”</p> - -<p>“Because she is a perverse woman.”</p> - -<p>“That’s because you hate her.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[329]</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“No; I know her because I have lived with her without the slightest -feeling of affection; and even so she was more selfish and cold than I -was. She is a woman who thinks she has a heart because she has sex. She -weeps, laughs, appears to be good, seems ingenuous: sex. Like some -lascivious and cruel animal, in her heart she hates the male. If you -approach her candidly, she will destroy your life, she will alienate you -from your father and mother, she will play with you most cruelly.”</p> - -<p>“Do you really believe that?” asked the Swiss.</p> - -<p>“Yes, it is the truth, the pure truth. Now,” Quentin added, “if you are -like a stone in a ravine, that can only fall, you will fall; but if you -can defend yourself, do so. And now—farewell!”</p> - -<p>“Farewell, Quentin; I shall think over what you have told me.”</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>Quentin put up at one of the inns on the Paseo del Gran Capitán. He -intended to leave the city as soon as he possibly could.</p> - -<p>Accordingly, that night after supper, he left the house and walked -toward the station; but as he crossed the Victoria, he noticed that four -persons were following him. He returned quickly, as he did not care to -enter any lonesome spots when followed by that gang, and took refuge in -the inn.</p> - -<p>Who could be following him? Perhaps it was Pacheco’s brother. Perhaps -one of his creditors. He must be on his guard. His room at the inn -happened to be in an admirably strategic situation. It was on the lower -floor, and had a grated window that looked out upon the Paseo.</p> - -<p>The next day Quentin was able to prove that Pachec<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[330]</a></span>o’s friends were -constantly watching the inn. Their number was frequently augmented by -the money-lenders who came to ask for Quentin.</p> - -<p>In the daytime, he did not mind going into the street, but when night -fell, he locked his room, and placed a wardrobe against the door. -Quentin was afraid that his last adventure might result fatally for him.</p> - -<p>“I’ve got to get out of here. There are no two ways about it; and I’ve -got to get out quietly.”</p> - -<p>One day after the battle of Alcolea, Quentin was being followed and -spied upon by Pacheco’s men, when as he passed the City Hall, Diagasio -the hardware dealer, who was standing in the doorway, said:</p> - -<p>“Don Paco is upstairs.”</p> - -<p>Quentin climbed the stairs, slipped through an open door, and beheld the -terrible Don Paco surrounded by several friends, up to his old tricks.</p> - -<p>The revolutionist had ordered the head porter to take down a portrait of -Isabella II, painted by Madrazo, which occupied the centre of one wall. -After heaping improprieties and insults upon the portrayed lady, much to -the astonishment and stupefaction of the poor porter, Don Paco had a -ferocious idea; an idea worthy of a drinker of blood.</p> - -<p>He produced a penknife from his vest pocket, and handing it to the -porter and pointing to the portrait, said:</p> - -<p>“Cut off her head.”</p> - -<p>“I?” stammered the porter.</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>The poor man trembled at the idea of committing such a profanation.</p> - -<p>“But, for God’s sake, Don Paco! I have children!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[331]</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Cut off her head,” repeated the bold revolutionist contumaciously.</p> - -<p>“See here, Don Paco, they say that this portrait is very well painted.”</p> - -<p>“Impossible,” replied Don Paco, with a gesture worthy of Saint-Just. “It -was executed by a servile artist.”</p> - -<p>Then the porter, moaning and groaning, buried the penknife in the -canvas, and split it with a trembling hand.</p> - -<p>At that moment several persons entered the hall, among them Paul -Springer.</p> - -<p>“Are you playing surgeon, Don Paco?” asked the Swiss with a mocking -smile.</p> - -<p>“Sí, Señor; one must strike kings in the head.”</p> - -<p>After cutting the canvas, the porter took the piece in his hand, and -hesitatingly asked Don Paco:</p> - -<p>“Now what will I do with it?”</p> - -<p>“Take that head,” roared Don Paco in a harsh voice, “to the President of -the Revolutionary Junta.”</p> - -<p>Quentin looked at the Swiss and saw him smile ironically.</p> - -<p>“How do you like this execution in effigy of yonder chubby Marie -Antoinette?”</p> - -<p>“Magnificent.”</p> - -<p>“Just as I said. We are the City of the Discreet.”</p> - -<p>The two friends bid each other good-bye with a laugh, and Quentin went -home.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[332]</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXXIII<br /><br /> -<small>THE DEPARTURE</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">Q</span>UENTIN returned to the inn and shut himself up in his room. He wrote a -farewell article for <i>La Víbora</i> entitled “And this is the End.”</p> - -<p>When night fell, he lit his lamp and sent for his supper. He ate in his -room to avoid any unpleasant encounters in the dining-room.</p> - -<p>With his supper, the waiter brought two letters. One, by the rudely -scrawled envelope, he saw was from Pacheco’s brother. It read as -follows:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p>If you do not return the pocketbook you found in my brother’s -house, you will not leave Cordova alive. Don’t fool yourself; you -will not escape. Every exit is watched. You can leave the money in -El Cuervo’s tavern, where some one will go and get it.</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">A Friend.</span><br /> -</p></div> - -<p>“Very good,” said Quentin, “let’s see the other letter.” He opened it, -and it was still more laconic than the first.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p>We know that you have money, and do not wish to pay. Be careful.</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Various Creditors.</span><br /> -</p></div> - -<p>“Well, sir,” murmured Quentin, “a whole conspiracy of bandits and -money-lenders is plotting against me.”</p> - -<p>It suited neither him nor the others to have the law mixed up in the -affair. The cleverest, the strongest, or he who had the most cunning, -would gain the day.</p> - -<p>Quentin figured that he possessed those qualities to a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[333]</a></span> greater degree -than his enemies; this thought calmed him a little, but in spite of it, -he could not sleep that night.</p> - -<p>When he got up, he looked, as was his daily habit, through the windows -of his room. Directly opposite, seated upon a bench, there were several -loathsome individuals spying on him. At that very moment others took -their places. Evidently there was a relief.</p> - -<p>After eating, Quentin left the inn. When he reached the corner of the -Calle de Gondomar, he looked cautiously behind him. Three men were -following him, though apparently unconcerned with his movements. Quentin -went down the street to Las Tendillas, turned to the left, entered the -Casino, and sat down to take his coffee near a window that looked out -upon the street.</p> - -<p>The three individuals continued their espionage.</p> - -<p>Quentin pretended not to see them. He seized several newspapers; and -while he appeared to be deeply engaged in reading them, he was thinking -up plans of escape and turning them over and over in his mind. The -important thing was to keep the law from interfering, that there might -be no scandal.</p> - -<p>Don Paco, who had come in to take coffee, surprised him in this -caviling. The man was oozing joy. The Revolution was made, the most -glorious, the most humane that the centuries had ever witnessed. The -entire world, the French, the English, the Swiss, the Germans;—all -envied the Spaniards. Spain was going to be a different sort of country. -Now, now, the great conquests of Progress and Democracy would be -realized: Universal Suffrage, Freedom of Worship, Freedom of -Association.</p> - -<p>“And do you believe that all that will make life any better?” asked -Quentin coldly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[334]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Why, of course!” exclaimed Don Paco, astonished at the question. “I -tell you that the whole Progressist program is to be realized!”</p> - -<p>Quentin smiled mockingly.</p> - -<p>Don Paco continued his oration. His eternal sorrow was to see that after -what he had done for the Revolution, they did not appreciate his true -worth.</p> - -<p>While the old man discoursed, Quentin continued to ruminate on his -plans, and to absently watch his pursuers. Suddenly an idea occurred to -him.</p> - -<p>“Well, good afternoon, Don Paco!” he said; and without another word, he -rose from his chair and left the room. He crossed the patio of the -Casino, went up a stairway, asked a waiter for the key to the terrace, -waited for it a moment, and went out upon the azotea. He could escape in -that way, but there was still the danger of his exit from the city....</p> - -<p>“Suppose I go to El Cuervo’s tavern and leave by the convent route?” he -said to himself. “That would be admirable. Place myself in the wolf’s -mouth to make my escape! That’s just what I’ll do. I’ll wait for it to -get dark first.”</p> - -<p>He went down to the salon again and took his place by the window. The -espionage still continued. Late in the afternoon, Carrahola and El Rano -passed along the street.</p> - -<p>Quentin went to the door of the Casino and called to Carrahola.</p> - -<p>“Do you mind telling me what this persecution means?” he said.</p> - -<p>“You know better than any one else, Don Quentin,” answered Carrahola. -“You are wrong not to return that money.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[335]</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Bah!”</p> - -<p>“Sí, Señor; that’s the truth. Everything is guarded; the station, the -roads,—you won’t leave Cordova unless you pay.”</p> - -<p>“Really?” asked Quentin apparently frightened.</p> - -<p>“You hear me. So you’d better hand over that money and not expose -yourself to a stab with a dagger.”</p> - -<p>“The devil! You very nearly convince me.”</p> - -<p>“Do it, Don Quentin.”</p> - -<p>“To whom shall I hand the money?”</p> - -<p>“To Pacheco, Señor José’s brother. He goes to El Cuervo’s tavern every -night about eight o’clock.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll think it over.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t stop to think, my friend! You ought to take that money back right -away.”</p> - -<p>“Well, you have persuaded me. I’ll go right away.”</p> - -<p>Quentin made his way to the inn, followed by Carrahola and El Rano. He -entered his room, closed the window, and lit the lamp. He still had in -his pocket the pocketbook that he had found in Pacheco’s house. He took -it out and placed it on the table.</p> - -<p>He opened the wardrobe, searched the drawers, and in one of them found -some copy paper written by a child, and in another a torn, and well-worn -catechism by Father Ripalda.</p> - -<p>He took the copy paper and the catechism, tied them together with a -pack-thread, and thrust the package into the pocketbook which he tied up -with another bit of thread.</p> - -<p>“Very good,” he murmured with a smile.</p> - -<p>This done, he put out the light, thrust the purse into his coat pocket, -and left the inn. He began to walk rapidly, as one who has made a quick -decision. He made<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[336]</a></span> his way to El Cuervo’s tavern, escorted by Carrahola -and El Rano.</p> - -<p>He looked into the office, and when he saw El Cuervo, exclaimed sourly:</p> - -<p>“Hello!”</p> - -<p>“Hello, Don Quentin!”</p> - -<p>“Is Pacheco’s brother here?”</p> - -<p>“No, Señor.”</p> - -<p>“What time will he come?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, somewhere around eight o’clock.”</p> - -<p>“Good. I have come to have an understanding with him, and I can’t make -up my mind whether to give him the money or a stab with a dagger. Look -here, here’s the pocketbook he’s looking for. Keep it. I’m going to wait -in here for Pacheco, because I have some letters to write.”</p> - -<p>“Go right upstairs.”</p> - -<p>Quentin and El Cuervo went upstairs to a room with a balcony overlooking -a patio.</p> - -<p>“I’ll bring you some paper and ink presently,” said the landlord.</p> - -<p>“Good. Until Pacheco comes, I do not wish to be disturbed by any one. Do -you understand?”</p> - -<p>“Very good.”</p> - -<p>“When he comes, call me, and he and I will come to an understanding. But -he must agree not to open the pocketbook until I am with him.”</p> - -<p>“Never fear.”</p> - -<p>The innkeeper went out and left Quentin alone in the room. He listened -for a moment and heard the gay voices of Carrahola and El Rano. -Evidently they were already celebrating their victory.</p> - -<p>“Come, there’s no time to be lost,” said Quentin.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[337]</a></span> Climbing to the -outside of the balcony, which was not very high, and clinging to a water -pipe, he lowered himself to the patio. This he skirted, hugging close to -the wall. He pushed open the little door, closed it noiselessly behind -him, and began slowly to climb the stairs. The steps creaked beneath his -weight.</p> - -<p>When Quentin arrived at the top of the stairs, he saw that the door -through which he had once passed with El Cuervo, was locked. It had a -transom, which he opened, and with a superhuman effort, managed to -squeeze himself through, not without injuring one of his feet. He made a -slight noise as he jumped down.</p> - -<p>He listened for a while to see if any one were following him. He heard -nothing. He closed the transom.</p> - -<p>“Any one could tell where I went out,” he murmured.</p> - -<p>He lit a match which he held in the hollow of his hand until he found -the stairway made of beam ends sticking from the wall. When he had -located it, he blew out the match, and climbed to the attic in the dark.</p> - -<p>He lit another match and hunted for the aperture through which he and El -Cuervo had passed, but he could not find it. Looking more carefully, he -saw that it was fastened up by some boards held in place by bricks. He -tore these aside with his nails one by one then he removed the boards, -and the hole appeared.</p> - -<p>Quentin went out on the roof. It was still light.</p> - -<p>“Let’s get oriented,” he said to himself. “That’s the garret, which is -the first place to go.”</p> - -<p>Stooping on all fours, he slid along until he reached it. He paused to -get his bearings again.</p> - -<p>“Now I’ve got to cross that azotea where we abandoned Doña Sinda: it -must be that one. Here goes.”</p> - -<p>He went on his way, jumped the balustrade on one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[338]</a></span> side, then on the -other, went a little further,—and turned the wrong way. He was -confused, not knowing which way to go: whether to the right or to the -left. It was beginning to get dark, and Quentin went around and around -fruitlessly, unable to find the cornice along which he had passed with -Pacheco.</p> - -<p>Suddenly he heard the <i>ding dong</i> of a bell and supposing it to be that -of the convent, he followed the direction of the sound, climbed a ridge -pole, and saw beneath him the patio of a convent where several nuns were -walking to and fro.</p> - -<p>Quentin climbed down the whole side of a roof, found the cornice, and -reached the balcony on all fours. The little window was open, and he -jumped to the stairs.</p> - -<p>There was a little passageway opposite, on one side of which was an open -door that led into a kitchen. It was probably the gardener’s house; in -the middle of the kitchen, seated upon the floor, was a child playing. -Upon the wall hung a dirty blouse and an old hat.</p> - -<p>“At them!” cried Quentin.</p> - -<p>He entered the kitchen, seized the blouse with one hand and the hat with -the other, and beat a hasty retreat. The child was frightened and began -to cry. Quentin descended the stairs into the garden, and as no one was -looking, put on the blouse, stuck the hat on his head, and went out into -the street.</p> - -<p>He went through alley after alley in the direction of El Matadero and -the Campo de San Antón. As night fell, he was already well on his way to -Madrid.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>Meanwhile in El Cuervo’s tavern, everything was excitement and merry -making. The news, divulged by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[339]</a></span> Carrahola, that Quentin was there with -the money, had attracted all the ruffians who had taken part in -Pacheco’s chimerical attempt. They thought they would get paid for their -services, and El Cuervo trusted them for wine.</p> - -<p>They awaited impatiently the arrival of Pacheco, who was later than -usual that evening. At eight-thirty he appeared.</p> - -<p>“Pacheco! He’s come!” they all shouted at once when they saw him.</p> - -<p>“Who?”</p> - -<p>“Quentin. Here’s the pocketbook.”</p> - -<p>“Did you let him go without following him?” asked the man, fearing a -trick.</p> - -<p>“<i>Ca!</i>” replied El Cuervo. “He’s upstairs. He said not to open the -pocketbook until he was with you.”</p> - -<p>“All right,” and Pacheco turned pale. “Tell him I am here.”</p> - -<p>Pacheco knew from his brother what kind of a man Quentin was, and it -irked him. He expected a surprise, and prepared himself accordingly.</p> - -<p>El Cuervo went up to the room where he had left Quentin, and called -several times:</p> - -<p>“Don Quentin! Don Quentin!”</p> - -<p>No one answered.</p> - -<p>“Don Quentin! Don Quentin!”</p> - -<p>The same silence.</p> - -<p>El Cuervo gently opened the door. The bird had flown. But where?</p> - -<p>In response to El Cuervo’s cries, Pacheco, Carrahola, and El Taco, came -hurrying up the stairs.</p> - -<p>“What’s the matter?” they asked.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[340]</a></span></p> - -<p>“He’s not here.”</p> - -<p>“That’s what I thought!” exclaimed Pacheco. “What can be in the -pocketbook? Let’s look at it.”</p> - -<p>They descended rapidly, Pacheco cut the threads, opened the pocketbook, -and spilled upon the counter the child’s copy papers and Father -Ripalda’s catechism, worn and shabby.</p> - -<p>A cry of rage burst from every throat.</p> - -<p>“We must look for him,” said one, “and make him pay for this joke.”</p> - -<p>They ran through the whole house and looked into every corner. Nothing.</p> - -<p>“Ah!... Now I know where he went,” said the innkeeper, “that way,”—and -he pointed to the door in the patio. He lit a lantern and examined the -steps one by one to see if there were any tracks in the dust. There was -some discussion as to whether the traces they found were Quentin’s or -not, but when they saw the closed door upstairs, nearly all of them were -of the opinion that he could not have passed that way.</p> - -<p>“Nevertheless,” said El Cuervo, “we’ll keep on going.” He opened the -door, climbed to the attic, and saw the boards which had been torn down -to allow free passage to the roof.</p> - -<p>“He escaped through here.”</p> - -<p>“What can we do?” asked Pacheco.</p> - -<p>“A very simple thing,” replied El Cuervo; “surround this whole block of -houses. He is probably waiting for it to get dark before he leaves, so -perhaps we can catch him yet.”</p> - -<p>“Good,” said Pacheco; “let’s go downstairs right away.”</p> - -<p>The idea seemed an admirable one to all those who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[341]</a></span> were in the tavern. -Pacheco placed them on guard, and told them to warn the watchmen.</p> - -<p>With the hope of pay, the whole gang of ruffians firmly stood their -posts. Now and then they returned to the tavern for a glass.</p> - -<p>Day dawned, and Pacheco’s men were still walking the streets, now -hopeful, now with no hope at all.</p> - -<p>The morning of the following day the rowdies were still on guard, when -two lancers came up the street at a smart trot and drew rein before the -tavern.</p> - -<p>“Is this El Cuervo’s tavern?” asked one of them.</p> - -<p>“Sí, Señor.”</p> - -<p>“Good. Here’s a letter.”</p> - -<p>The innkeeper, his face the picture of surprise, took the missive, and -as he could not read, handed it to Pacheco, who opened it and read:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="nind"><i>Dear Friends</i>:</p> - -<p>By the time you receive this letter, I shall be many leagues away. -I have left Cordova alive, in spite of your warnings. I left no -money in the pocketbook, but something better for the salvation of -your souls. Regards to my dear friends.</p> - -<p class="rt">Q.</p></div> - -<p>Pacheco went white with anger.</p> - -<p>“Now we can’t do a thing,” he murmured.</p> - -<p>That night in the coterie at the Casino, they were talking about -Quentin.</p> - -<p>A gentleman was reading the farewell article that Quentin had published -in <i>La Víbora</i> under the title, “And this is the End.”</p> - -<p>“Let’s hear it; let’s hear the end of it,” said several.</p> - -<p>The gentleman began to read the ending. It went like this:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[342]</a></span></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p>Adiós, Cordova, City of the Discreet, Mirror of the Prudent, -Cross-roads of the Cunning, Nursery of the Sagacious, Encyclopedia -of the Witty, Shelter of Those who Sleep in Straw, Cave of the -Cautious, Conclave of the Ready-witted, Sanhedrim of the Moderate! -Adiós, Cordova! And this is the end.</p></div> - -<p>“Fine!” said some one with a laugh. “The fact is, Quentin is a very -likable lad.”</p> - -<p>“He’ll prosper.”</p> - -<p>“Rather!”</p> - -<p>“Some day he’ll be a deputy.”</p> - -<p>“Or a minister.”</p> - -<p>“He really is a most likable boy.”</p> - -<p>And Escobedo, he of the black beard, who was present, added:</p> - -<p>“He who triumphs is always likable.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[343]</a></span>”</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXXIV<br /><br /> -<small>THE END</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">S</span>IX years after, on the terrace of the Casino at Biarritz, Quentin was -listlessly smoking a cigar. They were playing <i>La Fille de Madame -Angot</i>, and the seducing music and the warm autumn air, made him sleepy.</p> - -<p>Upon the table before him was the <i>liste rose</i> of an hotel; and among -the names of dukes and marquises could be seen: “Quentin García Roelas, -Deputy, Madrid.” This made Quentin smile as at the memory of a childish -vanity.</p> - -<p>Quentin’s face had changed, especially as to expression; he was no -longer a boy; a few wrinkles furrowed his forehead, and crows’ feet were -beginning to appear at the corners of his eyes. For six years the -quondam dare-devil had displayed a tireless activity. He went from -triumph to triumph. During Amadeo’s reign, he had made his father a -marquis; he had amassed a considerable fortune by his operations in the -Bourse; and if his political position was not greater, it was because he -was keeping quiet, waiting for an Alphonsist or Carlist situation.</p> - -<p>And yet, in spite of his successes and his triumphs, his heart was -empty. He was thirty-two years old. He could continue the brilliant -career he had won for himself, could become a minister, and enter -aristocratic<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[344]</a></span> society; but all this held no enchantment for him. In the -bottom of his heart he realized that he was growing ill-natured. -Biarritz bored him frightfully.</p> - -<p>“Perhaps the best thing for me to do would be to take an extended -voyage,” he thought.</p> - -<p>With this idea in mind he got up from his chair, left the Casino, and -went for a walk along the beach. He was standing near the Place Bellevue -watching the sea, when he heard a voice that made him tremble.</p> - -<p>It was Rafaela, Rafaela herself, with two children clinging to her -hands, and another carried by a nurse and protected by a parasol. -Quentin went over to her.</p> - -<p>They greeted each other emotionally.</p> - -<p>Rafaela was scarcely recognizable; she had taken on flesh and looked -extremely healthy; she dressed very elegantly. The only thing that she -retained of her former appearance was her sweet, gentle eyes, clear and -blue. Her smile was now motherly.</p> - -<p>Rafaela and Quentin talked for a long time. She told him of her great -grief over the illness of her children. One had died; fortunately the -other two children had become stronger, thanks to the open air; and the -little girl, the baby at breast, promised to be very strong.</p> - -<p>“And Remedios?” asked Quentin.</p> - -<p>“Remedios!” exclaimed Rafaela. “You don’t know how provoked I am with -her.”</p> - -<p>“Why?”</p> - -<p>“Because she has an impossible nature. She will not yield to anything.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, even as a child one could see that she had a will of her own.”</p> - -<p>“Well, she has a much greater one now. She has<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[345]</a></span> hated my husband and my -mother-in-law from the very first; and they have done all in their power -to please her and spoil her ... but no.”</p> - -<p>“She is terrible,” said Quentin with a smile.</p> - -<p>“We wanted to bring her here, and then to Paris; but at the last minute -she refused to come. Then, you see, she is twenty-two years of age, and -most attractive; she could marry very easily, for she has suitors,—rich -boys with titles; but she will have none of them. She has too much -heart. I tell her that one cannot be like that in life; one must conceal -one’s antipathies, and moderate one’s affections, somewhat.... Doing as -Remedios does exposes one to much suffering.”</p> - -<p>“And yet, isn’t it almost better to deceive one’s self than to find out -the truth, at the cost of withering one’s heart little by little?”</p> - -<p>“I think it is better to know the truth, Quentin.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know about that. You are as discreet as ever, Rafaela.”</p> - -<p>“No, I am much more practical than I was. But you, too, have lost -something.”</p> - -<p>“It’s true,” said Quentin with a sigh.</p> - -<p>At this moment an elegantly dressed gentleman, with a white waistcoat -and grey gloves, presented himself.</p> - -<p>“Don’t you know each other? My husband ... Quentin, our relative.”</p> - -<p>The two men shook hands, and they and Rafaela sat down upon a rock while -the children played in the sand. Quentin was astonished at the change in -Juan de Dios. The rude, coarse lad had been metamorphosed into a correct -and polished gentleman with Parisian manners. There was no reminder of -the Cordovese gawk.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[346]</a></span></p> - -<p>Juan de Dios spoke pleasantly; Quentin could see that he was dominated -by his wife, because every minute or two he glanced at her as if begging -her approval of what he was saying. She encouraged him with a gesture, -with a look, and he continued. He spoke of the situation into which the -Republicans had led Spain, of the factious parties that were organizing -on the frontier....</p> - -<p>Quentin did not listen to him, as he was thinking about Remedios; that -little wilful child, so big-hearted, who despised her suitors. In the -midst of their chat, he asked Rafaela:</p> - -<p>“Where is Remedios now?”</p> - -<p>“On one of our farms, near Montoro.”</p> - -<p>“I’m going to write to her.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, do,” said Rafaela; “you don’t know how happy she would be. She -attaches great importance to those matters. She thinks of you very -often. She has read every one of the speeches you made in the Cortes.”</p> - -<p>“Really?” asked Quentin with a laugh.</p> - -<p>“Yes, really,” replied Juan de Dios.</p> - -<p>“What address shall I put on the letter?”</p> - -<p>“Just Maillo Farm, Montoro.”</p> - -<p>Quentin waited a moment while he formulated a plan; then he exchanged a -few phrases of farewell with Rafaela and her husband, and went to his -hotel. He had decided to take the train and go in search of Remedios. -Why not attempt it? Perhaps she had thought about him since childhood. -Perhaps that was why she rejected her suitors.</p> - -<p>Yes, he must try it. He ordered his baggage packed, boarded the train, -and in a few moments got off at San Juan de Luz.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[347]</a></span></p> - -<p>“There’s no sure way of crossing to Burgos without getting into -trouble,” they told him at the station.</p> - -<p>“What can I do?”</p> - -<p>“Take ship to Santander, and go from there to Madrid by rail.”</p> - -<p>He did this, and the next day, without stopping, he took the train for -Andalusia.</p> - -<p>He descended at Montoro in the morning, hired a horse, asked the -direction of the Maillo farm, and immediately left town.</p> - -<p>It was a foggy October day. It began to sprinkle.</p> - -<p>Eight years before Quentin had come to that country on his return from -school, on a morning that was also drizzly and sad.</p> - -<p>What a wealth of energy and life he had spent since then! True, he had -conquered, and was on the road to being a somebody, but—what a -difference between the triumph as he had looked forward to it, and the -same triumph as he looked back upon it! It was best not to remember, nor -to think—but just to hope.</p> - -<p>Ahead of him, along the misty horizon, he could see a line of low convex -hills. Quentin had been told that he must go toward them, and in that -direction he went at the slow pace of his horse. The road wound in and -out, tracing curves in the level country between fields of stubble.</p> - -<p>Here and there yokes of huge oxen tilled the dark soil; magpies skimmed -along the ground; and overhead, flocks of birds like triangles of black -dots, flew screeching by.</p> - -<p>At this point a man mounted on a horse appeared in the road. He carried -a long pike, with the point up and the butt supported by his stirrup, -like a lance. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[348]</a></span> signalled Quentin to get to one side of the road. As -he did so, several bulls and bell-oxen rushed past. Behind them rode two -<i>garrochistas</i> or bull-stickers on horseback, each with a pike held in -the middle and balanced horizontally.</p> - -<p>“The peace of God be with you, Señores,” said Quentin.</p> - -<p>“Good morning, <i>caballero</i>.”</p> - -<p>“Am I taking the right direction for the Maillo farm?”</p> - -<p>“Sí, Señor; you are right.”</p> - -<p>“Thanks very much.”</p> - -<p>Quentin continued his way. Just before he reached the somewhat hilly -country, a farmhouse appeared before his eyes. He went up to it, riding -his horse across a red field which had been converted into a mud-hole by -the rain.</p> - -<p>“Hey!” he shouted.</p> - -<p>An old man appeared in the doorway; he wore a pair of black leather -overalls adorned with white bands, and fastened at the knee by clasps.</p> - -<p>“Is this the Maillo farm?” asked Quentin.</p> - -<p>“No, Señor. This is the Las Palomas farm, which is owned by the same -man. Do you see that hill with the trees on it? When you pass that you -can see the farm.”</p> - -<p>Quentin thanked him and urged on his horse. A drizzly rain was falling. -Among the distant trees, which were yellow and nearly bare of leaves, -flowed a bluish mist.</p> - -<p>From the top of the hill he could see an enormous valley divided into -rectangular fields; some still covered with stubble, others black with -recently tilled soil,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[349]</a></span> and some that were beginning to turn green. In -the middle of it all, like dark and barren islands, were small hills -covered with olive orchards; in the distance horses were grazing in huge -pastures.</p> - -<p>Quentin had stopped for a moment on the top of the hill, hesitating, not -knowing which road to take, when he heard behind him a tinkling of -bells, and then a voice shouting:</p> - -<p>“<i>Arre</i>, Liviano! <i>Arre</i>, Remendao!”</p> - -<p>It was a youth mounted on the haunches of a donkey, with his feet nearly -touching the ground, and leading an ass laden with a pannier by the -halter.</p> - -<p>“The Maillo farm?” asked Quentin.</p> - -<p>“Are you going there? So am I.”</p> - -<p>The boy began to talk, and chatting like old friends, they reached the -farm. It was a huge place, with a very large fence that enclosed all the -departments and apparatus of the house. Inside was a chapel with a cross -and weather-vane.</p> - -<p>“Who can tell me where Señorita Remedios is?” asked Quentin.</p> - -<p>“Call the manager.”</p> - -<p>The manager was not in, and he had to wait. At last a man of some forty -years came toward him; he was powerfully built, and round-faced. -Learning Quentin’s wishes, he pointed to a garden with a little gate at -one end of it. Quentin knocked, the gate was opened to him, and an old -woman appeared on the threshold.</p> - -<p>“Is Señorita Remedios in?”</p> - -<p>“It’s you!” exclaimed the old woman. “How glad the child will be! Come -in, come in!”</p> - -<p>“You are Rafaela’s nurse, are you not?” asked Quentin.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[350]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Sí, Señor.”</p> - -<p>They crossed a patio and entered an immense kitchen with a cooking-stove -in one corner. Near the fire was a little old man with white hair.</p> - -<p>“Don’t you know him?” said she who had opened the door. “It is Juan, the -gardener of the other house. Juan!” she cried, “Señorito Quentin has -come!”</p> - -<p>The old man arose and seizing Quentin’s hand, held it between his for -some time.</p> - -<p>“I cannot see well. I’m getting blind and deaf.” And Juan burst out -laughing.</p> - -<p>“You must be getting on in years, eh?”</p> - -<p>“Seventy-five. Ha! ha! Sit down here and dry yourself a bit. The little -girl will be here soon. It’s a long time since you have seen her, isn’t -it?”</p> - -<p>“Six years.”</p> - -<p>“Well, she’s a beauty!... A lily! And then, so affectionate! If you -could see her! She is teaching the children of all the farm hands to -read and to sew.”</p> - -<p>“So you are here with her, Juan?”</p> - -<p>“Sí, Señor, always with her. All my children are on the place. That’s -what you ought to do. Señorito: come and live here.”</p> - -<p>“If I only could,” sighed Quentin.</p> - -<p>As they were conversing, the door opened, and Remedios came running in.</p> - -<p>Quentin rose to his feet and stared at her in surprise.</p> - -<p>“It’s Quentin!” she cried.</p> - -<p>“That’s who it is!”</p> - -<p>“At last you have come,” she added, and held out her hand. “What are you -looking at me like that for? Have I changed so very much?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, very much.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[351]</a></span>”</p> - -<p>She was charming in her white dress, which clung to her graceful figure -and well-rounded hips. There was a gracious smile on her lips, and her -black eyes were shining.</p> - -<p>“You are just the same,” she said.</p> - -<p>“Yes, the same—but older. I saw Rafaela and Juan de Dios in Biarritz. -They told me you were here.”</p> - -<p>“And you came here immediately?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Very well done. Let’s go to the dining-room. I am now the mistress of -the house.”</p> - -<p>They went into the dining-room. It was a large whitewashed room, with -blue rafters in the ceiling, and a large, unpolished cabinet for the -table-service. In the centre was a heavy table of oak, with a white -oil-cloth cover, in the middle of which was a glass vase full of -flowers. Near the window was an embroidery frame, and a small wicker -basket full of balls of coloured yarn.</p> - -<p>“Come, sit down,” said she. “They’ll set the table presently. Why do you -look at me so much?”</p> - -<p>“You are changed, child; but changed for the better.”</p> - -<p>“Really?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, really; you no longer have that restless look.”</p> - -<p>A young girl set the table, and Remedios and Quentin sat down. Remedios -talked of her life, a most simple one.</p> - -<p>“I’ve already heard that you are giving lessons to the children,” said -Quentin. “Does that entertain you?”</p> - -<p>“Very much. They are all such clever little creatures!”</p> - -<p>After dinner, the old servant showed Quentin to a large room with an -alcove. He sat down in an armchair,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[352]</a></span> preoccupied. The presence of -Remedios had produced a most unusual effect upon him. He felt attracted -to her as he had never felt attracted to any other woman. At the same -time he was restrained by a feeling of humility; not because she was an -aristocrat and he wasn’t, nor because she was young and pretty, and he -was already growing old; but because he realized that she was good.</p> - -<p>“If this visit turns out well,” he thought, “how glad I shall be that I -came! But if it does not turn out well, my life will be ruined.”</p> - -<p>Quentin arose and paced the room for over an hour. He gazed at the -Carmen Virgin, with her bead-work shawl, that stood upon the walnut -dressing-table; he looked absent-mindedly at the coloured lithographs on -the wall, of which some represented scenes from the novel “Matilde, o -las Cruzadas,” and others, scenes from “Paul et Virginie.”</p> - -<p>“I must speak to Remedios immediately,” he thought.</p> - -<p>Having made up his mind, with beating heart he went to look for her. She -was sewing in the dining-room.</p> - -<p>Quentin seated himself and began to talk on different subjects.</p> - -<p>“When are you going to marry?” Quentin suddenly asked her.</p> - -<p>“How do I know?” replied Remedios.</p> - -<p>“Rafaela told me that you have refused many suitors.”</p> - -<p>“You see, they want me to marry a man,” she replied, “because he has -money or a title. But I don’t wish to. It makes no difference to me -whether he is rich or poor; what I want is for him to be good, for him -to have a blind trust in me, as I shall have in him.”</p> - -<p>“And what do you call being good?” asked Quentin.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[353]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Being worthy, sincere, incapable of treachery, incapable of deceit....”</p> - -<p>Quentin fell silent, got up, and returned to his room. There he spent -the entire afternoon pacing up and down like a wild beast in a cage.</p> - -<p>At supper he said nothing; nor could he eat, no matter how hard he -tried. As he rose from the table, he said in a voice choked with -emotion:</p> - -<p>“Listen, Remedios.”</p> - -<p>“What is it?” she asked, perceiving his emotion without knowing the -cause for it.</p> - -<p>“I am going away.”</p> - -<p>“You are going, Quentin? Why?”</p> - -<p>“Because I am not sincere, nor am I capable of self-sacrifice and -abnegation.”</p> - -<p>“Aren’t you?”</p> - -<p>“No. I am a deceiver, Remedios. I have lied so many times that now I do -not know when I am lying, and when I am telling the truth.”</p> - -<p>“And I believed in you, Quentin,” she said sadly.</p> - -<p>“Now you know me. I have confessed this to no one but you. I cannot -deceive you. No; I would deceive most any one—I’m so used to it!—but -not you. Believe me, this is a great sacrifice on my part.”</p> - -<p>“Aren’t you honest, Quentin?”</p> - -<p>“Just enough so to keep out of jail.”</p> - -<p>“And no more?”</p> - -<p>“No more. I have been interested in no one but myself. I have been an -ingrate.”</p> - -<p>“Ungrateful too, Quentin?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, that too. I am self-centred, a liar, a deceiver.... But even so, -Remedios, there are men who have filthier souls than I.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[354]</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“You hurt me, Quentin.”</p> - -<p>“What would you? I wished to be rich; and my heart, along with what few -good qualities there were in it—if there were any—has gone on -withering and being lacerated by the brambles along the road.”</p> - -<p>“How sad it must be to live like that!”</p> - -<p>“Pst!—Not sad.... No. It is like a magic lantern, understand?—Things -happen; just happen, and that’s all.”</p> - -<p>“Without love or hate?”</p> - -<p>“Without anything.”</p> - -<p>“Before—when you first met us, were you a deceiver then?”</p> - -<p>“That is when I first began.”</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>“Adiós, Remedios. Believe that I have made, with this confession, a very -great sacrifice.—Good-bye!” And Quentin held out his hand to her.</p> - -<p>She drew back.</p> - -<p>“Do I frighten you still?”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“But won’t you give me your hand?”</p> - -<p>“No. Not until you are good.”</p> - -<p>“And then?”</p> - -<p>“Then—perhaps.”</p> - -<p>Quentin left the room with lowered head.</p> - -<p>He sat at his window for many hours, smoking.</p> - -<p>The night was clear, cool, and soft. The moon silvered the distant -hills; a nightingale sang softly in the darkness. A flood of thoughts -crowded Quentin’s brain.</p> - -<p>“Conscience,” he said to himself, “conscience is a weakness. What is -honesty? Something mechanical. For a woman it is the certainty of living -with the mate<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[355]</a></span> provided by the Church; for a man, the proof that the -money he owns was won by methods not included in books. But another, a -higher honesty, such as that girl wants; is it not madness in a world -where no one concerns himself with it? This girl has completely upset -me.”</p> - -<p>Quentin felt a strong desire to weep at the thought of having been so -near happiness. He might have deceived Remedios.... No, he could not -have deceived <i>her</i>.... Then he would not have been happy. As he -thought, the full moon was climbing the heavens; its light, filtering -through the leaves of a grape-vine, made beautiful little lace patterns -on the ground. He could hear the continuous tinkling of the bells on the -goats and cows; now and then there came to him the distant sound of -footsteps and voices, the whispering of the wind in the foliage, the -lowing of oxen, the neighing of horses and the knocking of the cows’ -horns against the corral fence.</p> - -<p>Suddenly Quentin made up his mind. He must go. It was necessary. He left -his room, descended the stairs noiselessly, and made his way to the -stable. He lit a lantern, saddled his horse, put on the bridle, and -taking the animal by the bit, led him into the patio. He opened the -wooden gate and followed the fence until he came to the road.</p> - -<p>Quentin mounted and remained for a long time contemplating the front of -the farmhouse, which was bathed in the moonlight.</p> - -<p>“Ah, poor Quentin,” he murmured. “Your sophistry and cunning have been -of no avail, here. Are you not good? Then you cannot enter paradise. You -are not fighting brokers here, nor politicians, nor insincere folk. But -a mere slip of a girl who knows not the world<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[356]</a></span> other than what her heart -tells her. She has conquered you, you cannot enter paradise.”</p> - -<p>The horse walked slowly along; Quentin looked back. A great cloud -covered the moon; the whole country lay in darkness.</p> - -<p>Quentin’s heart was heavy within him, and he sighed deeply. Then he had -a surprise. He was weeping.</p> - -<p>He continued on his way.</p> - -<p>And the nightingales went on singing in the shadows, while the moon, -high in the heavens, bathed the country in its silver light.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p><span class="smcap">El Paular</span>, June, 1905.</p> - -<p class="c"> -THE END<br /> -</p> - -<hr class="full" /> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The city of the discreet, by Pío Baroja - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CITY OF THE DISCREET *** - -***** This file should be named 56324-h.htm or 56324-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/6/3/2/56324/ - -Produced by Bryan Ness, Chuck Greif and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - -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. Special rules, -set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to -copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to -protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project -Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you -charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you -do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the -rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose -such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and -research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do -practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is -subject to the trademark license, especially commercial -redistribution. - - - -*** START: FULL LICENSE *** - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project -Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at -http://gutenberg.org/license). - - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy -all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. -If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the -terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or -entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement -and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" -or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the -collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an -individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are -located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from -copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative -works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg -are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project -Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by -freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of -this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with -the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by -keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project -Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in -a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check -the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement -before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or -creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project -Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning -the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United -States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate -access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently -whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, -copied or distributed: - -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/license - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived -from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is -posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied -and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees -or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work -with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the -work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 -through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the -Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or -1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional -terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked -to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the -permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any -word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or -distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than -"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version -posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), -you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a -copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon -request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other -form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided -that - -- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is - owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he - has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the - Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments - must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you - prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax - returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and - sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the - address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to - the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." - -- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or - destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium - and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of - Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any - money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days - of receipt of the work. - -- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set -forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from -both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael -Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the -Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm -collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain -"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or -corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual -property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a -computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by -your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with -your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with -the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a -refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity -providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to -receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy -is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further -opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER -WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO -WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. -If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the -law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be -interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by -the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any -provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance -with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, -promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, -harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, -that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do -or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm -work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any -Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. - - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers -including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists -because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from -people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need, are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. -To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation -and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 -and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. - - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive -Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at -http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent -permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. -Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered -throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at -809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email -business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact -information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official -page at http://pglaf.org - -For additional contact information: - Dr. Gregory B. Newby - Chief Executive and Director - gbnewby@pglaf.org - - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide -spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To -SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any -particular state visit http://pglaf.org - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. -To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate - - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. - -Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm -concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared -with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project -Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. - - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. -unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily -keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. - - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: - - http://www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. - - -</pre> - -</body> -</html> diff --git a/old/56324-h/images/cover.jpg b/old/56324-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 75c24d5..0000000 --- a/old/56324-h/images/cover.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/56324-h/images/cover_lg.jpg b/old/56324-h/images/cover_lg.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 9330f6b..0000000 --- a/old/56324-h/images/cover_lg.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/56324-h/images/deco.png b/old/56324-h/images/deco.png Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index ae84250..0000000 --- a/old/56324-h/images/deco.png +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/56324-h/images/title.png b/old/56324-h/images/title.png Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index ff89420..0000000 --- a/old/56324-h/images/title.png +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/56324-h/images/title_lg.png b/old/56324-h/images/title_lg.png Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 4019ae9..0000000 --- a/old/56324-h/images/title_lg.png +++ /dev/null |
