The house of the fighting cocks

1^

THE HOUSE OF THE
FIGHTING-COCKS

A

The HOUSE of the
FIGHTING-COCKS

By
HENRY BAERLEIN

up

NEW YORK

HARCOURT, BRACE AND COMPANY

PRINTED IN THE U. S. A. BY

THE OUINN a BODEN COMPANY
RAHWAY. N. J.

To

It is the pleasant custom, as you will remember, of
the Swedes to hang a garland round the neck of those
who go a journey. You have been my comrade in a
thousand journeys while this book was being written
and it seems ridiculous that I should now suspend on
you these withering flowers of speech. And yet the
journeys did not cause you inconvenience, for you
never knew that they were being made.

H. B.

2134346

PREFACE

Whether I shall die to-morrow or in twenty years
or thirty does not matter, for now I have written the
last word of my book. It is the fifth of June, 1880.

I have accomplished all that God has given me the
strength to do.* This poor memorial of my friends of
long ago may be more durable than a stone monument,
which few regard until the day comes when a revolu-
tionary mob or General believe it is the statue of a
tyrant and they drag it down; this manuscript of
mine may cause my heroes to be known more clearly
in the years to come than would a painting which the
Governor of Veracruz, my State in Mexico's Republic,
would display to some rich foreigner who wishes to
exploit the country, and the foreigner, not caring what
the picture is, would pay the Governor as if, indeed,
it were the picture of Two Early Saints by Fra An-
gelico. Whatever be the fate of monuments or paint-
ings in another country, it is here among the most
uncertain; while a manuscript will not be touched by
any one who is unworthy to become the friend of my
dear friend, Eugenio Gil.

It is not seemly for a person such as I to say that
all the world is dull, as I have often heard it said by
venerable men, when they recall the stirring days in
which they had a part. Assuredly it is to dullards that

*The Spanish MS., translated here, was found in excellent
condition at Jalapa, in the year 191 1. The owner of the house
knew nothing of it. (Translator's note.)

7

8 PREFACE

the world is dull — one ought to pity them — and for
myself the world is not so splendid as it was in 1866
and 1867. I never had occasion, except once, to go
beyond the frontiers of the State of Veracruz, which,
from the palm lands by the sea, goes rolling up through
gorgeous pasture and through woods of everlasting
green, up to the distant shadowy hills and to the bril-
liant snows on Orizaba, the dead volcano, that is like a
spear which threatens the blue vault of heaven. The
gray roads which the Spaniards built and the long
forest trails of my own people have been trodden by
the same steps, bold and hesitating, furtive, thought-
ful, as the wildernesses or the streets of other coun-
tries; but for me, because they have resounded to the
footsteps of the disciple of Noah and of Don Eugenio
Gil, they seem the most extraordinary roads in all the
world.

So far as I know, nothing has been written of this
brave philosopher, the Noahcite, who Hved and died
in Mexico. The population of Jalapa, where his home
was, did not try to understand what he was doing, for
in their opinion he was mad. I will not venture to
make any criticism of so strange a man, who certainly
was most unfortunate; what I can do is merely to
repeat, so far as I remember them, his glorious ideas.
What occupied him was no less than All Knowledge,
in so far as it was known to Noah, for he held that
ignorance produces our unhappiness, that knowledge,
on the other hand, means happiness, and that the
person in whose head All Knowledge lay was Noah.
I am well aware that many people think it is an idle
thing to want to have All Knowledge in one's head, to
be, in fact, a pantologist (one who studies or is versed
in universal knowledge), and they would unhesitatingly
reject the system of our patron. He was pleased to

PREFACE 9

tell Eugenio Gil and me that he was happy, owing to
the work on which he was engaged. And it was his
firm intention to bestow the gift of happiness on every-
body, after he had made himself the perfect master
of it. You will learn with deep regret that he was exe-
cuted for conspiracy in the State of Tamaulipas.

As for Don Eugenio Gil — if Spain had only sent us
more like him! "With the passing of the years," says
the Friar Gregorio de la Concepcion Melero y Pina,
"death comes to our passions, and our prejudices are
extinguished and a path is made for truth into the souls
of men who go in search of it with a good will." My
master, Don Eugenio, had a good will, and if he had
lived longer then the passions which so hampered him
might have been utterly destroyed. Whatever I have
learned of letters I acquired from him. And if he had
not been so tossed about the v/orld, I think he would
have been like famous doctors in the books; but never
like the Doctor Canizares, who is now remembered
on account of having fed his pupils on an onion and a
little bread, and sometimes on a stew of goats' feet.

Men whom God has made austere may think my
master was too self-indulgent, but he was not hard on
any one. He did not in the least resemble those
unpleasant people who deny themselves all pleasures
here on earth in order that, when they are dead, they
may be famous. And he was wont to say that God,
who made the grandeur of the universe, could certainly
have made him a much better man, if that had been
His will.

CHAPTER I

My name Is Juan de Dios Eusebio de la Concha, for
my father was a pious man, a breeder of fightmg-cocks,
who was a friend of the great de la Concha family,
although my father was a native of the country, an
Indian, and they were Spanish.

It was in the village of Colorado that we lived, and
all the neighboring country, as far up as Jalapa, used
to buy its fighting-cocks from my dear father, so that
he became more prosperous than any one, he thought,
of our ancestors. But he said that he would always
remain in the village, no matter how great he might
become, for it was in the middle of his district, and
indeed he was regarded as the chief man of Colorado.
Our wooden house was not very large, but it was the
largest, with a balcony on the first floor and iron bars
at some of the windows, like the fine houses at Jalapa,
and in front of it there was a long veranda. So the
travelers from Veracruz, who came on horse-back or
on mule-back or in litters or in shaky carriages, would
sleep at our house if they had to stop at Colorado.
And my father was the only person in the village who
subscribed to a newspaper; he kept them in a room
downstairs and for the benefit of travelers who, even
if they were escorted by a military troop, fell often
into ambuscades where bandits robbed them of their
clothes. The newspaper, which also came from
Veracruz, was not very strong, so that my father
would not let me touch it. But he told me that some

II

12 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

day I must learn how to read, because our family was
growing rich, and thus if any traveler who was forced
to buy a newspaper consented to instruct me in the
letters, then my father sold it him or her more
cheaply. That is how I came to be the only person
in all Colorado, with the exception of the priest, who
knew the alphabet; for Senor Gonzalez, the shopkeeper
on the opposite side of the road, and Captain Bartolme
Robledo, the old man, regretted, as they told my
father, that they had not had a father such as he was.

My mother was a very thoughtful woman; she used
to tell my father nearly every day that all things have
their end and that perhaps his wealth would leave him.

But he used to stroke her anxious face and laugh at
her. It was to him like some old funny story which
we love to have repeated. "Mother Guadalupe," he
would say to her, "I tell you that you are the pearl
of women."

She was always shaking her dear head when I played
soldiers with my father. What he did was to shout:
"Psh! psh!" and what I did was to fall flat on my
stomach — that was the whole game and I loved to
play it.

"You will train him," quoth she, "to be a warrior
and then he will go out from here and be killed.
Thank the holy saints," she said, "that you have
money and our Juanito need not go to fight for any
of them. It is wicked money that one makes in
that way."

"There is plenty of it," laughed my father. "If
you are a man on one side you can always sell the
guns and powder to the chieftain of the other side.
But our son is not going to be a common soldier."

Yet she was not satisfied. "Father Pedro," she
would say, "the holy ones do not look down with

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 13

favor on a fighting man, except if he be fighting for
the faith. I know very well," she said, "that all their
proclamations, whether they be Juarez generals or
generals who would kill him, or great foreign generals
of the Emperor Maximilian, I know that all of them
announce that they are fighting on the side of God,
and some of them are liars and that is why they are
killed," said my mother.

"Or because they don't fall on their stomachs,"
said my father. "Anyhow, while there is wind in the
palm tree, as they say, so long will the women cajole
us, and you are the pearl of women."

It was impossible for my poor mother to invoke the
priest, because he was so friendly with my father; he
was one of those who bought the cocks, and on a
Sunday, when the Mass was over, he would come with
all of us into the space which is in front of the shop of
Seiior Gonzalez. After the Mass, he said, he was like
other citizens. Thus he would never tell my father
what the holy ones might have against him. "You
are a good woman," he used to say to my mother,
"for when you are kneeling down in the church I have
seen you keep your arms stretched out for five or six
minutes. And how v/ould you have me declare that
the holy saints are angry with a man for being a soldier
or pretending to be one? Do not we, the reverend
priests, accompany the troops?" He smiled at her in
his weak, amiable way.

The village was like any other, with fine palm trees
and all sorts of other trees and cactus. Here and
there, among the trees, were houses built of painted
wood, all kinds of colors. That one of the Senor
Gonzalez was the meeting-place; my father, when he
was not somewhere else to do his business, liked to sit
outside it in the night, with other players. Our own

14 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

house was opposite, and even if we had not seen him
underneath the flaring lamps we should have known
that he was there, because he laughed so heartily. My
mother said that even if he lost his money at the game
he would be laughing — and we Mexicans are such a
silent race — she never knew if he had won or lost, so
that her hatred for Gonzalez was intense. She would
lean out from the low window of her dark room for
an hour or two hours at a time, and when my father
had returned she spoke against Gonzalez.

"Nonsense!" cried my father. "What should we
do without him? And I told him just this evening
that you are the pearl of women, and he said it was
the truth."

Of course my father did not spend a very large part
of his time in playing games with me or playing at the
shop. His business occupied him, and it grew so large
that he was sorry I had learned to read, he said, be-
cause it would not be a seemly thing if I continued
merely as a man of business. What I was to be he did
not know, but something grander than himself at any
rate.

One day when he came from a journey he informed
my mother that he had a plan for me. He was more
grave than I had ever seen him, and he sat down on
the floor, as if we had no chairs. Then he reached up
and took my hand and started smoothing it, while I
was wondering why his own hand trembled so.

"Is it that you have been robbed on this journey?
Did they take the cocks or else your money?" asked
my mother.

"Oh, you always think the worst at once," he
said.

"And now you want to make our only son a brigand.
It is profitable, certainly, but they will never take him

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 15

into heaven, and with sleeping on the mountain-tops
and all those places he will catch a chill. Father
PedrO; . . ."

''By the saints!" he said, "it is all wrong what you
are saying. I have settled that when travelers come
to the house they shall behold our Juanito reading in
the newspapers, and when they see it they will, some
of them will, offer him a post, and if it is a good
post . . ."

"He shall never go away from Colorado!" she ex-
claimed, and there she stood in front of us, seeming
much taller than usual, and with her sad eyes glit-
tering.

But from that day when there was a traveler who
stopped with us I nearly always found occasion to dis-
play my talents. I would sit beside the table where
they ate and, with the newspaper spread out before
me, read aloud. Sometimes they complimented me or
gave me little presents, and sometimes a lady kissed
me; sometimes they were furious, when there was
nothing yet for them to eat, and sometimes they sat
talking the more loudly. "When that is what they do,"
said my father, "it is because they cannot read." He
waited patiently for one to come who would give ex-
cellent advice or even take me with him to the glory
I deserved.

The newspaper I read was always the same one, as
they were so valuable in the way I have explained
before. You might suppose that all the people of the
village would be eager for me to read out to them
what each new paper said, but the people of a village
do not change their habits quickly, and in years gone
by they had not felt the need of any paper. And in
all the village, with the exception of the few books
of the priest, there was only one book, which had

i6 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

formerly belonged to Captain Bartolme, and now was
mine. He gave it me because he said he was no
student. It had fallen into his possession when he
plundered a dead officer, and since it dealt with
stately Spanish dances, and he was, he said, a patriot
and also could not dance, he thought it would be
better if he gave it me. You may be sure that I was
proud of it, and so was my father; in fact, the old
captain seemed always now to have a place at our
table, and at the end of the meal he enveloped in his
cloak such articles of food as lay about him, just as if
it was some sweet that he was taking to his children.
At his house, my father said, there was no food at all,
for he had been abandoned by the Government, and
Enriqueta, that woman who looked after his house,
was nearly starving. I think before he gave me the
Book of IDances poor Captain Bartolme was wont to
come a little time before a meal, and, rocking to and
fro in his chair, to relate a story of how he had dis-
persed the enemies of Mexico. It was a long tale,
and, with rare exceptions, he was not obliged to go
through more than half of it before the dishes were
brought in, and he sat down among the rest of us.
But now, if perchance my father was not in good
spirits, he had only to strike an attitude which came
out of the book, and usually he had not even to do
that.

Then, one day in the hot season of 1866, I had been
lying with some other children underneath a tree, and
we had been amusing ourselves with making patterns
of dust on each other's bodies, when I saw a traveler
in black arrive and look all round him, searching for
a man, because it was the hour when people rest. And
then he slowly mounted the veranda of our house;
I saw that he was very tired, but it was my duty to

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 17

read pieces of the paper to him and I got up also,
feeling that it was a most intolerable burden to be
some one so instructed.

As he heard me he turned round. His face was a
dull red, and there was something very mournful in
his eyes. "My son," quoth he, "I am in great need
of a cup of water." He was not as old as my father,
but the hair, which, being wet, clung to his forehead
in large curls, was gray.

It is extraordinary, when I come to think of it, that
I, in total nakedness, was not at all embarrassed by
this stranger. But he was the sort of man with whom
it is impossible to be embarrassed. For a European
he was not a tall man; yet he had about him an air
of magnificence, and this was not diminished by the
lower part of his rather heavy face — for in repose it
smiled, a smile that altered from moment to moment,
a smile that seemed to run out of his mouth and to
play hide and seek in the dimples of his ruddy chin —
and still less was his magnificence diminished by his
physical condition or the dust which lay upon his old
black suit.

"It seems to me," he said, "that I can go no further
till to-morrow. You, with your young legs, you cannot
think how tired I am."

I told him I would fetch my father, who was
sleeping.

But he held his hand up, a beautiful plump hand.
"Oh, by no means," he said. "Let me drink a cup of
water and then show me where to sleep."

By this time a few of my companions had
approached us. One of them I sent for water. I
could not break off this wonderful and heavenly con-
versation, though now that I have put it down it does
not seem so different from others.

i8 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

Presently my father came out from the house.
"Senor," he said, not caring that the traveler had come
on foot, "this is the only place for travelers in Colo-
rado. But you are in a good humor."

"Host," said he, "I have got 65 centavos. Therefore
I cannot ask for more than half a bed."

"Senor," said my father, "from your language I
perceive that you are a Spaniard from Spain. But
although I must abhor you, since you were the enemy,
yet I have never slain one while he slept within my
house, which is at the disposal now of Your Illustrious
Person. Some of those who come to these lands out of
Spain do not like the particular small insects of our
beds, but you are the determined traveler. In fact,"
said my father, nodding his head rapidly up and down
— a way with him when his emotions were engaged —
"in fact," said he, "I would embrace you if I were not
a poor Indian only."

They embraced, with many pats upon each other's
backs, and then they went into the house and, for a
time, I stayed among the other children. We were
talking of the traveler, and wondering what he might
be and whither he was going, when old Captain
Bartolme Robledo, in a state of perturbation, limped
toward us. Was my father at the house? he shouted.
When I told him that he was, the Captain uttered a
strange growl and hurried on. It was impossible for
us to stay out in the open air. We followed him.
And at the door of the large room we stopped. In
front of us there stood the Captain, with his arms
thrown out and talking in a shrill, abrupt, and
incoherent fashion. The fat traveler lay on a bed,
that is to say, he propped himself on his left elbow;
with his right hand he was eating from a bowl. My
father, on a chair, looked up most wrathfully at the

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 19

old Captain, but his fingers did not cease from plucking
a white hen that was between his knees.

"Gone away, entirely gone, I tell you," shouted the
old Captain, "and how am I to find her?"

"If you will permit me, sir?" the traveler said. "I
have but lately come into your country. My name is
Eugenio Gil, once a citizen of Zaragoza in Aragon and
once — alas! — librarian to the Bishop's books. It is
possible — I know not — but it is possible that I can help
you."

"She has gone! Her name was Enriqueta. Oh, the
woman ! She — she "

"Look you," said my father, "is it right that you
should come disturbing His Honor of the books in this
way? And it is my house. You are shameless!"

But Don Eugenio spoke to the Captain very seri-
ously. "It is what we must expect," he said. "They
are the little clouds which make our sky more beautiful,
and then they sail away." He dipped his leaf into the
bowl again.

Don Bartolme did not know what to say. Such
reasoning as this had never yet been placed before
him. Suddenly he turned and told us children to be
gone. And they all crept away, except myself. I
crouched down in the corner of the room, upon an
empty sack of oranges. There in the shade I thought
I would escape attention.

"Senor," said the Captain to Don Eugenio, "it is
benevolent on your part, but — but have you ever loved
a woman very much?"

The traveler did not reply.

And as the Captain started pacing up and down the
room, "Oh, name of God," he moaned, "why did I
listen to her? Now let all the creatures talk — I hold
my ears. I hate them all."

20 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

"So that, my friend," said Don Eugenio, "you may
not enter Paradise. We have in my part of the
country an old saying which the Arabs left behind
them. It is that a talking bird has got the Keys of
Paradise."

"Oho! what does he talk about?"

"They have not found him yet," acknowledged Don
Eugenio.

The Captain gave a scoffing laugh. "A bird, for-
sooth! Perhaps you have come here to find him!"

"And why not?" said Don Eugenio with a smile.
"Do you believe it is no miracle that men can talk?
And if one miracle, why not another?"

"Oh, this bird," exclaimed my father, holding up
the half-plucked hen. "I wish I had not slain it."

The old Captain laughed. "What foolishness! Mi
Pedrecito," he said to my father, "surely you don't
think . . ." And turning round to Don Eugenio he
asked, a little anxiously, "It is all nonsense, is it
not?"

"At any rate," said Don Eugenio, "I think the bird
which has the Keys will be a very common bird."

I had been lying on the empty sack and nobody
had taken any notice of me. But at this point I was
ordered by my father to be off and dress myself.

I stood up, but my head was hanging.

"My little Andalucian angel," said Don Eugenio.

"Now," said my father, "put your clothes on like
a Christian. In the presence of this learned gentle-
man of books it is not fitting that you should forget
your clothes."

And, glancing up, I saw my mother at the door
which led into the other room. Her mouth was open.

"Yes," quoth Don Eugenio, "I am a man of books,
but not of our books of to-day. You see there is a

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 21

prejudice against us if we would expose our bodies
that are clean and lovely in the sight of God, whereas
in books and newspapers the people may, with great
impunity, expose the dirtiest of minds."

I had not thought that he could be so stern.

"Senor," my mother said, "you speak of news-
papers. What do you think of those they make at
Veracruz?"

He greeted her with a grave courtesy, half-rising
from the bed.

"Juan is the first one of us who has read a news-
paper," my mother said; "and do you think he ought
to read?"

Before the traveler could reply my father rose and
put his right hand on my mother's shoulder. In his
left there swung the carcase of the hen. "She is the
pearl of women," he explained, "but there are things
she does not understand." He smiled indulgently.

My mother did not hesitate a moment. "There may
be some things," she said, "that we ought not to
know."

The traveler nodded.

"Here," she said, "is one of them." And going over
to the painted box, in which the fire-arms and the
colored handkerchiefs and old, dried palm-leaves and
some iron stirrups and some other articles were kept,
she took out the small book on dancing.

"As I said," observed my father, "she is what she
is, Senor, and I have never wished to have another
wife. But she is what she is and very little civilized.
One cannot always stay the same as were one's
ancestors. Is that not so? To cultivate your garden
and your oranges and coffee-plants may be extremely
meritorious, but there is something, I do not know
what, a mystery, a holy sentiment, a voice of God,

22 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

that sometimes urges men to rise. Is that not so?
And thus I have become a breeder of these fighting-
cocks."

My mother had been holding out, for every one to
see, the first page of the book. It had the picture of a
lady dancing through a hoop, which hung so wonder-
fully in the air. And at the corners of the page there
were some roses.

"Be careful with that book," said Captain Bartolme,
"for it is I who gave it you."

"Of course, I know," said my mother, "that this
woman looks as if she were the sister of the Holy
Virgin, which they sell at the Jalapa fair for one or
two or five centavos, and you are safe in your house
if you have got a five-centavo one. I know this woman
looks as if she were the sister, but if I should pray to
her and sing to her when I am weary in my heart, what
will she do? I ask."

"We have been taught," said Don Eugenio, "that
there are holy ones — some who lived long ago and
some in days more recent — and that if we pray to
them they sometimes will appear to us. But I, no
doubt, because of my innumerable sins, have never
seen these holy creatures. I am even as old Bernal
Diaz the Conquistador, who says that though Saint
James came down on a white horse to help the Spanish
soldiers at Otumba, he, because of his transgressions,
could not see him. Those whom I have seen are holy
people, humble people, and I do not pray to them or
sing to them, but I attempt to follow their example.
And if you behave as does this woman of the picture,
dancing when your heart is weary, you may find it is
as good as praying to the Holy Virgin."

"So that . . ." said my mother in amazement.

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 23

She could think of nothing else to say, and no one
spoke, because my father and Don Bartolme were
staring at the traveler, and he was sitting upright on
the bed, his feet upon the floor. He was knocking
the dust out of his clothes.

"I myself, when I was at Madrid," quoth he, "saw
the sublime Coralla, who was endowed with calves of
iron and with a magic power in pantomime, and she
could enter on the scene and leave it as she wished,
no matter what was going on. Ah, me! But how she
danced!"

"Seiior," said my mother, "I will brush your
clothes very well for you after you have taken them
off. And here at Colorado is a priest who will not let
us dance as was the custom of our ancestors. He says
that dancing is unseemly."

"Then," said Don Eugenio, "he does not know that,
ever since that lamentable accident which happened to
the Mariette, a dancer does not now omit to put on
underclothes. She who first took this precaution was
the good Camargo, who could execute six entrechats
and anyhow, she never stumbled, as did Mariette,
across an imitation window-frame. Ah, what is
this?"

It was Gonzalez, owner of the shop, who flung him-
self into the house, and his queer, smallpoxed face was
working agitatedly; his little eyes were flashing in his
head. "That Enriqueta," he began, "has come to me.
She wants to live with me! Just as I was half sleeping
in the shop my woman enters. And from now . . ."

"For all these months . . ." said the old Captain.
He did not seem angry, but very sad.

"Oh, well, she doesn't want you," said Gonzalez.
"Long ago and long ago I asked her to come to me,

24 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

because you are not a fighting soldier, but a lame old
man. This Captain," he explained to Don Eugenio, "is
a soldier such as we have many of in Mexico. When
it became a question to throw out the Spaniards, forty,
fifty years ago, there was every kind of honor paid
to the insurgent heroes: garlands round their necks
and money for their pockets and the perfumed girls
of every village for them, just as if they had been
Spanish landlords of the olden time. Yes, all this was
for the heroes, this or death. Many of them fell into
the hands of our oppressors and were slaughtered.
Many others were more careful, like this Captain,
who . . ."

"I have been in bloody battles," said the Captain,
with his hand upon his heart, "I have indeed."

"Oh, hear him! That," Gonzalez cried, "is what
I said to Enriqueta, that he was of those who like the
honors but will never find their way into a battle.
He is like those peaceful soldiers whom we also have,
senor, in Mexico; as fast as possible they sell the
powder and the guns to their opponents. That is how
they work for a disarmament and peace."

"It seems to me that I have come to a great coun-
try," said Don Eugenio.

"And this man was about the age of fifty years when
he became an officer. He stole the uniform of a cap-
tain and that is how . . ."

"But the man was dead," exclaimed Don Bartolme
indignantly.

"And then," pursued Gonzalez, "he comes here to
Colorado and he lives upon the sunlight and on what
we give him, and he takes our Enriqueta. But from
now she is my woman. She is mine!" He grinned
delightedly at all of us.

"Will you be gone," my father said, "you with your

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 25

vile, indecent life? Here is a gentleman of books, and
you disturb him with a story out of life. May yellow
fever fall upon you!"

This was not the way in which my father usually
spoke, but so much was he in earnest that he made a
movement as if he was going to throw the hen into
Gonzalez's face.

The shopkeeper had never thought that he would be
received in this way. "Ca!" said he, "I have more
of politeness. I will not wish that the yellow fever fall
upon this gentleman. But if it were to fall, I think his
books would not assist him."

"That is very probable," quoth Don Eugenio, "for
when the Greeks advised us to suspend beneath our
chins a piece of vellum with some words from Homer's
Iliad, they had in mind not to prevent the yellow fever,
whereof they were ignorant, but other fevers. May
I hope," he added to Gonzalez, "that you will have
many years of health and all felicity with the good
lady Enriqueta?"

"I remain at the disDosal of your Honor," said
Gonzalez, as he backed towards the door. "If only,"
said he, "this Pedro does not take her from me."

"I hope," said my father, in a trembling voice, "that
I shall never see you or the woman again. And if I
were you I'd keep her in a cage."

"Oh, as for that," he laughed, "she'll run away
from me as fast as Captain Bartolme can run." And
seizing the old fellow by the arm he pulled him out to
the veranda. "Hola!" he cried, "you don't want a
cage for some of them. When the bird is dead you
can leave the cage open!" And he made off, with his
arm round the limping Don Bartolme.

His last words may have been directed against my
mother, but nevertheless my father turned to Don

26 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

Eugenio and said, "Those are the people of Colorado.
And after you are gone I shall consort with them again.
It is a miserable life. And thus it will continue till I
die and then for Juanito, my son whom you see here,
it will be the same. But I must send him out into the
world." And he looked sideways at Don Eugenio.

"If you would like me," said the man of books, "to
take him to Jalapa?"

"Seiior," said my mother, "when I was outside the
room I heard you say that you are not a rich man.
We have also not as much as the most rich of all,
but God has smiled upon the business of my husband.
We have always a sufficiency of onions and brown
beans and coffee, which is very good, and animal meat
and good pineapples and plenty of corn and also cigars
and papayas with agreeable juice, and therefore if
your Honor will stay with us . . ."

"Thank you very much," said Don Eugenio, "but
I am bound for Jalapa, to the house of a Noahcite.
At Veracruz I heard of him, and I believe that in the
course of his researches he will find me useful. I have
wares that one may often ta^e to market and not sell.
There may, in fact, not be another man of all your
country who will want me."

"Why then did you come to Mexico?" asked my
father. And when he noticed that a shadow was on
Don Eugenio's face he begged him not to answer.

"As for Juanito, who is not without instruction,"
said the traveler, "and who evidently is inquisitive — a
more important attribute — I shall be glad to take him
with me if his mother will consent."

"You have not yet mentioned," said my father, "if
you love the fighting-cocks."

He held his hands up in denial.

"Well then," said my father, very resolutely, "I will

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 27

pay in something else, or, if you like, in coin. Yes,
so be it."

Don Eugenio smiled. "Once in my native town,"
he said, "I heard a story of a lad who was brought
up inside a monastery. And he never saw a woman
till he went one day to market in a neighboring
village, with a monk. He saw some girls there, and
he asked what they might be. The monk said they
were geese. And when the boy was back inside the
monastery he seemed very mournful, and the monk
inquired if he was sick or weary. T should like to eat
some of those geese,' said the boy."

"And what," asked my father with great earnestness,
"what did he do?"

Said Don Eugenio, "I told the story as an illustra-
tion of the charm of ignorance and the peril of it.
And perhaps on the whole it is better if I let your boy
go with me to the market, though I cannot promise
that he will not be a sadder boy when he returns.
The money which you kindly offer I will also take,
for I will earn it conscientiously. As for the educa-
tion, it will not be in accordance with his tender
years. In fact, it will be far beyond what other boys
attempt."

My father stroked my hair. "But go," he said sud-
denly, "go and dress yourself."

"Tell me," said my mother, "what will he do after
he knows all that? What will he do?"

"Que hombre!" said my father. "In other lands it
may be like this or like that, but in Mexico there are
some people underneath and some on the top. It is
more pleasant to be on the top, and the way to accom-
plish that is by being a learned man."

"Oh, happy country!" interjected Don Eugenio.
"What I was going to say was that so much of what

28 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

he overhears he will not understand, but I think it is
better that a boy should wander in the dark if he will
grope about, than that he should be always lolling in
the sunlight. I believe that you do well to let me have
your son, although you do not know me."

"But, indeed, I know you," said my father, "and
besides we all of us are in the hands of God."

"Amen," said Don Eugenio; "and now I think it
suitable that I should say a prayer even if I am no
priest."

My father and my mother went down on their knees,
and so did I.

"This lad," quoth he — his hands fell rather heavily
upon my head — "this lad is now committed to the
care of me, Eugenio Gil, Thy wicked servant. And
I pray that Thou wilt mercifully guide me so that I
may lead him well. Thou wilt not blame us in that
we have been impetuous, for it is Thou who knewest
of it since the world began that we should meet and
that we should, for good or evil, but I hope for good,
set out together."

"Excuse me," said my mother, "I am not a learned
one. I have not understood."

"And what of that?" called my father, angrily.
"Will you not let His Honor proceed with the beau-
tiful prayer. God knows very well what he is talking
about."

Don Eugenio began again: "It is my purpose so
to train this boy that the small seed of education
which he has may blossom into flower and be to him
immeasurable riches and perhaps a source of earthly
riches also. Here the seed would certainly be choked
by the great Ignorance around him; on the other
hand, O God, I will endeavor not to blind with too
much education, which is only seeing further and more

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 29

terribly into the forest-labyrinths of Ignorance, I will
endeavor not to blind what of Old Wisdom may be
in the boy. Instead of worthless newspapers and
books on dancing he shall study our good language
and the Latin language, so that soon, in a humble
capacity, he will be able to assist, I have no doubt, in
portions of the work that the Noahcite of Jalapa will
set before me. The idea of an assistant did not come
to me, and thus I have not had to wait for Juan during
anxious days. I thank Thee."

"We have waited a long time for you," said my
father, "but now you have come. It is beautiful,
beautiful."

Don Eugenio looked at him amiably. "In other
circumstances, my dear host," he said, "I should have
knocked in a very woeful condition at the house of
that Noahcite. And, by the way, I have not told you
much about him — it is owing to the fact that I myself
have only heard a little. He appears to be a hermit."

"Juanito will be safe with you," said my father.

"And I ought to tell you more about myself."

"All that can wait until to-morrow," said my
father. "I am going now to get some fireworks from
Gonzalez, such as we have orders to send up when
there is a most high procession of the Church or when
there is a grand procession for a newly-chosen Gov-
ernor of Veracruz, our State." And having spoken
thus, my father rose. "This day shall not be soon
forgotten," he declared.

"I think we shall remember it more joyfully in years
to come," said Don Eugenio, "if you do not allow
Gonzalez to send off the fireworks himself."

CHAPTER II

On the next day, Don Eugenio told the story of his
life to us. He and my father and myself had walked
a little distance out of Colorado, to a grove of palms.
I had been very often with my comrades in that grove
and often, when it happened to be my turn, as a
desperate Spanish governor who knows not how he will
escape from the encircling, hidden patriots; but I had
never been so thrilled before. And Don Eugenio
began :

"At Zaragoza I was born," he said, "and at an
early age I found myself inside the seminary.
Zaragoza has a restless, active population; but my
family, both such of them as lived in the town, and
such as plied their trade among the mountains, were
considered to be rather independent; and it had been
settled that I should become a priest, in expiation of
their naughtiness. But my instructors at the seminary
were, in a short time, as little pleased as I was, and
they told my parents that there was within me some-
thing, if not diabolical, at any rate entirely different
from what the Church demanded. As an instance of
my intractable spirit, they informed my parents that
when I was told of God's great anger with the
Israelites for worshipping the golden calf I was not,
like the other boys, at all impressed. 'Anybody else,'
I said, 'would have laughed at them.' I happen to
remember this one out of the long catalogue of my
transgressions; but the priests, when they returned me,

30

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 31

said that they were sorry, for there seemed to be a
studious side to my bad character.

"My parents thereupon dispatched me to an uncle
who was one of the most celebrated smugglers of
Aragon. His band of ten or twelve devoted followers
were very kind to me, not so much because I was the
nephew of their chief as that I had been in a seminary,
for they looked upon the Church with reverence, and
were on good terms with the large majority of
mountain curates. Each of them, my uncle and his
pretty daughter, and the other smugglers, used to wear
as a protection some sort of a rosary or sacred relic,
and the medal of Saint Eugracia, which the priests
had given me, was one which all the band admired.
I know not whether I should have developed into a
proficient smuggler or if I should have grown weary
of the charm, the moon-lit rides, the ambuscades, the
plunder, the good fellowship. I know not if my
conscience would have ever told me that it was a
wicked life — in common with most other Spaniards we
looked on ourselves as men who swindled the intolera-
ble swindle of the fiscal regulations — I do not know if
I should have been a merry and rich smuggler at this
moment, instead of as you see me now; but I was
scarcely a few months in the profession when, un-
luckily, I killed a customs-officer. I found him with
Antonia, my cousin, in his foul embrace, and I think
that every member of the band would have done just
the same as I did, though my cousin cursed me at the
time most bitterly, and told me that she almost had
persuaded him to join our band. At any rate, she there
and then commanded me to go back to my parents, and
I did so, feeling very much disgraced.

"They had been looking forward to me coming back
in great prosperity to help them in old age, and they

32 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

were very violent. Now I had thrown away, they
said, the second chance which, as good parents, they
had offered me. It was upon myself henceforward
that I must rely. They turned me out, and then my
wanderings through Aragon and the Castiles began in
earnest. On the way I had occasion to be first the
clerk to an apothecary, then a traveling actor, then
the servant of a man who held a lottery at all the fairs,
and then I was a stable-man, a baker, a water-carrier.
I will not say that I was to be pitied on account of
the lowliness of some of these occupations; they were
honest, which I cannot say for two others which
engaged me. Well, I had arrived at my twenty-second
year, and then I saw one afternoon, a girl drive past
me in Madrid who changed the whole course of my life.
She put into my heart such longing and such tender-
ness that on the next day, very early, I went to a stall
of books and begged the goodman there to let me
serve him. I had more and more avoided anything
which had to do with my old seminary days — among
the attributes of that regretted, more and more
regretted, time were books. And now, with that
enchanting girl upon my heart, I could resist no
longer. It happened that the bookseller was not in a
position to employ me, but a friend of his required
a new assistant and I flung myself most ardently into
the world of books, which up to then, of course, I
scarcely knew at all. I cannot say if I should have
become as great a lover of the books if it had not been
that I vowed with all my soul that I adored them;
but the weather-beaten books of chivalry were
splendid, and the brown piles of old play-bills and the
fat religious books, such as those of Juan Nieremberg
of Madrid — the 'Life of Saint Ignacius of Loyola' was
one of them, the ^Tract concerning the Beauty of

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 33

God' was another — and Quevedo, of whom we had a
translation issued at Rouen in 1641, by Jacques
Besongne, with a very ornamental device on the
title-page; and we had a book which was published in
Flanders, all about the war — it was by Carlos Coloma,
the Spanish General, whose language was so clear and
lofty; by the side of it we had one which had been
composed by the Most Illustrious Juan Coloma,
Viceroy and Captain-General for His Majesty in
Sardinia, and this book we could never sell, although
it was the first one printed in that island and although
the Most Illustrious proclaimed in his Introduction
that the book would confer so much of benefit and
honor on the Kingdom, and indeed it may at that
time have been in request, since the Most Illustrious
announces that unauthorized ones who purvey it will
have every copy confiscated and be liable to pay a fine
of five and twenty ducats — it was a little book in
poetry about the Passion of our Lord; and then we
had The Lugubrious Nights' by Colonel Jose
Cadalso, who was killed in 1782 by the English at the
Siege of Gibraltar. In that book of his he had imi-
tated the 'Night Thoughts' of Dr. Young, an English-
man— I found them all delicious and I even read them,
while I watched our thievish customers.

"But they eluded me, the scoundrels, more than
once, so that the owner of the stall said I would ruin
him. He was a philanthropic man; I might, he said,
go to his lodging with him every night and there read
all the books I wanted, but if I should go to any other
bookseller he would inform him that for watching I was
very useless.

"So I found myself in a condition worse than I had
ever known; I couldn't bear it in Madrid. You may
think it was foolish of me, but I left the town."

34 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

"Pues, in the towns," said my father; "one has
many thieves, as you yourself observed."

"At Alcala de Henares I fell in with a foreign inn-
keeper, a Catalan; and as I had eaten for two
days nothing but a little rye bread and garlic I con-
sented to assist him in selling a cat for a hare, as the
saying is."

My father turned his head away.

"Yes, yes, I know that it is not to be excused,"
said Don Eugenio, "and there is only one thing which
consoles me. There in Alcala amid the travelers
whom I helped the man to fleece — ^himself, he could
not read nor write — were many, I am certain, who
were wicked people, so that it was seemly for them to
be punished. God have mercy upon me, a sinner."

"Amen," said my father. "But did any of the
wicked people find you out?"

"It was not on that account," said Don Eugenio,
"that I went from there. Of course, I longed to be
with books again, but how it was to come about I
could not see. And what I did was to continue at
my work and trust in God. And He rewarded me
far, far beyond my merits. A sweet angel came to
Alcala; she once had been the good wife of a common
soldier who became a duke and left her when the
Queen cast eyes upon him. This occurred some years
ago and the poor woman was compelled to keep herself
in hiding. Nowhere could she turn for aid; her life
was the most miserable that you can imagine; but
at last the Church, offended with the haughty duke,
resolved to help her, and they passed her out of Spain.
She did not travel in the public coach, as is the
custom of our highest, but in a black carriage with a
trusty bodyguard. And when she halted for the
night with us at Alcala she noticed, in the midst of

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 35

her anxieties, that I was looking very miserable. And
she took me with her, on the next day, to my native
town, where she had letters for the Bishop. This is
how I came into the service of that well-beloved man,
the Bishop of Zaragoza.

"You have heard, perhaps, of Saint Eugracia and
her marvels? Well, a portion of her liver is resorted
to, at Zaragoza, by the faithful who are incommoded
by some pain around the stomach; while a tumor in
the neck, a lamparone, yields, they tell me, to the oil
of Saint Eugracia's lamp. At any rate, I had been
perfectly familiar from my childhood with the reputa-
tion of this holy woman, whose adherents and their
friends came always in a ceaseless stream to Zaragoza.
I did not suppose that I myself should ever have much
traffic with her, but the Bishop said that I had just
arrived at the good time to write her life. He had
determined that it should be written, since it would be
doubtless very edifying, and he was an amiable man
and a grandee who did not love the learned doctors
half as much as the unlearned people. All the manu-
scripts about ecclesiastical affairs in Aragon, and other
parts, which filled his library he did not care about,
but he was much devoted to our Saint, and so for
nearly twenty years he nourished me and was my
friend while these investigations were in progress.

"Now and then I could inform him that I had dis-
covered something else about the lady and her eighteen
martyred comrades, but it was not easy to learn much,
and as the years went on I lived a good deal at the
only Zaragoza bookstall that was just outside my
former seminary, and when I was at the Bishop's house
I gave more time and more time to the manuscripts.
The catalogue I was compiling of them gave him pleas-
ure, and he promised me that, after I had written it

36 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

in Latin, he would send it to be bound at Barcelona in
dull red morocco with the edges gilt and gauffred, with
his arms emblazoned in the center of the cover, and
inside a painted geometrical design; there should be
a symmetrical and elegant ground-work of tears. On
the title-page, he said, I could describe myself as his
librarian. He was so kind to me that I lamented
having ascertained so little as to Saint Eugracia.

"I visited my parents now and then — they both died
in this period when I was back in Zaragoza — but there
was a feeling of constraint between us. When my
uncle, who became one of the richest smugglers of all
Aragon, received them for the gorgeous nuptials of his
daughter, he inquired about myself and the profession
I had chosen. But my parents told me, somewhat
curtly, that it had been quite impossible to answer him
with accuracy if it was not to excite his great amaze-
ment and, maybe, his sense of humor. I was like a
priest, they said to him, I helped the Bishop and was
growing corpulent. My pretty cousin asked if I had
got a woman, but they said that I did not concern
myself with them. And," quoth Don Eugenio, "I have
in this tale of my life not thought it necessary to
repeat the passages of love; I did this for the reason
that, so far as I know, they have had no influence on
my career, with the exception of that girl I met one
afternoon of autumn in Madrid. With your permis-
sion I will say no word about the others, not because
they are of slight importance, but because they are
too sacred or too little sacred."

My father had some small cigars inside his hat. He
took out one for Don Eugenio, he lighted it and gave
it him, and then he chose another for himself.

"At last the Bishop died," said Don Eugenio, "and

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 37

his successor chased me out into the world. And thus
I came to Mexico."

"If that man in Jalapa whom you talked of should
not want to have you," said my father, "then I hope
that you will always live with us."

CHAPTER III

Although I was a little boy when Don Eugenio
came and took me with him to Jalapa, and although we
only lived together for about a year, I seem to have
him always with me. Here in Mexico you have to be
the most secluded of all hermits if the everlasting strife
and treacheries and turmoil do not sometimes make
you wish to be in a more peaceful country; but I live
with Don Eugenio and I am happy. And he lives with
me as he does not live, I am sure, with anybody else,
and when I vanish he will vanish also.

It is terrible to think that all this laughter and gay
learning and benevolence will fade out of the world.
And it is strange to think that probably they would
have faded sooner if the Bishop's librarian had not
encountered a small, naked Indian boy. But I am far
more troubled and more serious about these things
than Don Eugenio would have been — it is the nature
of my people to be serious, if we reflect at all. He used
to say that, speaking with the most profound humility,
he did not think that God would like it if one always
treated Him with seriousness, for, surely, in the works
of God one could discern amid the grandeur no small
wa3rwardness and wistfulness and mirth, so that one
could suppose in God a wish not to be veiled in awe,
but to be treated with a loving friendliness, with a
complete familiarity. He was quite firm in his belief
that God could laugh at men. I think he used to
laugh at God, and he was a much better man than
many who have tonsured heads. And if it is the case

38

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 39

that God can laugh at us, I think He had the last
laugh over Don Eugenio. Instead of letting him live
in a Latin country and at ease among his fellows, He
made a poor wanderer of him, a solitary man who did
not really give his confidence to any one until it was
to me!

While he was at Zaragoza in the Bishop's library,
he could not tell them what he thought about these
matters; he would certainly have been expelled, if
nothing worse. The Inquisition was distasteful to
him, but when he was ultimately sent away the only
manuscripts that he could lay his hands on happened
to be certain papers of the Council of the General
Inquisition of Spain, together with a few Reports of
the Inquisitors of Aragon and one or two more manu-
scripts of that kind.

Don Eugenio was the sort of man who does not like
to lead a solitary life. The old philosophers and
Christian Fathers whom he found on Zaragoza book-
stalls were to him as much a joy as the profane books
of Madrid; but he was not so wise and pure a man, he
said, as to be satisfied witn lofty books.

I ought to have begun at the beginning. As we
walked back from the palm grove, where he told us all
that story of his life, he settled with my father on the
money that he should receive for giving me instruction.
And he promised that he never would neglect me.
"It is wonderful," he said, "when I remember the rich
students who came riding and the poor ones who came
walking very painfully into the town of Zaragoza in
the autumn; those who ride on mules, sometimes two
and even three on the same animal, may not be
opulent, but anyhow they have a green serge parcel of
belongings and they listen to the poor ones who become
their menials in the town, for otherwise the ragged

40 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

fellows could not stay there to absorb the Stoic
teachings or the Treatise of Pope Gregory the Great
upon the Book of Job or whatsoever else it is they
want to study. When I walked up here from Vera-
cruz I thought that I was not so fortunate as those
poor studentSj seeing that the Noahcite perhaps — who
knows? — he may be dead or . . ."

^'Venerable sir," put in my father, "you shall have
a mule, just like those other students. You and
Juanito, each of you shall have his mule."

"My friend," said Don Eugenio, "will you believe
it when I tell you that in Salamanca, which abounded
with apothecaries, male and female, there was one
called Clara, who possessed prescriptions that were
guaranteed to tame the luckless stomachs of the
students who could not appease them, save with pesti-
lential food?"

My father clenched his fist. "The people who allow
that kind of thing, they should be slain themselves,"
he cried. "It causes me to think that every one is
wicked, if there are some men like that. Oh, devils!"

"Well," said Don Eugenio, "perhaps I also have not
much esteem for men, but I have still less for myself."

He was not one oif those who decorate themselves
with crimes that are as out of place upon them as
a multitude of stars upon a dull, gray sky. My Don
Eugenio was the simplest of all men; he held that
neither God nor yet the Devil had conferred upon him
any special decorations. He believed that he was
undistinguishable from the crowd of ordinary men.
And he was more disposed to think unfavorably of
himself than of the others, since he often thought that
with regard to them he might be wrong.

It is presumptuous on my part, surely, to attempt
to give an accurate description of him. just as well,

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 41

I think, could a poor stone enveloped in the fog give
an account of what the fog is like upon its frontier,
with the sunbeams painting it. There is not much of
Don Eugenio, I fear, that I was capable of seeing.
And to speak about his erudition merely — which is
not the side of him that I most love and therefore can
best understand — he was forever strengthening his
arguments with something that a great or famous man
had uttered or had done. The documents which he
had taken from the Bishop's library were very few,
and they were all devoted, more or less, to matters
of the Church; but in his head my splendid master
seemed to have another and more ample library.
I used to wonder if he was disturbed about the
scattering, by death, of all his knowledge; but he
certainly was very tranquil when he thought about his
body's death. I am not sure that he would have
amended any of his ways in order to avoid a punish-
ment in the hereafter, but he earnestly maintained
that we are punished now. He would have scorned
to claim the least excuse. His errors and his frailties
he did not cherish, so he said, for any higher motive—
"I have seen," quoth he, "some people cultivate
theirs sins as if they had been rebel flags to wave at
the opponent." He cultivated his because he liked
them.

During the two days that he remained at Colorado
there was no one who insisted more on being with him
than the priest. A man degenerated, said the priest,
in such a miserable village; one must lose no chance
of intercourse with reasonable folk. But in the night
when both of them were vehemently singing first
a Spanish student's song, then a religious chant, and
then another student's song, which made the village
snigger each time that it was repeated, Don Eugenio

42 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

did all he could to sing more loudly than his boon
companion, in a noble effort to preserve the old priest's
dignity.

There was much sorrow in the village on that
morning when we rode away. Gonzalez and his
Enriqueta, the old Captain and the mumbling priest,
and several other people walked beside the mule of
Don Eugenio; my parents held the bridle of my
own — the bridles and the saddles, and the necks of
Don Eugenio and me were hung with pretty garlands.
But the only ones of the procession who did not seem
to be sad were Enriqueta and my master. She was
making fun of the old Captain, and my master, with
his head thrown back — not paying even slight atten-
tion to his mule — sang a brave h5min in Latin.

Two days have gone since I put down those words.
It is amid my dearest memories, the picture of him
riding through the trees and singing — he alone of all
the company. We could not understand the song, but
as he sang it all our blood ran riot and our sadness
disappeared. We felt that we were soldiers marching
to a field of triumph and we started singing. Loud
and shrill the voices — that of the old Captain was the
loudest; he rolled forth a lover's melody which ought
to have been murmured. But he did not hinder me
from hearing my dear mother's voice, which seemed to
sing despite herself. The blue and yellow flowers that
were hanging from the trees, you saw them shake —
they wanted to be like the butterflies and dance
around us.

When at last my mother and my father and the
rest of them decided to go back, and when they said
farewell to us, I do not think that any one was sad.

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 43

At all events I am quite sure that in the afternoon as
Don Eugenio and I rode up towards Jalapa he was
speaking meditatively about us both.

"In one way I regret," he said, "that I accepted
money from your father — I shall have to keep you
with me. And your mother will not give permission,
I am sure, if we should want to go beyond Jalapa.
We may quarrel with the Noahcite and leave his
service — I should not be much surprised if he is a
pedantic fellow — and if we remain there in the town,
where the commodities are sure to be expensive, we
shall starve. But no, I am too mournful. This is your
first journey."

"Let me starve if I may journey on with you!" I
cried.

"My son," said Don Eugenio — he bent a little for-
ward and away from me, to stroke the right ear of his
mule — "I have not come to Mexico for such a reason as
caused Coelius Apicius to go to Africa, though it must
be admitted that innumerable men have traveled to far
distant countries on account of a much baser object
than to ascertain if crayfish on the coast of Africa is
more delectable than such as one discovers at Min-
turnse. While I do not pretend to have the energy of
this good man, yet I maintain, as strongly as did
Aristotle, that we go in hunger at our peril. In the
writings of that most august philosopher you will find
all about it. Some day we shall study Aristotle. And
we must not starve."

I pointed out a little clearing by the roadside where
we could eat some of the tamales and the oranges and
bits of chicken and dried fish and other things my
mother had packed up for us. And we had not been
there a long time when I heard the footsteps of a
horse; upon it was a man, a tall, young soldier, and

44 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

behind him was a woman, the most beautiful whom I
had ever seen, although her eyes were worn with weep-
ing. She was fastened to the soldier by a thick rope,
but she did not look as if she would have dared to run
away. A flower or two was in the black hair which
hung down beyond the upturned portion of the
saddle.

The soldier in the splendid uniform waved a salute
to Don Eugenio; the horse stopped of its own accord.

"Young man," said Don Eugenio, "I do not know
your business, but it seems to me you have been going
further than is very wise for one day."

"I am the Lieutenant Esteban Fuentes, aide-de-
camp to His Excellency the Governor of Veracruz,"
he said with truculence. "How is a man who rides
upon a mule to know what is and what is not wise for
a horse?"

My master got up from the ground and bowed
superbly.

"I am the student Eugenio Gil, ex-librarian to His
Lordship the Bishop of Zaragoza in Aragon," he said,
"and it is by the faded flowers in this lady's hair that
I observe how many leagues you must have covered."

"You are very wise," the young lieutenant sneered.

"No doubt," said Don Eugenio, "we men are wiser
than all other living creatures, but for my part I am
not so certain of the reason. It may be, as the
philosopher imagines, because a man hath very little
head in respect of the proportion of the body. Or do
you suppose it is because the blood of man is the most
subtle, pure and clean?"

"Yes, yes, but I am hungry. I have ridden a good
distance. Will you give me some of your provi-
sions?"

Don Eugenio, who had approached the new ar-

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 45

rivals, stepped back to the spot where we had laid
the food and took up in his arms some of the choicest
things. He carried them to the young officer who
clearly had not eaten for a long time, having calculated,
I suppose, that he would come across a village, and
the village having shown itself inclined to help his
captive. But although he was so ravenous he gave,
from time to time, a handful to the girl.

My master was quite near him, with one hand in fact
upon the saddle. While he stood there he continued
that most profitable discourse. "The blood of man,"
he said, "is the nutrition, and so there is great differ-
ence, you will admit, whether it be cold or hot, thin or
thick, troubled or clear."

The soldier went on with his eating very noisily, but
in the dark eyes of the girl there was great friendliness.

"Or," continued Don Eugenio, "is it by reason of the
constitution of his blood that man has a most perfect
sense of feeling?"

From the soldier came a grunt.

"Because they have soft flesh they are endowed with
sharp and rapid wit^ and they whose flesh and skin are
thicker and grosser, they are dull and slow." While
he was saying this his fingers were upon the rope,
untying it. "Surely," he said, "in a soft body the spirit
of the soul is the more easily infused, and doth more
willingly and speedily disclose itself; and on the other
hand, the hardness and thickness is a hindrance which
"prevents the pure clean blood, whereby the spirits are
engendered, from being carried from place to place;
for unto every man is given a certain portion of spirit
to work withal." As he spoke these words he pulled
her suddenly from off the horse.

"What do you mean? What is this?" cried the lieu-
tenant. "May the thunder of God . . ."

46 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

"You have treated her badly/' said Don Eugenio, in
a cold, stern voice.

"Now say your prayers!"

The girl was moaning and my master reassured her.
Then he turned to the lieutenant who had drawn his
sword and evidently was enraged.

"It is most opportune to pray," said Don Eugenio,
"for I must render thanks to God, who has enabled
me to set this woman free. Young man, when you
are older you will look back to this day with sorrow,
seeing that amid your other lapses you let slip the
opportunity of joining in this prayer."

I somehow did not think he would cut off the head of
Don Eugenio, because he seemed to cower beneath my
master's words. And I can see him, as if it were yes-
terday, with his long sword held down beside his leg.
I thought the fiery spirit had gone out of him just as
the flash of sunlight from the sword.

"If you desire it," said my master to the girl, "I
will go with you to your home."

She sank down at his side and kissed his hand.

"But if you would prefer," he said, "to see the city
of Jalapa, which is where I hope to stay awhile, then
you can safely come with me. No doubt the good
nuns have a convent there."

"I do not know," she murmured.

The young officer was quickly getting over his em-
barrassment and, with a laugh I did not like, "We're
all good friends," he cried. " Car a jo f but it is too hot
to quarrel. We can all of us," said he, as he dis-
mounted, "we can all of us spend half-an-hour in sleep."

The girl was clinging to my master, who put his
right arm around her. And as she looked up at him
she saw a smile which marvelously changed her
troubles into smiling.

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 47

"Would you like to tell me," he began, "what is your
name and where you come from?"

"Yes, I am Maria." She was like a sunbeam which
is happy in the foliage of a splendid tree.

"My little girl," he said, "if the good nuns receive
you I will send a letter to your parents. They will not
be anxious, I am sure, when I explain to them."

Maria looked as if she had not one anxiety in all the
world.

"I think it is most fortunate," he said, "that the
lieutenant brought you from your village. He did not
intend to do a worthy deed, no more than did the
Devil to Saint Guy. But now you have been taken
from your slothful village, even as our little friend
here," and he indicated me. "And if you return when
you have finished with the convent and you settle down
at home, it will be something for you to remember."

"Yes," she said, a little dreamily and sadly.

"On the other hand, if you would like to be a nun,
if you have the vocation . . ." and he also looked a
little wistful.

The sun was beating down upon us all, and so my
master stepped aside to where the moss lay underneath
the trees. Maria did not leave him, and as he sat
down she sat down also. As for us, the officer and me,
we followed them — we seemed to be spectators of it —
and we stood there, watching them.

"We really need not talk about the final vows," said
Don Eugenio, "because, for one thing, I am never much
disposed to think of what is very far ahead. But you
must not imagine that they will compel you to
remain."

She nodded, very gravely, with her little head. The
faded flowers did not look more serious than she was.

"I believe/' said Don Eugenio, "that I shall be

48 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

permitted now and then to see you. If you find it
irksome I will get you out and send you home. But
now we must not be so melancholy." He was smiling
at her. "After all, it has gone well to-day."

She sat with trembling eyelids.

"Let us think no more about to-morrow. Can you
sing a song to us or shall we make our thanksgiving
to God?"

And then, with a subdued but passionate voice, "I
won't go into any convent," she declared.

He gazed at her. I thought he frowned. "Maria!
What am I to do with you? Poor little girl," he
said.

"No, no — I will not be a nun ... I really cannot
be a nun," she pleaded.

"You can always leave the convent, I am sure, while
you are on probation. But if you will not go there at
all, it will be, I confess, a trouble to me. You must
not be running up and down Jalapa by yourself." He
took a hand of hers and patted it. "You see," he said,
"I must look after you."

"But — but " she shuddered. She drew nearer to

him. "Oh, you don't understand."

He was evidently in distress. "My little one," he
said, "there is nobody who understands better than I
do that the life ecclesiastic is not for all of us. Have
faith in me — I wish you well, so well — only have faith
in me."

"Why don't you take her?" cried the young lieu-
tenant.

Don Eugenio made a kind of roaring sound. He
would have spoken if Maria had not thrown herself
into his bosom. Then he acted for a time as if the
officer and I were far away. And as they clung to
one another they were laughing, weeping, sighing.

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 49

It was she who was the first to speak. "I am so
glad," she said.

My master's face was like a scarlet sun when it is
blazing through the mists above Jalapa. "I have
dreamed of you for many years/' he said.

''Now always, always I will be with you."

"Ah, yes . . ." and then his eye met that of the
lieutenant. "Sir!" he said, "this lady and myself are
going to be married. God in heaven! Otherwise I
should have merely saved her from one sinking raft to
fling her on another — which may be the life of man,"
he said, "but it shall not be her life, in so far as I
arrange it."

Not long afterwards we had resumed the journey.
The lieutenant rode in front and then the mule on
which Maria sat with me and then my master's mule.
He would have dearly loved to take her on his animal,
and she desired it also, but beyond all other Spaniards
I have ever seen he loved the beasts of burden.

Now and then, between the vegetation which hung
down, as if it were a waterfall, from every tree, one
had a glimpse of the blue mountains, range on range;
and toward the evening, as the color of the sky grew
faint, there was no difference between it and the moun-
tains of the topmost range. But the crimson snows of
Orizaba, high above all other mountains, made me feel
— I knew not why — a conqueror. Of course, I had
seen all these things, the gorgeous forests and the
winding road, the distant ranges and great Orizaba, I
had seen them many hundred times — and yet, until
that day, I had not seen them.

Sometimes the old Spanish road was not in good
repair, so that the mule was forced to jump from stone
to stone. At other times I slumbered in the saddle,
partly owing, I suppose, to the fatigue and partly to

50 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

the strange excitements of the day. Maria spoke a
little, saying that she was so glad that Don Eugenio
had rescued her, and also that it would be beautiful
for us three to be friends. She turned her head and
answered Don Eugenio from time to time, and once
when I woke up — it was near nightfall — he was talking
with a tremble in his voice. I think it was about
Jalapa he was talking.

Then she asked him what the Devil did with poor
Saint Guy.

''Well, he was beneficial, though he did not mean
to be so," said my master. "It offended him to see
the way in which the young man served his church.
From early morning Guy was busy there: he swept
the spiders from the vault, he swept the floor, attended
to the altars and the shrines, in fact he was so much
devoted to the church, which was that of Our Lady
of Laeken, that it is most probable he would have
stayed there all his life and that he never would have
been admitted to the hierarchy of saints. But then
the Devil in disguise approached him and persuaded
him to be a man of business, seeing that this would
enable him, the Devil said, to gain much money for
his parents and the needy. But the Devil was frus-
trated, for the young man had very soon made a
failure of his business, whereupon he recognized his
fault and was exceedingly regretful. He went back
into the church, but as a penance he now took upon
himself a task more useful or, at any rate, more
prominent: he traveled both to Rome and to Jerusa-
lem, he was a pilgrim to the celebrated shrines of
Christendom, and he conducted other pilgrims, such
as Wondulph, to their satisfaction. Far and near,
wherever he was seen, his merits were acclaimed and
ultimately he was canonized."

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 51

I do not know how many miles we rode. When I
awakened for the last time it was owing to the angry
voice of Don Eugenio and that of an official who, with
an uplifted torch, was standing just beside our mules.
His eye was glittering as much as any of the buttons
on his uniform.

At first I did not know what they were shouting at
each other for, and then I found that Don Eugenio
would not agree to pay for bringing the remainder of
our food into the town. Later on my master told me
that he had resisted on account of a wild devil who
was in him, but especially because he wanted to be
grand before Maria.

"I command you, do you hear me?" cried the man
in uniform. "You either pay what it is right to pay
or else go back along that road. And, for the rest,
I care not if your food will choke you or if you go
wandering about the land in hunger. What I know is
that unless you pay you shall not come into my
town."

And then I did not think how bold I was, because I
only thought that I must help my master: "Aristotle
said," quoth I, repeating words which I had learned
from Don Eugenio, "Aristotle said we go in hunger at
our peril."

"And I say," the man shouted, "that it is I who
collect the dues at this office. Do you think that I care
what anybody else says?"

I was not afraid of him, because my master's hand
was on my shoulder. And I think that Don Eugenio
would then have paid the money if our friend the
young lieutenant had not at this moment ridden
forward from the darkness where he had been looking
on. He wished the officer good-night and our pro-
cession passed into the town.

CHAPTER IV

The lieutenant said that he would tell us all about
the place, but there was nothing in this neighborhood,
he said, at the beginning of the town. I tried to look
at every house, but I saw hardly anything, nor did
Maria, since it was so dark. What I could see, by
means of the few lights inside the windows, were great
iron bars. Some people, who were wrapped in cloaks,
went past the houses rather hurriedly; if one of them
had stopped, perhaps I should have screamed — so did
the iron bars affect me. But as we climbed up towards
the middle of the town, with here a church and there
another large black building, I was much relieved to
find more lights; the people also were not hurrying.
And in the plaza one could see their faces, which were
friendly. They were strolling round and round the
plaza and I should have liked to stop and look at
them, as well as at the palace of the governor with its
arcades; and at the other side, up many steps, was
the cathedral. But we rode on across the plaza and
we turned off to the right, down a steep, curving road.
At last we halted at a big house. The lieutenant had
dismounted and was talking to my master.

"Will you still insist," he said, "on going to this
man to-night? He will not be prepared, as I have
told you. In the barracks or some hostelry . . ."

"You do not know him," said my master.

The lieutenant crossed himself. "At this hour of
the night who knows what he is doing? Very likely,"
said the terrified lieutenant, "he — ^he . . ."

52

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 53

"Come now," said my master, as he slid from the
mule, "he will be a most sympathetic person. He will
take me to his arms."

"Yes, yes, and carry you to Hell. He is in league
with Satan. You — they have not told you what goes
on in this accursed house. If you will only wait until
to-morrow — I am really fond of you — if you will wait
until to-morrow and inquire of any one who is intelli-
gent."

My master helped Maria and myself to get on to
the ground. "Behold," he said to the lieutenant, with
a little smile of mischief, "our Maria, who is not with-
out experience of being carried off, does not seem
to be much afraid."

"Oh, no," she laughed.

The lieutenant shrugged his shoulders and he
scowled. "It will be my turn," he declared, "to laugh
to-morrow. Fare you well." He saw that Don
Eugenio was knocking at the heavy door, and instantly
he strode away, pulling his horse after him. He did
not turn round even once to see what happened to us.

Then my master noticed that Maria's face was over-
cast. "Brave little girl," said he, "what is it in your
head?"

"About the mattress," she replied, "for I have never
slept upon another one. We are but Indians, at
home," she said, "but we have got three mattresses
and one of them is mine. If only he had let me bring
it on the horse!"

"But think of the poor horse," said Don Eugenio.

"I think of you," she said.

The door was iDeing opened and the face of an
astonished man, a servant, peered at us out of the
darkness.

"Will you tell Don Arcadio," my master said, "that

54 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

I, the ex-librarian of the Bishop of Zaragoza in Ara-
gon, have just arrived? I shall be very glad to see
him."

There was no change in the servant's swarthy face.

"These are two friends of mine," said Don Eugenio.
"Now be so good as to inform your master."

"Let it be so," said the man resignedly. "I hope
that good will come of it." He turned and started
walking back into the darkness of the house.

My master raised his voice, in order that this foolish
man should tell us where to put the mules. And he
informed us that there was indeed a stable, a very
large stable with a room on the top of it; but ever
since he had been in the service of Senor Quiroga
nobody had used it.

"Nevertheless," quoth he, "I will take you there."
He moved so slowly, and I was so tired and so was
Maria.

Naturally, in the stable, which lay just behind the
house, there was no morsel for the mules to eat; but
this the man perceived. He promised that while we
were talking to his master, if we really wished to talk
to him, he would for his part try to borrow grass from
some one in the street. On that side of the house there
were no steps at all; the door gave straight on to
the courtyard, and the door was open. . . . We, with
our small quantity of luggage, were not long in passing
through the doorway, but we had to wait a little time
until Faustino, the bewildered servant, brought a
candle. There we three stood in the darkness of a
strange abode, but Don Eugenio did not seem to be
ill at ease.

"It is too probable," he said, "that I shall have to
spend the night in conversation with our host. That
is my chief care."

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 55

"I have my faith in you," Maria said, "but are
you sure he will not throw us out into the street?"

"My child," said Don Eugenio, "your faith in me
is like the faith of most of us: we guard it very
preciously and never look at it. . . . Before I came
into this house I had my moments of misgiving. Now
— well, I am like a lover who is on the point of seeing
his beloved."

"Do you say that?" asked Maria in a tone of some
surprise and sorrow.

"It is difficult for you to understand. I have been
traveling so many hundred leagues and I have scarcely
met a man who would have given a dilapidated cloak
for one of these church manuscripts Our host, the
Noahcite, will know how to appreciate such treas-
ures."

I was getting quite accustomed to the darkness of
the room, when I heard footsteps coming down the
stairs and we could see each other by Faustino's torch
that was approaching. In a little time Faustino en-
tered the bare room in which we stood, and just be-
hind him was a very tall, thin, weary-looking man, the
Noahcite.

"My servant tells me," said the Noahcite, "that
you have come from Aragon. If I can be of service
to you, pray command me; but I fear that both
Faustino and myself have little skill for entertaining.
We are solitary folk," he said, with some emotion.

Don Eugenio stepped forward, and his face shone
as if not a single torch but many were illuminating
it. "If it is true what I have heard of you," said he,
"then you are toiling at a task that you will not
accomplish. I acknowledge, Don Arcadio, that with
an aim so noble it does not so greatly matter if you
do or do not reach it."

56 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

The tall gentleman bowed stiffly. "You have come
to help me in my work?" he said.

"I will not hide it from you," said my master, "that
I would not otherwise have traveled up from Vera-
cruz. Correct me, sir, if I be wrong; but what I
gather from the rumors is that you conceive of human
knowledge as a pyramid, with all that we know now
the base of it and with the knowledge of old Noah
as the apex."

Don Arcadio bowed again. "Of course," he said.
And then he turned round to Faustino, in whose hand
the torch was trembling. "Do me the favor of pre-
paring beds," quoth he.

"I ought to have explained," said Don Eugenio —
while Faustino placed his torch on a gilt bracket which
projected from the wall — "I ought to have explained
that this is Juanito who has been entrusted to me by
his father, one Pedro, a breeder of fighting-cocks. I
undertook to supervise the education of the lad, who
knows already how to read, and who in Colorado,
where I found him, was reduced to reading newspapers
and a poor book on dancing. This," he pointed to
Maria, "is, as you perceive, a native also."

"I have a light hand for cooking the tamales," said
Maria to the Noahcite. Her voice betrayed that she
was ill at ease.

He called down the passage something to Faustino
that I did not hear and then he said to Don Eugenio:
"I like, sefior, what you were saying of the pyramid."

"If you are near the top of it," said Don Eugenio;
"if you are now concerned with Eastern manuscripts
or other sources then I shall be of no use to you.
But if the Latin writings occupy you still . . ."

"Yes, indeed," replied our host, "that is the case.
I have not made much progress from the bottom of

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 57

the pyramid. I see you understand what I am doing
and, if I may say so, the sublimity of my purpose does
not seem absurd to you, as to so many others, all of
whom I mean to benefit."

"To-morrow," said my master, "we will set to work.
And yet, perhaps . . ." He hesitated.

"Seiior," said the Noahcite, "this journey from the
coast will have fatigued you, and you certainly must
not begin to work before to-morrow morning."

Don Eugenio smiled a little ruefully. "I was just
wondering," he said, "it was a thought which some-
times comes into my mind that all our knowledge is
in vain. It seems to me to be a circle which does
not lead anywhere."

"Sir, it is a pyramid," said Don Arcadio.

My master waved his hand. "At all events," he
said, "we shall not start before to-morrow. Will you
let us go to where your servant is preparing beds?"

Our host took up the torch and led the way. My
master pinched me as we walked along and whispered
in my ear that it would not suprise him if we found
Faustino sleeping in our bed. But when we had
mounted the stone staircase — on the walls were faded
tapestries — and when we arrived in a large room up-
stairs we saw Faustino very busily engaged. He had
a pile of mattresses and blue sheets on the floor and,
as he lifted them about, he muttered to himself.

"He is the best of servants," said the Noahcite in
a low voice, as we four stood upon the threshold of
the room. "If every one in our unhappy country were
as honest!"

"Pardon me," said Don Eugenio, "but I have never
thought that honesty is natural to man. You take
a lofty view. As for any country being happy . . ."

"It is to accomplish that," exclaimed the Noahcite,

58 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

"that I have worked for all these years. And even
if I die before the task is finished I shall have my
followers."

He spoke so loudly that Faustino heard him and
turned round, and with a most pathetic look. "If it
please your honor, I have not yet made the beds,"
quoth he. "I have been thinking that I am a useless
person and that you must pension me."

"Nay, Faustino," said the Noahcite, "do not lose
heart."

Maria said that she would help him.

"Ha!" The Noahcite observed her for the first
time. "Well, well, well — we have a woman in the
house, Faustino."

And Faustino, who was standing with his bare foot
on a blue sheet, nodded gravely, saying, "May it please
your honor."

"So that you and I," the Noahcite said to my
master, "we can go downstairs and have a little conver-
sation suitable for men of sense, such as 'Why should
A begin the alphabet?' or 'What is God?' " He took
my master by the arm.

"Remain and help Maria and be quick," my master
said to me, a little breathlessly, as he was being pulled
away.

And very soon we had the three beds ready, each
one in a different corner. Faustino started telling us
how he had been for many years the servant of his
master, but Maria told me that if I was tired I could
go to bed and sleep.

CHAPTER V

It was Maria's laugh that woke me up. The room
was all in darkness and I heard the tender voice of
Don Eugenio.

"And so it is," said he. "The poor man is entirely
mad. I was afraid that this would be the case. And
I am right."

"Oh," she was murmuring, "you are so great and
wise and clever."

"That is nothing," said my master. "But I must
say it is tragic that a man should get his head confused
because of wanting with so great an ardor to make
everybody happy."

"I am happy, I am happy," sighed Maria.

"My dear little one," said Don Eugenio.

Now I could see a little more distinctly, but I still
could not see either of them, and I think they spoke
no more.

When I woke up again, Maria had undone the
shutters. It was a most brilliant morning. I sat up
in bed and watched Maria, who was far more lovely,
so I thought, than on the previous day. The sunlight
danced all round her, and she seemed herself to dance
to music which I could not hear. In the far corner of
the room my master, Don Eugenio, still lay a-bed and
slept. And so that I should not awaken him she came
towards me with a finger on her lip. Oh, she was
beautiful indeed.

She sat down at my side and put her arms around
me in a way to which I was quite unaccustomed;

59

6o THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

for my mother, though she was so fond of me, had
rarely treated me in such a fashion. And the other
women of our village were true Indians, with the sole
exception of the wanton woman Enriqueta, and, for-
sooth, that woman did not spend her kisses on the
little boys.

When Maria kissed me in the radiance of that
morning at Jalapa I did not feel shy, as I have heard
that others in such circumstances would have felt;
but I remember very well how something seemed to
break inside me.

Then my master Don Eugenio began to move.
Maria took her place beside the open window, looking
out of it. She laughed in merriment, as if the sun-
light was in all her graceful body. I had never seen
a woman like Maria.

^^Hola," quoth my master, "have you taken it into
consideration that we are inside a mad-house?"

"Senor," she replied demurely, "it was you who
brought us. Shall we try to find another house?"

"The Devil! As if that were easy! I suppose we
must endure it for a time," he said.

"Oh, yes," said she.

My master got up from the bed. Of course he had
lain down with all his garments on except the coat,
for in Jalapa it is cold at nights. "And after all,"
he said as he walked over to the window, "after all,
there is no danger in the madness of this Noahcite.
I heard of two professors who were filled with hatred
for each other: one of them, Tuphantius, composed a
treatise very learned, very serious, and very long, to
prove that the inhabitants of ancient Greece had an
effective hair-wash, for in certain of their tombs he
had discovered something which he swore was hair-
wash; then Magerius, his rival, wrote a still more

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 6i

learned and more serious and longer book to prove
that the Assyrians possessed a hair-wash which was
more effective, seeing that in all his work among their
burial-places not a trace of hair-wash had been found
by him or anybody else."

Maria was now looking out into the street and Don
Eugenio did not ask if she had listened to him. After
he had softly patted her upon the head and let his
hand run halfway down her hanging hair, he also
gazed out of the window and he talked, but I heard
nothing till he suddenly turned round and told me
that he would go out and make an exploration of this
town.

The tapestries which hung upon the staircase walls
were very old and difficult to understand, and Don
Eugenio, after peering at them with his eyes screwed
up, said that he could make nothing of them, and he
looked so helpless. He had spoiled his eyes, said he.

Then I put my hand in his.

But he began to laugh quite cheerfully. "My son,"
he said, "it shows how much we stand in need of one
another, you and I. The general and the scout — make
way for us! — oh, yes, I'll have to train you for my
scout."

I told him how my mother used to hate the notion
of me being turned into a soldier.

"May she go to Paradise!" said Don Eugenio.

"And when you have an opportunity please tell her

; that I once had her opinions with regard to soldiers.

I Oh, I tremble when I think of what Our Father thinks

' of men who hate another class of men. Such people

are the fools of fools, and while I am sure as any one

can be that God is fond of certain fools, I am not

the less positive that there are fools whom He detests.

And so your mother must not hate the soldiers or,

62 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

indeed, the carpenters or the philosophers or those
who sometimes have not kept the laws of man. But,
on the other hand, if she will pity them . . ."

'The carpenters," said I, "and the — the " I

was puzzled.

'The beginning and the end of it," said Don
Eugenio, "is that we should love each other, and we
must have pity for all those we love. When you are
a little older you will see the truth of that."

We had arrived by this time in the large and gloomy
hall, which had so little furniture, and we had noticed
that Faustino was asleep upon the floor in front of
what we guessed must be his master's room. As we
came close to him he did not waken, though, as I
walked sideways, looking at him, I tripped up against
my master's feet and fell.

The iron-studded door was hard to move, but Don
Eugenio and I were able, finally, to get it open and
to leave the house. Poor old Faustino seemed to be
enjoying pleasant dreams, to judge by the expression
of his face, which now was in the sunlight. Yet we
thought it safer — we knew nothing of this town — to
slam the door, and whether he woke up we did not
know.

The street was not so full of people as I had ex-
pected. It was nearly perpendicular, I saw, and no-
body would walk there if he could avoid it, and the
riders did not find it comfortable, judging from the
sour expression of a man we saw on mule-back, who
was going with his jars of milk to the big houses.
Out of one of them — a house which had a fountain
in the patio — there actually came a man with whom
I was acquainted. Often I had seen him drive through
Colorado on his way to Veracruz or to the mountains,
and when he got off his carriage at my father's house

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 63

he had been in the habit of allowing me to don his
hat, so heavy with its silver decorations, and he used
to promise that the day would come when he would
show me the great world. And here he stood in front
of me in all his glorious apparel — the purple plush
jacket and the colored shirt, the red sash and long
leather leggings. I was sorry that Maria was not
there to see him blinking at me.

"What has happened? What has happened?" he
inquired.

'^I am here," said I, beaming at him.

"Our young friend," said Don Eugenio, "consented
to come with me, and I hope with all my heart that
he will not regret it."

Senor Bias, the driver, did not ask us why we had
come up from Colorado or in whose house we were
living. Possibly he would have asked us after he had
finished blinking; but the one who spoke was Don
Eugenio.

"Excuse me if I talk about your clothes," he said,
"they are so distinguished."

"Sir, I thank you," said the driver.

"Is it not the quiet thrush," said Don Eugenio,
"which is the moral bird and goes back to the last
year's mate? And do not birds of a more brilliant
hue exhibit morals of a looser kind?"

Senor Bias was solemn. "It may be exactly as you
say," quoth he. "And I am much obliged to you for
telling me. But if your lordship wants to talk about
my own attire, that is, indeed, a theme wherein I am
instructed. I am here at the disposal of your Honor
if you wish to talk of that."

"Let us go up to the plaza yonder," said my master,
"and sit underneath the trees."

"I go with you," said Senor Bias.

64 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

And as both of them were corpulent they did not
speak while they were mounting to the plaza. Sefior
Bias laid his strong hand upon my head, and when
I looked at him he nodded as if he were very pleased.

The plaza was the grandest place I ever had beheld,
with a band-stand made of tin which glittered in the
sun, and all around it were green benches and the
palm-trees and the flowers. A few inhabitants sat
negligently on the shaded benches, two or three were
strolling on the plaza's yellow sand, and none of them
was in a hurry. It was all majestic even as the build-
ings round about the plaza and the range of mountains
which rose up out of the mist wherever you could
see. My master settled down upon a seat with Sefior
Bias beside him, panting; as for me, I wandered over
to where somebody was selling sweetmeats. Pink and
brown they were — and I remember, as if it all hap-
pened yesterday, that I did not more long for them
than for the mountains or the glittering band-stand
or the silver-mounted hat of Senor Bias or the whole
town of Jalapa. And the man knew very well, I saw,
that I had got no money, for he did not interrupt
his morning labors — he took every sweetmeat from
its place and blew the dust off and then put it back
again.

Ultimately I returned across the plaza to my friends.
The driver was just taking from the inside of his hat
some cigarettes; one he held out to my master and
another one he placed in his own mouth. "And that,"
said he — he spoke with a great emphasis — "that is
Don Maximiliano's Empire. It will have an end ex-
actly like this cigarette."

"And like so many objects that we think important,
such as our own world, the sun, the moon, the stars.
I always," said my master, "think the nebula in the

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 65

sword-handle of Orion is extremely worth our notice,
for it has been examined and described by various
observers since the day of its discovery, in 1656, by
Huyghens, and it must have altered greatly both in
form and physical appearance. What in all our uni-
verse is permanent? And if a thing so monstrous
could exist, it could not enter our imagination."

"Now," said Sefior Bias, "do not pretend I have not
warned you."

Don Eugenio leaned back comfortably on the bench
and smiled a little and "What would you have me do?"
he asked.

"Oh, well," said Senor Bias, "the safest thing is if
you will do nothing. Then perhaps the enemies of
Maximiliano will not kill you."

"How is this?" cried Don Eugenio. "Since I have
landed in the country I have not had my attention
called to any rivalry. To tell the truth, I know that
Maximiliano is the Emperor, and he is sure to have
opponents."

"May God protect you, sir," said Serior Bias.

He was rather agitated then, my master, and he
threw his cigarette away into the sand. "Do you
mean to say it is as serious as that?" he asked. "And
everywhere, at Veracruz and in the villages through
which I came, I fancied that the population was quite
reconciled to having European soldiers in their midst
— and, by the way, these soldiers seem to be so scanty
that the people cannot feel oppressed."

"They will be scantier," said Senor Bias, "for it has
been decided that the French troops are to be with-
drawn— the last of them will go in 1867, that is next
year, in the spring — and then we Mexicans will have
our fatherland again. Que viva Mexico!" These
pious words he uttered rather loudly, and the idlers

66 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

on the benches gazed at him; the sweetmeat- vendor,
who was pouring out a drink for one of them, came
over to us and inquired of Senor Bias if he could serve
him.

The fat driver nodded. "Here we have a gentle-
man," he said, "who is not much acquainted with our
country."

"Then the best thing is to give him of the snow of
Orizaba, flavored," said the vendor, "with a little pine-
apple." He mixed them in two glasses, and for me
he took a sweet out of his bosom.

"Let us drink," my master said, "to Mexico. And,
after all, why should they not have their own father-
land? And what a fatherland! I come from Aragon
of the green valleys and the river Ebro, which is one
of the great rivers. I would not have come away from
Aragon, the generous fields of Aragon, if I could have
remained there as a peaceful farmer. But I am not
sorry that I came to Mexico, which is more grandiose
and just as fertile, if not more. The people in the
villages are well-contented — how could they be other-
wise?— and when their fatherland is given back com-
pletely to them, they — they will ..."

"They will slay each other," said Sefior Bias.

"I beg your pardon," said my master. "Oh, you
are trying to make your country seem remarkable,
even more so than it is. But have I not observed the
people? They appear to me as if they erred a little
on the side of sluggishness and you would have me
think of them as fighting-cocks!"

The vendor made two other drinks, which they re-
ceived, and then he left us, saying that he would
return.

"About the fighting-cocks," said Sefior Bias, "I
probably know less than Juanito here. Notwithstand-

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 67

ing, I am dubious if they would fight unless they had
the education. But I know my mules," he said, "for
I have sixteen of them harnessed very often at the
same time to the coach and I regret to tell you that
they are like us, the Mexicans. They can be roused
from slothfulness" — he took a handful of sharp stones
out of his pocket — ''these are what I hurl at them,"
he said, "and bitter words that sting their ears. The
people of this country — Indians, Spaniards, and the
half-castes — would prefer to do nothing, and when
they are roused to deeds those are the deeds of wicked-
ness."

Don Eugenio took a draught of his snowed pine-
apple. "And look round there," he said, "the gorgeous
vegetation and the mountains rising, range on range
— it is so beautiful."

"I wager you an ounce of gold," said Seiior Bias,
"that you will wish you had not come to Mexico."

"But in this paradise a human being cannot surely
be below all other human beings. Or I wonder if they
feel discomfited by so much loveliness."

The driver shrugged his shoulders. "They are all
the same," he said, "and those who come here they
become as we are. There is a lieutenant-colonel of
gendarmes," he said, "a Dutchman who incarcerates
suspected persons in the prison of the capital and there
he bastinadoes them. If I were you," said Senor Bias,
"I would consort with nobody except your Don Ar-
cadio in that house of the Corpus Christi Street from
which I saw you come. He is a madman."

For a little while they did not speak and Don
Eugenio was looking very troubled.

"Thus it is," said Senor Bias, "God be my witness.
But if you have been unfortunate in many things you
have been fortunate in finding me, since I will always

68 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

help you to escape, if I am in the neighborhood when
there is grievous trouble."

"Oh, thank you," said my master, in a mournful
voice. "And now may you fare well. I must return
to Don Arcadio, my madman." He got up and took
me by the hand.

But we had not proceeded more than ten steps from
the plaza when there rushed upon us Senor Bias; he
rushed between us and exhorted Don Eugenio to be of
better cheer. "You are a very learned man," he said,
"and those who have a life so rich they have two
lives or three to that of ordinary folk. Is that not
so?"

"Well, if they stand me up for execution," said my
master, "I shall be well occupied, I am glad to think,
in meditating on what you have told me."

"But they make you dig your grave," said Seiior
Bias. "But no! That is enough of all such things.
What were you telling me about my clothes?"

We went on walking down the steep, deserted road
to Don Arcadio's house.

"It was that I am like a little bird," said Seiior Bias.

My master stopped and laid his hand upon the
driver's arm. "Dear friend," quoth he, with a most
pleasant smile, "you have been warning me so well
of all the dangers that I run, and in exchange I do
believe that it is in my power to warn you of some
other perils."

Seiior Bias was also smiling and he patted my dear
master on the back. "But, hombre! I can take good
care," he said, "for my own self. Be not perturbed
on my behalf, I pray you."

"Very likely," said my master, "I am altogether
wrong when I suggest that in our morals we resemble

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 69

birds and that a person who is brilliantly clad is more
inclined to waywardness."

"I said you are a learned man," cried Seiior Bias,
with much enthusiasm, "and that is the fact indeed."

My master sadly shook his head. "There may be
just a little truth in it," quoth he, "since those who
find themselves arrayed, be it by nature or by man's
decree, in merry plumage have to bear the brunt of
more temptation than we others — than we others, who
have quite enough to bear, God knows."

But Senor Bias was puzzled. He pushed back his
fine sombrero and he scratched his forehead. "I was
friendly with a sparrow once," he said, "and saw him
take a wife. They had six children. And when these
had flown away he pecked his wife and she flew after
them."

"I am afraid," said Don Eugenio, "that there was
very little in my notion after all. And how presump-
tuous of me to take your clothes for an example!"

"No! no!" Senor Bias exclaimed, "no! no! You
are the learned one and you have given me a new
idea, and, as you said, we both of us will help each
other. I will help you with my coach when it is
needful, and I know that you will help me when —
who is that woman flying up the street?"

It was Maria with her wondrous hair all out behind
her. She was uttering strange sounds.

"Well, well," said my master.

Senor Bias was grunting out his disapproval. "She
must be a very shameless woman," he observed.

Breathlessly she rushed towards us and, with a deep
sigh of satisfaction, flung herself into the arms of
Don Eugenio.

CHAPTER VI

Nothing terrible had happened to Maria; she was
merely in a fright lest Don Eugenio should not return.
And now that she discovered that her fears were base-
less she became extremely playful. With a ringing
laugh she flung round Don Eugenio's head her long,
black hair; as if it were the coil of rope which horse-
men from their saddle hurl so accurately round the
front legs or the hind legs of an untamed horse, the
black hair of Maria had encircled Don Eugenio's head
and he was helpless. There he stood and gasped and
spluttered, and he did not see the face of Seiior Bias,
he did not hear the sound of his quick steps as he
departed from us.

Naturally, I presumed my master would explode in
wrath and would be furious against Maria, or, indeed,
would send her packing. As she swayed -from side to
side in laughter — and she clapped her hands together
and put them on the eyes of Don Eugenio, while he was
gradually disentangling himself — I thought that she
was something from another world, and that I — that
I was no less a personage than the ferocious and
superb lieutenant-colonel they had just been speak-
ing of.

When I began to write these recollections I did not
intend to say much of myself, for what am I compared
with Don Arcadio, the Noahcite, and Don Eugenio
and Faustino? It is not that I am despicable; my
dear master, Don Eugenio, explained to me — perhaps
I have to thank him most of all for this — that we

70

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 71

shall certainly find men and women and ourselves
endurable if only we observe them, and that of all
pleasures there is none so great as observation. What
I placed before myself was to describe, since no one
else will do so, the few months when these three men
were living side by side. Of course, we others formed
the background, and a background has to be included
in the picture; but as demonstrating how much I
have fallen short of my intention, and how very little
alien matter I would wish to have, it is the truth that
if my first plan had been carried out in its austerity
such episodes would not have been admitted as, for
instance, my awakening from boyhood into adoles-
cence at Maria's hand there in the sunlight of the
street. And I am sure that numerous, far less im-
portant episodes about myself and all those others
will adhere to this my wandering record.

It was rather early in the day for people to be
sitting on the balconies or to be watching from behind
the iron bars or from the upper windows; otherwise
they would have witnessed our most curious advance
towards the house of Don Arcadio. We walked
abreast, and each of us was occupied with his or her
ideas: the girl was nearly dancing, I was nearly burst-
ing, and my master, who perceived that, anyhow,
Maria was in a condition to be left alone, smiled
gravely and a little ruefully at his own meditations, of
the days, I think, when he was youngef. I thought
it then, and Don Eugenio appeared to me just at that
time to be a very, very aged man. I felt so sorry for
him — he would lose Maria.

At the entrance of the Noahcite's abode there stood
Faustino with a twitching mouth. He did not seem
to know how to begin to speak to us, he rubbed his
forefinger athwart his chin and back again, and then

72 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

he said to Don Eugenio that it would be good if we
came with him, Don Eugenio and I, to see his master
who, he added, had been searching for us a long time
ago.

Faustino shuffled off in front of us and glanced
across his shoulder more than once. And as Maria
went up the stone staircase she threw us merry glances.
I believe that she was singing to herself, but I could
not catch any of the words. Faustino kept on jerking
round his head, as if to make sure we were follow-
ing. And in the darkest corner of the hall he tapped
upon a door. ... He waited patiently and then he
tapped again. My master muttered something, but
Faustino made as if he did not hear him. Very gently,
as a leaf that flutters to the ground, Faustino tapped
again upon the faintly shining door; and when my
master pointed out that this was foolish if the Noah-
cite desired our presence he did not reply, and then
at last the door was opened and the Noahcite, .so tall
and gaunt and dignified, was asking us to enter. Evi-
dently he was suffering from some excitement.

Over Don Eugenio's head I saw long rows of books
that reached up to the ceiling. Don Eugenio passed
hurriedly into the room and, after stooping down to
see what books and documents were piled on one of
the four tables, he made first a step to this side, then
to that, and finally was very much like a bewildered
bull that bounds into the ring.

"Welcome to my library," said Don Arcadio. "But
let me ask how you have slept."

My master went on breathing heavily.

"Oh, well," said Don Arcadio, "we must throw away
these ceremonies. Will you stay? Speak! Are you
going to be like my assistants who have gone — I need
not tell you why, but they have gone, and now the

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 73

years are coming over me — there is no time to
waste . . ."

"What books!" ejaculated Don Eugenio.

"Most of them are worthless," said the Noahcite.
"I mean that for my purpose . . ."

Don Eugenio was at a book-shelf. All the room was
lined with book-shelves, leaving only space for several
windows and between two of the windows, on a space
of empty wall, there hung what afterwards they told
me was a map, a pale brown sheet with brown men
and great birds and rivers painted on it.

"I have come to a conclusion," said the Noahcite,
"and I am in the hope that you, sefior the ex-librarian,
will agree with me. It is that in geology we have
the science which reveals what is contained in human
heads."

"And I," said Don Eugenio, "have been lamenting
all these years the loss to Spain of that collection of
the Marquis of Astorga, whose three thousand and
four hundred books were sold to Scotland. Here ir
front of me is a collection of such grandeur as the
Marquis in his dreams could not attain to!"

"Pardon me," said Don Arcadio, "but for many
years I was the slave of all these books. A score of
them would summon me at once, and I endeavored to
reply to each demand. Of course I sometimes was
enchanted by a certain book, so that all others were
forgotten; afterwards I would incessantly be rushing
hither, thither — it was blissful, always in the chase of
knowledge. And if any one has ever had a greater
ecstasy and a more perfect happiness from literature
of the imagination than I had from literature of knowl-
edge— no, it is impossible." His eyes were brilliant.
"Then I recollected it was not the happiness of me
alone but of my fellows that I was pursuing. If I

74 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

had continued in that mode of study I should never
have been able to assemble in my own head all the
knowledge of mankind and thus work backwards to
the knowledge which lay, as it were an acorn, in the
head of Noah. By supreme good fortune I discovered
that my goal — and surely a great goal it is — was more
accessible a thousand times if I no longer roamed
down every path, but strode with guch persistence as
I have along the one path of geology. Most excellent
senor, I have explained myself to you." He bowed
from his great height a little stiffly.

Don Eugenio was at one of the far book-shelves,
with his back half-turned towards us. 'He was croon-
ing over certain volumes as he passed his fingers over
them. And yet he had been listening to the Noahcite,
for he began at once to answer 'him. "I will remain
with you and work with you," said he, "so long as
God permits. I have been told that the political con-
ditions of this country . . ."

"That is nothing!" cried our host. "And you will
stay and work with me! Now I am certain that my
task will be accomplished. You shall have the room
above the stable, for it is extremely quiet."

"Many thanks," said Don Eugenio, "and later on,
no doubt, you will explain in a most lucid fashion why
geology is to assist us to the goal you have in view.
But for the moment I prefer to gaze at these inestima-
ble treasures. H ombre! you have talked of happiness.
And here you have a very good edition of the Jesuit
Acosta's 'Natural and Moral History of the Indies,
both East and West.' How shall I enjoy to read
again what the glorious Chrysostom and Theodoritus,
a grave writer, and Theophilactus had to say about
the sky which does extend or else does not extend over
all our world. I will give you four reals," he said,

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 75

"for this book, the 'Ship of Fools'; the edges are
scraped to clean them and the woodcuts are English
copies of the Dutch."

"In fact it is not worth your attention," said the
Noahcite.

"Except for the misprint in the colophon. There is
Londod instead of London. But it is not everybody
who has got my tastes." And, like a true bibliophile,
he was quickly turning over the pages in order to se^^
if any of the quire signatures were missing.

"The book is yours," laughed the Noahcite.

Don Eugenio nodded gratefully and slipped the vol-
ume into his pocket. "And, of course," he said, "you
have Orosius — who can be surprised that King Alfred
of England translated him?— this copy," Don Eugenio
took it from the shelf, "has illustrations by the worthy
Sigebertus Havercampus, and is published . . ."

"Do you want it?" asked the Noahcite.

"No! no!" He put it back. "And here is one of
those Venetian school-books I have only heard of, with
a border showing very accurately how the master flogs
the boy, and here," his voice was quaking, "here is
a most notable collection of forged charters from
Turin. . . . You speak of happiness!"

"Oh, they are very well, these books," said Don
Arcadio, "but I do not regard them. All my time is
given to geology, the wondrous science. Let me tell
you," said our host, as he advanced to where my
master stood, and speaking in the same tone very
earnestly, so that I found it difficult to hear him— and
Faustino at my side did not seem to make any effort
to hear anything— "let me tell you," said the Noahcite,
"what are the special virtues of geology. It is the
science which investigates the history of the earth,
and all around us lie the rocks in which the records

76 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

of this history are written. You will certainly admit
that there is not a branch of natural knowledge which
is equally wide open to the student who is willing to
train up his faculties of observation and to discipline
his mind by the patient correlation of facts and the
fearless dissection of theories. We discover what ex-
actly is contained inside the earth, and, since man-
kind is fashioned out of earth, we learn what is in
man."

''Well, well," said Don Eugenio, smiling.

"Have you," asked the Noahcite, "by chance
brought with you any book upon geology?"

"Alas," said Don Eugenio, "the only books and
manuscripts that I could carry from the library at
Zaragoza deal with sacred subjects. I have got some
Papers of the Council of the General Inquisition of
Spain, which have to do with the Republic of Andorra.
The Republic was in striking peril then, in June of
1574, because the Huguenots were coming thither out
of France. You may be interested in the smooth
caligraphy of the Bishop on the right, whereas the
notes made by King Philip on the left are in a large,
wild, careless hand. I also have some very good
Reports of the Inquisitors of Aragon, referring^ to the
cases which had been disposed of at autos da je, when
the condemned were charged with moral crimes and
with assisting at Mahometan or demoniac ceremonies.
I have these in a most exquisite French binding of a
light brown calf, probably from Lyons, with a hand-
some geometrical design, and, in the surrounding ara-
besques of black and silver, is the representation in
gold of a death's head and of other religious emblems,
accompanied by a motto. I have likewise a good
letter in Italian from the son of James the Second,
King of England, to the Inquisitor-General with re-

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 77

gard to the due payment of the pension of four thou-
sand doubloons yearly, which was granted to himself
and children. It is signed, in a large, lucid writing,
'Giacomo R.' And I have brought a manuscript of
the Dialogo dos Montes, which the Rabbi Saul Levi
Morteira composed in Amsterdam in 5406, that is the
year 1705. It is the copy of a printed book, and on
the title-page is a most decorative wreath of flowers
and vegetables, and there is a sepia picture of Jehoso-
phat, the Judge with sandaled feet and with a plume
upon his turban. He is sitting underneath a canopy,
beside the mountains, the Mount of Carmel, of Sinai,
of Sion, and so forth, which are talking to each other.
And I have a Latin pamphlet, the whole sentence
passed upon a preacher in the diocese of Zaragoza who
did not speak well of the Conception. Finally, I have
a book which has a noble binding; it came to my
Bishop from the library of Count von Hoym, the
envoy of the Kingdoms of Saxony and Poland, at the
Court of France from 1720 to 1729. It was executed
for him by Antoine Michel Padeloup, whose ticket —
'Relie par Padeloup le jeune, place Sorbonne a Paris' —
is affixed to the title-page of the volume; there is a
doublure of inlaid citron morocco with a beautiful
dentelle border of fine tooling. The edges of the leaves
are marbled under the gilding."

"We were talking of geology," said Don Arcadio,
"and I am glad to tell you that I have a manuscript
of Roger Bacon's, de materia terrae, which has hitherto
been quite unknown, and which you kindly will tran-
scribe and make a digest of, so that I may absorb it.
How the manuscript came into my possession I need
not relate. You will be careful of it, I am sure, since
I am no less fond of it than Roger Bacon was of Peter
Peregrinus, of Maricourt in Picardy."

78 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

My master said he would devote himself with pleas-
ure to this work, and how could he begin to learn
geology, said he, from any one more sound than Roger
Bacon?

"It is excellent," said Don Arcadio, "to learn as
Peter Peregrinus did. 'He is ashamed,' says Bacon,
'that anything should be known to laymen, old women,
soldiers, plowmen, of which he is ignorant.' And
while you are engaged, my friend, with this important
manuscript the boy can be your servant, since Faus-
tino is no longer young."

"The boy," said Don Eugenio, "has been entrusted
to me by his father, who breeds fighting-cocks at Colo-
rado, a most worthy man. I vowed I would conduct
his Juanito some way on the road of learning. He
can learn his Latin very well from Roger Bacon's
treatise."

"As you wish," said Don Arcadio, "and in the mean-
time I must occupy myself with yonder map. It has
to do not only with geology, but, I believe, with gold;
and therefore by t'^is map I will advance another step
towards my philosophic goal and simultaneously I will
give the people what they want; while I am on the
path to reach, for them, eternal happiness, I will pro-
vide them with a happiness that passes, if, that is to
say, I am correct in my surmise that certain marks
upon the map, which was issued on the ninth of Decem-
ber of 1702 by command of the Count de la Moraleda,
Knight of the Order of Saint James, Political Chief
and Lieutenant-Captain-General of His Highness in
the province of Jalapa, that these certain marks indi-
cate gold."

"I am an adherent of the Church," said Don Eu-
genio, "and yet I doubt if things that pass away are
not more suitable to man, if they are not more lovely

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 79

in his eye than that which is eternal. We can think
of this, however, on some other day. The work which
I am now to do involves, I understand, no more than
simple knowledge of the Latin language. What do
you propose to do concerning Noah's tongue? Can it
be possible that you have ascertained the speech he
used?"

"I would have come to that," said Don Arcadio,
"but there is no vast hurry, seeing that we have enough
to keep us occupied — I do not know for how long.
We may very well find somebody who knows the sub-
ject and is not a madman as, I fear, was Colonel
Charles Valiancy. Have you come across his notion
which connects the Irish language with the Punic,
Kalmuck, and the language of the Algonkin Indians,
with Eg3^tian, Persian, Hindustani, and the language,
I presume, which Noah spoke? This gentleman, who
died in 181 2, had become 'the master as far as his
leisure would permit' of Ancient Irish. He would
have advised us to acquaint ourselves with Ancient
Irish and if we excuse ourselves by saying he was
mad, we must remember how disastrous it would be
if all the so-called madmen of the world had been sup-
pressed. Faustino will conduct you now, sir, to your
room and I will work in this one — though, of course,
we work together. It shall be as in that more con-
vincing Irish legend of the twelfth century, in which
the fairy asks the woman to go with him to the land
where there is neither mine nor thine."

Faustino started shuffling off, so sure was he that a
suggestion by his master would be instantly obeyed.
And Don Eugenio, as he and I were walking up the
great stone staircase, told me that I must forget what
he was saying about Don Arcadio being mad. "But
the intelligence," said he, "belongs to everybody, more

8o THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

or less, who wanders through the world, and he will
surely lose the way if he have not a heart to steer
by. Let us hope that Don Arcadio . . ."

At this moment we were greeted by Maria, who was
on the corridor above. "I have been carrying the
clothes of Juanito to another room which is near ours,"
she said, "and I have waited a long time for you and
I have spoken from the window to that Seiior Bias,
who says he will convey us back to Colorado if we
wish to go there,"

Don Eugenio patted her affectionately, and re-
marked that he was rather out of breath, not owing
so much to the staircase as to all her catalogue of
news. "I have had a rare experience to-day," quoth
he, "and whither we are going — who can tell?"

"I would like to go to Colorado, if you like," she
said demurely. "I have never driven in a coach."

"If it please you," said Faustino, "we have had
two others who were in the room above the stable.
One of them fled in the night and afterwards the
second one became a special child of God — he lost
possession of his ordinary senses and betook himself
into the plaza and from there into the mountains,
talking, always talking, as he went."

"I see that you believe in God," said Don Eugenio.
"In these dark days of unbelief it is a pleasure to find
any one like you, who cherishes a simple and a lovely
faith."

Faustino nodded. "My dear master told me that
it would be better for me to believe," said he.

CHAPTER VII

Don Eugenic and I did not stay very long alone that
morning in the spacious study which had been assigned
to us above the stable. It was nothing else but spa-
cious when we got there, since it had no furniture
at all, but only stains upon the wooden flooring which
were due to Don Eugenio's predecessors or perhaps
to the persistent curtain of fine rain, the chipi-chipi,
which at certain seasons falls upon Jalapa and could
come into this room by any of the three dilapidated
windows. Now the sun was flowing through them
very gaily, laughing through the holes, said Don
Eugenio, as if it were a child. "I think," said Don
Eugenio, "that if it were not for the people who are
old in culture we should have no laughing, no frivolity,
no childishness. And they are like that ancient sun."

Faustino had been carrying the manuscript of
Bacon's work for us. He laid it down upon the floor
and said, "I ask the pardon of the seiior ex-librarian,
but will he have some chairs?"

My master smiled. "I am so glad," quoth he, "that
I have met you. And I hope that we shall stay a
long time here with you and the august philosopher."

"Then I will carry in some chairs," observed Faus-
tino. And he left the room.

My master looked about him for a time, and I could
see that he was filled with comfortable thoughts. And
as I watched him he became more serious, but pres-
ently he smiled again, and in a child-like, wistful way.
"If only it will last," he murmured. Then he saw
that I was gazing at him, and he told me that he had

8i

82 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

been thinking of our future. This was going to be
the room, he said, in which, if it pleased God to let
him stay, he would be able honorably to earn his
bread, by working for the Noahcite. He said he did
not care a bit if this old manuscript of Roger Bacon's
should turn out to be monotonous and dull, since it
would be a way of showing me that dullness is ex-
tremely useful — ''I once had a friend," he said, "a
poet who dwelt in my town of Zaragoza. He was
occupied in stamping upon round pieces of chocolate
a picture of our Saint Eugracia. He held the choco-
late with his left and stamped it with his right hand,
while his thoughts were free to wander; and if his
employment had not been so dull and so monotonous
he would have had less freedom; and I think that
freedom, not of body but of mind, is the most precious
thing. At all events, my friend who stamped the
face of Saint Eugracia upon numerous round discs of
chocolate was in possession of such happiness that
he made happy all his household, which was also very
numerous and very poor. However, this is not the
time for reminiscence," said my master, "though I
do wish, Juanito, that you could have seen that friend
of mine — his smile was like the song of birds. What
we have to do is to apply ourselves to Roger Bacon's
treatise. Incidentally, you will become acquainted
with the Latin language. I foresee that — no! to
work!" he cried. And thereupon I did my best to
listen and he did his best to be like other teachers,
till the moment when the door was opened, and the
Noahcite stood at the threshold, with Faustino just
behind him.

"I have come," said Don Arcadio, "to ask if you
will dine with me. It does not matter very much if
there is this delay in our great work."

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 83

''Oh, not at all," said Don Eugenio, as he rose
laboriously to his feet; we had been obliged to sit
upon the floor. "Oh, not at all," said he, "I have
the hunger which Cervantes speaks of when he says
in the Novelas Exemplares that there are all sorts
of things in the world, and perhaps hunger drives
ingenious men to things which are not on the chart."
My master rubbed his hands most cheerfully and made
a step towards the door.

But Don Arcadio did not move. It never struck
me more than at that instant how much he was like
one of those statues which we raise in Mexico for
generals or statesmen and which look as if they are
the monuments of men who have not been alive.

"Perhaps," said Don Arcadio, "it would be well to
start at the beginning and explain to you precisely
what this admirable science of geology has taught us."

"Judging from those rays there of the sun," quoth
Don Eugenio, "and not to mention other indications,
I am pretty sure that it is time for dinner."

"Yes," said Don Arcadio, very earnestly, "it is the
time for dinner. And I was myself upon the point of
talking of the rays. As they pass through the air they
do not heat it of a sudden or directly, but they heat
the land and the sea, which absorb some of the rays
and reflect others and so warm the air in contact with
them. But, as you will comprehend, the land and
sea do not absorb and reflect the heat rays in the same
fashion or to the same extent; nor do the sun's rays
fall equally or constantly on all portions of tJie earth's
surface. So then, from various causes, onf. part of
the earth is always being warmed in a different way
from other parts." He paused.

"My dear sir," said Don Eugenio, "I believe you
said that you would tell me, with this famous science

84 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

of yours, exactly what is in the earth, so that we may
ascertain exactly what is in ourselves who live upon
the earth. Weil, it is my opinion that if you begin
with the sun and his rays your program will take you
a considerable time."

"The sun as an abode of life," said Don Arcadio,
"we may at once put out of the question."

"God be thanked!" said Don Eugenio. "And let
us talk about the rest of it this afternoon." He threw
an arm round the thin Noahcite, and off they went
together.

I went after them, as did Faustino. On the way,
so far as I could make it out, my master and the
Noahcite were talking simultaneously, but yet they
did not seem to be at all angry with each other. I
believe the Noahcite was talking of that ancient map
on which he had spent all the morning.

Thus we descended the stairs and passed across the
sunny courtyard and had reached the long, dark pas-
sage of the house, when suddenly I heard the Noah-
cite stop and exclaim: "It is the truth that I am seek-
ing, and no less ! The truth about . . ."

"Do me the favor!" quoth Don Eugenio.

And they proceeded. Into the large hall they came,
and as we followed them I was astonished when the
silent one who walked with me, his hand on mine,
began with that very hand to cross himself, and when
I asked him what the reason was he said that always
before Don Arcadio ate his dinner it was the habit of
him, his servant, to do this. "Oh, that he may be
saved!" murmured Faustino.

"But is anybody going to poison him?" I asked,
because he was not one of those wicked priests from
Spain nor a tax-gatherer nor anything like that.

"I am not a very good cook," said Faustino. "Be-

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 85

fore I came here I was other things and never a cook.
And now I am here, as you see, and gradually he has
sent away his other servants and so for several years
I have been the cook."

Faustino did not speak rapidly; by the time he had
told me all this we were nearly in the dining-room.
That he should take me so into his confidence made me
tremendously excited, and I had to ask him to go on,
to tell me what he had been. I felt sure that it was
something most mysterious.

''Oh, well," said Faustino.

"Do you see Don Eugenio?" I whispered. "He was
brought up to be a smuggler."

But even this did not arouse in him the spirit of
emulation. "I was an orphan," said he.

"What did you do?" I entreated.

I must have spoken loudly, for the Noahcite, who
was already in his place, with Don Eugenio beside
him, turned his head round and gazed at me. His
astonished look was so soon melted into one of amuse-
ment that when he asked me what I wanted to know
I found myself courageous enough to answer him.

"What was he long ago?" I blurted out, as I pointed
to Faustino. "He won't tell me the truth," I com-
plained,

"Aha!" laughed Don Eugenio, "there is another one
who is like your worship and seeks for the truth!"

"And why not, why not indeed?" exclaimed the
Noahcite. "Sir," said he, "I fail to understand you."
And he motioned me that I should sit down on the
chair which was opposite my master.

"Pray do not imagine that I am a cynic," said my
master. "I can hate excellently well, and one sort of
person whom I do hate is the cynic. Let me make it
clear why I was laughing: I believe it is ridiculous

86 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

to go in search of truth. You may go searching, but,
as that old writer Gongora would say, it is longer
than a winter's night for a man who is ill-wed."

"Your illustration," said the Noahcite, "is to me,
I must confess, not more attractive than your the-
ory."

"Oh, I can give you another," said Don Eugenio.
"We are all of us, it seems to me, in a great forest,
and it is our business to hew a path on which others
may walk pleasantly or, if that is beyond us, to walk
ourselves along some path which is already made,
and in either case to let our demeanor be a modest
one. My sympathy is not with those wayfarers who
continually dart away to this side, to that side, and
shout that they have found the truth because of a
strange brilliance on the bark of some tree or the
pretty colors of a leaf which hitherto they never
noticed or some unusual radiance of the sun which
dazzles them. One and all of them persist in declaring
that they have found the truth, and what they have
done is to lengthen their path and sometimes to lose
the path altogether and, what is worse, to induce other
people to follow them." My master was leaning for-
ward with his arms on the table, and his flushed face
was quite near to that of the Noahcite.

"Sir," said our host, speaking very gravely, "it
affords me a profound delight to see you in my house.
You have a mind, if I may say so, worthy to go
onward, onward in this grand adventure which engages
me. Of course your attitude is totally wrong, but
that we can change. It is so much easier to change
a man's attitude than his stature. Sir," he said, "I
will give myself the pleasure of drinking to you." And
he filled their two glasses.

Faustino had been standing patiently behind them

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 87

with a dish of hot meat; it was turkey, given us to
celebrate this day.

While my master helped himself the Noahcite ad-
dressed me. He was in a very good humor, and he
asked me whether I had not wanted to learn something
about Faustino's youth. The only thing, he said,
which he could think of — it was traditional in his
family — was an occasion when Faustino had been left
alone in the room with half a dozen oranges, and
when his mother came back he had eaten them all.
She was going to punish him, but he said that it was
not his fault; he was only a little boy and she ought
not to have left him alone with all that fruit.

Faustino was looking proud of himself.

And the Noahcite was smiling. "I am sorry," he
said, "that I can't tell you anything else about the
youth of my good friend Faustino; but why do you
want to know? Are you going to write a book about
him?"

By this time Faustino had placed a portion of turkey
in front of me, and from behind the smoke of it I
ventured to say, but very shyly, to the Noahcite that
I would so like to know what Faustino had been.
"My father," I explained, "is a breeder of fighting-
cocks, and Faustino won't tell me what he was."

Don Arcadio made a sign to him that he was to
take out the dish to Maria, and, after he was gone,
said to me in the kindest way that for the future I
should have my meals with Maria and Faustino. "I
apprehend,", said he, "that the conversation of myself
and Don Eugenio, whatever it may fail to achieve,
would assuredly do harm to your digestion. Now,
about Faustino — ^he used to occupy himself in selling
lottery-tickets here in Jalapa, and I bought them from
him and so did my father and my brother, who have

88 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

both been dead for many years. Faustino used to
oblige me, I can tell you, to buy his tickets, and we
sometimes amuse ourselves nowadays by acting those
old episodes over again. You see," said the Noahcite,
as he turned with an apologetic smile to Don Eugenio,
"I have to take a little relaxation from my work."

"You are perfectly right," said Don Eugenio, "and
is that why you have Faustino for your servant?"

"It was like this," said Don Arcadio. "The man
is of such honest stuff that he would not allow his
own people, the poor Indians, to buy tickets. He
knew that every one is far more likely to lose than
to win, and therefore he would only sell to the people
who, in his opinion, had sufficient money. There was
very seldom an attractive entertainment at Jalapa —
apart from the secular festivities of carnival and the
more religious orgies, perhaps a company of players
would give us a half-hearted performance on their
way to the capital — yet for me the best entertainment
was to watch Faustino, usually in the plaza. But
whenever he caught sight of me he tried to make me
buy a ticket. His methods were altogether original,
so that my defense was nearly always pierced, and —
well, at last I thought it would cost me less if I took
him from the plaza and gave him a place in my house-
hold, and now he is the only one. As I said, we still
from time to time play our old skirmishes over again.
Ah, yes," he sighed, "I wish I had more leisure, I wish
I had not wasted all those years when I was studying
a thousand things, instead of dedicating every moment
to this most august of sciences."

"As soon as I saw Faustino," said my master, "I
had a feeling for him. And what a cook!"

Don Arcadio had become entirely serious again.
"With regard now to the composition of the earth,"

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 89

said he, "you will be much astonished when I tell
you."

"Excuse me," said my master, "but if you know
all about it why do you continue toiling at this science
of yours and also inviting me to do so? Even if
your knowledge is not absolutely perfect, I can assure
you, my dear sir, on the authority of Fontanes that
the desire for perfection is the worst disease that ever
afflicted the human mind."

The Noahcite repressed his impatience and in a dig-
nified tone informed my master that alas! he knew as
yet very little, but even that little would astonish a
thoughtful man. "I must ask you to forgive me,"
said he, "if in this matter of the composition of our
earth I do not start at the beginning. But I promise
you faithfully that I will begin at the most remote
period with which I am acquainted."

"On the other hand," interrupted Don Eugenio,
"would it not be saving a considerable amount of
trouble, to both of us, if you simply say that the
world was made by God? There it is, at any rate.
And then you can discuss the water and the air and
all that."

Don Arcadio drew himself up to his full height
and, in an awe-inspiring voice, he said: "This God of
yours who is reputed to have made the world, I pull
him down from his seat. I am sorry," he added, "but
I am compelled to do so."

At this moment Faustino returned, bearing a large
tray on which v/as one of those fish they send up from
Veracruz and a highly-seasoned mess of chicken and
a plate of our beautiful fruit and bottles of Hungarian
wine, which Don Arcadio must have had from an
official of the Emperor. I noticed that my master took
a portion of the steaming fish and of the chicken with

90 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

scarcely a look at them, and when Faustino had poured
him out some of the wine and he had drunk it his
lips were compressed for a little, but he was evidently
not thinking of the silvery wine.

Don Arcadio would have nothing else to eat or
drink. "By asserting that your God is responsible
for the world, which is a grievous responsibility," said
he, "you do not absolve yourself from the urgent need
of knowing how He made it. And this is what I
propose to investigate. But if in this act of making
there should be some features that repel us, some
terrible . . ."

"Oh, you need not imagine that I shall rise up in
arms," said Don Eugenio. "I am a Christian, at least
I was educated in a seminary, but it is not in my
nature to be fanatical, and I can only hope, in all
humility, that God will pardon me. Amen. What
you said about pulling Him down from His seat has
reminded me of that abominable fellow who consid-
ered himself to be of extreme grandeur on account of
his extreme wealth. When he died he presented him-
self at the gate of heaven, but, before he could knock,
Saint Peter opened it and besought him to enter. 'We
have all heard about you,' said the Saint. 'Come in,
come in at once.' Near the gate of the second heaven
there stood an archangel with his luxuriant wings softly
opening and shutting for delight. 'How good of you
to come,' said he. 'We have been looking forward
to this for many years.' And at the gates of the third
and the fourth and the fifth and the sixth heavens
it was just the same, and at the portal of the seventh
heaven who but the Almighty should come hurrying
up, and 'Pray, my dear friend, do step in,' He begged.
'I — I fear I've been sitting on your seat.' "

The Noahcite laughed.

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 91

"And yet," said Don Eugenio reproachfully, "you
will not believe that there is a God."

When the Noahcite had finished laughing, which he
did with a series of jerks, he wiped a tear from his eye
and again addressed my master, this time with an air
of great reasonableness. "I do not regret," quoth he,
"that before we set seriously to work we should permit
ourselves to dally with this rather unimportant ques-
tion as to whether God does or does not exist. It is
more than unimportant, it is vexatious, seeing that
each race of men have made themselves a God more
or less in their own image — those who are worshiped
by some of the savage tribes are certainly less power-
ful than is a civilized man. So there are Gods of
all conditions — your God is not as my God — and how
then are we to discuss as to whether God exists? My
dear colleague," said he, leaning forward and laying
his hand upon that of Don Eugenio, "will you not
allow us to pass on?"

My master was very thoughtful, and then, with the
most gentle smile breaking out upon his countenance,
he said that in his faith there was only one God and
that, although he had been taught that it is necessary
to drag down the gods of savages, yet are these not the
same as our God, inasmuch as they are the most lofty
of aspirations? "And if this idea of God be nothing
but a dream," said my master, "let us cling to it since
it is beautiful."

As for me, when my dear master spoke these words,
which were outside my understanding, I felt as if I
would have kissed his feet.

"It may well be," said the Noahcite, "that you have
not had occasion to live with any savage race. We
in this country possess, far away to the south, a people
who are a thousand times more degraded than — than

92 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

Faustino, for instance. Is that not so, Faiistino?"
Faustino was behind the Noahcite, looking with ad-
miration at the top of his head. And he answered,
"Oh, assuredly," and his expression did not change.

"There are men who are called wise," said the Noah-
cite, "and who, because they have had to reproach
these people for not tilling the soil and for not keep-
ing cattle, and for being unacquainted with metals
and for not even knowing how to make a fire and
for not troubling to clothe themselves, except with a
paste of clay which, when it dries, is turned into a
sort of hard shell, and for having very elementary tools
of stone or wood, these wise men see fit also to re-
proach them for having elementary gods. I must say,
Don Eugenio, that I prefer your attitude. . . . But
at the same time I must say that all our Gods are
different, and that yours of the seminary is not like
mine, because he created the world. As you are not a
fanatic you will not be angry with me, I am sure,
if I say that I cannot help thinking that my God is
higher than yours and more perfect, because he did
not create anything. You will reject, even as I do,
that proverb of an heroic but unphilosophic people
which says: 'God is not sinless; he created the world.'
But I reject it because the God they mean is not my
God, for whom there is no time nor space, but Jehovah
who rejoiced in the smell of slaughtered animals. And,
by the way, the name of Jehovah or Jahwe, which
means 'He who causes to be,' was applied to the
national deity before the arrival of Moses — the name
of his mother is compounded with it — so that those
early Jews knew better than to say that it was God
who created the world, for you cannot create except
in space and time. Moses also knew very well that
the ten commandments were not inspired by God, so

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 93

that he ascribed them to Jehovah; and perhaps it is
due to this lesser authority being behind them that
they have not been more rigidly kept.

''You perceive that even if this Jehovah is not God
he is nevertheless regarded to be in the enjoyment of
considerable powers, and notably those powers of crea-
tion whose effect it was needful for me to observe.
I was accustomed to picture him to myself as with a
gigantic blow detaching from the parent nebula a
brilliant globe of flame, which he sent whirling, whirl-
ing through centuries. And I liked to think of him
being glad as he brooded over it and saw that in the
cold fields of space the gases were condensing and
that it was gradually becoming partly liquid and partly
gas, and then, after millions of years, observing how
the first crust of solid matter began to form on the
liquid surface. All this and very much more I used
to put down to the prowess of Jehovah. Is it then
surprising that I revered him? And you will under-
stand my grief when I discovered that he was a myth.
To-day I have alluded to him in the old fashion, as
I used to do, but now he has become for me no more
than a personage of folk-lore. And I am convinced
that if Moses had had at his disposal such collections
of traditional beliefs and popular superstitions and
tales and legends as we have, and if he had not been
dealing with a semi-barbarous people he would have
announced that Jehovah did not live on the top of
Mount Sinai, but in folk-lore. Moses was sagacious
enough to see that one could not appeal to that people
through their knowledge of the nature of things, be-
cause they did not possess such knowledge. If that
eminent man were living now I am sure he would
not claim that in his case there had been any more
inspiration than in the cases of other good law-makers.

94 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

He was prudent but uninspired, for the ten command-
ments contain only such fundamental rules of conduct
as would suggest themselves to man at a very early
stage, and the so-called Mosaic account of creation
does not, despite the theologians, display any super-
human wisdom in the order in which the things are
said to have been produced; the writer is merely not
stupid enough to create the herbivorous animal be-
fore the plants on which it feeds, or the fishes before
the sea in which they swim. Moses was what you
would call a sane person, one who is glad to have the
sensation that the ground is firm under his feet.

"Now, before I bid farewell to Jehovah, let me say
that, of course, there is no merit in the fact that I am
living at this hour when the generations of laborious
and brilliant men have placed at my disposal their
researches into folk-lore. But I would give a great
deal if for a moment I could come face to face with
Moses. I believe that he would be interested, that
the eyes in his majestic head would twinkle and that
he would listen gravely while I told him how, to my
sorrow, Jehovah had become to me no more than a
thick cloud. Were you not loth yourself, Don Eu-
genio, to lose Little Red Riding-Hood when they told
you that she is the dawn, while the wolf which eats
her, like the black cow which swallows Tom Thumb,
is a personification of the night? And as for Je-
hovah . . ."

"Let me make a confession," said my master. "It
is this: they never told me what you have just laid
down. And I should be grateful if you will allow
me to retire and meditate." He rose from the table.

"In one word," said Don Arcadio, "the characters
in folk-lore are the same as the characters in Aryan
mythology."

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 95

My master was striding to the door and I got up
to follow him. But just as I reached him he turned
round and said to our host that he appreciated very
much all that he had so kindly told him, and he un-
derstood that Jehovah was a thick cloud, something
as to which he need no longer trouble.

Then the Noahcite rose also in his place and looked
at Don Eugenio with some concern. One hand he
rested on the back of his chair and the other hand he
lifted up in warning.

"But even if we discard Jehovah there is no doubt,"
said he, "but that our earth was made. How was
it made? Every people has its own cosmogony, that
is to say, its own method of conceiving the origin and
the formation of the world. But the traditions on
this subject which have been handed down to us are,
beyond all argument, mere myths. They relate an
occurrence at which no human being was present, and
with regard to which there is no documentary evi-
dence whatever. And when did human beings first
begin to make these myths? Tell me, do you think
that the primeval savage ever pondered as to how the
world originated? He was a child who holds that
everything has always been as he now sees it. And
the cosmogonies, which in effect are nature speaking
through human nature, did not start for a very long
time."

"If you are going to describe to me all the cosmog-
onies," said my master, "then . . ." He grasped the
handle of the door and turned it resolutely, but the
door would not open.

Don Arcadio came a step or two nearer. "No,"
he said, "I do not intend to do any such thing. But
as to nature speaking through the earliest human na-
ture, I suppose the reproductive processes were those

96 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

which had the first attraction for our distant, long-
forgotten ancestors. I should suppose that their ac-
count of the world's origin would appear to us a gross
and flamboyant indecency, not amusing, but pitiable."

My master threw all his weight against the door.
A crash, a shriek . . . and we saw that on the other
side of it was Maria. She must have been told by
Faustino that we should all of us remain for a long
time in the dining-room, because she had put herself
as close as she possibly could to the door; and when
Don Eugenio flung it open she and the chair capsized
together; so she lay there with her garments every-
where but where they ought to be. Quickly she
clutched her skirt, cast it back again to its proper
position, and, while she still lay on the floor, she ex-
claimed, "May I be blessed! Did you ever see the
like before?"

"No, in good faith," said my master, "except once
at Madrid."

Then as we three climbed up the stairs together,
Don Eugenio pinched her lovely cheek a little and
informed her gaily that they both had suffered, she
in one way, he in another, but that after their siesta
they would be quite well again. And he said that
I, on this occasion, could lay me down in the same
room, as he wished to talk to me.

"My legs do not hurt very much," said Maria, but
she stopped to rub them.

Don Eugenio looked anxiously down towards the
dining-room door, afraid less the Noahcite should come
up after us. And then he urged Maria to have courage
and proceed. He put his arm round her waist. And
as they moved on he told her, in the most fatherly
way, that he would help her.

She began to laugh. "You talk," she said, "as if

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 97

you were a doctor. But I have always been a poor
Indian girl, and, by the Grace of God, we do not
want doctors."

"My child," said he, "if I were still at Zaragoza,
serving in the bishop's admirable library and making
my researches for the 'life' of Saint Eugracia, it is
probable that I could, if necessary, have assisted you
more than a mere surgeon. Know that the oil of
some of Saint Eugracia's lamps can heal a tumor in
the neck, while that which burns in front of the Virgen
del Pilar is capable of restoring a lost leg. And if the
saint had declined to work one of these miracles for
me, her faithful biographer, then for whom would she
have performed them?"

Maria pressed herself more closely against him.
"Oh, I am glad," quoth she, "that you are not at
Zaragoza."

Don Eugenio said that he would postpone the con-
versation with me. Let me go into the plaza, said
he, and perhaps find a boy to play with. And any-
how, I had done sufficient work for the first morning.

As they went away from me I heard Maria ask
some question about the Bishop of Zaragoza, and
from her voice I think she was envious of the regard
which my master still seemed to have for him.

And I saw that my master was looking at her and
was making his ruddy face as stern as he could. "And
there are people," said he, "who revere the venerable
Palafox, Archbishop of Zaragoza, who advised the
faithful never to look a woman in the face and never
to speak to one of them without pressing into his
bosom a cross garnished with iron points, so that
temptation be opposed by pain."

I did not hear him say anything else.

CHAPTER VIII

Early on the next day Don Eugenio and I were in
our room above the stable. It had meanwhile been
provided with some furniture, but Don Eugenio was
not much pleased to find that Roger Bacon's treatise
was the only written thing of any sort which it
contained. He said that probably the Noahcite, in
whose collection were such fascinating books, desired
him to give all his energies to this one volume, one,
moreover, which related to a subject he knew naught
about and wanted to still less. He laughed as he
declared that in his numerous vicissitudes he never
once had been associated with a personage like Don
Arcadio. But he and I must not forget, said he, that
if this most extraordinary man had not befriended us
we should be in a sorry plight, for he had come to the
conclusion — having talked with several of the natives
overnight — that beautiful Jalapa was no refuge for
the learned and, besides, the situation in the neigh-
borhood, what with the miscellaneous troops from
Europe and the Mexicans who said they would be true
to Maximilian and those others who were openly for
Juarez and the many who were for themselves, the
situation was unstable; and if, during a disturbance,
our protector should be slaughtered, we two, like the
wicked people of a tale, would perish miserably. But
for the time being, said my master, we stood in no
imminent peril, for which we ought to thank the
soldiers of all parties, and we were not obliged to beg
from nor to steal from the uncultured populace, for

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 99

which we must be grateful to the Noahcite, even if he
did insist on pouring geology into us.

"However, up to the present," said Don Eugenio,
"he has dealt not so much with geology as with
God the Creator, whose existence, by the way, he
denies. But you observe, Juanito, that he could
hardly stop talking about Him, and this is a reasonable
proof that God exists. I have been told by men who
occupy themselves with such affairs that, so far as we
are concerned, there is nothing but our mind, that
if our mind had not named and weighed the star
Aldebaran, then Aldebaran would not exist. Of
course, I do not argue that Jehovah must be weighed;
we who meditate about Him are conscious of other
qualities and glorious attributes. And is it not our
triumph that the wretched fellow who denies Him
cannot keep Him from his mind, which clearly shows
that even for this Noahcite our God exists? . . .
However, I did not intend that we should talk about
this side of Don Arcadio."

"Oh, yes," I said enthusiastically, "our God exists.
He wrote those books in our church, because there is
so much in them about Himself."

And Don Eugenio smiled.

It was impossible to be afraid of my dear master,
and I asked him to his face why he had not said all
these things to Don Arcadio in the dining-room, when
Don Arcadio said, I was sure he said it, that there is
no God.

"You are a good boy and a faithful one," said my
master, looking rather sad. "If in my career I could
have always answered quickly, then I think," said he,
"that I should not have been so worsted in the strug-
gle .. . That is it," — now he was half talking to him-
self and with a mournful smile — "the cannon has to

loo THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

answer to the cannon opposite ... I bring up mine
when all the enemy has ridden from the field."

I for my part wanted to put an end to his sadness.
And, as I did not know what to say, I said suddenly,
"Oh, yes, our God exists, Don Eugenio."

He gazed at me. "My son," he said very seriously,
"I can prove it in a multitude of ways, for instance,
through the xylocopa, a genus of solitary bees, who die
immediately after laying their eggs; at the moment
when these are hatched there does not survive a single
individual of the preceding generation, so that the
young do not learn by example how to conduct them-
selves. Besides, they are in so backward a condition
that examples would be of no use to them. They have
as yet neither eyes nor feet; they are worm-shaped
creatures whose existence for a whole year in a dark
lodging is the most sedentary you can imagine.
Nevertheless, as soon as they emerge, one sees them
hastening actively to work, not for the satisfaction of
their personal needs, but in order to make all those
preparations which are wanted for the welfare of the
generation which they will, in their turn, produce, and
which they will never see ... If their teacher is not
God then we will call him God . . . And now," said
Don Eugenio, "let us think about your own situation.
It may be that you yourself would not examine it with
care, since you are very young; and also you may be
inclined to look upon me as a sort of god, whose
wisdom and benevolence will help you always.
Juanito, what we must consider is if the advantages
you may derive from being here are greater than the
perils. And I need not say that if you have to leave
me I shall heartily regret it."

As for me, I think I merely stared at him.

"Dear child," said he, "you will be brave." He

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS loi

looked at me with such a brave light in his eyes that I
could not help feehng as if I were his one comrade in
some gallant exploit. "It is necessary that you should
go back at dawn to-morrow/' so he said, "to Colorado.
Senor Bias will take you in his coach. I have arranged
it. Also, if your parents are willing that you should
return, then Bias will bring you."

"But— but " I objected.

"But it has to be, my friend. Your father and
your mother must settle it between them if you are to
stay with me and learn the Latin language and some
of the miscellaneous information I have gathered in
the bishop's library and in the world. But your good
parents will have to recognize that we are living in
Jalapa at considerable risk. All the information
I can get goes far to show that Senor Bias was right in
warning me. The troops of Juarez may at any time
rush down upon us ... if there is fighting we may be
compelled, you and I, to join either one side or the
other, and they would show just as much regard for
our private preferences as they do for those of the
various Virgins whom they snatch up from the altars
and carry bombastically at the head of one of their
miserable armies. On the other hand, if there is no
fighting, our position will be more perilous, because I
imderstand that it is customary for them to have
ceremonies of joy and brotherhood, which begin badly
with enormous recitations by all the poets that can be
found, and conclude extremely badly with a drunken
salute of guns into any house they see, and this is one
of the largest in the town . . . Perhaps you think
that I exaggerate — I hope I do — but then, in your
little village, you have never seen such episodes as I
am told occur from time to time in the towns of this
country."

I02 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

I had a sudden idea. "Senor," said I, "let us go to
Colorado, you and I and Maria."

But he shook his head. "Maria will do what she
likes, but I must remain," he said. "It is these books.
Where shall I find again on this side of the sea those
august volumes which I have already noticed? It
is probable that he possesses books I should not find
in any bishop's library of Spain, since he declares that
formerly he was, hke Albertus Magnus and Saint
Thomas Aquinas, a candidate for universal knowledge.
There will be books in velvet bindings, books in
canvas, satin, linen, buckram. There may be a book
or two whereof the famous libraries^ the Barberina,
the Bodleian, the Mazarine, the Riccardiana, and our
beloved little library of the Escorial, are ignorant.
We talked but yesterday about Mount Sinai — at the
bottom of it in the Convent of Saint Catherine it was
that Tischendorf, some twenty years ago, prevented
them from burning a large basket full of parchment
leaves — two baskets had already gone! — he found
that they were parts of the Old Testament in Greek
in an extremely old handwriting. And who knows
whether there is not some marvel which is lying in
oblivion here, since Don Arcadio neglects whatever
is not on geology? When he is dead I have the
deepest apprehensions for his books in such a country.
To abandon them at present would be the most
infamous and cowardly proceeding.

"This afternoon, when I have dined with Don
Arcadio, I shall manage, in conversation with him,
to walk by his side into that splendid room of books,
and gradually, as he becomes absorbed with his map,
or whatever else it may be, I shall escape his notice.
I shall glide away into a corner! I shall revel in the
great collection! . . . And thus, day by day I shall

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 103

hope to spend my time always less on this geology.
We shall see. But there are some words in that book
which, as you inform me, was written by God Himself:
'And the land had rest forty years'; and I assure you
that I hope it will be so in Don Arcadio's discourse.

"Oh," said he, "I can see what you are going to
say! What is the good of being killed in the midst
of these treasures instead of living safely at Colorado
or elsewhere? Well, if I am killed it would give me
pleasure to die in a fashion as noble as possible.
Should I not be like one of the soldiers of Sertorius,
Philopoemen, Brutus, or Csesar, a man richly and
sumptuously arrayed and therefore, in the opinion of
these sage commanders, more disposed to offer a great
resistance than would a soldier who is poorly fur-
nished? Such was also the reason, we are told, why
the Asiatic troops were wont to go campaigning with
their wives, their concubines, their jewels, and what-
ever they most cherished. I remain among these
books . . . Some day, Juanito, you may feel your
body thrill in the delighted contemplation of a manu-
script. Then you will know how exquisite and how
divine a joy we mortal men are capable of bearing.
You will grieve for those misguided ones who let their
bodies thrill with passion. What will be the end of
these? There was a wise man, Juanito, who pro-
claimed that there is no more potent antidote to
vicious ways than the adoration of beauty. And,
I ask you, what beauty can there be on earth, what
beauty of woman to compare with an illuminated
book of hours on vellum? Look for a moment at the
specimen we have at Zaragoza, with the text in golden
letters and the pages garlanded and wreathed with
an infinity of subjects, animals and men, comic and
capricious and satirical and in most handsome colors.

104 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

I will ask a decent citizen to tell me if his happiness
will not be more enduring in the company of such a
glory than with one of those complaisant girls . . .
And now," said he, "we can do some work. I cannot
undertake, like Roger Bacon, to teach a willing pupil
Hebrew or Greek, no, not even Latin, in three days,
but that is no reason why we should not work this
morning."

So he put the manuscript on the table before us,
and at the top of the first page he bade me read the
words: "Pars quinta compendii studii theologie."
He drew his plump finger along the red line which was
underneath these words and I looked at them very
carefully. They were brown and all the rest of the
page was brown, except some large letters which were
red, and at the side of the page were things written
here and there. I was looking all over the page, but
my master told me to read the first words again, and
then he told me what they signified and in that way
I had soon learned five words of Latin , . . We
worked until Faustino came and told my master that
it was the hour for him and Don Arcadio to dine. He
said that Don Arcadio was seated in the dining-room.

My master left me and — perhaps in order to escape
as much as possible the bitterness of parting — showed
himself no more until, at dawn of the next day, I was
about to sally from the house. He stayed a long time
in the dining-room with Don Arcadio, while in another
room I let Maria talk to me. And she did not cease
with her cheerful talking as Faustino came and went.
But I could no more answer to her mood than if I
had been built of stone.

When Don Eugenio and the Noahcite had gone into
that large room of the map, Maria took me out with
her into the streets. We wandered up and down, but

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 105

1 was very wretched, till ... At twilight we returned
to Don Arcadio's house and vaguely I was feeling glad
that it was darker, since the darkness was like me,
and as Maria saw that I was not so miserable she was
very pleased, although she did not say so; but she put
her hand in mine.

We found that Don Eugenio and the Noahcite were
still in that same room, and straightway she and I —
as if a voice was ordering us — went, hand in hand,
again into the street.

As we walked down the hill we came past people
who had brought their rocking-chairs out to the pave-
ment. There they sat and swayed. I should have
liked to tell them who I was, and that at daybreak
I was going on a journey by myself. But they con-
tinued swaying to and fro, they let the cigarette smoke
curl out of their mouths, and none of them knew that
their glowing cigarettes were nothing in comparison
with the great fire which burned within me. How I
pitied them!

At the bottom of the street there was a little bridge,
and after that we came into the country road. It was
so dark . . . the two rows of high trees were black
. . . and you could scarcely see the road. We
stopped to listen . . . there was nothing but the
insects whirring over the dim fields . . . Maria's hand
was hurting me ... I would have kissed her, but I
did not dare to look at her . . . we stumbled hand in
hand across a field ... it was not dark enough . . .
we hurried on . . . my dear, dear Maria sighed . . .
and at the end of another field the ground fell
sharply ... a few more steps and then we stopped
. . . there was a stream or a small river at the foot of
the slope and we were in the long, thick grass . . .

On the way back she was vowing by the saints in

io6 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

Paradise that if I stayed at Colorado she would surely
come there too. And always, always she would follow
me. Her arm was round my neck, pressing me against
her. And I tried to keep her hair away from my face.

CHAPTER IX

I DO not know how long into the night my master
had remained with Don Arcadio, but they were waiting
for me in the hall when I came down the staircase.
There they sat together in long cloaks ; and indeed that
gloomy hall was cold. It would have been quite dark
but for the two fat candles they were holding.

"We have waited for you," said the Noahcite, in his
own solemn fashion.

"Come and embrace me," said my master.

Even as I did so, he could not prevent himself from
yawning. And the Noahcite was yawning too.

Don Eugenio handed me a letter, which I was to
give my parents. It explained, he said, the reason why
he was returning me. "And I have added," said my
master, "that you have made progress with your Latin
and that Don Arcadio and I appreciate your services.
Is that not so?" And as he turned towards the Noah-
cite he yawned again.

Our host was sitting with his eyes shut and his head
had fallen forward. Now he jerked himself into an
upright posture and he rubbed his eyebrow, which the
candle must have singed.

"Oh, certainly!" he cried. "I appreciate you very
much. What a beautiful night!" And then he sank
again into a happy sleep.

My master got up carefully and glided to the door —
he had no boots on — and with infinite precautions
opened it. He stooped to whisper, with a shrewd smile,
in my ear that he had scarcely paid more heed to the

107

io8 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

Noahcite's harangues and arguments and absurdities in
that room there than Faustino at this moment. And
he pointed to Faustino sleeping in his old place at the
door of Don Arcadio's room.

"The consequence has been," my master said,
"that we have grown quite fond of one another. Now
good-by, dear child. May God protect you. And
remember that there is a God. The words of that
old reprobate have no more life than water in a
ditch."

I kissed his hand impetuously and I hastened out,
with my small bundle underneath one arm. The
street was empty. I strode up towards the plaza
where the coach would be. But I could not help look-
ing back and there my master stood beside the door —
his candle seeming very strange — while at her window
stood Maria, making diverse signals that she wished
me well. I waved my hand, I hurried on again.

The coach was being driven round the plaza by a
boy who was not older than myself, and Seiior Bias in
his great cloak was striding up and down with some
one else who had a cloak drawn up across his chin, and
they were talking very earnestly. Some half-awakened
passengers stood in a group beside their luggage, and
the sweetmeat-seller asked them if they would have a
refreshing drink or flavored snow. But they were
angry with him. And the boy who drove the coach
got up and cracked his whip and shouted at the mules,
who went on walking round the plaza. I could see the
passengers consult with one another; yet they did not
like to interrupt the talk of Senor Bias, because it evi-
dently was most serious. And so they stamped their
feet and breathed into their hands and muttered. Then
the sweetmeat-seller told me that the day was ex-
cellent, he gave me a long piece of chocolate and

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 109

wished me a good journey. And at last the talk of
Senor Bias was done, he got on to the coach and called
me to sit next to him. When all the passengers had
either got inside the coach or climbed on with their
luggage to the top, Senor Bias addressed a word, as
I had often seen him, to the mules, and slowly they
began to pull. Yet I had to clutch the seat, for I had
never traveled on a coach before, and I was almost
shaken off.

The face of Seiior Bias was very grim, but when he
looked at me and saw how I was clinging to the seat
he smiled.

"Aha! they shall not save themselves," said he, "the
tyrants ! "

Then he ground his teeth, but went on smiling at
me. But I had no time to ask him what he meant,
because the houses which we passed were large and
small and blue and pink and gray — I had not seen this
portion of the town before — and flowers grew all over
them. We came past a Franciscan convent which was
very old; the monks inside were singing, so that
Seiior Bias began to sing a little. And a passenger,
who thought that now he would not be severe, began
to question him.

"I should be obliged, sefior," said the passenger,
"if you could tell me why the coach did not leave
earlier."

As Seiior Bias did not reply at once, another
passenger exclaimed that it was scandalous for
coaches to set out before the sun had made the air
warm. "I have traveled in all parts," said this one,
"I have been to Puebla by the coach, and from
Puebla I have been to Mexico itself, and as for
Cordoba I have on numberless occasions — Sir! I tell
you that I have spent many ounces of good gold on

no THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

these coaches of yours, but as for leaving at barbaric
times I never found one such as this, and if I die of it,
then— I shall die."

Senor Bias made the long whip curl splendidly and
strike the neck of one of the front mules, just where
the flies had made an open wound. By this he showed
that he was meditating, and he sang so softly now that
I could scarcely hear him.

''What a country we are in!" declared the first
passenger.

"That is it!" cried the second. 'T have not the
honor, sir, of knowing you, but with your permission
I agree with every word you say. What a country!
I have traveled in all parts of it. I have been to
Puebla and other places, but everywhere it is the same.
And there is no remedy."

By this time we were out beyond the houses; by the
road were aloes and banana-trees and chirimoyas, not
to mention other trees of which you cannot eat the
fruit. Some of the passengers tried with their hands
to catch the fruit, but now the mules were running
faster. Sefior Bias leaned forward, and as we came
near a tree of lemons he cut off a branch so grandly
with his whip that it fell right across the coach, and
everybody clapped their hands or said bravo.

"They are at the disposal of the gentlemen," said
Sefior Bias. "Come," said he, "let us throw aside our
cares and let us sing the Paloma. Who will sing with
me? One — two . . ."

Then he started, and I think we all were singing it.
And when we reached the end we sang it all again.
The passengers were so much comforted that one of
them — he who had traveled everywhere — said it was
the most perfect song of all the world. And that other
passenger said yes, it surely was; and fortunate, said

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS in

he, was the country which could produce a thing of
that sort.

"Let us sing it once again/' said Senor Bias.

"What this gentleman was saying/' quoth the first
passenger, "is nothing more than truth. It is there
on the surface, like the ducks. I say that in other
countries you may dig out of the earth more gold than
here in Mexico, but out of the gold come quarrels and
murders. And out of our song the Paloma come no
quarrels, no murder, no hatred."

Senor Bias and all of us began again that exquisite
and soothing melody. We passed a bare-legged,
grizzled vagabond, who took off his sombrero and
gazed up at us with the expression of a dog unjustly
hit. We clattered on and did not stop our singing,
but we threw into his hat or on the road some pieces
of small money and some chocolate and some lemons.
I believe we sang for more than a whole league and
certainly long after sunrise. Senor Bias shook off his
cloak, so did the passengers, and they were getting
friendlier and friendlier to one another and to Senor
Bias. They held out cigarettes to him, and when he
took them they were very glad; one passenger had
some cigars rolled up inside a vegetable leaf, and
saying only "Do me the favor," he put three or four
of them between myself and Seiior Bias. I seized
them as they were about to fall; we had to stop the
coach in order that they might be safely stowed in
Senor Bias's hat. So there was always something going
on, and I had very little leisure for the other things:
the women, now and then, with children on their backs,
the loaded strings of mules, the white and blue and
scarlet flowers hanging from the trees, but so high
that I could not reach them, and from time to time
a wooden cross with some initials on it, and then

112 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

myrtle trees and palms and the green liquidambar,
and, far off^ between tliern one could see the moun-
tains that were in a haze already. I am sure I would
not have observed one-half of these things even if it
had not been for Senor Bias, Vv^ho likewise told me
of the wooden crosses which were often over friends
of his or enemies.

If this had not been my first journey in a coach,
perhaps I would have spent the day in thinking of my
master and Maria, and my parents and the others I
would see, and Don Arcadio and Faustino. But when
I was ready to remember them I was a little weary,
from .the jolting, and the dust was in my eyes, and it
was very warm. So I thought of them rather lan-
guidly, and as I dropped to sleep I seemed to hear my
master speaking to me very gently, saying that he
promised I should soon go back to him. And then I
seemed to have Maria walking with me hand in hand
— her w^ords were like the white flowers falling over
me — and then I knew she was far off, that I was rolling
further, further — and it was as if a knife was in me.

Senor Bias with his left hand pulled his cloak up to
my shoulders and said that we should be in a fine
large village in an hour. But we were not. For as
we bumped along a stretch of road that was no rockier
than the rest and which had holes not any larger,
suddenly one of the wheels collapsed and Senor Bias
made the mules stop. He and all of us got down, the
wheel was broken utterly, and after looking at it for
a little time he said this was no accident, that some one
in Jalapa had arranged the whole affair, and very
jovially he said that if there was a gentleman to whom
he owed some money he would pay him now.

The passengers knew very well what he was thinking
of; they hurried hither, thither, cursing, shouting,

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 113

giving orders, while their pistols glittered in the sun-
light. Senor Bias looked at the wheel and shook his
head, but no one else would look at it: one passenger
was crawling underneath his luggage in the coach,
another was behind a tree, two others simply ran a
few steps up the road^ then back again, not knowing
what to do. Senor Bias said that it would be possible
to mend the wheel if they would help him, but they
all said that it was no use, and why should they exert
themselves in vain? Then Senor Bias said that the
mules might have their dinner, and he gave it them.
He moved about as if he were at peace with all the
world, and then a passenger called out to him, and
in a bitter voice, that this was a good opportunity to
sing his dear Paloma.

"What a country!" said the passenger who was
inside the coach. "Alas, alas! what will happen to us?
And it is our ov^^n fault — we should have examined all
the wheels."

One of the two passengers who had been rushing
up and down the road exclaimed that this was not
the truth, because it was the Government's own fault.
The Government, said he, was weak. If it were strong
the bandits would be frightened. It is clear enough,
said he.

But that one who was in the coach said this was
something he could talk about, and very well. He
was excited. As it happened, this was just the very
subject, so he said, on which he had been meditating
many years, and he would be surprised if he knew less
about it than did other people. Should a country
have, or should it not have, a strong Government?
"That is what we are discussing, is it not, senor?" said
he. "And I will tell you that I am a barrister, ac-
quainted with the laws of Rome and other ancient

114 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

countries, with the Spanish laws and with the French.
And I am altogether at your service." He was smiling
in a calm, triumphant way; and if he was uncom-
fortable in the coach he did not show it.

"Sefior," said the other one as he stood smiling also
and caressing his black beard, "I have not meditated
about all those things, for I am only a commercial man
of Veracruz; but I permit myself to say that in this
land the laws of Rome and France and all the others
flourish just as much as any of the laws of Mexico,
That is the kind of country that one has to live in!"

The other passengers and Sefior Bias and I collected
round this gentleman; that one who had been walking
with him up and down said that assuredly he had the
right on his side and he patted him upon the back.

The barrister asked in a loud voice for some
patience. "Do I understand," said he to the com-
mercial man, "that what you want is a strong
Government? I ask you nothing else."

They all replied in chorus that of course it should be
strong. And Sefior Bias held up his forefinger and
said the Government should be not only strong but
good. And we all murmured our applause.

The barrister did not seem disconcerted. Holding
himself at the window with his left hand, he held up
the other with the open palm towards us, and a look of
sympathy came over him. "It will be very easy for
me," he began, "to show you that it is the object of
the greatest men to make the Government more weak,
less capable of interfering with our liberty. There are,
relatively speaking, few things which we should allow
the Government to do. What can be more divine
than liberty? And, gentlemen, remember that by
Article No. 3 of our Constitution of 1857 it is pro-
mulgated to the whole world of the two Americas and

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 115

Europe that as soon as any slave shall set his foot
upon our soil he is a free man. What could be more
lofty, what could be a better proof that we^ beyond
all other countries, worship freedom? And you, gen-
tlemen, would lightly throw away our grandeur, you
would have us brought down to the level of those other
kingdoms, empires, and republics with their strong,
their interfering Governments, their Governments
which have no article like that one, for the simple
reason that they loathe the very words 'a free man.'
Is that not the case?"

He halted for no answer, but continued headlong:
"Plato said that there are States which have true
artists for their rulers, ruling in a spirit of unselfish-
ness, and States that wolfish rulers govern selfishly.
Wolfish men, unselfish men — that is how they rule us
if they have the power. And clearly men are much
more often of the first kind — they are as bad as God
made them, said Sancho Panza, and some of them a
good deal worse — so that generally men should not
have much power over other men. Indeed, a land
with a weak Government is very blessed."

"And I suppose," said Sefior Bias, "that one with
two or three weak Governments, all at the same time,
is more blessed?"

"When we come to Rome," said the barrister, and
in a louder voice, "what do we find? The people of a
single town were governing the world. Will anybody,
here or elsewhere, contradict me when I say that this
was a superb material success and also of the spirit,
for a man was proud to boast, 'Civis Romanus sum'?
No success indeed could have been greater, and the
Government was weak. Yes, it was very weak,
because the people wielded it and not a single man or
any clique. That was the time of glory . . , Later on

ii6 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

the Government was strengthened, for the generals
placed themselves above the people and one general
above his fellows. So the Government was strong,
supported by the army; and as a result all freedom
everywhere was crushed beneath the Roman military
despotism."

It was in the middle of the barrister's oration that a
splendid cavalier had joined us. He did not dismount,
but guided his young foaming stallion near enough for
him to hear the speech; and at the end of it this
gentleman removed his hat and bowed to all the
others. Sefior Bias and he had evidently met before;
but no one else was smiling, and the cavalier composed
himself as he looked round and bowed again, and said
he trusted that they would not let him interrupt them.

"By no means," said the barrister. "And I believe,
sir, you are interested in this argument which turns
upon the question as to whether it is preferable for a
Government to be a weak thing or a strong one."

The commercial man broke in. "A traveler," said
he, "of such distinction must assuredly be with us. It
is only a strong Government which can protect a
citizen who is so richly garbed; and I am sure you
often must have wished to be in countries where the
people are protected. Why, your silver spurs, to men-
tion nothing else, must cause you terrible anxiety."

The cavalier replied in a most graceful way to both.
He said that he entreated them to talk as if he were
not there at all. In these high matters he was very
ignorant, as yet.

"Oh, well," said Seiior Bias, "I know some naughty
brigands who believe they flourish here because our
Government is weak. Is that not so, my friend? And
what a ludicrous mistake!"

"Never," said the cavalier most courteously, "no,

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 117

never shall I contradict you. But I should be really
glad to learn, most estimable Seiior Bias, why it is
such a ludicrous mistake."

'Then I will tell you, Don Fernando."

There was something in their voices which caused
everybody else to listen quite attentively — the bar-
rister, who now was leaning far out of the window,
and the bearded man, the other couple and myself.

"Bueno, in this country," said Senor Bias, "the
people are of such a sort that even if the Government
were strong the brigands would accomplish their
desires. It is not possible for any Government to
get the better of them, with a people such as we are.
Always, always if a brigand or a soldier lays his hand
on something or on somebody there is no shadow of
resistance. In this way we Mexicans are made. That
a man should suffer is a good thing, but that he should
be prepared to suffer more is bad."

"What a country!" said the barrister.

"It will not cease from effervescing or it will not
effervesce at all and both are bad, in my view," said
the man of commerce.

Senor Bias ignored the interruptions and proceeded:
"I will give you an example. In a farmstead were a
certain company of brigands who first overpowered
the men and afterwards went seeking for the women.
Two of these — a handsome girl and her decrepit
mother — had been hiding in the same room, but in
different cupboards. Well, they found the girl and
dragged her out and all that. Then they found the
mother and were dragging her out also when the girl
entreated them, with tears and piteous screaming, to
be merciful. She flung herself before the feet of one
of them and begged him that her mother should be
spared. But the mother was annoyed and curtly

ii8 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

bade her daughter to be quiet. 'Say no more, you
foolish one,' quoth she. 'It is the fortune of war.' "

"And, gentlemen," said the cavalier, after they had
stopped laughing, "there is not another tale more true
than that one. It was at a farm near La Calera in
that pleasant region. I remember it as though it had
all happened to us yesterday. Gentlemen," said he,
with a vibration in his voice, "I beg that you will not
be rash."

Every one save Senor Bias, was pointing with his
pistol more or less in the direction of the cavaher.
And he seemed to be covering them all with his own
weapon.

"You were arguing," said he, "about the Govern-
ment, if it is better weak or strong. And Senor Bias,
my old friend, is of the opinion that a nation's
character is more important than the Government.
I am extremely interested in such thoughts, for I shall
some day, when it is more opportune, renounce this
undomestic life and I shall let myself become a
deputy — that is what I have ever placed before
myself. But as for Senor Bias, I think he has good
reason on his side. And I think there is something
else which is of more importance than a Government.
There is our holiest religion."

As he said these words he crossed himself, with that
same hand as held the pistol. Other hands among
the group of men were hesitating or spasmodically
imitating his, as if their owners had not got control of
them.

"It is religion," Don Fernando said, "which causes
me to come here by myself and not with any of my
comrades. We were on the outskirts of Jalapa when
we met a priest who was transporting the viaticum.
We saw him and his acolyte, who swung the incense;

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 119

naturally we dismounted, we knelt down upon the
road and prayed devoutly for the dying man to whom
the priest was going. We remained thus for a time
in ardent prayer that the sins of this man should be
all forgiven. There was yet, when we arose, a faint
smell of that incense in the air. With one accord we
said that this was not the day for any enterprise such
as we had intended. And, indeed, if we had perse-
vered with it I doubt if God would ever have protected
us again. So I have only come in order to relate what
has occurred and so that you can put away all your
anxiety."

"Hombre! that is kind of you," said Seiior Bias.
"Nay, more, I am at the disposal of your worships,"
said the cavalier. "How can I serve you?"

He was very much in earnest, one could see, but
nobody made a suggestion. Some were frowning, some
were gazing at him in a stupid way. At last he said
that he would ride into the nearest place and bring us
back a wheel. He would go instantly, and it would
not be like that person of the proverb who went out for
wool and came back shorn.

The cavalier departed, and we stopped beside the
coach for several hours. At first they talked with
vehemence about the cavalier and Mexico and liberty
and other things. Then, as the sun beat down upon
the road, they got inside the coach and started playing
cards, and most of them became exasperated on ac-
count of their bad cards -and of the "heat and of the
cavalier's delay and of the big flies which the mules
attracted. Clearly Don Fernando had not found a
wheel in the first village or the second. And although
the passengers told Senor Bias that he would not return
at all, of course he came; but in the meantime I had
ample opportunity for thinking of the new, strange life

I20 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

up at Jalapa, out of which I had been torn. And in
my hours of loneliness beside that road I grew more
desperate and yet more desperate in the resolve that I
would not remain at Colorado. You might just as well
command a boy to turn away from the procession of
a circus when he has beheld the marvelous beginning
of it. Later on I grew less violent, because I told
myself that if my parents tried to keep me I would
run away or take no food, or by some other method
show them that I was not to be hindered.

When the cavalier came back and had assisted us
to put the wheel on, he saluted us and rode away
towards Jalapa. As he went he sang, but rather
mournfully, the first few bars of the Paloma.

We, however, on the coach, refrained from singing,
for the mules were made by Seiior Bias to go so rapidly
that we were in extreme discomfort and in danger.
But although we went at such a speed it was entirely
dark when we arrived at Colorado. They were in so
great a hurry that they said good-by to me before
we got there, and as soon as I was on the ground they
rolled away. That was the last I saw of any of those
passengers.

There in the darkness of my village, as I struck out
for my parents' house, it seemed to me the dust
through which I had to walk was most barbaric after
those good cobbles of Jalapa. My poor parents, how I
pitied them! And in the large room of the house there
was my mother and with her Don Bartolme Robledo,
the old captain. I had flung myself against the door
impetuously; then I stopped — they were all blinking
at me: my poor mother, the old captain, and the candle.

But how different had been the flame upon my
master's candle, as he stood that morning in the cloak
and watched me leave him!

CHAPTER X

As I sank down at my mother's side and was em-
bracing her, she murmured incoherent words of love.
She pressed me very tightly to her. Then, while she
was crooning still, she touched me on the head and on
the shoulder and the arms, wherever she could reach,
because she was afraid that I was injured.

"What is the matter with him?" asked Don
Bartolme.

I told her that I was not hurt at all.

"No, no!" she said. "I am your mother and you
cannot hide it from me. This is what I always knew
would happen and I always told your father. I shall
tell him when he comes in from the shop, where he is
playing cards as usual with Gonzalez and the others.
It was very wrong of me to let you go with that man
who was fat and — and — tell me what they did to you."

In vain I tried to reassure her. But the Captain
presently had a most useful thought, when he said that
it would be well to give me food. He helped my
mother to prepare the meal, and then he sat down with
me, for he himself — my father being absent — had not
had his supper. I was so tired that I nearly fell
asleep while I was eating, and my mother rambled on :

"To come back at this hour of the night, as if he
were a thief! And he the son of Pedro, who is every-
where respected for the valiance of his fighting-cocks.
Why should our son return in this way? They have
not been good to him, or he has seen that all the world
is nothing but a snare, as the priest said. Don Bar-

121

122 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

tolme, when I told the priest that Juanito in Jalapa
would be educated, he replied that it was good and
when I said he would obtain a high place with this
education the old priest said that all greatness is a
snare, as was perceived by warriors and noblemen who
had themselves enrolled^ the priest said, in the ranks
of Capuchins. Well then, said I, what is the use of
education? . . . Look at me, my son," she said, "it is
so plain that you are ill."

"What I know," said Don Bartolme, "is this, that
if they had provided him with such delicious beans he
would have kept his health intact." The aged Cap-
tain was enjoying his brown beans immensely.

"After you had gone away with that old man from
Spain," my mother said, "I thought that you would
give' yourself to soldiery, since you had always been
encouraged by your father in those soldier-games. And
then it would no longer be a game, but something
serious with an evil end. Your father would not listen
to me, and I told a man of reason who was traveling
through Colorado, but he said it was like some of the
celebrated saints to be a soldier, and that if one lived
in a large town instead of Colorado one would mingle
with high officers and know them well. Of what ad-
vantage is it that my Juanito should know all about
the virtues and the vices of some General, I ask?"

The beans and other food had put fresh life into the
aged Captain. He banged with his fist upon the table,
and declared that there is no vice in a General of
Mexico.

"The rogue you are!" my mother cried. "Or did
you never hear of that one who was writing to his
daughter and said: T hope you are well, I wade in
blood.' . . . But let me tell you that my Juanito was
not made to be a man of that sort. And he knows it

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 123

too," she added in victorious tones, "and that is why
he has escaped. O my beloved one, they shall not
catch you, and no other man from Spain or anywhere
shall take you from your mother. Now go to your
bed." She kissed me on the brow more fervently than
she had ever done.

Then footsteps and some other noises rang outside
the house, and in a very little time my father, and
Gonzalez and his woman Enriqueta were encircling
me. Their mood was jovial, and my father caught
me in his arms. He laughed and talked and pinched
me, and was not at all depressed when he observed the
gloomy silence of my mother. It was splendid to be
with him after all her anxious speculation.

"Father Pedro," said my mother in a warning voice,
"you know not why he has returned."

And Enriqueta told Gonzalez to go over to the shop
and bring a bottle of his wine for them to drink my
health.

"You are a heartless person," said my mother. "He
is very sick. I wish that he were looking still as he
did half an hour ago before his supper. Then you
would perhaps close fast your mouth."

My father asked me if I had enjoyed my supper, and
when I said we had eaten everything he was delighted,
put his hand upon my stomach, and said anyhow there
was one part of me which was not ailing.

"Leave him alone!" cried my mother. "I will not
have you touch him there."

"Then," said my father, "I will carry him to bed."
He took me up in his strong arms. And at the door
he turned and with his joyous laugh exclaimed: "The
Holy Roman belly!" As he carried me along, I heard
them laughing down below. I knew that my good
mother would try vainly not to laugh; there never yet

124 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

had been in Colorado any woman or a man so stubborn
as to hear those words without hilarity. Some traveler
from Spain had left them years ago; for he had told
us of a Holy Roman Emperor, I believe that it was
Charles the Fifth, who was a very mighty man. One
day, when he was ill in bed, the doctor pressed him
through the bed-clothes, here and there, to find the seat
of trouble ; and when he began to touch the sore place,
"Hold!" cried the Emperor, "remove your hand from
off the Holy Roman belly." That is why we always
laughed at Colorado when we talked of bellies.

As my father laid me down he said that he knew all
about the Noahcite, for he had made inquiries from a
customer who told him that the Noahcite was mad,
and very rich and amiable. The customer revealed
so much about the life of Don Arcadio that my father
had resolved, as soon as possible, to pay us all a visit
at Jalapa. Had I run away, he asked, or had I only
come to have a holiday?

"Yes, holiday," said I, "and Senor Bias will take
me back."

My father kissed me and I fell at once into a dream-
less sleep. But early in the morning when I gradually
woke the first sensation which I had was one of dread
that I should have to stay between these walls. One
episode and then another from the previous night went
flying through my head — and glimpses of Jalapa flew
among them. How I shuddered at the difference! For
I belonged to Don Eugenio and the Noahcite. I shud-
dered as I thought about my parents, and yet and
yet I loved my father, and my mother also. Every
word which they had said the night before came back
to me, and that one which I clung to most was "holi-
day," my father's word. As I grew more composed
I set myself to plot and plan how I could use this word

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 125

of his. And in the end I had decided that I would
read out to them my master's letter — since they could
not read I might say anything^ and it should be about
a little holiday.

When I was with my parents afterwards it happened
all as I had hoped. My father looked at me and told
my mother that she was a silly woman if she still
persisted that I was unwell. And she admitted that I
had improved since my arrival. Oh, I was so glad!

And so were they when I informed them that I had
begun to learn the Latin language. With a beaming
face my father pointed out how glorious a future was
prepared for me. He had been thinking, so he said,
about the various positions I might occupy when I
could show the rulers my capacity. He recognized,
he said, that Latin was not everything, and that a
fellow who was very skilful in it might yet be debarred
by the authorities, deservedly debarred, from reaching
posts of honor and of profit. Other qualities were
doubtless necessary, also, for advancement — how could
he say what they were since he was nothing but a
simple breeder of the fighting-cocks? But if the people
once perceived that I had learned this famous language
they would know that I could learn the other things.

"And anyhow," my mother said, "he will be able
then to comprehend all that the priest says."

"Pues!" said my father in disdain, "that will not
advance him very far."

"It will advance him surely into heaven," said my
mother.

But my father snorted. "Touching Don Arcadio,
the Noahcite," said he, "there is a customer of mine
who was here from Jalapa yesterday. This doctor,
for he is a doctor, used to know him very well, but
now they are no longer friends. Of course, the first

126 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

thing that I asked was on the subject of your Don
Arcadio, and very willingly the doctor told me, though
I could observe that he was longing to consult with
me about his fighting-cocks, and I myself was anxious
he should buy a very good one, called El Chino, which
will fight in such a way that ladies will throw flowers
from their boxes, yes, and diamonds."

I had to interrupt. "O little father," I complained,
"do you think I could forget El Chino? I have not
forgotten one, not one of them."

''Son of my soul," said he, "but I was going to say
that both the doctor and myself were eager to converse
about our business, yet we spoke of Don Arcadio.
It seems that he belonged to one of the most rich and
reputable families; his father was a gallant of his
own time, and in later years a brother of your gen-
tleman was in the forefront of Jalapa's aristocracy,
a comrade of the doctor's at the cock-pit. Don Ar-
cadio, on the other hand, was always odd — a man who
had his own ideas on everything. The strangest part
of it was that he lived in the great house of Corpus
Christi Street and moved about Jalapa, when he really
should have gone to dwell in some remote farm of
his family or else have made himself a hermitage
among the mountains. Everybody would have been
more comfortable. He would sometimes loiter in the
plaza, just like any Christian, but if you addressed
him, talking of the latest news, he would not speak
of it like other men, and therefore it was natural that
they avoided him. He did not wish to be avoided, but
it came about and more and more. To see him wan-
dering up and down was very sad, and, since he would
not lead the pleasant life, they wanted to persuade him
to fill any of the posts such as are suitable to gentle-
men of his position. He refused. He would not, for

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 127

example, be a magistrate, because he said that dealing
justice out to men was an iniquity, for justice was a
cold, repulsive thing. He would not even change his
attitude when they reminded him that justice is ad-
ministered by God and therefore it is something
sacred,"

"And," said my mother, with determination, "it will
not be cold for him. Amen. He will be thrust into
the fiery torment."

"Guadalupe," said my father — he was quite indig-
nant— "you know very well that if he were a man of
that sort I would not permit our Juanito to be with
him."

But my mother had some more to say. "How can
I tell? You do with Juanito what you like and I am
nothing, I am pitiful, I am as a wounded cock who
asks for cacao. So it is, and I — I," she was nearly
breaking down, "what am I? For a long time you
have looked through to the other side of me and you
have asked for nothing, not for my advice and not
for my attention, not for love."

"You are the pearl of women," said my father, "but
you are a woman and in great confusion, like the
negroes' banquet. I will talk of all those things an-
other time. But now it is of Don Arcadio who would
not be a magistrate. They told him, as I said, that
justice is administered by God, and he replied that,
whether justice is a benefit or not, he doubted if it
was administered in heaven, seeing that on earth God
did not deal in it. And anyhow, he would not be a
magistrate."

"He is a sacrilegious criminal ! Oh, I should like to
see him," said my mother, "when he is in that place
where God puts them."

"Since he would not be a magistrate nor any other

128 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

thing they offered, he was thrown upon himself, said
my customer, and he was very grave and serious.
He came far less into the streets, and when he did
come there was only one man who could make him
laugh, a man who sold him tickets for the lottery.
They used to chase each other round the streets, for
they had some old game together which they very
much enjoyed, and then he took this man into his
house to be his servant. Less and less they saw him
in the town, and when he did go out he scarcely looked
up from his feet, and he was working for the happiness
of every one! . . . My customer is absolutely sure
of it. There was this lonely gentleman at work all
through the day with books and books. You, Guada-
lupe, have not traveled, and you do not know that
everywhere about the world are gentlemen who have
no other occupation than to sit with books in front
of them, because it gives them pleasure. But this
Don Arcadio is the only person of the world, so says
my customer, who does all this in order to give other
people pleasure. When the day arrives and he knows
everything he will himself be happy, for he says that
happiness can only come in that way."

My father paused. He looked as if this exposition
had been a great strain upon him. And he did not
want my mother to say anything at all, for he was
anxious to collect his thoughts so that he could con-
tinue. She, for her part, wanted to say something,
since she was completely hostile to the Noahcite. She
felt it in her inmost being that he was a wicked and
perverted man, but she had never come in contact
with a person of this kind before. She felt like one
who, with a sword, has to destroy a pestilential mist.
... I wondered, looking at their very troubled faces,
whether it would first be she or first my father who

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 129

would speak. How they were watching one another!

Then my father said again that when the day
arrived and Don Arcadio knew everything he would
be happy, for he said that happiness could only come
in that way.

"He is one of the crowned devils," said my mother.

But my father went on sturdily: "And after he
possesses happiness he will distribute it among us all.
And we shall all of us be happy. You," he said, in a
severe tone to my mother, "you must be ashamed of
speaking in that fashion of so great a benefactor.
Think of it! When every one is like a day of fes-
tival!"

"O FuchiV^ cried my mother. "How shall anybody
make me happy if I have a husband such as you?"

"He will have thought of everything," said my
father. "He is very great and we shall have to build
him one or two triumphal arches decked with flowers.
He is called the Noahcite because he follows Noah,
and when he has in his own head what was in the
head of Noah there will then be nothing he has still
to learn. . . . But all these things are not for you or
me to question. We are nothing, and I tell you,
Guadalupe, that one should be filled with gratitude if
our son Juanito has the privilege of living near this
mighty man. Come," and he embraced her, "let us
cease to quarrel. We are nothing. I confess to you,
dear woman, that I do not understand it all, nor
does my customer, for when I asked him how it is
that Don Arcadio will get his happiness through know-
ing everything he said he was uncertain. Who are
we to try to seek how such a man does this or that?"

My mother had been plainly touched. "There is
but one thing, Father Pedro," she avowed, "which
weighs on me, and it is this, that Noah is a sacred

I30 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

person of the Church, and it is contrary to order for a
man to make himself like that. And also if the rage
of God does not descend upon him for his pride, it
may be that the rage of men will take him, even as it
took that mountebank who stood up in the market-
place and said there is no God, inviting God to kill
him if it was not so. He stood there, the most im-
pious person, with his head thrown back and 'Ca!'
said he, for he exulted. 'God,' said he, 'thou dost not
kill me.' 'No,' said the inhabitants, 'but we do.' And
they did. ... I fear that if this happens to the
man who makes himself like Noah, it may not be well
for Juanito to be living near him. If the people set
his house on fire and slay our Juanito, what shall we
do then?" said she.

But with a little gentle reasoning my father made
her understand that the two cases were not on a level,
since the mountebank had boasted that there is no
God, and Don Arcadio, on the other hand, maintained
that Noah had existed and was good to imitate.
Thereby, my father said, he would not cause offense
to any one in Mexico, except if there was any one who
was an anti-Noahcite. Undoubtedly, somewhere in
Mexico there would be found a man with these opin-
ions, for we loved, my father said, to be against
all men whatever. That was why the country rolled
from turmoil into turmoil. Not a single man could
hold authority, but there would be rebellion against
him. And above Jalapa, in the dreary region of Mai
Pais, or upon the plains of dust and wind and cactus
there would probably be some one who was so embit-
tered against all the leaders, dead and living, whether
Mexican or foreign, whether on the land or on the
water, that he would be solidly opposed to Noah and
to Noahcites.

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 131

"Such a man," my mother said, "is dangerous."

"You are the pearl of women," said my father,
whose whole countenance was like a hymn of grati-
tude for life. "But you forget that these rebellious
ones can luckily be bought, and if a General who has
not much money can obtain, as they have done ere
now, the whole insurgent army, or if the insurgent
army in the same way can acquire the General's, do
you think it would be difficult for Don Arcadio, who
is wealthy, to win over this one man?"

"Ah, well," said my mother, "you look very pleased
and full of confidence. And you know much more of
the world than I do."

Thus it came about that my return to Don Arcadio's
was agreed upon. And for a few days, while I waited
there for Senor Bias, I was a sort of hero in my village.
Old and young, they knew that in Jalapa I was being
changed into another kind of person, and although
I loved them and although they wished me all the
good one can imagine, yet I could not keep myself
from longing for the coach of Senor Bias. A little
time before I had been wont to play with Colorado's
other boys on sultry afternoons when it was irksome
to wear any clothes. We were as happy as the hours
were long, and none of them would ever make the
least remark about me living in the house with the
veranda, nor would any one reproach me with the
fact that I could read. But now I shrank from playing
with my clothes removed, and there was something
else which separated me from my dear comrades.

CHAPTER XI

Throughout the few days that I spent at Colorado
I was always being asked to talk about my travels, and
among the people who insisted most was Enriqueta,
the gay wanton. But she did not join the others when
they questioned me; she seized her opportunities when
I was by myself, and once, although I did not like
her, she persuaded me to walk with her into the neigh-
boring wood, and there we sat among the ferns while
I began again to tell exactly what had happened to
me. But she let me go no further than to the lieu-
tenant's coming on the horse, with sweet Maria at
the back of him. How the lieutenant looked, and
what he said and what he did — all this she urged me
to describe, not once but several times. And she
wished heartily that I had not lost sight of him up at
Jalapa. But the fact remained that he was there and
she confided with me that this was no life in Colorado,
and that she had settled not to stay there. By some
way or other, even if she had to walk, she would go
traveling at last, and, namely, to Jalapa. There had
been an hour ago, she told me, the most disagreeable
events inside the shop, between herself, Gonzalez, and
the aged Captain. By the time of our return, she
said, there would be no one in all Colorado who would
not be able to repeat each word of that unpleasant
scene. How could one live in such a place, where
nothing could remain your own?

Apparently, she had employed the hour of the siesta
to inform Gonzalez of her resolution. And the Cap-
tain was downstairs outside the shop, because — poor,

132

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 133

faithful fool, she said — he then could listen to her
voice and not be seen by her. She had most amicably
told Gonzalez that if he desired to go with her she
would be pleased, and he, of course, had answered by
abusing her most harshly, for he could not thus aban-
don Colorado and the shop. Their argument became
so heated that the Captain down below feared that a
murder would be done; he did not stop to calculate
the peril to himself, but rushed into the house and to
the room of the siesta.

"I laughed so much to see him there," said En-
riqueta, "that Gonzalez grew more angry still. But
afterwards he was for letting the old Captain hear
about my perfidy, and then the Captain, as a military
cavalier, should give us his opinion. Well, it was
Gonzalez who related the affair, and I put in a word
from time to time, and at the end of it all old Bartolme
said stoutly that I had the right on my side, for it was
an arrant cruelty to keep a woman such as me in
Colorado. . . . 'Oh, you scoundrel,' cried Gonzalez,
'did you never keep her in your own most miserable
cottage?'

"Angela Maria! You should have beheld the Cap-
tain. It was beautiful, the way in which his body
stiffened. He was filled with anger, but he was ex-
tremely calm, he was majestic. And he said that if
he had done wrong in days now past, he thanked the
holy saints that he could recognize it and acknowledge
it, whereas Gonzalez was an unrepentant sinner. . . .
But Gonzalez sneered that if one is a weak old man,
one frequently repents. He sat upon our bed, his
feet were dangling to and fro. And sneeringly he said
he would advise the Captain to behave like those small
birds, the huitzitzilin, who sleep all through the winter,
a most prudent action if one's blood is cold.

134 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

"Oh, yes, you should have seen Don Bartolme. I
never thought that he could be so grand. He tossed
his gray old head and then he smiled at me. . . . And
I was sorry I was lying on the bed.

"Gonzalez had not finished even then. 'I see,' he
said, 'the pretty little huitzitzilin does not interest
your lordship. It has very handsome plumage and
it sleeps, as I have said, in winter time; but almost
as convenient, you will agree, is the peculiarity of
living on the very smallest quantity of food. I hear
it can maintain itself upon the dew inside a flower,'

"This was too much for the Captain. 'You — you
— you would keep my darling Enriqueta here,' he
shouted, 'when she wants to run away from her op-
pressor. And if I from time to time am forced to beg
a little food, it is not from your hands that I would
take it. No, not even if I were to starve.'

"As he was saying this I rolled off from the bed
and stood up next to him. Gonzalez looked at us.
He did not yet see that he had been conquered.

"But I told him in the plainest manner that I must
go to Jalapa. And he suddenly became so furious that
he could say no word.

"Don Bartolme was thinking still about the ques-
tion of the food. 'I hope,' he said, 'the day will come
for you when you will have a thin, thin broth and
you will hope to catch some solid morsel in it, and
you will not have Saint Peter's luck, who fished all
night in vain till Jesus Christ assisted him.'

"I put my hand on that of the old Captain. How
he trembled! And I told Gonzalez that although I
must depart I had some gratitude, and I would always
think of him with kindliness.

"He looked as if he certainly would choke.

"And then old Bartolme informed him that he would

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 135

accompany me anywhere, wherever I might go. He
squeezed my hand most violently.

"Well, my little friend, I will admit to you that it
displeases me to think of this old man beside me on
the journey and beside me always at Jalapa. What
am I to do? Oh, may he stand there whistling on the
hill. . . . Now tell me something more of the lieu-
tenant."

We remained a very long time in the wood, for
after I had told her all I knew, which was not much,
of the lieutenant, and of Don Arcadio and Faustino
and Jalapa generally, and then again of the lieutenant,
she lay back among the ferns and thought about the
future, sometimes silently, then uttering a word or
two, then jerking little laughs into the air. How long
we stopped I cannot tell, but we might have remained
until the evening if there had not been a voice, the
voice of the old Captain, far away among the trees.
I thought that Enriqueta, after what she had been
saying of the Captain, would be angry or would stop
her ears; but how much did I know of women? She
arose and took me by the arm and rapidly we went
towards the voice; but Enriqueta saw to it that we
did not emerge into the open. And at last we found
ourselves among such lofty ferns that I could scarcely
walk. Don Bartolme was not far off. We crouched
behind those ferns and waited there. And when he
did go past he was the strangest sight: he was flourish-
ing his ancient sword and cutting off a leafy branch
or else a fern, just as the fancy seized him. He was
happy to excess. His age and poverty and other ail-
ments he had quite forgotten. He was tramping
through the wood as if the gods had turned him into
a young, merry boy.

And Enriqueta, after he had gone, said she had

136 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

changed her mind, and that it must be so and that
she would permit him to escort her on the journey.
"After all," she said, "he loves me. He will be my
slave."

The Captain did go with her and on foot a few days
after this, when she had made her preparations. I,
for my part, had to leave quite suddenly on the next
morning — Senor Bias came back much earlier than
usual. And so there was no time for me to say fare-
well to every one. My parents and some others who
were loitering about the coach embraced me, and I
drove away, not even knowing whether Enriqueta had
gone back to spend her last days with Gonzalez.

We arrived in good time at Jalapa; and, although
my friend and benefactor of the sweetmeats stopped
me for a moment as I climbed off from the coach, I
very soon was rushing down the Corpus Christi Street.
The big door at the house of Don Arcadio was shut,
I ran round to the back and through the passage, up
the stairs, and to the room in which I hoped to find
Maria. But she was not there, nor was my master.
And I will confess that I had ugly, very dark and ugly
thoughts. ... I wished the room would fall on me
and bury me. . . . Then I was on the staircase, I was
in the yard, and with a whirling head I passed on, on
into the room above the stable. In the room I found
my master; he was sitting with some open books
spread out before him, and upon his face the most
benign expression in the world.

He welcomed me with all his heart. He saw that
I was very much perturbed and this, he thought, was
owing to my coming back to him. So tenderly he
spoke, and in my breast I felt as if there was a battle
raging. When he asked about my parents, I am not
sure what I answered, and I certainly could not control

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 137

myself enough to tell him of the plans of Enriqueta
and the Captain.

"It would make you tranquil," Don Eugenio said,
"if you could read with me this part of Bacon's man-
uscript. I ask for nothing better than to make an-
other voyage through this part. It is indeed a voyage !
You may recollect, my son, that when this manuscript
was placed before me I was not enthusiastic. Well,
I have discovered that this Bacon is am.ong the blessed
writers who adorn their subject in a thousand ways,
no matter what the subject be."

Then he discoursed with fire and passion on the
splendid merits of the doctor mirabilis. But I could
only hear quite vaguely what he said, for I was think-
ing of Maria and the window where I last had seen
her, and the sloping fields outside Jalapa where we
two had wandered in the dark.

Don Eugenio paused, and then I asked him whether
beautiful young girls are sometimes killed by their old
lovers, even if the lover has got no suspicion that she
has been faithless. And my master, who was always
ready to pour out for me his miscellaneous knowledge,
did not waste a moment, as so many others would
have done, in asking me how I connected this new topic
with the observations he had been engaged in making.

"Juanito," so he said, "I am not sorry that you
have begun to speculate about some of the problems
that we human beings have to face. How this one
came into your mind I do not know, but nothing is
more certain than the lack of reason in old lovers, and
in young ones. You were thinking of the old, how-
ever, and I can inform you of a case with which I
was myself concerned. At any rate my bishop, whom
I speak of, as you know, with very deep respect, com-
manded me to write a long, didactic poem on a trial

138 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

that was heard before the Holy Office many years ago,
at Zaragoza. In a neighboring country district there
had dwelt an old man of position, and his young wife,
who was marvelously beautiful. She had, to mention
only two things, golden hair and eyes of jet — no girl
was like her in the kingdom. But the husband was
as jealous as a man can be; although he watched her
and his servants watched her very carefully, they never
could detect her in the slightest sin. And so he grad-
ually came to loathe his young wife and her golden
hair. He asked the local priest how he could catch
the girl, since she was far too clever for him, and
the priest was friendly with a man called Valdes, a
familiar of the Inquisition. This official said at once
that if the woman was too clever she was certainly
a witch, as had been laid down by the good Athera-
goras, by Minucius Felix (who, by the way, was an
accomplished person, but was not the author of the
Contra Mathematkos) and by Tertullian in the twenty-
second chapter of his Apology. And if she was a
witch, she ought, said Valdes, to be rigorously pros-
ecuted. At the trial, nothing could be proved against
her; she did not appear to have partaken of unhal-
lowed pleasures or to have used incantations so that
wolves could do no harm, or to have brought a toad
into the world. She was, in fact, no witch, and she
was slain because of her uncommon cleverness. . . .
That was the subject of the poem which I wrote, if
I may say so, in a meter that was most appropriate
to the argument. My manuscript was bound up, by
the bishop's order, in a pale brown calf which had
been decorated with his arms and with a pattern of
gold tears. He placed the book upon his shelves and
there, so far as I know, it remains."
No longer was Maria's face the solitary, all-absorb-

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 139

ing question for me. I demanded of my master if the
husband also was rigorously prosecuted.

And he said that he had every reason to believe it.
"Though we found no further record of the fellow than
was in the trial, and though it may often seem to us,
dear Juanito, that unrighteous men escape their pun-
ishment and even flourish in the most repulsive man-
ner, yet, my son, I cling in many things to the re-
ligion of my fathers; and it tells me that the wicked
go into Gehenna or into the state which has been
variously known as that of outer darkness, of un-
quenchable fire, of the undying worm, of eternal de-
struction, of the weeping and gnashing of teeth or of
the second death. I hope, my son, that even if in after-
life you should have doubts concerning one dogma
or another, yet that you will manage to retain your
faith in all or some of these dire punishments. It will
enable you to be more placid and more patient in
your intercourse with those who seem to be unduly
prosperous."

My dear master went on talking for a time in this
way, until of a sudden, very breathlessly, Maria burst
into the room. She smiled at me, but then began at
once to tell us of a scene which she had witnessed.
There had been a noise of lamentation so prolonged,
she said, from Don Arcadio's library that she went
in; and there she found Faustino weeping and the
Noahcite endeavoring to comfort him. She said the
Noahcite was weeping also, but the reason of it all,
she could not guess. And would not Don Eugenio go
there to help them?

He half rose and then sat down again. He asked'
Maria if they had observed her entrance.

"They looked at me and went on crying just the
same," she said.

I40 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

My dear master frowned a little. "I am out of
sympathy," said he, "with people who rush in with
words of consolation. It is only in the moments of
profoundest grief, Maria, that the large proportion
of mankind see through the mist of things that so
continuously whirl about them. Is not such a grief
the most sublime and sacred temple we can ever build,
Maria, and the people with their consolation are like
dead leaves blown into the temple? He who is within
is face to face with life, as he may never be again,
and those who interrupt with the most beautiful of
consolations are dead leaves to him, dead leaves.
However ..."

He sat there rubbing his chin.

"Oh, no," said Maria, very earnestly, "I never spoke
a word."

Don Eugenio was ruminating. "On the other hand,"
he murmured, "is it not more likely that their sorrow
is an ordinary one and due, perhaps, to some unfortu-
nate misunderstanding. And in that case one wise
word may be all that is needed."

"If you like," Maria said, "I will go down and speak
to them."

But Don Eugenio said that he would go himself.
And as he made his way down from our room, we
others followed him and he did not object. He went
down to the yard, where one could hear the usual few
noises of the town. And even in the house 1 could
myself hear nothing of that lamentation. There was
no sound save our feet upon the floor of stone. Out-
side the library my master listened for a short time;
then he knocked, and Don Arcadio's voice called out,
a little shakily, and asked him to go in.

And there inside the room was Don Arcadio stand-
ing up behind a chair in which Faustino sat. The

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 141

body of Faustino was all huddled up; he took no
notice of us, and not even when my master strode
towards him. I remained, so did Maria, at the door.

Then Don Arcadio smiled most sadly and most
sweetly on my master. "My dear friend," quoth he,
"you come at the good hour. If you can help me
with Faustino! He insists on leaving me."

"Come now," said Don Eugenio to the prostrate
one, as he sat down beside him, "have you torn a
precious book or had some other accident? See, Don
Arcadio forgives you, and he wants you to forgive
yourself as quickly as he will forget."

But that was not the cause of the disturbance.
Don Arcadio explained that he by chance had men-
tioned to Faustino that he might be able to extend the
lives of both of them considerably. The power to
do this, Don Arcadio said, had been alleged to lie
in liquid gold, which was the substance he was occu-
pied just then, said he, in thoroughly investigating.
He refrained from an opinion on the efficacy of this
liquid gold, but he would make experiments. And
that was why Faustino was distressed, for it appeared
to him unholy for a man to meddle with the length
of his own life, and if his master would persist in
such experiments then he would have to go away.

"Well, if your master fails in his experiment," said
Don Eugenio, "then presumably you will not have to
leave him? And he will not look upon it as disloyal,
I am sure, if you do not assume beforehand that his
act will be successful. Come, Faustino, you are not
impetuous by nature, and it seems to me this is en-
tirely an occasion for delay."

Faustino gazed in a dull fashion both at Don
Eugenio and his master.

"I am very sorry," said the Noahcite to Don

142 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

Eugenio, "that this question has arisen, but it is in-
cumbent on me to learn everything there is to learn
regarding all the miscellaneous substances of which
our earth is made. You will agree that this life-giving
property of gold, if we can prove it to exist, is of no
small importance."

"Oh, you need not speak so modestly," said Don
Eugenio, "for it is of the highest possible importance
to detain the beauty of a woman. I have read that
this, according to Brantome, did actually occur in the
case of the Duchess of Valentinois, who drank quan-
tities of gold."

"Pardon me," said Don Arcadio, with some dignity,
"but I do not claim to preserve mere beauty. It is
life that I would keep from premature annihilation."
And he stood there like a prophet prophesying glory.

My master shrugged his shoulders. "I for one,"
said he, "do not think that we should be grateful to
you for extending life in general. No, I should dis-
approve of that."

Faustino nodded vigorously.

"My dear sir, you pain me," said the Noahcite;
"I do beseech you not to harbor views of that sort.
Why, they are the views of the police! They were,
at all events, of the police in Paris when Saint-Leger
brought about such marvelous cures. No doubt it
was ecclesiastics who incited the repressors; and why
did they not influence them somewhat earlier, when
the good physician, in whose service was Saint-Leger,
treated with such wonderful success the Emperor
Rudolf? Why did not the Church and the police
show their displeasure then?"

"Oho," exclaimed my master, "you will have to
search through all this town and several others if you
want to find a man who can reply to that! Apart

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 143

altogether from the Church, whom I, her most un-
worthy son, may not undertake to judge, it sometimes
did appear to me that likewise the police were in-
scrutable. But I know nothing of the Emperor Rudolf.
Did he do more with his life than the average Parisian
of the period?"

Don Arcadio went over to his large writing-table,
he pulled out a drawer and from it took a piece of
gold. He held this in his left hand, with raised fore-
finger, and he solemnly moved backward and forward.
"Don Eugenio," said he, "you are a skeptic as to the
tremendous powers of this. I hope the day will come
when this august material will revenge itself upon you
very nobly by making your life longer."

Don Eugenio had a rueful smile upon his face. "If
I may for a moment speak about the ordinary services
of gold," said he, "then I assure you that I am no
sort of skeptic. I have always had so little of it
that perhaps I have esteemed it more than was be-
fitting for a student. Since I encountered Juanito,
who, as you perceive, has happily returned to us, I
have been promised by his admirable father an emolu-
ment for giving him some knowledge of the Latin
tongue. He pays me quite as much as I shall earn,
I think, but it will not enable me to have a tranquil
mind concerning this year and the coming years, and
that is also something which befits a student more than
other people,"

"Hombre!" said the Noahcite, "why should you
agitate yourself about such trifles? Any money that
you want is yours. Let that be understood." He
looked as if he would prefer no more allusion to be
made to money.

But my master rose — he was extremely serious — •■

144 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

and going over to the Noahcite, he put his arms around
him.

"It is nothing, it is nothing," said the Noahcite.

"How shall I thank you?" said my master, as he
ceased embracing Don Arcadio. "You are my bene-
factor. Truly you are one of those whose gifts it is
not seemly to decline ... it would be hindering the
sun from doing the great work he loves. Oh, sir, I
am obliged to borrow thoughts from the Arabian
writers, for your generosity is Oriental. Sir, my feel-
ings overpower me — but it may seem strange to you
that a philosopher should care for money."

"No, by no means," said the Noahcite, "for you
will set out on your travels when I die."

"My dear, good friend," said Don Eugenio, "you
have already given me a roof to sleep under, a table
furnished with abundant meat and drink, a conver-
sation which I feel is perfectly unique in Mexico.
You are indeed a bountiful and gracious personage.
And what can I do in return? If I were a great poet
you should be immortal. Woe is me! As I have just
been telling Juanito, I was once requested by my
patron the lord bishop of Zaragoza to compose a
lengthy poem so that people should remember a most
wicked man; but even if that poem still remains upon
the shelves, I ask you — what has been the good of it?
I believe I used a meter that was well in keeping with
the lurid story. What has been the good of it? I
should not be surprised to hear that nobody has ever
read my manuscript. And if I cannot cause a wicked
man to be remembered, how much more profoundly
shall I fail with a man of merit?"

My poor master was so downcast.

But the Noahcite exhorted him to be more cheerful.
In the first place, he said, he really did not covet

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 145

immortality, for he was satisfied with the long years
that liquid gold would give him, if indeed it had the
power. And in the second place, said Don Arcadio,
he really had done nothing.

"I have an idea!" cried Don Eugenio. "Let me go
away with Juanito. In an hour we shall come back
and then . . . !" He did not wait for a reply, he
hurried towards me and together he and I went, almost
running, to our room above the stable. When we got
there he sat down and made me stand just at his knee.

''I am going to copy out for my dear benefactor," he
began, "some phrases of the Arab poets who once
used to flourish in all parts of Spain. Don Arcadio's
lavishness is positively Eastern, and he therefore may
appreciate the Arab compliments that are of great
luxuriance. I sometimes read them in a badly-printed
old translation when I was the servant of a bookstall-
keeper in Madrid. I do not wish to be sententious,
but you see from this how profitable one may find
the reading of remote and what seems on the surface
to be sterile literature. Presently I shall recall the
phrases, you can put them down in your best writing
and our dear benefactor will, I hope, be grateful.

"But first I want to warn you, Juanito, against some
of his opinions and his practices. It surely must be
wrong for any one to try to lengthen human life by
sorcery; herein the man appears to me a most pre-
sumptuous and blaspheming villain. As for the ad-
vantages of keeping death at bay, I fear that Don
Arcadio is no true philosopher, at any rate he has not
my philosophy. . . . There are some people, Juanito,
who assert that they have looked at life in a detached
and unimpassioned way, have given it their calm con-
sideration and have come to this or that conclusion.
They are fools! Or will they say that you can be

146 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

detached and calm and unimpassioned in the midst of
battle? It is one gigantic, rolling battle. Well, we
do get on, we do get on and we fall back again, God
grant that we are moving forward. But in the mean-
time we live by ruin and destruction. I have some-
times thought that every act of ours involves an
injury — which we may never see nor hear of — this is
frequently the case when people have accomplished
their one act of greatness, which is dying. Yet on the
whole we do less harm, I think, when we are dead than
when we live. . . . The more one tries to lead a
worthy life the more is one appalled. For instance,
there was an old monk whose life had been most saintly
during eighty years, and when the abbot came to give
him the last sacraments he would insist on kneeling
though he scarcely could endure the pain; he was in
such a state of penitence and contrition that one might
have thought him the most guilty creature in the
world. His abbot, seeing that he was so horrified at
all his sins, demanded which of them was causing him
the sharpest grief; he answered that the sin of sins
had been a lie which he committed in his childhood.
Thereupon the abbot said that little children were in-
capable of sinning greatly, and he charged him to
allow his mind to be at peace. But this the monk
refused to do; he said that now he had another sin
upon his conscience, the sin of wasting time, for he
had confessed about the lie on many hundreds of
occasions; he had also done severest penance.

"Now," said Don Eugenio, "let us concern ourselves
with those Arabian phrases."

He walked up and down the room and told me to
write very carefully what he dictated.

CHAPTER XII

For the next few days we worked most energetically,
Don Eugenio and I. Of course, the help which I could
render him was limited, and very often I was much
more of a hindrance. He would give me Latin sen-
tences to copy out and learn, while he was busy with
his digest of a certain section of the manuscript. But
if amid the words he gave me there was one that
struck him, if it was an old friend or a new one, he
would put his manuscript aside and he would talk at
large on any subjects that the word brought up. You
who never saw him with his little black cap pushed
away from the grand forehead, while his large and
ruddy face, in every part of it, was grave and gay,
the shadows chasing one another as they do across a
sunlit mountain, and the veil of haze which dances so
mysteriously over our blue mountains often seemed to
dance across the eyes of Don Eugenio, you who never
saw my master scarcely will be able to imagine that
such various sentiments — to me the most sublime and
eloquent and wise and curious of all the world — could
issue from the lips of one man. By the way, I am not
sure if I would like you to have known him; it is as
though I had a shrine in the green forest which no
other person can approach.

Well, he used to talk of things which he had seen
and done and what he thought. I loved to hear him
speak about his failures, which were always made
against the side I hated. Sometimes he discussed what
he would do if he were Emperor of Mexico. Quantidd

iA7

148 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

sapientia gubernatur mundus! And I fear that if my
master had succeeded to some throne it might have
been delightful for the country, but he would have been
assassinated. So was Maximilian, but how different
was he! He would have scarcely deigned to listen to
my master, for he did not even free the slaves.

Sometimes Don Eugenio would discourse upon a
moral or another topic and would interrupt himself
to ask me to go down to Don Arcadio and ask the
meaning of a Latin geological expression which he
could not fathom. Later on we were supplied by Don
Arcadio with various authors in the Latin language,
such as Joannes Stobaeus and Olympiodorus, who had
touched these matters, more or less. And those were
the proud moments of my life when Don Eugenio
asked me to look up in one or other of them for
an explanation of some word or phrase in Roger Bacon.
I was rather sorry if by accident I hit upon the ex-
planation very quickly; it more often happened that
I never found it. We had also, in a Spanish transla-
tion, the book which Dioscorides, of Anazarbos, the
great army doctor, wrote on minerals.

During these very glorious days we neither of us
knew if an arrangement had been made between Faus-
tino and the Noahcite. Perhaps the faithful and most
pious servant had agreed to stay till the experiments
with liquid gold had either proved successful or had
not; perhaps the Noahcite was turning his attention
to another branch of his great work. At any rate
there seemed to be no jar in their relations, and Faus-
tino went about his business in precisely the same
quiet and contented fashion as before.

But now Maria used to come each night into my
room. When Don Eugenio had fallen into his sound
slumber she would creep away. I sometimes fell asleep

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 149

myself before she came, and on the other nights I
could not bear to wait so long — I leaned out of the
window and I threw myself upon the bed again, and
finally I used to feel my way along the corridor till
I was outside Don Eugenio's room. If he was not
yet snoring I would wait, and I was fiercely hot and
cold so that I trembled, and it seemed to me that
if he was awake he certainly would hear me. But
I could not go away. And in the end the door would
softly open and we two would glide together down the
corridor.

When we were in my room she loved to tell me that
I was a fool for having left it.

And I said that nobody could hear me. I had gone
so carefully.

"Some night," she said, "my little Juanito, you
will lose the road and stumble down the stairs and
kill yourself. Ay de mi, what shall I do? Besides,
it will make such a noise."

Sometimes I never answered her at all, but grasped
her in my arms, and while I kissed her, while her
lovely hair was round me and upon my shoulders, I
would feel that I was drowning, drowning into endless
life. Sometimes Maria would resist me, pushing me
away with her open hands or scratching me or spit-
ling, just as if she were a wild thing of the woods, and
all her useless struggles made me more and more en-
flamed. I was surprised at my own strength as grad-
ually I began to overpower her, and then it was her
arms no longer pushed against me, but were winding
round me and our hearts were one heart singing,
singing.

Soon, alas! the moments of enchantment ended, and
as I lay at her side and she still held my hand in hers
I used to have another kind of thought.

I50 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

"Maria, you must leave him, Don Eugenio," said I.

"Oho," she laughed. I could not see her, but I
knew what sort of roguish look was in her eyes.

"Maria, will you listen to me?"

She pretended to be shocked. "What gratitude!"
said she. "From being nothing in the world he brings
you here and lets you be his comrade. Then you
turn on him with treachery and try to leave him deso-
late. Oh, fie! I never thought that Juanito would
be such a monster."

"But, Maria, do you love me?"

"It is most peculiar," she said, "that you should
ask me that. Indeed, I think that it is not polite
considering what we have done. You are a savage
person, Juanito. And if you continue so against your
master, who is the most kind of men, I shall not speak
to you another word and you will see if you will like
it to be treated sternly or, as they say, to love God
in a strange land."

What was this? Was this Maria speaking? Some-
how I conveyed to her that she astonished me.

"It is all easy to explain," she said. "You cannot
live with Don Eugenio and still be only a poor ignorant
and foolish Indian girl."

Perhaps he had been doing miracles on me, but at
this instant she had suddenly been raised for me to
some extraordinary pinnacle. I felt I must apologize
for my embraces. And I did so.

But she interrupted me with laughter of a kind
which persons on a pinnacle did not, according to my
theories of deportment, use. She merrily rebuked me
for my notions and she kissed me, and "My little
Juanito, if you think I do not want to be with you,"
said she, "would I be here? You please me. By the
wrath of God, it was on the first day that I saw you,

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 151

when you looked at me with such big eyes of pity
as I sat on the lieutenant's horse, it was just then
that I decided we would love each other."

Scarcely had she finished speaking than I flung
myself again into her arms, and with a new fire blazing
in me I pressed kisses here and there and everywhere.
The room was filled with music of mad fairies.

She told me that she wanted me to listen to her
and she then enjoined me to be thoughtful, more than
I had been. "This time will you be so kind," said
she, "will you remember that you are not by yourself,
and that a gentleman is he who lives in order to please
others? Juanito, you are not offended, are you? All
the young are selfish till one has instructed them."

"But where did you learn all these things?" I asked,
for she amazed me.

It was Don Eugenio again.

I had forgotten her injunction. I was on the point
of speaking of him.

"And if I am here," she said, "to-morrow and the
next night and the next, and they are all the same to
you, then you are a barbarian, says Don Eugenio, and
worse. But now I will forget him for a time, my
little one."

Presently she also said I was her love and her sweet
syrup and her little cat.

I was very glad, because my ignorance had made me
feel so humble, and I had been very anxious that she
should be pleased with me.

At last, when I was lying there and she was sitting
at my side and was caressing me, I thought of En-
riqueta and I told her, but she knew already.

"The man who comes on horseback with our milk,"
she said, "he also takes it up to the lieutenant, and he
told me that this woman Enriqueta is in the apartment

152 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

and that she has asked him to bring you to see her."

"But," I pointed out, "you did not tell me."

"No, I did not," said Maria. "How she came into
the hands of the lieutenant, Don Esteban Fuentes, the
milkman does not know. But she will not be his good
angel, says the milkman, for she swears that she will
always be most faithful and will not desert him. She
has even told the milkman that in a campaign she will
not cease to follow her beloved. Everybody knows
that it is only women of the common soldiers who do
such a thing — to cook for them and nurse them and
look after their belongings, children, dogs, and par-
rots, which the soldier does not carry even if he be
on horseback — and then in the middle of a battle if a
soldier is uneasy, fearing lest the woman or the burden
she has with her is not safe, he can withdraw to where
she is and reassure himself. But if an officer goes
back out of the battle it is not the same, because he is
an officer, and so the woman who is luring him to this
is an abandoned woman."

"Any one would think," said I, "that you are fond
of the lieutenant."

"Oh, that shameless one! But it is you I love."
She bent down over me and was most tender.

And I hoped that she would soon sit up and talk
again, but when she did it was about us two.

"How did I ever live," said she, "without you? I
was waiting for you, I suppose. I really like you very,
very much, my Juanito. And I only hope that you
like me as much as that."

"Oh, yes," said I.

"This woman Enriqueta," she went on, "has told
the milkman that she will be faithful always, as if
anybody should be faithful always! She has fastened
herself on to him and how much can she love the man

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 153

if she remains with him when they no longer love
each other? ... In my village there are two inhabi-
tants, the one an old man who is called Jacinto, and
a handsome old woman who is Catalina. Now and
then they see each other at the large tree where the
people sit, and there they have a little gossip. Once
they lived together and had many children, who are
men and women of that village and of other parts.
Jacinto never married Catalina, for they were not rich
enough to pay the fees, and even if they had been
they would not have married; and when both of them
were old and deaf and quarrelsome they lived apart,
which was a very good arrangement. But a young
priest came from Europe, and he scarcely settled down
before he wanted to reform the village, and he started
with these two old people. First he said that they
must marry, but they utterly refused. He tried to
make them, and he failed. And then he said, at all
events they must not live apart. But for a long time
he could not persuade them even to do this. He
talked to them and talked to them about the glory
they would have in heaven if they were good people,
and he shouted at them of the flames in which bad
people had to burn. He shouted at them privately
and when he preached a sermon in our church, and
every one enjoyed it, for the priest we used to have
before him had been very gentle with regard to all
these matters, and the people knew that he was right.
The young man still continued with his raging, and I
think it gave him pleasure also, for the church was
always full and everybody listened with great care,
and also the young priest thought he had come into
our village like an early martyr of the Church, a
pioneer, and he determined to be just as bold and des-
perate as they had been. And in the end he took a

154 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

torch and set on fire the little house of Catalina, so that
she should be compelled to go into Jacinto's house.
And that is what she did, and all the people of the
village laughed. But Catalina and Jacinto fought each
other all day long, and then he threw her out and
there was nowhere else for her to go, because the other
people were afraid that any dwelling which received
her would be set on fire. And thus she marched into
the house of the young priest, with all the village
looking on. He could not order her away, and so
she stayed there and became his mistress."

While Maria told me this affecting story I could feel
her little laugh go rippling through me, and she must
have known it, for she asked me if I would not look
at the nice ornament which hung upon her breast.
It was not shining much, and I had to get near to it to
see it properly. And the result was that my mind
went back to other thoughts. These were encouraged
by Maria in her irresistible and most endearing fashion,
and it grieved me that she should be growing more
and more vivacious just when I was very tired. But
I vowed I would not let her scoff at me for that, and
it would likewise have been lacking in all courtesy if
I had disappointed her. And I am glad to say that
I was able to prevent her feeling any wrath. She was
the sun, and flowers sprang to life within me.

But naturally it was difficult for me to concentrate
myself a few hours later on my work. While Don
Eugenio was busily engaged in making the most elo-
quent translation of a passage — for he always said that
easy reading is not brought about by easy writing —
I would sit and dream. I watched the pale clouds as
they drifted gracefully across the dome of our blue
sapphire sky, and as they separated into little fleets of
sailing boats and as they wandered pitifully with no

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 155

pilot or as they began to sink into the sea of sapphire.
I was sorry for them, they would never know Maria.

"Will you be so good," said Don Eugenio, "as to
look up several words for me in that translation of our
Dioscorides. But I observe that you are disinclined
to work this morning. Let Pedacius or Pedanius
Dioscorides be an example to you; he was famous for
his industry and for the patience he devoted to re-
search. He fell, no doubt, into most grievous errors
and inaccuracies, but his talents are not to be blamed
as much as the defective state of science when he
wrote. Posterity will never blame you, Juanito, if you
are less perfect than itself. And if you are industrious
I will not blame you either."

I murmured that I had been thinking.

"Ah, my son," said he, "I should not like to know
how much time that has wasted since the world began.
When you are older you will see on every side, for
instance in a library, the proof of how men have flung
all their lives away in this pursuit. Perhaps there
was a good philosopher of Augsburg in the sixteenth
century who spent his life in thinking that a certain
branch of knowledge should be propagated and he
wrote a hundred books about it; then his grandson
spent his life in thinking that this branch was fatuous
and obsolete and to be extirpated, and he wrote a
hundred books. And if these two hundred are not all
forgotten they distract us with their rival claims. I
would impress upon you, my dear son, that we are
not obliged to think with this philosopher or that — we
need not think at all. When I was in the seminary of
that famous capital which I shall never see again, they
taught me that the thinking on all subjects of impor-
tance had been done already by the Fathers of the
Church. Now there are two ways, I was told, of

156 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

thinking — one is right and one is wrong, one is of the
Church and one is of the Lutherans, the Calvinists, the
Moors, the murderers, the tyrants, the false witnesses,
the usurers, and all such people. If I thought of any-
thing myself there was a chance that I would harken
to the whisper of some devil or philosopher and not
think as I ought to do. And therefore it was certainly
less dangerous if I refrained from thinking. I need
only learn and then remember what the Church taught.
It might be that now and then a person who was not
inside the Church would have the right thoughts with
regard to one or two things, but that was no more
than accident. The thoughts of man are wounded
birds, they told me, for their range is very small. And
any one who trusts himself to them is more than rash,
''How different it is, my son, with those thoughts
which have been provided by the holy Church, for
they are indestructible, immutable, and universal.
Sometimes they may seem ridiculous, but that, I was
informed at Zaragoza, is a sign that we have lost the
beautiful simplicity of mind which flourished in those
far-off pastoral days. The thoughts provided by the
Church may seem to us entirely childish and when
that occurs the reason is that we are ageing. Oh, let
us recapture those great thoughts, so placid and pro-
found! My teachers in the seminary, when I ques-
tioned them, admitted that if one should have inside
one's head no other thought save what the Sacred
Fathers had laid down, there would arise between
one's fellow-creatures and oneself embarrassment, mis-
understandings, and recrimination. This, however,
would be due exclusively to the deplorable back-sliding
of our fellow-men, whose thoughts had been so
changed. It was our duty, then, despite the physical

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 157

and moral opposition that we would encounter, to have
in one's mind exclusively these venerable thoughts.
But they admitted also that it is not always easy to
remember them, indeed that we should often stand in
gravest jeopardy of not remembering if we were un-
assisted by that grace which sometimes we, who are
such miserable sinners, are in no condition to receive.
"But after having made myself as like a Sacred
Father as my strength allowed me, I was recommended
not to waste my time in thinking, but to act. Is it
not true that of the greater saints a handful have
achieved their crowns by holy thinking, while a multi-
tude have gained them by some holy deed? Chris-
tianity, my child, says that it is the faith of the sincere
and humble, and so largely are the saints selected from
the ranks of active rather than of meditative men that
it would seem as if the chance of being made a saint
is in proportion as the candidate's activity of body
is superior to his activity of mind. Thus in the
hierarchy of saints the one who was admitted with
least opposition is the one who thought the least.
And whereas there is no man of any vile profession
and no woman of the most antique for whom there
may not be a halo, one imagines that the preference
is given to such people as are heedless, careless, in-
attentive, flighty, giddy, and, in fact, devoid of the
capacity for thought. Yet the possession of these
qualities will not suffice; the energy that would be
needed to suppress them must be used in doing noble
and good acts, of which a great variety have in the
Christian Church been recognized as meriting a saint-
ship. So, my Juanito, you will gather that if it is true
what I was taught and what I deduce therefrom, you
should not put yourself to inconvenience in learning

158 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

what the world, which is so vain and transitory, may
esteem; but rather you should strive to do some deed
which is agreeable to God."

I had been thinking that my master's words were
wonderful and pious, but as I applied them to myself
I dreaded having to cease learning Latin at the hands
of Don Eugenio, and besides, I had no furious desire
to be a saint. I ventured to inform my dear, good
master of these sentiments.

"Juanito," he replied, "your honored father, who
no doubt is talking of us to his fighting-cocks, shall not
be disappointed, nor shall you, for since the Latin
language teaches us to read those Sacred Fathers you
may cultivate it with an easy mind. And as for these
ideas concerning act and thought, my son, one cannot
help admiring them. Consider how a Church is glori-
ous which raises up the simple and the unoriginal to
the confusion of the others! How far-reaching a re-
ward that Church can have, since it appeals to men
who do not glitter with intelligence and surely the
prevailing spirit of the human race looks angrily at
intellect. Oh, the grandeur of the Church that solves
in so complete a fashion all our little gropings, all
our doubts! Oh, the celestial wisdom! Oh, the light
from heaven which conducts the poor and purblind,
while it dazzles uUerly the men who fondly thought
that they could see a little ! Oh, miracle! Oh, wonder
of the universe! Oh, wise commandment which is
greater than all earthly wisdom! And, my son, I
could, if it were needful, give you many very adequate
examples of promotion to the highest place of men
and women who refused to think for themselves. Saint
Leonardo of the Order of Saint Francis was, while
still a boy, so glad to let his elders think for him that
on returning to his uncle's home from church he sat

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 159

repeating all that he had heard there while his supper
grew quite cold. There is the edifying instance of the
Venerable Vianney, of the diocese of Lyons, who pre-
ferred to practise the renunciation of his will instead of
corporal austerities, 'We have nothing of our own,'
said he, 'except our will, and it is that which I must sac-
rifice to God.' And assuredly obedience could no fur-
ther go than with the blessed Bonaventura of Potenza,
who even after death was guided by the thoughts of
others. It is told that when his corpse, exhaling a
sweet odor, was borne in procession through the village
street, one of the carriers ordered him to lift his arm
so that a vein might be perforated by the doctor, and
his blessed arm, whose every movement had been reg-
ulated by the will of others, raised itself. Now there
are many, many more examples of this virtue of not
thinking for oneself; and yet, my son, I never could
accept that precept of the seminary. It is all too prob-
able that I have thrown away my time in thinking,
but do you remember those philosophers of Augsburg
whom I told you of? Well, even if oblivion has settled
over every one of their two hundred books I still be-
lieve that honest thoughts, if they are written or if
they are not, have just the same chance as an honest
man of being dowered with eternal life. . . . And now
you will oblige me, Juanito, by returning to the
Dioscorides, for there are in this otherwise attractive
manuscript some technical expressions which are just
as dark to me as were the horses of Poseidon, and
yet some of those Etruscan vases give him both a white
horse and a black one. Oh, there is no single question
that we can be sure of! We are shadows passing in a
world of shadow! And I spend my time in studying
geology, which has to do with solid things."

Then Don Arcadio's long figure stalked into the

i6o THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

room. He looked in an appreciative way at my dear
master, and said gravely that it was most true.

"In fact," said he, "that science is associated with
the solid things of life in more than one way. Is it
not a privilege that you and I should be engaged upon
it?"

"Sefior Noahcite," said Don Eugenio, "I have been
talking rather philosophically to my pupil, so much so
indeed that I do not feel, at this moment, sure of
anything."

"But you are sure about the virtues of geology, at
all events?" said Don Arcadio.

"If I may say so," said my master, with a smile of
tired amusement, "you are standing there with the
appearance of an army sergeant. Yes, and you recall
to me an episode. I said just now that I do not feel
sure of anything and I agree that it is much more
comfortable if you can be sure of everything, as was
that sergeant I am going to tell you of — he knew
exactly how to treat the foe, because he knew that they
possessed no single moral quality, not fortitude, not
valor and not even truthfulness. One day his men
were burying a little heap of them, and presently a
soldier came to him and said that that one yonder
could not be included, for he was not dead. 'Bury
him, I say,' growled the sergeant. Away went the
soldier and came back again. 'We can't bury that
man,' said he, 'because he is not dead at all.' 'Bury
him,' growled the sergeant. A second time the man
went back and once more he returned. 'We can't
bury him,' said he, 'he is not dead.' 'And how do
you know that?' growled the sergeant. 'He says so
himself,' * replied the man. 'How often have I told

* See Note I., p. 299.

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS i6i

you,' said the sergeant, 'that you are not to believe a
word they say?' . . . This is the story," said my
master. "Do you think," he said, with some anxiety,
"that I am not a person of sufficient seriousness? I
do assure you that I have been reading this old manu-
script with concentration, and I have been earning all
the money you so kindly promised me, but which —
which . . ."

"Are you ready for another manuscript?" inquired
the Noahcite. "I have received some more from
Europe from my correspondents."

I could see that Don Eugenio had intended to pursue
the subject of the salary which was as yet unpaid.
However, he did nothing more than shrug his shoul-
ders and "I hope," said he, "your manuscripts have
turned out to be valuable."

"Thank you," said the Noahcite. "I shall be sat-
isfied if they are half as valuable to me as to the eyes
of the officials in the custom house at Veracruz. It
is a monstrous thing that one should have to pay on
manuscripts. The law says nothing, but the Chief
Official writes me that I must be patriotic and allow
him to assess my imports so that Maximilian's Gov-
ernment may have more funds. And what do I care
for this Government or any other that we have? The
Chief Official tells me that it is untrue to call it either
futile or extravagant, and finally, he says, it stands
between us and a Government of Juarez, the Liberal
leader. And he says it would be dreadful to be ruled
by Liberal bandits, who prevent the priests from own-
ing what they like and doing what they like. He says
it is my glory to assist the Empire in this way, and
he regrets the conduct of the British Minister five years
ago — a diplomat of insight and a statesman, says the
Chief Official, would not have gone out of Mexico be-

i62 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

cause it had seemed well to the authorities to enter the
legation and appropriate 660,000 pesos. A Govern-
ment, says he, which has got no resources is not merely
pitiable but also dangerous."

"Perhaps," said Don Eugenio, "that Government
alone is good which makes itself superfluous." Then
suddenly he had a brilliant idea. "Senor," he cried,
"why should not you and I pack up these books and
manuscripts and maps and all the rest of it, and travel
to some other country? Juanito's father would, I
think, raise no objection. You and I and Juanito and
Maria and Faustino — let us go!"

For a little time the Noahcite walked up and down
the room, his hands behind his back. And then he
stopped and shook his head. "No, no," said he, "what
is the use of it? We may find something even worse.
And, though I am without experience of any other
country, it may be that those which to a stranger seem
the kindest and most hospitable, are in truth the most
exacting. At any rate, I have a pamphlet which was
written a few years ago by some indignant Nicaraguans
(but published in Honduras) when their Government
was in the hands of General Walker, the American,
known as the filibuster. It is stated in the pamphlet
that all new American arrivals in the country are pre-
sented with so many acres and are thus made citizens
of the Republic, eligible for such offices as may appeal
to them. The Nicaraguans who have a like ambition
must be honorable men, but for the new arrival there
is no such obligation. Well, who would not go to
Nicaragua? Apparently, a married couple of these
immigrants receive an extra hundred acres, but the
pamphlet says that 'very often they are only married
civilly, which is the purest concubinage, and this does
not hinder them from having children, in accordance

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 163

with their democratic, filibustering ideas.' So Nica-
ragua, which looked more generous than any country
I had heard of, is, indeed, exacting. And I fear that
it is much the same with all the others. . . . But
would you care to take a stroll? I have not left the
house for many days and that is really why I came
here. Faustino says that I must take a walk."

"Most willingly," said Don Eugenio; and, as the
Noahcite turned round, my master made a sign to me
and so we followed him.

CHAPTER XIII

As my master and the Noahcite walked slowly on
the narrow footpath^ I myself ran down the hill in front
of them. This was the street of memories — Maria and
the twilight and the rocking-chairs of those who gazed
at us — but now as I ran down it in the sparkling
brilliance of the morning it appeared to me as if the
morning was a river^ gay with music, and upon that
river all my memories were flakes of snow. It was
delightful to be running down the street.

And where the town comes to an end I saw both
Enriqueta and old Captain Bartolme Robledo as they
were returning over the stone bridge that leads into
the open country. She was sitting very proudly on
a horse, behind her was a soldier-servant on another
horse, and poor Don Bartolme was trudging through
the dust. Perhaps he had put on his ancient uniform
— which, you may recollect, was only his for having
stolen it from a dead officer — he may have put it on
in order to win favor in the eyes of Enriqueta. But
she was not paying him the least attention, and the
soldier-servant looked like one of those who do not
take an interest in anything. The dust lay in large
patches on the Captain's uniform, which once had been
dark blue; it lay upon his careworn face and hairy
bosom, for he had unfastened a few buttons of the
tunic. He was panting very much, and as he lurched
along I was afraid that he would fall. And Enriqueta
sat there like the cruel eagle of the arms of Mexico,
which has the serpent tightly in her talons. I had

164

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 165

never seen her look so ruthless and magnificent and
beautiful. She may not have observed me; anyhow,
she took no notice and the three had passed me, and
I still was gazing at them when my master and the
Noahcite came down the street, and all together we
went on across the bridge.

The Noahcite was talking. "But the other day,"
said he, "you were reluctant to agree that liquid gold
confers a benefit by lengthening our life. Indeed, you
doubted whether such phenomena were possible. And
with regard to other substances of which our earth is
made, I fear that you will not believe in their great
properties, whatever these may be, and so we two will
be compelled to argue endlessly. But, on the other
hand, I have been thinking that if all these substances
can be transmuted into one another we shall merely
have to know the properties of one, and when we are
agreed on those we shall be thoroughly acquainted
with the properties of all the numerous and interesting
substances which go to form our earth. And that will
be a notable step forward. When we once have settled
what is in this earth we will know perfectly what lay
in Noah's head. Yes, we will know this even better
than he knew himself, because the very large propor-
tion of his powers lay within him in a dormant or, I
should say, latent state."

"I wonder if he could see people who were yet un-
born," said Don Eugenio.

"By careful study on the lines which I have indi-
cated," said the Noahcite, "we shall ere very long
know all about him. But we must work back to him,
as I explained, not through the wayward generations,
but through earth, which is to-day what it was then."

"I wonder what the good man thought of us," said
Don Eugenio.

i66 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

"And how convenient/' said the Noahcite, "if all
these miscellaneous substances of earth can be trans-
muted into one another. Mind you, I do not say that
it is so; but I am investigating. I have thrown myself
these last few days most ardently into the question,
ardently and with a palpitating hope. Think how
much nearer it would bring us to the goal!"

By this time we were a good distance from Jalapa,
and I thought that Don Eugenio, who was not built for
walking more than necessary, would sit down against
a tree or else against a stone which here and there
had risen over its old comrades of the ancient road
and had perhaps received a covering of roses or of
moss. But yet he persevered, and Don Arcadio looked
as if he would walk up to the green mountains and
the blue ones.

"It is natural," said Don Arcadio, "that all the trans-
mutations which we read of deal with sundry metals
being turned to gold."

"For my part I am ready to believe," said Don
Eugenio, "that if one metal can be changed to gold
then you can change one metal into any other metal
that you like. When Saint Eugracia, whose unworthy
hagiographer I am, was buried, eighteen angels came,
according to a good account, to give assistance at the
funeral. And there are people who reject the tale
because it would be an astounding incident for eighteen
angels to appear at anybody's funeral. But, as I
pointed out, if you are willing to believe in one angel,
then it wants no greater faith to believe in hundreds."

"And I suppose you will agree," said Don Arcadio,
"that if one can transmute a little metal into gold one
can transmute a limitless amount?"

"I undertake that I would never, never ask you
for another piece of gold," said Don Eugenio, "if I

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 167

knew how to make it. Why should I want to have
a store of diamonds if I could get them out of carbon
with more ease than from Golconda?"

"Senor ex-librarian," said the Noahcite, "you may
not have pursued the subject, but it seems to me that
there are ample precedents for the successful trans-
mutation of a metal into gold, I have examined the
good work of Michael Sendivogius, the Moravian,
whose real name was Sensophax. He helped the
alchemist called Sethon to escape from prison, but
could not persuade him to reveal the secrets of the
powder which had been the cause of his incarceration
and most fearful torments. Later on, however,
Sendivogius inherited this powder and, despite the
troubles into which it plunged him, he continued to
employ it in transmuting metals into gold, and was,
indeed, so anxious to enlarge his stock of powder that
he married Sethon 's widow, only to discover that she
could not make it. And I ask you, would the persecu-
tion of him have proceeded if his power had not been
effective? Would the Polish nobleman have laid an
ambush on the road and seized him and confined him
in a dungeon, out of which he managed to escape, a
naked man, but with the powder? Would Duke
Frederic, of Wiirtemberg have entertained him and
conferred on him a title if the powder had been use-
less? And the rival alchemist who was attached to
Frederic's court, would he have treacherously urged
our Sendivogius to fly and then overtaken him with
twelve armed men and robbed him of the powder and
imprisoned him again? No, everything appears to
show that he was able to transmute another metal into
gold. We need not ask about the composition of his
powder any more than we need ask about the marvel-
ous philosopher's stone. It is enough that it exists."

i68 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

"Yes, yes," said Don Eugenio, "but why then have
they not converted into gold our rocks and stones and
mud and all this earth?"

"And thus have nothing left to do?" said Don
Arcadio. "What princes then would humbly crave
their presence and would shower gifts upon them?
And, moreover, it is sometimes the employer's fault
that alchemists do not convert a substance into gold.
For example, it was Henry the Sixth of England who —
dissatisfied with the rate at which the gold was being
manufactured — caused his alchemists to occupy them-
selves with making him an amalgam of copper, out of
which he struck false money."

For a little time my master and the Noahcite walked
on in silence, each engaged with his own thoughts.

And then the Noahcite said that he spoke on the
authority, not of such bygone heroes as Spinoza or
Leibnitz, but of the most recent scientific coryphsei,
who asserted that it is by no means foolish to admit
that all matter is one and that there are irreducible
atoms which, in their agglomeration submitting to
various laws, perhaps to a single one, take every form
upon themselves. Thus, all imaginable transmutations
cease any longer to appear impossible. What we must
do is to discover the simple irreducible body and then
the laws which it obeys in the assumption of those
multiple forms which it affects."

"Oh, well, I do not say," quoth Don Eugenio, "that
I do not believe in all these things. For at the bottom
of my heart I cannot help believing m the holiness of
man, and this requires, you will agree, a faith more
stubborn than is wanted for the school of any alchemist.
What they assert is capable of proof and therefore less
sublime than those exalted things which I believe and
which, if God does not abandon me, I shall not cease

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 169

believing with my latest thought, however contrary to
reason and ridiculous they may appear. Amen . . .
But I should like to have the smallest proof, dear
friend, of your ability to turn metal into gold."

"Oh, listen to him! There is nothing easier," cried
Don Arcadio, "and I will do it instantly. I would,
that is to say, if I possessed the needful apparatus.
But I will go home and I will read about the exploits
of some others of the grand alchemical philosophers."

He stopped and turned and walked away from us.
My master also did not hesitate, but strode along with
great determination and he did not once look round.
At last he spied a ruined wall which stood inside a
grove of flowering myrtles at a little distance from the
road. He climbed up and I climbed up after him, and
then we saw that we were in the ruins of a convent.
It had evidently been destroyed a long time, for the
whole interior was a thicket of rank vegetation. Don
Eugenio found a place where we could sit against the
wall, with purple flowers growing at our back, and
then he told me that he would be glad if I rejected
some of these extraordinary notions of the Noahcite.

"Whatever he may say," said Don Eugenio, "I think
the changing of a baser metal into gold would not
have God's approval. I will tell you why. 'He that is
unjust, let him be unjust still: and he which is filthy,
let him be filthy still: and he that is righteous, let him
be righteous still: and he that is holy, let him be holy
still.' That is from the Bible; does it not lay down
that baser substance should not hope to be converted
into gold? And yet — and yet . . . But this I do know,
that to some God gives great beauty and to others ugli-
ness. He is not a huckster with a pair of scales, who
compensates with sundry virtues those of us who are
deficient in this gift or that. It surely is most impious

I70 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

to say, as people do^ that God does not allow the
beautiful to have the same amount of other estimable
qualities as have the rest of us."

He brushed a fly from his large forehead and leaned
back and smiled. But then another thought came over
him. "That fellow," he exclaimed, "that Noahcite,
that spagirist, with the agglomerating atoms which sub-
mit to laws! Am I to think of Enriqueta as a mere
assemblage of these atoms? And even as they came
together so will they, with absolute indifference, depart
from one another ! Bueno, but they make a very pleas-
ing picture. The dear girl! No, I will not brood on
her transitory atoms any more than she does."

"Did you see her on that horse," I asked, "and Don
Bartolme?"

"Yes, and even if I am entirely wrong in what I said
of God's design — I should not be astonished if it can
be proved, by copious quotations, that it is the very
opposite and that a lower metal should be turned to
gold, and that there is no lower metal in the sight of
the Creator — yet I am pleased that we have talked of
God before we talk of Enriqueta, for it is the custom
of those people, Don Arcadio's new proteges, who sally
out in search of the philosopher's stone, to make a start
by turning their unbalanced minds to the All-Powerful.
And as for Enriqueta, you will not have seen how
grandly beautiful she has become. In Colorado she
was at a disadvantage, owing to the meanness of her
situation. Here, it seems to me, she is redoubtable, she
is serene, she is the princess of that fairy tale who
thought she was a farmer's servant till she wandered
out into the world and found the Kingdom of her
ancestors. But what will Enriqueta do? One sees
that she has made a friend already. It is to be feared
that she will cause some bloodshed; for I apprehend

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 171

that she is no more virginal in her behavior than this
place in which we sit is like a convent. . . . Yet, after
all," said he, "why should one deplore so much the
quarrels she will bring about? Is it not a nobler and
more sacred thing to let your blood flow for the sake
of beauty rather than for politics? And Mexicans,
apparently, insist that it shall flow. But if the country
were to fight on account of one beautiful woman, they
would understand why they are fighting. By the way,
the most austere advocate of warfare would be satis-
fied, because the struggle, for the very large proportion
of the combatants, would be without hope of personal
benefit. And every one would understand what he is
fighting for. Those poor devils of Indian soldiers in
this country, do they understand why they are made
to kill each other?" ... He looked at me, his eyes
aflame with honest indignation and with pity.

And I gazed at him.

"Poor devils! And the soldiers of all other coun-
tries!" ... He was panting. But, as he continued
looking at me, he began to shake his wise old head.
"And you," said he, "my Juanito, if you really under-
stand what is a virgin you will not do as the vulgar
folk one day when I was in Madrid^ for some one asked
a little boy, who had been taken to the pictures at the
Prado, what a virgin is, and he said that it is a woman
with a child. Of course, the foolish people laughed.
But, Juanito, if in course of time you should forget
whatever I have taught you, this, at all events, I beg
you to remember — that we, if we dare condemn the
morals of our fellow-creatures must condemn no
woman, for so many of them are like water-lilies that
are virginal and white, though rooted in repulsive mud.
The time will come for you, my son, when you will
love the sex; to love is to understand, but you will find

172 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

that you must love woman a great deal before you
can understand her a little."

Later on, as we were going back towards Jalapa,
I explained to Don Eugenio how it was my fault that
Enriqueta had arrived, and how it was that she had
come to our lieutenant.

"Ah, well," quoth my good master, "let us hope that
God has given him the gift which is greater than
beauty, I mean the power of appreciating it. We must
lose no time in going to that house."

I wondered if my master would remove her, even as
he took Maria from the same lieutenant in the forest.

Once we were inside the town it was not difficult to
find the place where Don Esteban Fuentes lived. The
loiterer who took us to the top of that particular street,
and was carefully polishing his nails as he strolled
along, would surely not have left us had he noticed
what was happening at the house. Don Bartolme, the
poor old captain, who was seated on a bench outside
it, looked as if his sufferings had made him numb.
His arms hung limply down, and though the dust,
which was all over him, was even on his mouth he did
not seem to care. The noise of a guitar and singing
came out of the open windows of a room above him,
on the first floor. It was Enriqueta and Don Esteban
Fuentes singing.

When we halted opposite the Captain and saluted
him, he nodded at us with no sign of pleasure or aston-
ishment. He nodded at us^ and his head continued
moving up and down.

"My friend," said Don Eugenio, "may pleasant days
await you in Jalapa."

We could hear them singing, with emotion, that
romance by Juan Melendez Valdes:

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 173

"Welcome, welcome, lovely rain,

The refreshment of our valleys.

You are bringing us abundance

As you pass along the land."

"Forgive me for intruding," said my master, "but
I hope that you are not a follower of Epicurus. How
magnificent is our religion which proclaims that they
are blessed who suffer. And that is why the Epicurean
loses faith in religion. Blessed are those who mourn,
my friend. It is sorrow which tests and awakens the
generous sentiments; it arms against pleasure; it
fertilizes."

And the song continued:

"Beautifully you bring life
To the flowers which are bursting
To receive you, which no longer
Can remain within the bud."

Suddenly Don Bartolme Robledo shook his fist at
my good master. "You torment me!" he exclaimed.
"You are the children of the devil, you and she and
all of them! And why have you come here to mock
me? Do you think that you are doing good, for-
sooth?"

Don Eugenio sat down beside the angry man. He
laid a hand upon his leg and looked at him with tears
in his blue eyes.

"Well, well, is it not so?" said the Captain.

"The good which I can do," said Don Eugenio,
"talking to you is perhaps extremely small. I would
to God that it were different. It may be that great
benefits come out of grief, but when our heart is flut-
tering against its barriers the heavens seem to shrink

174 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

around us and we break our heart against another
cage. My friend," said Don Eugenio, with a smile of
brave encouragement — a tear was passing down his
cheek, he let it pass — "my friend," said he, "however
gray and poor the world may seem to you, I wager that
to scores of other people it is . . ."

"How much will you wager?" asked the Captain.

"H ombre! you have killed the shadows," said my
master. "You have a mightier sword than this one,"
said he, as he touched the Captain's weapon.

"But I say the world is . . ."

"Let us listen to the music," said my master.

We could hear the voices overhead and the guitar.
They sang with fervor:

"Oh, the colors are more radiant
Than the pearls of your bestowing,
And the ground on which you break
You adorn with diamonds."

"After all," said Don Eugenio, "we should be grate-
ful, you and I, for those who sing to us. Have you
not seen old, venerable men who crown themselves
with vine-leaves and go capering about a village, while
the merciful and righteous people yearn to veil their
eyes and sometimes veil them? Surely if the young
had . . ."

And the song continued:

"Come down, come, you shall appease
The hunger of the dusty field.
What you touch will dance again
And old age will be forgotten."

"If the young had been more natural, more joyous,"
said my master, "then the old would have been satisfied

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 175

to play their part and listen. What a worthy picture
we present," said Don Eugenio, "we two old men who
sit here on the bench and . . ."

"Is that why you came?" the Captain said.

And just then I saw the lieutenant at the window.
He put both his arms upon the wood-work and gazed
downwards. He was smiling. And before my master
answered Don Bartolme I saw Enriqueta also. She
stood there beside her friend, she leaned against him,
and she signaled to me several things and very
amiably.

I think if Don Bartolme asked his question in all
innocence he quickly grew suspicious, owing to my
master not replying. It may be his question took my
master unawares, but on the other hand perhaps it was
that Don Eugenio did not deign to tell a falsehood, for
he was the noblest and the most illustrious of men.

"Aha," the Captain cried. "I know exactly why
you came. We are two brothers!" And he put his
arm around my master's neck, and with his other hand,
a bony, yellow hand, he stroked my master on the
cheek. I could not bear the way in which Don Bar-
tolme was laughing.

But the dignified expression of my master was as
great as it was wonderful.

"Now," babbled the old man, "now tell your little
brother what you thought that you would do."

The pair above were listening most eagerly.

And when my master spoke — not making any effort
to remove the two obnoxious hands of Don Bartolme —
he was very grave. "In ancient times," said he, "it
used to be considered arrogant for any one to make a
loud enumeration of his sins, except when the conceal-
ing of them might involve the guiltless. I have no
desire, however, to be shielded by that custom of the

176 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

Jews. They had another salutary precept, recommend-
ing criminals to make confession at a distance of ten
cubits from the place where they were to be executed.
I believe I am within that distance of the object on
account of which I sinned, and so I will confess. But,
first of all, it has been said that evil is a necessary
thing if moral beings are to do good works and to be
good. If evil then be necessary, is it not justifiable?
Can we condemn what must be? If a thing is neces-
sary is it not, in a sense, good?"

"Oh, that is talking like the devil!" said Don
Bartolme.

"I was coming to that," said my master, "for in
your invective, if you will remember, you denounced,
not only me but Enriqueta and, I think, everybody
else as being children of the devil. Have you medi-
tated on the devil, Don Bartolme? Look at his
position. He is given certain qualities, lust, foulness,
concupiscence, and the others which they tell him he
must exercise; because it is essential that there should
be opposition between fair and foul, between wisdom
and folly, so that human beings may achieve this or
that other virtue. It is only by a wound that a
caress is understood, and we are put into this transi-
tory world that we may understand the value of the
world, which is eternal. So the devil, with his evil
attributes, is playing a tremendously important part."

"Oh, yes!" cried Don Bartolme, in excitement. He
looked like a faithful dog which, in the middle of a
long, long sentence, hears a word it understands.

"And all the time," said Don Eugenio, "the devil
knows how indispensable he is, for his superior intelli-
gence is always vaunted; even by the hostile critics it
is said to be not less in volume than his peccability.

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 177

Now what would happen if he should decline to play
his part?"

The Captain shook his head. "Who knows?'" quoth
he. "Who knows what then would happen . . . Oh,
by the holy saints, he would no longer trouble us and
we should all be glad. Yes, that is it!"

"There can be no light if there is no darkness," said
my master, "seeing that it is impossible to think of any
light which does not illuminate. Darkness alone is
capable of being lit. Without darkness the light would
have no opposition it can work upon, that is to say,
it would not light and it would not be the light withal.
And so God cannot work without the devil. It is con-
stantly implied in sacred writings that the devil's sway
has been permitted that it may be over-ruled. More-
over, he is always being told that his power can be
resisted by the will of man, when aided by the grace
of God. Well, suppose that he should take into his
head to retire from the business. I can tell you that
his great Opponent would be very much embarrassed.
Hitherto, however, he has stayed at work . . .

"Many people have their doubts to-day concerning
this or that tradition of our fathers, and they fre-
quently have said that I must follow them, as if my
own doubts were not more than ample. But in this
matter of the devil I am very steadfast. I am with
the popular beliefs and customs and practices and old
tales of warning and fairy-tales and general conversa-
tion, in all of which, despite the efforts to the contrary,
he plays a part that is by no means insignificant. His
task it is both to direct and organize the heresies, the
errors, the superstitions, the fanaticism and indiffer-
ence, the enervation of ease, the dangers of wealth and
poverty . . . Let me ask you, Captain Don Bartolme,

178 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

is there any one for whom, in view of all the circum-
stances, you can feel a sorrow more profound?"

Don Bartolme looked extremely solemn.

"Any single person?" said my master.

The poor, battered Captain groaned, and, gazing
with a dull eye into space, he said that he was very,
very sorry for himself, "What have I done," said
he, "that I should have all these misfortunes? I am
weary in this town and I have nowhere I can sleep,
and, as for food, I have to beg. How beautiful it was
in Colorado at the house of Pedro, the good father of
that boy. He never stinted me the beans and the
sweet oranges, and sometimes part of the well-peppered
mess or else the stew which travelers had left un-
eaten, and sometimes a soup made of the little fishes
they brought up from Veracruz, and sometimes I could
put my finger in the chocolate his good wife was pre-
paring with the goat's milk, and they never made me
talk while I was eating."

Don Eugenio arose and took the Captain by the arm.
"You must go with me to the Noahcite's," said he.

"Yes, very willingly," said Don Bartolme.

And as they were starting I saw the lieutenant at
the window, who was with his mouth half-open, but
uncertain what to say. And Enriqueta whispered to
him and cajoled him, and he shut his mouth.

My master and the Captain, arm in arm, walked up
the street. And I had never seen the Captain limp so
grievously, not even when he had been following, an
hour ago, the horse of Enriqueta. That old sword of
his made such a shrill noise on the pavement.

CHAPTER XIV

There can be no doubt that if we had remained in
Don Arcadio's house the poor old Captain would have
been provided with a home. But on the morning after
his arrival Don Arcadio stalked into my room and
bade me follow him. He told me, on the way, that
our departure for the State of Tamaulipas would no
longer be delayed, and as we reached the library he
pointed to that ancient map which hung upon the wall.

"The time has come," said he, "when I must make
investigations there, because the people of this country
seem to be more agitated, and if I can give them gold
they may not think so much of revolution as of other
things."

I gazed at him and at the map.

"You naturally will object," said he, "that gold may
lead them to commit iniquities, which are as bad as
revolutions. On the other hand it may persuade them
to employ the arts of peace; and I, at any rate, will be
regarded with considerable gratitude, and for my few
remaining years of life will be allowed to work without
the constant fear of molestation. We will go next week
to Tamaulipas."

"Shall we have a camp," I asked, "like soldiers?"

"Yes, and soldiers to bring back the gold," said Don
Arcadio. "The governor has promised me an escort
if I give him a proportion of the gold. I have learned
a lesson from that Spanish lady who was bringing
silver from the mountains many years ago and was
afraid she would not reach the coast in safety. When

179

i8o THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

the governor heard of this he offered her the shelter
of his house, and she went in with all her mules. He
comforted her very much and told her that her fears
were altogether useless^ and in the night he murdered
her . . . But what I wish to talk about/' said Don
Arcadio, "is not the sad experience of this lady nor
the expedition we are going to make, but rather to
make sure that you appreciate the glories of geology.
Since you and Don Eugenio have been with me it so
has happened that we have devoted a good deal of time
to liquid gold and other matters, which are not without
a deep importance, but which may have caused you, my
dear Juanito, to forget the fundamental facts which
move me onwards. Geology, in short, is the greatest
of all sciences, because it leads me to the greatest goal
which any mortal man has ever struggled for. It
teaches us of what this earth is made, and very soon I
hope to know precisely — and if all the substances can
be reduced to one, of course, my task will be much
easier — and when I know precisely what is in the earth
I shall have ascertained what lay in Noah's head. He,
like all other men, was made of earth. And when I
know what lay in Noah's head I shall have all the
knowledge of which man is capable, and therefore all
the happiness, and then I shall proceed to pour this
happiness on our distracted country. But I have not
brought you here," he said, "to talk of all these
things.''

I hoped that he would now dismiss me, for I wanted
to search out old Captain Bartolme, who was below
this very roof.

"It has occurred to me," said Don Arcadio, "not that
you doubt the wisdom of my life's pursuit, but that
you may not grasp it as completely as I would desire.
And if you happened to be questioned by a band of

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS i8i

skeptics you might be unable to allay their skepticism;
they might laugh at both of us. And that is why I
think it well to give you a short exposition of the
Nature of Matter. I request you, Juanito, not to pay
attention to those plausible philosophers who say that
we are in a world of mere illusion and that nothing,
neither you nor I nor Mexico, does really exist. How-
ever fascinating be that doctrine I am naturally up in
arms against it, for it would destroy my work. The
structure would come falling round my ears ... As
I have told you several times, true happiness springs
out of knowledge and complete human happiness can
be reached by knowing what the world is made of.
Therefore, if it turns out to be made of nothing, of
appearances, of things that in our blindness we be-
lieve we see, then it would follow that our human
knowledge is no more than vanity, and that our happi-
ness— no! no!"

He started pacing up and down the room. "My
search for happiness, my search for happiness," he
muttered. And he glared at me and was a long time
growing calm.

At last he stopped in front of me and said that he
would tell me of some precious stones and what they
signified to ancient folk. "As I have mentioned," said
the Noahcite, "all matter may be one, and therefore,
to avoid the risk of wasting time, we will devote our-
selves not to the composition of these stones but to
their inherent qualities, and surely this is of extreme
importance. Well, it was decided that the twelve
stones of the New Jerusalem have each of them a
meaning in accordance with their color, and it is re-
markable how accurately all their attributes were
known to experts such as Bonaventura and Richard of
Megenberg. The former has divided the twelve stones

i82 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

in groups of four which represent the virtues of Chris-
tian perfection. For example, in the second group the
emerald is hope for the forgiveness of sins, the sar-
donyx is hope for mercy and the sard is hope for
eternal bliss. And the religious symbolism of the
stones was not by any means fantastic, for it sprang
from their medicinal and celebrated qualities. It is
quite true that Albertus Magnus, who was a most
enviable pantologist, that is to say, a person who em-
braced all knowledge, found himself obliged to argue
with the people who expressed their doubts as to the
healing power of stones. And then this wise man gives
in utmost detail all the multitudinous powers which
reside in them, while Richard of Megenberg deduces
this power from the stone's symbolical meaning. Thus
the green jasper, says he, which strengthens the body,
stands for that belief which strengthens the soul. And
with regard to the emerald, he informs us that it repre-
sents modesty and that it will break in two if a sin
against love is committed in its presence, and thus it
has the power to restrain such evil deeds. Albertus
Magnus goes so far as to assert that it cannot bear the
matrimonial intercourse of married people, since a
King of Hungary possessed a stone which broke upon
his finger while he was embracing the Queen. Yet I
know nothing of Hungarian amours . . . But you, my
son, are not without some knowledge now of one
branch of geology."

With that he waved me to the door. And I ran
quickly up to Don Eugenio's room.

He was engaged in talking to Maria, very earnestly,
and she was sitting on the floor and with her head
against his knee. When I came in my master did not
cease discoursing, "If, on the other hand," said he,
"the Noahcite will not allow you to go with us on this

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 183

expedition which to me is most repellent, but from
which I cannot well excuse myself, then you will either
wait here till such time as we return, if that indeed be
God's desire, or you will go your way. If only there
lay any value in my blessing, I would give it you,
Maria, from the bottom of my heart. What can I do
except to pray that you will fall into more worthy
hands than mine? At least I saved you from the wild
lieutenant."

She looked up at him most tenderly.

"In front of our young friend," said Don Eugenio,
"we need not change the subject of the conversation.
We began by talking about love, and Juanito may be
grateful to us, in the days to come, when he first is
troubled with a woman. Let him know that women, if
they run away from you or if you conquer them, are
always man's great enemy."

"But, sefior," said Maria, "why do you say that?"

"Dear girl, I trust that you will never know one half
the damage you will do to men. It may be answered
that the men who seize or who attempt to seize you
are pernicious fellows anyhow, but if they are not
punished for this crime I should reject that part of
Holy Scripture which relates the punishment of Judas
Iscariot and for a sin which he was fated to commit.
Some people are less fortunate than others, that is all.
And you, my children, must at any rate not fall into
the sin of thinking that our Maker is unjust or cruel."

"Oh, no, no," she said most gravely, "and let Him
not be cruel, Don Eugenio, to you for having seized
me."

Then there came into my master's face a look of
grand nobility. "Indeed," quoth he, "there is no
greater culprit in this land."

Maria flung herself against him and she pressed her

i84 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

fingers on his lips. "Oh, do not speak like that!" she
cried. "You are not wicked and you did not seize
me. It is I who came to dwell with you. And God
knows that, of course."

Don Eugenio smiled and gently took her hands
away. "He also knows/' said he, "that my one con-
solation is the thought that from the greatest sinners
come the greatest saints; repentance is the frame of
mind which God prefers in us because the Devil hates
it most. And by the way," said Don Eugenio, "I
should like to tell you of Saint Mary the Egyptian,
who is the patron saint of all those who repent. Her
example we can keep before us; but even if we have
the courage and the opportunity to wander, as she did,
for so many years in the desert, I am doubtful as to
whether our transgressions would be so completely
washed away that another Zozimus, of eminent virtue,
would approach us and would humbly ask our bless-
ing. Also I am doubtful whether, in this different age
of ours, we should not have to tread the wilderness for
more than Mary's seven and forty years and still not
meet a man as perspicacious and benevolent as Zozi-
mus. How many persons nowadays would give their
mantle to a miserable penitent whose body has be-
come entirely black, whose hair falls to the shoulders
and is white as wool, whose garment is the robe of
innocence? Alas, it is an age of lesser sinners and of
lesser saints. As the saying goes, it is the lesser saints
who will be the ruin of God; and I fear He looks
askance upon the lesser sinners. But if we live in
narrow circumstances we must still continue, we must
try to leave our little garden better than when we
received it, we must not spend all our time in thinking
of old, medieval, spacious gardens which have disap-
peared for ever."

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 185

Don Eugenio had spoken the last sentence with
solemnity, and now he sat there sunk in thought, until
Maria, speaking not a word, put down her head and
kissed his hand.

"Ah, well," said Don Eugenio, "this thinking about
love has made us melancholy. And although I said
that love is perilous to women and more perilous to
men, the greatest danger is to stop and spend our time
in thinking of it. I believe that it is better for a man
to do evil boldly than to think of evil, better to live
than to think about life and better to snatch at love
with both his hands than merely to dream of it. . . .
Now," said he to Maria, "I do not want you to look
sad."

"But when you are not here to talk to me, when I go
back into my village and can understand what every-
body says — dear God, I wish I could go with you."

"Well, well, and what news have you?" said Don
Eugenio to me. "If it is bad, your patience, let me
tell you, is quite contrary to precedent."

I told him that I had been learning from the Noah-
cite about some precious stones, and that all men are
made of earth and that he didn't want me to believe
some plausible philosophers, and that that was all I
could remember.

"Wait until I have him for a whole day riding by
my side to Tamaulipas," said my master. "I will
demonstrate to him how horribly he is in error when
he says that men are made of earth. But now you
and I will go," said he, "to spend another happy day
among our books. God knows what is in store for us."

We made our way into the room above the stable,
where by this time my good master had collected a fair
quantity of books and manuscripts belonging to the
Noahcite. The larger part of them did not deal with

i86 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

geology, for they had been in Don Arcadio's possession
from the days when he did not restrict himself to this
one science. Yet as we were eating Don Arcadio's
bread and salt, my master said it would be less than
honorable if v,^e spent a day without devoting part of
it to Roger Bacon's treatise. And I recollect how on
that morning we began methodically, Don Eugenio
transcribing sentences in his large, lucid, somewhat
ornamental hand, while every now and then he told
me of a Latin word which was not yet in my vocabu-
lary. So we came to the word jumant, "they are
smoking," which was in a paragraph about volcanoes.

"Et jam summa procul villarum culmina jumant,'*
said my master, "by which Virgil means that evening
approaches. Oh, my son," said he, "if we were not
about to undertake this dreadful journey we would
read a book of that great poet. Et jam summa — and
what smoke shall we find of an evening except the
smoke of ravished villages? . . . Old Virgil, he was
innocent and amiable and peaceful, rather like his
writings, so that he attracted me, for I was so unlike
him; I could always hear a tempest blowing round the
corner, even when I had for years been in the bishop's
library. I cannot help it, talking of the distant days,
now that I am to be pulled up again where I had taken
root, and this time I shall not survive it." As he said
these words his voice was very valiant and his coun-
tenance was flushed.

Perhaps he saw how great my longing was to rise
against these words and bury them and let them never-
more come out into the light.

"Ah, well," said my beloved master, "there was
something else in Virgil which I used to think was not
unlike me, that is the desire to lead a contemplative
life. It was a labor, sometimes a delightful labor, for

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 187

him to write poetry; but he was never able to leave
off, and so far I may say I have resembled him, since
I have not been able to leave off from mixing with
another sort of poetry which is the crowd of men.
The idea to write a book has come to me, but I was
always either too indolent or too busy. Well, I
wonder what sort of book I would have written. . . .
If only those men were to write who have a new
philosophical theory of life, then even Virgil would
have had to keep quiet."

At this moment we were interrupted by Faustino.
We had not heard him coming up the stairs, since, in
accordance with his usual habit, he was barefoot.
Still we might have heard his breathing, which was
very loud. And, though he had a face which never
could show much expression, any one could see that
he was most intensely agitated. For example, his eyes,
which I had never noticed, had the look of a poor dog
which does not understand why it is being whipped.
The corner of his bluish under-lip was quivering.

"But calm yourself," said Don Eugenio, "so far as I
can help it no harm shall befall your master."

"The whole country is full of robbers!" cried
Faustino. "We shall certainly be killed."

"Then I shall only take one pair of boots," said Don
Eugenio.

Faustino blinked at him. "But — but," said he, "and
if the jefe of the region should arrest us he will make
us build a road or — I ask your pardon, would you like
to hear what happened to a friend of mine who was
a very upright comrade and a good tailor? But I
am not sure if you would like to hear of him." Faus-
tino's agitation was now giving way to deep despon-
ency.

My master wished to render him more cheerful.

i88 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

Therefore he assured him that he was most curious to
hear about this friend of his.

"But, woe is me, I have forgotten what his name
was," said Faustino.

"Call him Juan or Tomas or whatever you like,"
said my master.

"Thank you," said Faustino, "but if I am false in
that you would say I am false in the whole story." He
displayed as yet no sign of cheerfulness.

"Now listen to me, Faustino," said my master,
smiling at him in the most friendly fashion. "You
can truly give him any name you like, whether it be
a Spanish name or a Mexican or that of any other
people under the sun — I promise you it will not inter-
fere with my enjoyment of the story. Did you hear
what happened to Gazielle, the French officer who was
captured with all his men near San Pedro in the State
of Sinaloa, about two years ago, and dragged into the
town amid the wild, enthusiastic shouting of the popu-
lation? Well, they say that in his papers there were
found a dozen copies of a document which he was
going to fasten up at the casa municipal and some
other public buildings of San Pedro; in this document
he gracefully acknowledged the enthusiasm which had
greeted him on all sides as he rode in triumph through
the town. . . . But the story would be just the same,
to me at all events, if I were to call the officer Dubois
or Doucet or Gamelle. So I beg you to have no more
scruples with the name of your friend the good tailor."

Faustino nodded and he slowly rubbed his chin. He
looked like soldiers do, I should imagine, when they
find they have been lured into an ambuscade, that
they are in a marsh and that their legs are sinking
irretrievably. It seemed to poor Faustino that a
million names, of all the ages and of all the countries,

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 189

beautiful and ugly names and sacred names, were
hanging all around him^ ready to be plucked. He told
me afterwards that it was like a forest with the fruits
suspended from a thousand branches and across each
of the fruits its name was written; he did not know
where to look, for he was so confused, and from a
certain tree there hung a number of large yellow fruits
and on them in black letters you could see the names of
Satan, every fruit with one of his innumerable names;
for Satan, said Faustino, is in this respect alone like
God, that he possesses many names, as any one can
hear who listens to a learned priest, Faustino had
himself, he told me, had the great advantage at Jalapa
of a Spanish priest whose eloquence was marvelous
and whose terrific voice could make the devils in you
run away. This priest was such a learned man that
he had penetrated Satan's numerous disguises and he
would attack him in his sermons now by this name,
now by that; thus with his beautiful and mighty elo-
quence he called down curses, very often, on Sammael
and Beelzebub and Lucifer and Belial and Luzbel, on
the Enemy, the Persecutor, on the Lord of Darkness,
the Accuser, on the Tempter and the Contradictor,
the Prevaricator, the Malicious One, the Rebel, on
Agromanyus and Ahriman and Abaddon and Apollyon.
Many of these names, Faustino said, were written on
the yellow fruit which hung before his eyes.

"Shall I begin your story?" said my master. "Shall
we talk about the sad adventures of your friend the
tailor who was apprehended by the jefe?'*

"And he was in truth most skilful as a tailor," said
Faustino.

"But the jeje had a grudge against him," said my
master.

"Seiior Don Eugenio," said the man, "you know

190 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

the ways of magic, you have read the story which
I have inside me. And you know the fate of my
poor, miserable friend, how he was forced to help the
builders of a road who were bad persons out of prison
with a guard of other bad ones, who were soldiers,
watching them. And he was made to labor at this
work because the jeje of the place desired his woman."

''Your friend was not married?" asked Don
Eugenio.

"It would not have saved him."

"Perhaps not on earth," said Don Eugenio. "Yet
one must also think of heaven."

"But in heaven there will be no jejes," said Faus-
tino. "As for this one, he desired the woman, and so
furiously that he seized the poor Gregorio and made
him build the road with all those other villains and
unhappy men."

My master rose, walked over to Faustino and, in
the most sympathetic way, he patted him upon the
back. "It does you every honor," so he said, "that
you should be afflicted by your friend's misfortunes.
But before you came young Juanito and myself were
having a discussion about Virgil, and, with all respect
to your style of narration, which has merits of its own,
I cannot help lamenting, for your sake, that it is not
more like Virgil's, since it then would have a greater
chance of permanent survival, and for Juanito's sake,
at all events, I will endeavor to examine how the Latin
poet would have told it."

Don Eugenio cleared himself a little space upon the
table, and was in the act of sitting down upon it when
Faustino spoke.

"If your worship will pardon me," he said, "it is
the truth which I have told you, and I think that not
even a friend of your worship's can do more."

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 191

"You are an honest fellow," said my master. "And
yet one can be sure of this, that if two men give their
impressions of the same event their stories will not be
the same, and in proportion as the couple are more
honest so will their stories vary ... I sometimes
think," said Don Eugenio^ "that one has far to search
among created things in order to find differences more
pronounced than those which frequently exist between
two men. But, doubtless, you have noticed how it
happens that a person tries to put his own eyes into
some one else's head. It is absurd and it is tragic . . .
We should be delighted that we are so different, and
that what is the truth for you is not the truth for me."

"We are all different," said Faustino, in a kind of
reverie. "What can be done? What is there to be
done?"

"If you will follow my advice," said Don Eugenio,
"you will do nothing. And although you are the
cleverest man in all the world you will not make a
rose be like a cactus."

"They are very different," said Faustino.

Then my master moistened both his lips and said
that now he would go back to Virgil with the story.

"Your friend the tailor," so he said, "would be a
heroic person, driven from his home by the pernicious
jeje, and the jefe, after haying lived awhile with your
friend's woman, would be conscious that his mode of
life could not endure for ever, and in deep despair he
then would kill himself."

Faustino rubbed his hands; he was entirely pleased.

"And there would be a great deal more to tell," said
Don Eugenio. "The tailor, working at the road, would
fall into a kind of sleep and would behold the gods,
who made this country with such prodigality and splen-
dor, come on snow-white horses down the road. Be-

192 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

tween them would be riding the heroic, pious tailor,
who, with their assistance, would establish Mexico
upon a sure foundation."

"Oh, yes, yes!" — and then Faustino checked him-
self, his face fell. "But," said he, "the man was only
one of my own friends. How could he ride with God
and do those other things?"

"If God desires a thing it comes to pass," said Don
Eugenio. "And the more impossible it seems to you
the purer will be your belief if you believe it. We
have not been called on by the Church to put our faith
in what we know, but in what we do not know, and
surely the acme of faith is that which not only does
not shrink from what it does not know, but extending
much further than that, is ready to receive into its
bosom the phenomena which intellect and reason and
experience would unhesitatingly reject. So let us have
the tailor riding down the road to set this country on a
firm foundation."

"May God live long: May He live long!" exclaimed
Faustino.

"All the heroes of this country would come past,"
said Don Eugenio, "and you would have a thrilling
story. I need scarcely say that it would fall far short
of Homer, yet nevertheless even Virgil . . ."

But Faustino was quite satisfied. I never thought
he could behave in such a fashion, for he was by nature
very solemn, not to say depressed. He nearly danced
out of the room, and, as he went, we heard him laugh-
ing with great, simple happiness and rendering thanks
to God. But I believe he did not know as many names
of God as of the Devil.

"We shall now be able to go on," my master said.
"Oh, do you realize what it will cost me to leave all
these books?" He looked round very helplessly.

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 193

"But if we are not killed/' I said, "we can come
back to them. The soldiers will not steal them, I am
sure."

"And if, indeed^ we are killed — well, why should
we drag our dearest fellow-travelers with us? No!
no! no! " He tossed his head back and he looked most
gallant.

Then I asked him if he knew why we should share
the fate of that poor tailor, since there was no jeje
who was hostile to us. Did it not, I asked, seem fool-
ish of Faustino to hold up for us the story of a man
whose life was so unlike our own.

"Maria is a very worthy girl," my master said. "I
hope with all my heart that she will not come into
wicked hands."

And then we worked for several hours in Don
Eugenio's peculiar way. He once had told me that
the kisses of true love are turned to butterflies, and
now as he went wandering from one book to another,
fondling them and talking at random_, he did really
seem to be a large, benignant butterfly.

And when that day was over and the house was
dark, I crept out of my room and made for Don
Eugenio's door. This would be one of my last love-
nights with Maria.

He was snoring very regularly and I knocked, but
there was no reply. Perhaps Maria was asleep herself.
I knocked again_, and then with every care I turned
the handle of the door. I opened it just wide enough
to let me in. There I could see her, sitting in the
moonlight on her bed. She waved her hand, as if she
wanted me to go away. The moonlight also fell upon
the placid face of Don Eugenio. He was murmuring
while he slept.

I stood there for a long time, making various

194 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

motions with my arms and head, entreating her and
ordering her and threatening her, but she was obsti-
nate. She made it clear to me that she was filled with
love for Don Eugenio. She bent over him as if she
were his mother. When she looked at me she was
imperious, commanding me to leave the room at once.

As I drew nearer to the bed her face became con-
torted and I looked away from her.

"In the name of God," she whispered, "take yourself
away!"

Her voice was not much louder than the voice of
Don Eugenio, but I could not hear what he said, at
least I could not hear distinctly.

I went a step nearer to his smiling face and she
glared round at me as if she were indeed a savage
thing. And I could hear a word or two of what he
said and then he made some incoherent sounds. It
had no sense, but when she gazed at him there came
into her rigid face the sweetness that there was in his.

And if at last he had not murmured Enriqueta's
name, I think Maria never would have come with me.

CHAPTER XV

On the second morning after this I was awakened
by the noise of horses and of men; the men were
shouting and were knocking with their weapons on the
doors. I did not stop to think of what might happen
to me as I ran across and threw the window open.
It was barely hght enough to see what was this troop
which filled the street and cursed and shouted, riding
east and riding west in terrible confusion, some who
flogged their horses, some who had dismounted. But
I knew that this was part of the Imperial army, since
the sound of foreign voices mingled with the others.

As they rattled on the doors and on the iron
window-bars I was surprised that not a single one of
the inhabitants appeared, and as for me, I thought it
would perhaps be better if I partly closed the window.
Then I knelt down on the floor in a position where they
scarcely could have seen me, and I watched them with
a rapt attention. They were quarreling with one
another, even firing at each other, and it looked as if it
all would end in death. But gradually most of them
moved on to other streets — there was a torch lit very
near the house, I was afraid that some of them in
vengeance would destroy us^ but I found the torch
was fixed upon a table of green cloth and several men
were taking from a carriage the equipment for
roulette. These carriages, with bankers and with
croupiers, were accustomed to attach themselves to
armies of importance. And as soon as it was ready
for them the calm players took their seats and certainly

195

196 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

they made a favorable contrast with the frantic horse-
men. As the play proceeded; a few horsemen rode
back through the street and stopped their horses near
the table, so that they could watch the players, and they
seemed intensely interested.

Now and then a man who played would look up and
address a horseman, but some others of the gamblers
were so much absorbed that they did not turn round,
they merely struck a blow at any horse who laid his
mouth upon their shoulder. In fact, the scene was
such a peaceful one that I was not afraid of anything;
I went down to the street. With some manoeuvering
I managed to get in between the horsemen and the
players, and I stopped there for I do not know how
long, but while the daylight made the torch grow pale
and strange — they did not put it out — and by this time
a crowd of the inhabitants had gathered round. One
of the horsemen, who was French, perceived this and
admonished them.

"A hospitable folk! " he cried. "We march for many
leagues all through the night, we march along your
execrable roads, we that have sacrificed ourselves in
order to bring harmony to your distracted land — we do
all this, and when we knock upon your doors you keep
as quiet as the dead. Oh, gratitude and hospitality!"

"What are they all but pigs?" said another
Frenchman.

A very unsuccessful player, who was a Mexican
colonel, asked these two to speak no more, as it dis-
turbed his play. A Frenchman, who was sitting at his
side, removed the colonel's fire-arm very dexterously.

"You Mexicans and Spaniards, you are all the
same!" said the angry horseman. "You with your
fine phrases! For example, 'Sir, my house and wife
and children are at your entire disposal.' . . . Are you

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 197

not ashamed to welcome honorable men with such
deception and such lies? It is the same with every-
thing. God, what are my transgressions that they
brought me here?"

The colonel banged his fist on the green table and
declared that this could not be borne. And various
other players growled at him and at the Frenchman.

''My dear sir, allow me/' said the colonel, with a
tremor in his voice, "allow me to inform you that we
have no leisure at this moment to attend to your
transgressions. Stop your mouth, I pray you. And I
have no doubt that we poor innocents of Mexico might
learn a great deal from the lurid things you have
committed."

Then a gaunt and weary-looking Austrian friar, who
was in the midst of the spectators at the other side of
the green table, lifted up his arm and solemnly called
on the whole assemblage to restrain their passions.

"Amen, amen!" said the banker who presided.
"You are officers and cavaliers, and let it not be said
against you that you failed in the deportment which
is customary round our table. I am sure," quoth he,
"that I shall not appeal in vain to so illustrious a
gathering."

But as he spoke it seemed as if his table might be
overturned. The Frenchman of transgressions was
endeavoring to make his horse go sideways towards
the colonel, and his rough words were directed both at
his opponent, at the sallow banker, at the priest, at his
own friends who grasped the bridle of his horse and
at the whole of Mexico, which was, he said, accursed.
Some other Mexicans and foreigners were growHng at
each other, but they did not come to blows.

The banker stood up in his place. "My gentle-
men," said he, "let us remember always that we are

198 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

the army of the Empire. We may not permit our-
selves the license and the barbarism of the Liberals.
I say that in us lies the great privilege of showing all
the world that — that — in fine, we are not Liberal
barbarians, by any means. My comrades of the
cause! Let us conduct ourselves in such a way that
Mexico may be exalted and that all the foreigners may
venerate this land of heroes!"

''What an imbecile!" exclaimed the Frenchman, who
was struggling still with his opponents.

"Seiior," said the colonel, wheeling round, "I have
to tell you that I perfectly agree with you. Indeed,
you are a man with all five senses. But this imbecile,
with his deafening bombardment of speech, should be
a deputy."

Some of the people laughed, and the antagonism
they had shown for one another was evaporating.

But the banker stood there with a look of quiet reso-
lution. It was a considerable time before the noise
of laughter and the shouts of approbation died away,
because a certain number of the players and spectators
made these noises for the purpose of restoring oeace.
At last the banker spoke again :

''My gentlemen," said he, "let us give our attention
to roulette."

Then he sat down and took a handful of the coins
which were by his side. As he allowed them to fall
clattering, one by one, on to the pile he looked round
at his customers most cheerfully. He asked a servant
to put out the torch, and that was wise of him, since
it had given to the scene a kind of desperate appear-
ance, and I daresay a good many people, if by chance
they happen to look villainous, comport themselves
like villains.

With the light extinguished they all settled down to

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 199

solid play. And presently my friend, the sweetmeat-
seller, came amongst us and announced what he
brought with him. He was urgently invited by a
Frenchman to go back in search of coffee, and the
banker said that, on the contrary, he would himself
provide what was appropriate. He nodded to his
servant, who appeared to understand completely, and
the play continued. In the interval, before the coffee
and the other things arrived, some of the players took
the opportunity of bowing to the banker, one of them
got up and heartily embraced him. And a little later,
as the cups were being handed round, the banker stood
up once again and, holding out the palms of his delicate
hands, said that it gave him a great pleasure to be in
the midst of such a sympathetic gathering. The Im-
perial army, he was sure, would cause the chant of
freedom to reverberate through the remotest territory
of the Mexican dominion, it would give a fearful lesson
to its despicable foes, who were devoid of shame.

"History," he said — and he was obliged to speak
loudly in order to be heard above the noise of drinkers
and of eaters — "history has already consecrated her
pages to you; she will record to posterity your valiant
deeds. O warriors of this beloved country, you who
do not shrink from sacrifices and from arduous toil,
it is at your hands, flourishing the sword of liberty and
justice, that the foeman will be gloriously cut in pieces
and delivered to the vultures. I perceive that what I
say has your esteemed approval. Gentlemen, that is
an honor which assuredly is great, my heart is throb-
bing— but all this I would relinquish utterly if I could
bring a throb into the hearts of our immortal comrades
who are dead. Surviving such misfortunes, we have
consecrated and shall ever consecrate ourselves to
peace and order. We it is who choke and strangle all

200 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

dissension . . . Thank you^ gentlemen of the trium-
phant and august Imperial army, thank you for re-
ceiving my remarks into your favor. When I am a
deputy — and I may tell you that the patriotic Govern-
ment has promised to confer this post upon me — then
I shall inform the nation in the House of Congress of
your brilliant merits. Also, if it is not situated in a
territory which is too remote, I shall proceed in person
to the place of which I am the deputy and there I shall
discourse of you."

There was a great clapping and waving of hands.
But the Mexican colonel had lost so much money that
he was impatient for the game to start. "Once we are
upon the road/' he pointed out, "we shall not have a
chance of playing. Gentlemen," said he, addressing
his French colleagues, "you must not judge Mexico
from what it is at this unhappy moment when there is
no time for comfort and when, to some extent, our
civilization has been destroyed."

He raised his cup, and, while he held it to his lips,
the sallow banker seized his opportunity of making
a few more remarks. ^'Ay de mi, ay! ay!" he cried,
so that everj'body's gaze was on him. "Circumstances
have been such," said he, "that Mexico is slightly over-
clouded, but, as I was saying, we are mindful of our
sacred obligations. We will never let the broad fields
of Otumba nor the fields of La Ventilla have upon
them the disgraceful boot of an oppressor. We, I say,
will never sheathe the sword. And we . . ."

"What I was going to say," burst in the colonel,
"is that in the famous days it was our custom to live
as a man should live, which is at leisure. Now we
have to hasten through the land with the rebellious
pigs in front of us or else behind us. Ah, the famous
days! We used to call a halt and, underneath the

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 201

shadow of some tree, without dismounting from our
horses, we played monte. Gentlemen, I must apolo-
gize that all these famous days have gone . . . Now
it is very seldom that we have a moment for the good
amenities of life. To be a soldier in this country is
a great, an almost unendurable fatigue. We have so
much to do . . . But let the game begin."

He asked a person sitting opposite to lend him money
and he planted a good deal of it upon the table.

While he did this and while other players were pre-
paring to resume, the banker cleared his throat and,
looking towards the distant range of mountains, he
spoke rather rapidly, as if it were a speech that he had
learned by heart; but every one was occupied, in one
way or another, so that he was scarcely listened to.

"An unendurable fatigue," he said. "Across Chi-
huahua's windy desert and across the swamps and
jungles. Such it is to be a soldieV. . . . Gentlemen,
it is to be prepared for everything, it is to stand
behind a tree in all the pain of hunger, till the foe
comes by whom you must kill ... it is to barricade
oneself upon a roof and stay there though the sun
descends in all his fury ... it is to ride through every
sort of country, to be jerked upon a blind horse or to
have no horse, and then to spend the freezing night
upon a rock, to make in one day two days' marches
and perhaps retreat to-morrow — ordered here and
ordered there — and in one village there are roses round
his neck and in another village it is death that waits
for him and bitter death, without a priest . . . dying
on his blanket with a Liberal bullet in him . . . after
all his faithfulness and beautiful ideals he obtains the
wretched death of Liberals, and he may find himself
not separated from the Liberals in the life to come.
That is the reward of his long nights when he was

202 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

frozen and of his wounds that would not heal and of
the vigilance and of the loyalty and of the hope he
never lost . . . Who is that priest?" he said. "At all
events this is no evil city. They have not chased out
the priests."

The gambling had begun^ but several persons looked
in the direction of this priest^ who was no priest at all,
but Don Eugenio. And he was walking up the hill as
fast as possible.

"He is not dressed as if he were a priest," the
banker said, "and the blood also which oozes from his
forehead is unsuitable. But I am sure of him."

If I could only have got through the circle I would
have run down to my good master, but I had to stay.
And in these minutes of my anguish all the crowd was
swept with joy, because the colonel had such luck as I
had never seen before. His pile of money grew just
like the white flowers leaping from a fairy's garden;
every one was pleased, for he had been so out of
fortune.

And when my master was quite near the crowd he
raised his voice and told them to beware. He said it
twice, with such a fearful note of warning that I was
astonished they did not all stare at him, and that a
number of them had the boldness to continue with
their play.

"But I told you that he is a priest," explained the
banker. "Cavaliers and gentlemen, my gallant com-
rades . . ."

"There 1" cried one of those on horseback, in a tone
of horror.

It was a small body of the Liberal troops and they
were galloping along, down at the bottom of the street,
and they were swinging their lassos and now they
started simultaneously to howl.

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 203

I was thrown this way, that way, by the plunging
horsemen and the gamblers — if the croupiers had not
flung themselves upon the table it would certainly
have been upset — the soldiers and the crowd were in
a piteous confusion — and another body of the Liberal
troops was bearing down upon us from the opposite
direction. Several of the Frenchmen spurred their
horses up a side-street, and the other horsemen tried
to follow them, but were impeded by the flying crowd.
I could not find my master anywhere, and then the
Liberals, dressed in white, with lances and with mus-
kets, were all round us, screaming that we must hold
up our hands.

However, there was just time for the colonel to give
back the money which the person sitting opposite had
lent him. And that person glared with hatred and
with admiration of the colonel's shrewdness.

No one else was glaring but the Austrian priest — he
glared at them and muttered and continuously crossed
himself. As for the croupiers and the white-eyed gam-
blers and the palpitating horseman and the others, they
were holding up their hands submissively, without one
hostile look among them. Evidently they were anx-
ious that the Liberals should not be provoked to shoot-
ing. Then I tried to see what had become of that first
mounted Frenchman who had so deplored his being in
our country, but I searched for him in vain and also
for the banker. Some one seized me by the arm and
pulled me out from all those people who were waiting
to be searched. And I was pushed between the Liberal
horses and against the neck of one of them on which
a woman sat. She told me not to be afraid, she would
not hurt me. Saying that, she patted me upon the
head and gave me a long piece of sugar-cane, which
was for me and for the horse. I never had seen any

204 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

woman look so warlike, though there was a smile on
her keen face and though her dusty hair was hanging
down between her shoulders. I could not help staring
at her, and she told me that she was the lady of an
officer and that she liked me and that I could go with
them — they were just in the middle of a grand, vic-
torious campaign, she said. "And we will turn you into
a good warrior," she announced. "Oh, you can go on
sucking at the sugar-cane . . . But^ let me tell you,
I am really not a flower which comes in every hundred
years, one of those rare ones."

I wanted to turn round to see the business that was
going on, but this extraordinary woman dominated me.

"So, will you come with us?" she said. "You never
will regret it, and the captain's wife will welcome you —
she is behind us, for a woman who is following on
foot — the woman of an ordinary soldier — stopped to
have a child beside the road. Now run away and think
it over. We shall ride out of this town to-night, when
those who are on foot have overtaken us and had a
little rest. Oh, it's the only life to lead, I tell you.
God and Liberty!"

When I had gone a little way she shouted after me
that if I was no fool I would not let the chance go by of
being in the conqueror's army. "Don Benito!" she
exclaimed. "That Don Benito Juarez may live long!"

"Juarez! Don Benito! God and Liberty! Down
with the Church! Death to the foreigners!" they
shouted.

And they certainly had conquered this Imperial army
with great ease. It was the first affray of any kind
which I had witnessed, and I was exceedingly per-
plexed. Meanwhile my feet were taking me to Don
Arcadio's house and there I heard the quiet voice of
my dear master. He was at the stable.

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 205

When I reached him he was telling some one why
democracy was this or that. He spoke with wisdom
and with humor and with eloquence and sadness —
but the man to whom he spoke was in the little dark
room underneath the stairs and^ from his voice when
he was interrupting, I was sure that this must be the
very Frenchman who had been so agitated and so
angry to be here in Mexico. But now he was not
angry, Don Eugenio had clearly put him in good
temper, or perhaps he was relieved to know that he
could stay inside the little room until the Liberals had
ridden off. His horse, I saw, was in the stable; but
the bridle and the saddle he apparently had taken with
him into the dark room.

And so my master, with his bleeding forehead and
his clothes in great disorder, was serenely occupied in
laying down his views about democracy. He certainly
would have been just as willing to discuss whatever
subject, be it transient or eternal, which the unseen
Frenchman might have raised. He would have been as
interested and as courteous and as diffident. It was his
diffidence which now particularly struck me, for the
Frenchman as compared with him was nothing, was a
creature, as our phrase is, with his tail cut off.

And when the Frenchman, who now seemed to be
quite happy in the darkness, undertook to show with
no more than the personal experience of a friend of
his, a French lieutenant, that there was too much
democracy in Mexico, my master listened with the
greatest patience. I was making signs to him that he
should come away and stop his wound from bleeding,
but he shook his head.

There had been a young French lieutenant who was
quartered in the town of Orizaba, where he grew ac-
quainted with a family of high position. In this family

2o6 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

were two young daughters, and with one of them the
Frenchman fell in love. The parents and the girl
encouraged him; he asked his colonel for permission
and the French Ambassador as well — these two in-
quired about the family and were extremely satisfied,
so that the young lieutenant thought it was as good as
settled. He was readily accepted by the girl, her
parents acquiesced, and this was followed instantly by
the withdrawal of the usual flock of youths who had
been fluttering round her. The lieutenant begged that
there should be no great delay. Again the parents
acquiesced; they said the wedding of the girl and of
her sister could be celebrated simultaneously. Till
then the Frenchman had not known that there was
any question of the marriage of the other girl, but he
was told that this, unlike her sister's wedding, was
most urgent, and the family seemed to regard her
future husband with respectful admiration. He turned
out to be the young lieutenant's soldier-servant.

My good master said that after all it was advisable
to bring this conversation to a close, until there was
no longer any fear of being overheard by some one in
the Liberal ranks. At any moment one or more of
them might make their way into Ihe stable-yard. And
so he took his leave of him, and Don Eugenio told me
that we need not yet inform the other people of the
house. He fetched a bowl of water and then we went
back into our own room. And while he was bathing
his poor forehead he explained to me what he had
learned about the Liberal plans. They would not sack
the town, because they had some business elsewhere,
and they think, said Don Eugenio, that this town and
all the State of Veracruz will soon come into their pos-
session.

It was most extraordinary how he could have

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 207

ascertained so much in that short time. I asked him
if he had related it to our French officer, but he replied
that he believed the Frenchman would have left the
country long before the Liberal plans were carried to
success.

My master dipped a corner of his coat into the watei
and then held it to his head. "What I should like to
know," quoth he, "is why I should imagine that the
Liberals will do nothing^ after their complete success
which we have seen to-day."

Then I repeated to my master what the warlike
woman of the sugar-cane had told me, that the Liberal
troops were in the middle of a grand, victorious
campaign.

"Ah, there you see," said Don Eugenio, "how much
they fail in discipline. A military secret should be kept
beyond all others."

"She was very kind to me," I added, "and she asked
me to go with them. But, of course, I will not leave
you."

He had plunged his head into the ruddy water, and,
as he looked up at me, it was as if his glittering smile
had spread until it reached his forehead.

"Did I not tell you, my friend Juanito," said he,
"that the Liberals would lose? . . . But now," said
he, becoming serious, "now that my wound is better
you shall hear how it was given me. However, I must
warn you that the tale is rather long and of a semi-
edifying nature, so that if you would prefer to go into
the street and watch the various proceedings there, we
will postpone the tale."

I begged him to begin.

"Well, in the first place," said my master, "he who
threw the thing at me was our lieutenant, Esteban
Fuentes."

2o8 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

"But he is on our side! He is not a Liberal!" I
cried.

"The missile hit me just as hard/' my master said.
"No doubt if a dispute does not go further than fierce
words, the missiles of a friend are those which hurt
the most. But when it comes to a large paper-weight
of Puebla onyx, as it did in this case, then the mental
damage is of relatively small importance . . . Now,
my son, you have been living with me for some time
and, even if I have not spoken of them, you may know
quite well what my opinions are on many matters.
You may know, for instance, that I do not think it is
advisable to warn the young of certain conduct, since
they might then be deterred from learning by their
personal experience, which is the only satisfying way."

"But if," I interrupted, "if a young man kills a
Liberal or some one else?"

"I am thinking," Don Eugenio said, "of moral con-
duct, but before now it has happened that by simply
putting somebody to death a man has risen, by re-
pentance, to a height which he would not have scaled.
We used to have at Zaragoza, in his lordship's library,
a fat and lovable small volume bound in red morocco
by Derouse and decorated with the beautiful, broad
dentelle border which is so characteristic of this mas-
ter, who also lined it with a very delicate slate-blue
silk. In that delightful book I found a good example
of a sinner who, by timely penitence, becomes a saint.
She was Eudoxia of Heliopolis, one of the fairest and
most witty women of her day. She was a courtesan
who had amassed a fabulous amount of gold. And no
one would have claimed for her that she was on th^
path of righteousness. It also is quite possible that
if she had been no great sinner she would not have
suddenly set out upon this path when she had over-

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 209

heard a dialogue about the fearful and eternal tortures
that such people as herself would certainly inherit.
She besought a certain priest to tell her everything
about religious matters, and a week had not gone by
before she was so well-imbued with them that in a
vision she beheld a place which was reserved for her
among the blessed ones of God. After she was baptized
she retired into a house of prayer; but those who once
had loved the sinner felt exasperated with the penitent.
Among them was a youthful libertine who swore he
would abduct her, and he came in the disguise of a
pious man. She penetrated the disguise and he fell
dead in front of her, but then she interceded, so that
he was brought to life again. And she did many other
miracles and beneficial works, whereat the governor of
the province, fearing lest she might stir up the people
whose affection she had gained by these good works,
commanded that her head should be cut off. . . . So
there you have," said Don Eugenio, "a sinner who
repented and became a saint. And if you want one
who commited murder I can tell you of Saint Ivan of
the Balkans, who was a poor shepherd walking in the
mountains when he met a Turk and slew him.
Nothing else is known about this Balkan saint, so that
his only merit may have been the murder. Naturally
I can understand those people who are not in sympathy
with this Saint Ivan, but at any rate he was a man of
good intentions."

'Terhaps," said I, "the Turk blasphemed against
the Holy Church."

"And yet," said Don Eugenio, "I am myself not
overfond of those who carry out their good intentions.
If these people were more numerous the world would
be a camping-ground of prigs and other horrors. . . .
Well, if those who were beside Eudoxia in her child-

2IO THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

hood had so dinned into her ears that one should not
become a courtesan^ and if the friends of the young
Ivan had effectively impressed upon him that one
should not murder, then these two would not have
gone the way which ultimately brought them into great
positions. I do not propose to warn you against
women; you will yield to your desires, Juanito, and
the time will come when you will be repenting just as
bitterly as I am doing at this moment. I know very
well that many masters do not speak of such things to
their pupils, but in my opinion I am not more wrong
than is the nightingale which loves to sing when all the
other birds are silent."

I entreated him to tell me how Don Esteban Fuentes
threw the piece of Puebla onyx.

"As I stood outside his house," said Don Eugenio,
"and it was dark and very cold and there was falling
this abominable rain of mist, the chipi-chipi, I assure
you that if I had not remembered some of the great,
famous lovers who had not been daunted by the
obstacles I should have gone straight back to bed.
Oh, triumph of intelligence! Oh, victory of the
spiritual within us over what is bestial ! And to have
the knowledge that these ancient heroes did not live in
vain and that with their assistance we can rise above
the sordidness of our surroundings! Juanito, when
the night was freezing me and when the rainy mist
was all about me, I could let my thoughts be occupied
with the romantic passion of Count Claros de Mont-
alban for Claranina, the Emperor's daughter, and the
grievous obstacles he had to face; I could be thinking
of Cristovam Falcao, the old poet who was very faith-
ful to his wife, although her parents caused him to
be shut up five years in a prison; lastly, I could dream
of the adventures of Theagenes and Chariclea, so that

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 211

my unhappy physical environment became as nothing
and was swallowed by the grandeur of my love for
Enriqueta. Such high thoughts are possible, my son,
to all of us who happen to be placed in such condi-
tions and if you have perseverance then there could
be no defeat for you, but if your perseverance is in-
adequate I would advise you not to dream of ancient
lovers, just as one advises seamen not to learn to swim
and thus prolong their agony.

"Well, I was brooding with a full heart on
Theagenes and Chariclea when the window of the
house was opened and I saw the young lieutenant.
He leaned out into the night, although it was so dis-
agreeable, and he removed the night-cap from his head.
He muttered a few bars of the Paloma song.

"I made my presence known to him, and instantly
he burst into a fierce invective. He employed against
me and against the Spanish people and against my
former colleagues the librarians a villainous array of
words, with most of which I was acquainted. It is
written in the story of Theagenes that 'The barbarians
are by nature hard to turn from their impulses'; and
therefore I considered that it would be best to make no
answer. Let him with his raving speech exhaust him-
self, and let me in the meantime go back to Theagenes
and Chariclea. Has not Heliodorus beautifully told
the incident when they were captured by the bandits?
I could see the robber-captain put his hand upon the
girl and bid her rise and follow him. She guessed his
meaning, and she tried to draw the youth along with
her and, putting the sword to her breast, she threat-
ened to kill herself unless they took both of them.
The captain, understanding partly what she said, and
more by signs, and thinking that the lad would make
an excellent recruit if he got well, dismounted, and

212 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

made his squire do the same. He then placed the pris-
oners on the horses, instructed the other men to follow
when they had packed up the plunder, and himself
kept up with the horses on foot, holding up also the
girl or the youth if either of them was slipping off.
This incident meant something, for the captain seemed
to be a servant and the captor was choosing to wait
upon his captives. To such a degree, says Heliodorus,
can dignity and beauty master even a robber and gov-
ern the roughest of men!

"While I was considering this, Don Esteban Fuentes
grew more violent. It is extraordinary that he did
not wake up all the neighbors. I reflected that if
happily I could discuss the situation with him in a
calm and reasonable manner I was not without some
arguments in my defense that would appeal to him
and that would cause us very possibly to separate as
friends. I therefore settled to wait there in patience
till that moment should arrive. It would be so much
better than to have him in the morning stride with
unabated fury through Jalapa and shout everywhere
a most malicious and exaggerated and most odious
account of this my indiscretion. Thus I let my
thoughts go back to Heliodorus, the romantic bishop,
and of what he said concerning dignity and beauty
which can master even robbers and can govern a
rough man.

"I saw the noble Chariclea in her great distress,
when they had traveled to the swamp, and she was
flung into a hut to spend the night; I heard how she
addressed Apollo, saying that he punishes our sins too
hardly. 'What we have gone through,' she said, 'is
not sufficient for thy vengeance, — that we have lost
our friends, that we have been taken by pirates, in
danger at sea a thousand times, taken again by robbers

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 213

on land, — but what we have to expect is worse than
the past. Where wilt thou stay all this? If thou
wilt end it with an honorable death, it is well; but if
any one is to take from me more than I have yet
granted, even to Theagenes, I will forestall the out-
rage by hanging myself, and so I will preserve myself
pure even to death, and I will take with me my chas-
tity as a splendid winding-sheet.'

" 'Thou — thou — thou — devastator of my house,'
roared the lieutenant. 'It is well for thee that I have
not a musket in this room — thou most — thou
most . . .'

"After all, I meditated, we do not possess within
us an unlimited supply of phrases and a golden phrase
belongs to all the world, so that it would be foolish
to find fault with Heliodorus for employing that one
of the chastity which is a splendid winding-sheet, a
phrase which had been used by Dionysius the Elder,
tyrant of Syracuse, and revived by Theodora, the con-
sort of Justinian the First.

"At that moment Esteban Fuentes actually said that
I was the most dangerous of men and that no girl
was safe from me. Alas! he made me think of long
ago, when I was different. I was not incommoded
then by this majestic body, I was graceful and as
slender as the Indians who now regard me with the
eyes of admiration as I slowly move along the streets
— just as they regard a man whose chin they cannot
see behind his beard. There was a time when I was
able to ignore the years — a floating bird, another bird,
far overhead — and now they are a pack of vultures
who are watching m,e, the shadow of their wings op-
presses me. But I am talking in a fashion which does
not go well with my majestic and prosaic body. . . .
I felt that it was cruel of the young lieutenant to

214 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

remind me of those days — an old man, doubtless,
should be grateful that he is not older — and if I had
possessed the strength of will I would have answered
him. I was so miserable with the thought of my old
age and my infirmities that I could not prevent myself
from weeping. I was weeping for the dear delights
which would return no more.

" 'Ah!' cried the young lieutenant, 'you perceive the
error of your ways and you repent.'

"I only wanted to be left alone with my sad thoughts
and in the general misery of the night. The rain of
mist was like a brother to my tears, and in the black-
ness and the cold about me I could hide myself and
not be noticed.

" 'So it is I,' said the insufferable lieutenant, 'who
have brought you to repentance.' He seemed rather
sorry for me.

"But I could not tolerate him any longer. I would
not give way to mere abuse, as he had done, but I
would speak to him with dignity. What I proposed
to do was to remind him that, above such miserable
creatures as himself and me, there was the everlasting
word of God. A little time before, when I was con-
scious only of Don Esteban Fuentes and myself, I
managed, with the help of those old famous lovers,
to retain my dignity and my composure; now when
I was conscious also of Almighty God — what could
I do?

"Don Esteban invited me to come this evening to
a farewell feast, and I accepted, Juanito, for myself
and you, and let us take the poor French officer."

"I am very glad," said I, "that you forgave Don
Esteban Fuentes."

"Some of the invectives he assailed me with were
picturesque," said Don Eugenic.

CHAPTER XVI

But our Frenchman was unable to go with us to the
feast. That afternoon the warlike lady of a Liberal
officer — we never knew which of the officers it was —
came marching into Don Arcadio's house to tell me
that I could go with them, as she had suggested. If
I followed her advice, she said, I would not hesitate.
And she remarked in her deep voice that I ought to
be flattered at the way in which she had remembered
me, but she was one of the most steadfast women
of the land, she said. I was to think it over carefully
while she walked round the house. When she came
back she had the Frenchman with her. He was carry-
ing his horse's bridle and the saddle, and he seemed
in a great hurry to be gone. So did the woman. At
the same time, said the officer, he would not care to
go without returning thanks to Don Eugenio and also
to the owner of the house, whom he had not yet seen.
And could I find these gentlemen and could I find
some food and could I run about the town in order
to be sure that every Liberal had departed? Then
they told me that they were in a tremendous hurry,
and I fetched my master, Don Arcadio, Faustino and
Maria and old Captain Bartolme. And I was so
much interested that I did not go into the town, but
stayed to listen. I suppose that as these two, the
warlike woman and the Frenchman, passed so rapidly
and so completely from us and became the phantoms
of two people who had been beside us for a day, I
ought not to write much about them, though my mas-
ter used to say that, whatever might occur in the

215

2i6 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

hereafter, we were all of us of equal unimportance in
this world of phantoms.

Till the moment when they met, the officer had been
resolved to sail from Veracruz on any vessel he could
catch; I do not know precisely what had been the
woman's resolutions. But they were determined now,
they told us, to betake themselves to an estate belong-
ing to the woman, where a factory could be erected
near the waterfall, and thus a fortune could quite
easily be made.

I was astonished that she had divulged all this and
that the factory had been arranged so quickly.

"It will be a profitable thing/' the Frenchman said.

"And patriotic also," said the woman. "If we had
more factories in Mexico there would be far less idle-
ness and poverty and discontent and revolution."

"We shall have a huge success," the Frenchman
said. "At present one is under the necessity of draw-
ing calico and cloth and wool and many iron goods
from Europe, while the powder and the bullets that
you make are miserably bad as well as dear. It is for
us to make both these commodities, the powder and
the bullets, satisfactorily."

They told us more about their schemes and some one
said that if all Mexican antagonists would imitate them
and go into partnership, there soon would be no coun-
try half as peaceful.

But the Frenchman waved his forefinger from side
to side and, with a very knowing smile, he said they
would have customers enough for powder and for
bullets.

And the woman said her husband would be pleased
when he came back to his estate — for it was his — and
found that there was so much money for him.

And Faustino muttered to himself that this was a

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 217

far better and more usual and less risky way of get-
ting gold than to go down for it into the State of
Tamaulipas.

When the couple rode away I followed them, in
dread lest anything should happen, but I think the
people of the town believed the woman had been looted
by the Frenchman and they merely shrugged their
shoulders at his curious taste and said that foreigners
were very strange.

But as for me, I thought old Captain Bartolme was
stranger still, because when Don Eugenio and myself,
that evening, were going to the feast, he said that he
would likewise go. He said that, at the risk of being
murdered, he must see his old friend Enriqueta once
again. Now we were all upon the point of separation
— God knew what He had in store for us. And so he
came, while Don Arcadio and Faustino and Maria
stopped at home.

My master walked between us, and his observations
were of notable lucidity:

"We are going to a farewell feast," he said, "because
our patron wishes to go on a journey in pursuit of gold.
I think it is quite probable that he will find some gold,
since he already has abundance of it. But from what
I know of him he will forget to share the spoil with
us; if I request a small amount, so that I shall not
be completely destitute in the few years which I may
live, he probably will make me drink ten fortunes in a
soup, so that I may have everlasting life. The mad-
ness of our patron and his blasphemy are terrible
afflictions, but the qualities which make me look upon
this expedition with foreboding are his beautiful de-
tachment and his exaltation. I have come into a time
of life when the material things are of importance, and,
so far as I can see, the best that I can hope for from

2i8 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

this journey is that I will add to my experience, which
is already more than ample. I know very well how
grand I should appear if I could face the grievous
prospect with a smile, as, under other circumstances,
did the early Christian martyrs. But I am doubtful
whether it is in me to hold out until the time for start-
ing. And I feel that now the moment has arrived
when I must overeat and overdrink myself, which is
assuredly permitted if your purpose is a noble and a
philosophic one. In this way I shall suffocate the
growing weakness that I have within me. I shall make
myself insensible. And even when my body would
revolt I shall continue, if the physical and if the moral
pain is great I shall continue, so that it may quite
obliterate my mind and all its fears."

Old Captain Bartolme was looking sad and happy at
the same time, but far happier than I had seen him
look of late. "Ah, yes," said he, "I have not yet
forgotten the good food and drink with which the
father of this Juanito entertained me. I have eaten
them in memory — the well-fried chickens and the
chocolate with goat's milk and the small white pyra-
mids of grease and the delicious cakes of honey and
the ducks — those poultry-men who walk about Jalapa
and exclaim: 'Ducks, oh my soul, hot ducks!' I swear
they never knew how I regarded those of Father Pedro.
Have you heard, senor my comrade, what the feast
will be to-night? I am a storm-tossed vessel . . ."

"So am I," said Don Eugenio. "But are you going
with us into Tamaulipas?"

The old man shrugged his shoulders. "I am igno-
rant," he said, "of what will happen to me."

"You are to be envied," said my master.

So they went on talking of what they would do that
night and afterwards, but not with one word did they

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 219

mention Enriqueta. And my heart went out to both
of them, and if I could have had my way they would
have each received an Enriqueta and a better one
than she was. I saluted all the people in the street
because I felt so friendly towards them, and though
several of them called me names and others crossed
themselves, for thinking I was mad — what did I care?

And on the bench outside the house there was Don
Esteban Fuentes sitting in his uniform and with his
legs stretched out.

''Hola!" he cried, "a welcome to you! I am hor-
ribly fatigued, for I have ridden over all the town
and to the outskirts in a hunt for Liberals, that abom-
inable, evil-smelling crowd. But we have swept them
all away. And now we shall be merry." The lieu-
tenant yawned.

"Sir," said my master, as he made a beautiful, old-
fashioned bow, "we have resolved to put aside our
sorrows and to let your table be a scene of mirth.
I only hope our sorrows and our apprehensions, which
are great, will not come to the surface. Is it your
desire that we should now go in?"

Don Esteban Fuentes stretched himself again and
rose. He seemed to be amused, and to my master and
old Captain Bartolme he said that neither of them
need have apprehensions, for he was a cavalier and
would not poison any guest of his, not even if the
guest had previously wanted to deprive him of his
mistress.

"I am not aware," he said to Don Eugenio, "what
is the code in Spain, according to which I presume you
conduct yourself in these matters. But in Mexico a
person of position either kills his man at once or kills
the mistress and the man. If he does neither it is
not considered very chivalrous that he should keep his

220 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

vengeance for another time. Moreover, as my colonel
always says, if anybody of position kills the man or
kills the mistress he is acting contrary to law, v/hich is
a bad example to the lower people."

Then he pushed against the door and we all followed
him into the house, into a little room which had a
mirror and some rocking-chairs, and it was lighted by
two candles that were placed in brackets on the mirror.
The lieutenant blew them out and begged us to go
forward to the next room and I think we all were glad
that there was not much furnitture, because the room
was really dark. But in the next one we perceived a
lighted table with some dishes down the middle of it
and an Indian woman gazing at them. The lieutenant
ordered her to go and bring down Enriqueta.

He was taking off his sword when she came in and
so he did not notice properly the solemn look she had.
And in a tone of heartiness he bade us all to take our
seats. The Indian woman waddled back with some
tortillas, very hot and round and crisp. She made a
little heap of them beside our host, and he proceeded
to give everybody one by simply throwing them all
round the table. He did not appear to aim, but not-
withstanding a tortilla fell just at the left of each of us.

"Aha," said Don Eugenio, "if you can plant the
bullets in a person with such accuracy, then the Lib-
erals who have gone may all congratulate themselves."

"May the Devil catch them!" the lieutenant said.
"I drink to their confusion!" And he raised his glass.
He looked so fierce that all of us, excepting Don
Eugenio, were anxious. Enriqueta, who was sitting
at his left side — Don Eugenio was at his right and
I was next to Don Eugenio and Captain Bartolme was
next to Enriqueta — she leant forward and besought
him with her eyes to calm himself.

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 221

My master was transferring from his plate to mine
a piece of chicken; I have never seen his hand more
steady.

"Drink, now drink to their death!" cried our host.
"That they ma}^ come to years of confusion! And I
mean what I say!"

"And that is why we are not drinking," Don
Eugenio said. "We are too sorry for them. When
that other celebrated warrior, Julius Caesar, changed
the calendar the first year had the name of 'year of
confusion.' It was four hundred and forty-five days
in length; and can you really find it in your heart
to wish the poor folk such a lengthened life?"

"Oh, what does he mean?" groaned the lieuten-^
ant.

Captain Bartolme was sipping from his glass.

"In such an admirable wine as this," declared my
master, "I submit that we should not drink evil things
to any one. I never saw a wine of such a color and
in such long bottles." Then he drank a little and
he nodded gravely. "Sir," he said, "it is a most
historic wine. I will confess that I did not ascribe
to you such perspicuity. How did you come to buy
it?"

"But I never bought it."

"Then we have to thank a noble ancestor of yours.
What foresight! — to go sailing to the West with a
few hundred glorious bottles."

The lieutenant lay back in his chair and looked
as if he would explode. "Oh, what a man!" he cried.
"Oh, what a man!"

"Yes," Don Eugenio said enthusiastically. "He was
the magnificent conquistador. I can imagine how he
paced the deck with Ponce de Leon, who was seeking
for the fount of everlasting youth, and your great

222 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

ancestor was bringing a supply of it in thin, green
bottles. That is greatness!"

"Oh, stop, stop!" cried the lieutenant. " 'Tis too
much."

"Not half enough, sir," said my master. "Such a
man deserves the title. And I tell you that if only
it is granted me to come back safely to this town, I
shall devote myself to writing the biography of your
unknown, far-seeing ancestor. To think that in the
bishop's library at Zaragoza I was spending all those
years in writing Saint Eugracia's life! And if I had
accomplished it, what use would it have been as an
example to the pious? Nobody who says he is a
Christian runs the slightest risk of being fastened to
a horse's tail or having iron bars put through his thighs
or having his liver torn out. In fact, I am sorry
to say that it is the enemies — the honest, open enemies
— of Christendom who stand in gravest peril of these
things. . . . But as for the unequaled foresight of
your ..."

"Look now," said the lieutenant, banging with his
hand upon the table, "it is I who had the foresight.
When this wine was being taken up towards the capi-
tal, we lay in wait and seized a cart or two, and I
obtained my proper share. What is the good of having
Emperors who are extravagant and get their wine sent
all the way from Hungary, unless one can participate?
. . . And you, my dear sir, have been very much in
error."

Don Eugenio was taking a luxurious, long draught
of it and with his eyes shut. He drank very slowly.
And when he put down the glass his eyes were like
those of our famous Indian, Cuauhtemoc, when Cortes
burned his feet, for they were proud and melancholy.

"I have met some people in my wanderings," he

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 223

said, 'Vho ostentatiously proclaimed it to the world
that they had never stolen anything; and if, indeed,
they spoke the truth they were unnatural, for men
are thieves, and those who keep themselves from steal-
ing fall in consequence into another sin. Let us, for
example, take the very common theft, that of a woman.
Do not the red lips of Enriqueta and her irresponsible
gay laugh, her fruit-like shoulders, and the lovely
curves of her body — not to mention other things —
make her an object of desire?"

"I am not laughing," Enriqueta said.

"Which adds a grief to our desire and strengthens
it," said Don Eugenio. "But is there any one," he
said, as he turned back his face to the lieutenant, "is
there any one who, contemplating such a woman, can
refrain from having a desire within him? It is not
worth while reflecting on those people who are quite
or nearly quite indifferent to the desire, but I suspect
those men who actively are up in arms against it.
Such a sentiment of virtue does not live in ordinary
men, but in those others who have lost their health
and hope or who were never granted them by God.
Whatever virtue of this kind I may possess I certainly
have not acquired through studying the precepts of
religion or through listening to the admonitions of the
moralizers, who, in Spain, are beautifully eloquent;
but in so far as I am broken by fatigue and suffering
I find this virtue settles down upon me and I do
not wish to steal a woman, but I fall into the heavy
sin of pride. And so do those men who discover that
they do not wish to steal the objects which in other
days they hankered after. Would you not be all too
proud, my friend, if you perceived that you no longer
had the wish to steal the Emperor's wine? But if
you are a thief of wine you may offend your Emperor,

224 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

whereas if you are proud you will assuredly offend
your God."

"I once met a man," said the lieutenant, "who was
very ill indeed. He told me that the doctor said that
during six months he must keep from woman, wine,
and song. I asked him if he would obey the doctor,
and he said he would begin by leaving off the song."

The aged woman reappeared with fresh tortillas, and
our host again distributed them as before.

"Another thing," said my good master, "is that
here in Mexico especially the art of thieving should
not cease. I love the old traditions and the old ways of
a country. One may travel through the towns of
Andalucia as they are; for me the real Andalucia is
the land of Abdul Hassan, who is still besieged in
Seville by the hosts of Saint Fernando. I have heard
of pilgrims who devoutly walk along the narrow streets
and to the famous churches of Assisi; but the town
as it will always be to me is the Assisi of that golden
morning on which Francis and his comrades came back
with the blessing of the great Pope Innocent and were
so eager to return with the good news that they forgot
to eat and thus arrived exhausted in the valley, though
they still were singing. Once when I was in Toledo
I was very much distressed, because the population
did not seem to notice those who were the only real
people of the place and who were striding past me with
the ruffles round their haughty necks and with their
ancient but still serviceable swords. It seems to me
that Mexico would break entirely with her past if
stealing were to be in future practised in a furtive
way, without an air and with no humor. Long live
Mexico!"

He drank and so did all of us. Old Captain Bar-
tolme was moving his chair nearer to the chair of

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 225

Enriqueta. But she only looked at the lieutenant or
at Don Eugenic.

"Well, I am sorry we are going to separate," said
the lieutenant to my master, "for you Spaniards have
the gift of talking. That is why you came into the
world. But, anyhow, please pass the bottle."

"Sir," said Don Eugenio in his courteous way, "it
would require a great amount of talking if we are to
speculate on why we came into the world. And as we
find ourselves at present, I believe it will be wiser if we
do not launch into the seas of arguing, but simply say
that we are here to do the will of God. That, after all,
is the sole certainty."

"Oh, nonsense!" said Don Esteban. "I know why
I am here. A country must have officers to keep good
order and preserve it from the Liberals. That is what
I have to do, and that is what I shall do, seiior the
librarian, and if it is God's will I am glad. But I
shall do it anyhow." He looked a little fierce.

And Enriqueta laid a hand upon his arm. "My
love," she said, "of course it is God's will that you
should be a fine lieutenant. Everything we do is
God's will, I am sure, and so that must be why He
put us in the world. I prayed to God that it might
be His will that I might leave Gonzalez, the disgusting
shopkeeper of Colorado, just as I had left this poor
old Captain Bartolme. And as I had been faithful to
them for so long I was rewarded and my prayer was
heard, and here I am with you forever. That is why
I came into the world."

The lieutenant looked at her with scorn. "How
can a woman be so ignorant," said he, "as to believe
that God is interested in such matters? It is very
ignorant and also very vile."

But Don Eugenio reproved him, saying that his wine

226 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

was far superior to his philosophical ideas. "You
assert," he said, "that you are in the world in order to
destroy a part of it and, on the other hand, you venture
to deny this woman's claim, that she is here to love
another part. It seems to me that you might take
unto yourself the theories of a few of the barbarian
fellows who have stated why men come into the world.
They are, at all events, not so pernicious as your
own. The natives of some southern island, I dare
say, believe that they are put there so that they should
eat roast pig and other people will maintain that the
Creator wants them to be wreathed in flowers and
dance all day long in His honor, and the wicked early
Lutherans believed that they were in great measure
on this world so that they should throw ridicule and
odium upon the Pope. 'Sooner Turks than Papists'
was their cry. But though it was deplorable that they
should think they came here for an object such as this,
I do not blame them, O lieutenant, as I must blame
you for saying that your purpose here, the reason
why you have been given an immortal soul, is to de-
stroy another man. Behold an instance of the curse
of thinking! If you cherish thoughts of that kind
you must be condemned, but if you are a thoughtless
warrior who goes plunging into battle and defends the
hearths and altars of his country and kills other men
and is himself brought down, he surely reaches the
most high degree of charity. But your belief is in-
finitely worse than that of Enriqueta, who has told
us that she was put in the world to spread her love.
I see what you are going to say. But even if she had
been spreading it a trifle widely and with insufficient
care, I shall not find it difficult to show that if this
hour should be the last for you and her, one would
be justified in thinking of her future with more con-

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 227

fidence. An army of exuberant lovers who now dwell
in everlasting bliss could march before you and their
serried ranks would almost make you think that if
this attribute is of importance in the final reckoning
it is on the credit side. Of course there is a French-
man living now, Jules Simon, who has said that no-
body will ever understand the reason why a cause pro-
duces an effect; but while this may be true of mundane
matters it need not restrain us from believing that
excessive love is rarely an excessive handicap to our
eternal prospects. Shall I go for good examples to
the saints who were at one time much preoccupied
with earthly love, or shall I talk of people who re-
sembled them a great deal but who are, for various
reasons, not included in the hierarchy of saints? It
would be simple for me to display to your astonished
eyes, young man, a list of persons whom the Church
considers holy and who . . ."

''Every one is holy," interrupted the lieutenant with
his mouth full. "I once heard a lunatic say that.
But go on with your discourse."

"I am having the most pleasant evening of my life,"
said Captain Bartolme, with humble gratitude.

"Shall I describe to you," said Don Eugenio, "how
courtesans have been selected as fit candidates, when
they were purged, for the most lofty honors. In the
sacred books are numerous examples, both of women
and of their male counterparts. I will not speak of
them to-night, since you are in the mood, I fear — a
mood that I have far too often — which regards these
blessed ones with smiles. There is doubtless here and
there a saint whose joyous life is of the kind which,
notwithstanding, edifies all mortal men; but the
Church has warned us that the number of these saints
is limited. And therefore I shall run no risk this eve-

228 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

ning and I shall say no word about the drastic method
which Saint Peter of Alcantara employed against his
passion of the flesh. But I should like to give you
from the ranks of the profane an instance of the ten-
derness with which it pleases God to look upon a
person who is built for loving. Well, this person is
myself, and if, in your opinion, I should be more
modest, I reply that I do not propose to glorify myself.
Nihil es, nihil potes, nihil vales. Dear lieutenant, I
will cause you to admit, I think, that there are mo-
ments in our lives which the majority of human beings
would condemn and which God welcomes. I suppose
you will agree that everybody has occasions when he
is more anxious to set out upon the path of righteous-
ness?"

"How long ago were you converted?" asked Don
Esteban.

"I only wish," said my good master, "to allude to
one occasion in my life when this grand process was
at work. . . . You will not have heard that once in
Aragon, among the mountains, I was an apprentice
with my uncle's company of smugglers, who were cele-
brated and successful. If it had not been for an
unfortunate event I might have stayed with them and
never known the seminary or his lordship's library at
Zaragoza or the agitating bookstalls of Madrid or this
flamboyant land of yours. And in the mountains I
had also had a very fortunate experience, when I
recognized that God is full of kindliness and pardon
for the sins of overmastering love. We were a party
of three men and we were coming back, well laden,
over one of the high rocky passes when we found
ourselves confronted by some travelers on horseback,
evidently people of importance. And they may have
been inclined to set some hostile frontiersman upon

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 229

our track, because they may have had ideas on law
and order which — I am so glad to say — I subsequently
came to have myself. At any rate we knew it would
be better to make sure of them and so we tied their
wrists and ankles very firmly, all except those of a
girl who stood upon the road defying us, and she was
beautiful. Her attitude and her wild eyes and her
denunciation of us made her look like one of those
old warrior-women, like Thomyris or like Menalippe,
who would only yield to Hercules, and when I gazed
at her I felt within me the same violence and fury
as she had herself."

"Go on! Make haste!" cried the lieutenant.
"What succeeded?"

"She was beautiful," said Don Eugenio, "and my
companions were as much attracted to her as I was
myself. And while we were discussing in a friendly
way what we would do with her, the woman did not
cease reviling us and looking splendid. She made
much more noise than all the other members of her
party put together. And my comrades and myself
resolved at last that we would vote respectably for
him who was to have the right to her. We settled
that it would not be allowed for any one to vote for
his own name. I caught the woman's eye while we
were making these arrangements and she knew that
we were serious and that it was no longer wise to
stand there in such indiscriminate rebellion; at all
events with glances and with little gestures she con-
veyed to me that I must be the man. Meanwhile,
the other two were voting very solemnly and each
one voted for the other. And they called to me, and
suddenly it struck us that we should elect the one
for whom I voted. Juan de la Cruz, who was grizzled
and unclean, thought that my vote would be for San-

230 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

tiago who was younger and more like myself, and so
he took a pistol from his pocket and Santiago followed
his example. 'Now, be careful what you do!' cried
Juan de la Cruz, 'Freedom of election! Liberty and
the Democracy!' cried Santiago, who repeated some
expressions he had heard. The luckless travelers all
seemed to have forgotten their misfortune, they were
staring like Galicians in a theater. Then Juan de la
Cruz warned me as well that I should have a care,
but Santiago waved his empty hand above his head
and shouted 'Liberty and the Democracy!' And I
could see that the dear woman was extremely troubled;
she had got two fingers pressing hard against her
lower lip. Then Juan de la Cruz let fly against a
rock, perhaps to demonstrate that he was loaded, and
the smoke and dust did not allow me to see very
well what happened next. I only know that they
both fired and hit each other in the legs, and as they
cursed and yelled they both fell down, but Santiago
in a shrill voice cried his 'Freedom of election! Lib-
erty and the Democracy ! ' And I made after the dear
woman. But my mind was not so taken up with her
that I omitted to see God's benevolence. I will not
say that I had more love for the woman than had
Juan de la Cruz or Santiago, but I was the one whom
she preferred. She and I alone could not have brought
this thing to pass, and in believing that it was the
work of God I may have been mistaken, but I hope
that He did not refuse my thanks."

"The one who shouted 'Freedom of election!' " said
old Captain Bartolme, "had he not got a second
bullet?"

I was wondering if Don Eugenio still was fond of
her and therefore had concealed her name.

"But," said Enriqueta, "if the woman stood there

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 231

screaming at you and denouncing you she must have
been most horrible to look at. What you should have
done . . ."

Then the lieutenant came to Don Eugenio's rescue,
for he flung a large tortilla into Enriqueta's face. And
then he flung another one into the face of Captain
Bartolme. It was impossible to keep from laughing
at their ludicrous appearance, and they spluttered not
so much because of the tortillas being warm as of
the shock. And then they tried to brush the yellow
fragments all away, and the lieutenant, who was now
most jovial, threw another one at Enriqueta's hands.
He would have hurled one at the Captain, but he had
no more. And suddenly he shouted for the Indian
woman. My good master was upon the point of in-
terceding on behalf of those two people, but Don
Esteban announced that we would have a different
entertainment, and he told the Indian woman to bring
in the cocks.

"Here in this room," he said to Don Eugenio, "we
will have a cock-fight. It shall not be said that I did
not provide an entertainn.ent which is worthy of you.
Sir," he said impressively, "one does not often have
a private combat, for it is a large expense, but I will
give this in your honor."

"Long live our Don Esteban!" cried Enriqueta.
"He is great and generous and noble!"

And the aged woman came back with two baskets
which she put down on the floor.

We all got up and clustered round the baskets, but
Don Esteban said that he wanted to explain. It would
be foolish if the struggle, so he said, were over in as
short a time as in a cock-pit, seeing that we only had
two cocks. And therefore we would not excite them
very much against each other: we would not pluck

232 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

any of their feathers out and we would not pour pulque
on their wounds. He said that Don Eugenio might
choose whichever bird he wanted, and the wagering
should not exceed an ounce or two of gold.

My master waited till the baskets had been opened.
Then he told me to select a cock for him. And I was
very, very careful, though I really could not judge of
the capacities of two strange cocks, and yet I knew a
good deal more than my dear master, who had never
had one underneath his arm in all his life. At last
I thought that one of them would prove the champion
and I picked him up and gave him to my master;
but the hands of my poor master trembled violently
and he tried his best to look as if he did not feel
abhorrence.

The lieutenant said magnanimously that I might
instruct my master. "Speak into his ear," he said,
"whatever good advice you know."

And for that purpose we withdrew out of the circle
which had formed itself. We went as far away as
possible, but all the time I feared the cock would fall
or fly out of my master's hands. I could not think of
anything to tell him, save that he should throw the
bird as firmly as he could against the other one.
However, just as we were getting back into the circle,
where Don Esteban was holding his cock ready, a most
painful sound came from the throat of our bird, all his
feathers seemed to be erect and, with his beak half-
open, he had the appearance of a cock who is about to
kill the other at the end of a fluctuating fight. And so
it was — with a most horrid screech he flew at the
lieutenant's cock, they both rose in the air together,
and the other bird was dead and ours was crowing.

The lieutenant naturally was beside himself with

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 233

rage. He stormed and cursed and stamped his feet
and shouted at my master incoherently, and then he
seized our cock. He glanced at him, his rage became
more vehement than ever. Finally, when he could
speak, he told my master he was the most cruel cock-
fighter in all the world. My master's nails were not
inordinately long, but in his agitation they had pene-
trated the cock's legs and this had caused the animal
to be so fierce.

I will not say what savage words he uttered.

And my master told him that he quite agreed and
that in one sense he had been a cruel person. "There
is conduct," so he said, "which has not been inspired
by a malicious sentiment, and yet produces a result
that is deplorable. I think of Voltaire, who was more
than ever certain of the innocence of Calas and of the
good faith, so cruel, of the Parliament of Toulouse.
And I think, sir, that my cruelty, not being of the
calculated sort, but due entirely to my nervousness,
you might have treated it with some indulgence. I
must even ask you to forgive me if I say that such
an outcry on account of what you know quite well
was inadvertent cruelty is not harmonious with the
views that your profession lays upon you. I presume
that you do not dissociate yourself from that most
eminent commander who was never tired of praising
cruel conduct in a war; he held that if one were
engaged with despicable foes there would in a short
time be peace, and if it was a gallant foe he would
become implacable against your cruelty and then you
would salute him and in this way peace would also
come."

"I never heard of him in all my life," said the
lieutenant. "But what you were doing with that cock,

234 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

it is abominable. It is . . ." He was working him-
self up again into a passion. He paced up and down
the room.

"My friend," said Don Eugenio, "if you do not
desire to pay me what you owe, then do not pay me.
But I would be pleased if you will give it to this poor
old Captain. He is in distress. You said an ounce
or two of gold."

Then as the Captain met the glare in the lieutenant's
eye he quailed and muttered something and began to
move towards the door. And Enriqueta beckoned to
him that he must not go. But she was powerless.
And Don Eugenio, who was seated upon one of those
big baskets, told the Captain that if he was going
back to Colorado he should there receive whatever
gold could be extracted from Don Esteban.

^'Carajof" snarled Don Esteban, "that eminent com-
mander you were talking of is like some colonels I
know very well. They are the most ridiculous com-
manders ever seen, except those on the other side.
And if you think that I will pay you gold — when two
men find it easiest to come to an agreement it is for
the robbery of some one else."

"Do not reply to that lewd villain!" called out
Enriqueta. "Let us all disdain to speak to him! And
he shall never see me any more!" She really looked
superb. "But you will have some faithful friends,"
she said, "who wait for you in Colorado. There we
are all friends with one another and if we have paltry
cocks like those we throw them out into the jungle.
We are frank with one another; as we say in Mexico,
we take our garments off."

Then she put her arm around the neck of Captain
Bartolme and so they disappeared. And the lieutenant
did not try to stop them. He pretended to be quite

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 235

indifferent and, as he strode about the room, he gave
a jerky laugh. My master, still upon his basket, gazed
at the lieutenant with a lack of sympathy. And I
was sitting at the table near to the victorious cock,
which was engaged in pecking at the relics of our
feast. The other cock lay where it had been slain,
and the lieutenant kicked it very viciously across the
room.

"Young man," said Don Eugenio, "this is the first
time I have occupied myself with fighting-cocks, and
it may be that, if I had occasion to continue at the
game, I should get over the disgust I feel. But I shall
always think with horror of the way in which you
treat that poor, dead thing. . . . O cock," said Don
Eugenio, "the man for whom you fought has utterly
disgraced himself. He is the kind of soldier who
throws insult at a hero, not remembering that you
might have led an amorous, triumphant life, and that
for his sake you gave everything. It was no quarrel of
your own, beloved cock, in which you fell, but merely
so that this man should be gratified, and for a moment.
Fare you well. And I am glad that you were spared
the knowledge of the miscreant's deed; I think that
if you had been only wounded when he kicked you and
not dead, your loyal gallant heart would then have
broken. Fare you well." My master did not wipe
away the tears which ran down both his cheeks.

And the lieutenant was a picture of unhappiness.
He stood near Don Eugenio and his fingers worked
convulsively. "What can I do? What can I do?"
said he.

"You interrupt my grief," said Don Eugenio. "You
remind me of your Emperor's brother, Francis Joseph.
One day at the Zoological Gardens in Vienna he ar-
rived in front of where the eagles are. He burst

236 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

into a flood of tears, and the officials looked at one an-
other anxiously. 'Your Majesty,' said one of his smart
aides, 'if there is anything the matter . . .' 'Poor,
poor eagle,' sobbed the Emperor. 'What can I do?
What can I do?' The Chief Inspector of the Gardens
ventured to assure his Sovereign that this eagle was
quite reconciled to his captivity. 'Oh, my poor, mis-
erable bird,' sobbed Francis Joseph. 'I am truly sorry
for you. It is dreadful, dreadful.' 'But indeed,' said
the Inspector, 'if your Majesty would graciously ob-
serve with what an appetite he will consume his rab-
bits . . .' Yet the Emperor was inconsolable. 'He
is a bird,' said the Inspector, 'whom we have been
very proud of. There is scarcely such another in the
mountains of Your Empire.' 'No, no, that is false!'
cried Francis Joseph. 'He is a poor, pitiable creature.'
'But what is wrong with him, if I may ask Your
Apostolic Majesty?' said the Inspector. 'Oh, you must
be drunk,' the Emperor answered, 'or you would have
seen that he has only got one head!' "

Of course, the atmosphere was changed completely
by this tale, and the lieutenant, sitting down upon the
other basket, told my master with a cheerful earnest-
ness that they need not be very sorry for this cock,
because the end of many other cocks in Mexico had
been more painful. He described the practice of sus-
pending them by one leg from a pole, right in the
middle of the street. And usually round the creature's
neck there is a string of coins, which are sometirnes
counterfeit. And then the cavaliers come galloping
along and rise up in their stirrups and endeavor to
pull off the creature's head.

But in the middle of all this my master put his
hands against his ears. I knew that he was trying
strenuously to regard this matter, as he did all others.

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 237

from the point of view most favorable for the people
whom he disapproved of. "As I said before," quoth
he, "I possibly might overcome this feeling of disgust.
It is a sport which often brings the cock an instan-
taneous death, and for the men it has some obvious
advantages which lotteries and monte and the rest of
them do not possess. We have it sharply brought to
our attention that a being may at any instant lie in
death or be in the enjoyment, as is yonder cock, of all
good things. We recognize that our life also is a
wonderful adventure, and, in recognizing that, we fling
aside the dullness and the emptiness and the banalities.
It seems to me that, as one thinks about a cock-fight
after it is over, one can hardly keep oneself from
hearing the loud trumpets of defeat or victory that
will be blowing over us at any moment. And no longer
do we think our lives are dull, which is a thought that
pleases neither God nor Devil.

"I will tell you that I have regretted that the father
of my Juanito should have an establishment of fight-
ing-cocks. I do not know this country very well and
thus it is impossible for me to have the confidence
which Juanito's father had. His father said that with
some knowledge of the Latin language he would be
appointed to a post of honor and emolument. For
my part, I have always feared lest Juanito would be
in the end obliged to join in breeding cocks. But now
these cocks appear to me in a far nobler aspect. It
is no disgrace for Father Pedro to be busied with such
animals. No, on the contrary. And if I were not an
obscure and impotent old man, and if I were not being
dragged about by Don Arcadio, this Noahcite, I would
in some way let the name of Father Pedro ring across
the seas. But who will ever hear about this house
of fighting-cocks?

238 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

"I wonder," Don Eugenio said — not waiting for an
observation which I might have made — "I wonder
when it was that cocks began to be esteemed for this or
any other virtues. One remembers that Saint Clement
celebrates the cock as symbol of the resurrection and
he is depicted on the tombs of early Christians. As
the day and night were thought of as an image of
the resurrection — 'Dies et nox,' said Saint Clement,
'resurrectionem nobis declarant: cubat nox, exsurgit
dies' — it was natural that as a symbol of the resurrec-
tion one should take the cock, the herald of the day.
Also, I am pleased that I have not forgotten that they
used him as a symbol of Christian vigilance. It all
comes back to me from my vague, miscellaneous
studies in the library at Zaragoza. You, sir, will not
contradict me if I venture to assert that Gregory the
Great and Saint Eucherius laid it down concerning
cocks that they are as the preachers who, amid the
shadows of this life, announce the life that is to come.
I cannot call to mind exactly where Eucherius says
these words, because we had at Zaragoza more than
one of his distinguished volumes. In the De Con-
temptu Mundi my discerning bishop very ardently
admired the beauty of the stjde and the great delicacy
of the sentiments; and as he was himself most humble
he was always apprehensive lest he should be shown
to be deficient in the former. So, wh^'n he prepared
his Pastorals, he used to fortify his style by studying
attentively this elevated work.

"Eucherius likewise is the author of the Acts of the
Martyrdom of Saint Maurice and Ms Comrades. It is
all related by Eucherius in a very honest fashion and
with his accustomed literary excellence, while he re-
frains from buttressing his tale with miracles, such

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 239

as the one we have from other sources which describes
how at the building of Agaunum's great basilica there
was among the laborers a pagan who continued work-
ing on a Sunday and how then the company of gleam-
ing martyrs came back from their grave to fling him
down and fall upon him in the charitable goodness
of their hearts, because it made him forthwith vow
that he would be a Christian. When I talk approv-
ingly," said Don Eugenio, ''of these martyrs it is only
of their good intentions, for I think they ought not
to have used the man so scurvily; they ought to have
instructed him and shown him how the Sunday should
be spent; and after this, had he been stubborn and
rebellious to their merciful teaching, then in God's
name let him fall under the censure. But to knock
him down with no preliminaries, that is not a method
of conversion which can be attributed to saints with-
out a great offense to their charity. However, as I
said, Eucherius does not write a word about this
miracle, and yet there are some learned men who say
emphatically and with many proofs that one must dis-
believe his tale and that there was no martyrdom and
therefore that it was ridiculous and sacrilegious to con-
struct a church upon the spot and let the pilgrims
come in multitudes. But we shall never know for
certain if the martyrdom did not occur and if it is
an oriental legend; there have been a number of es-
teemed historians who pondered over the same texts
for years and years, and came to opposite conclusions.
We are told by certain writers that the students who
do not believe these old traditions are afraid to bring
upon themselves the hatred of the monks and friars
who make trade of these impostures among silly
women."

240 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

"I have just been thinking of her," interrupted the
lieutenant. "If we go into the town we may find En-
riqueta somewhere."

"Very likely. On the other hand/' said Don Eu-
genio, "you will admit that people are too quick to
cast aspersions on all kinds of ancient men and women
on the ground that their achievements seem improba-
ble. God, what a reason! We ourselves, who are so
far removed from being saints, do we not find our-
selves, with God's assistance, doing deeds to-day which
yesterday would have appeared impossible? And
learned men, I say, can spend their time far better
than in proving to us that a saint whom we have
venerated is no saint at all. The Master of the Saints
will surely know how to dispose of any prayers that
we send up to the saints or holy ones who were in-
vented by some monkish chronicler, and so we can
do things much worse than praying to Saint Chris-
topher or Saint Longinus or the Eleven Thousand Vir-
gins or the Martyrs of the Theban Legion, under
Maurice, as to all of whom there has been acriminious
dispute."

"I should be very glad to find her," quoth Don
Esteban, as he got up. "Come, let us go."

"I would not hinder you," said Don Eugenio. "By
all means let us walk about the town until the watch-
men grow suspicious. I am sure that Enriqueta has
escaped. And if you can forget her ... By the way,"
said my good master, "I am going to take with me
to Tamaulipas a brown book which I have bought,
the Security against Oblivion which a man called
Robles wrote a hundred years ago, here in this coun-
try. It is the official 'Life' of an archbishop, and I
think it may console us in the perils of that expedi-
tion. At any rate it is a very foolish expedition, and

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 241

it will be difficult for me to keep that calmness and
serenity which are appropriate to my condition. If I
cannot soothe my fellow-travelers and myself I shall
recite some passages from this most edifying book, and
thus we shall regain our equanimity."

But as he said these words and was proceeding
slowly from the room that cock flew from the table
and, perhaps in consequence of something it had drunk
or eaten, hurled itself against my master's face. And
all confused and spitting feathers from his mouth and
in a voice of loathing he addressed the bird:

"Thou reprobate and graceless one, is this the way
in which to celebrate thy victory? O natives of the
town of Sybaris, held up to mockery because you could
not bear the crowing of the cocks and therefore ban-
ished them. O citizens of Sybaris, you did not act
with weakness but with mighty wisdom!"

The lieutenant said that we should lose all chance
of finding Enriqueta if we did not go. He said that
he knew many of the watchmen and they would not
tell him lies, and we would find the fugitives.

We never found them. The lieutenant tramped
along in front of us and I ran after him and Don
Eugenio came next, and he was out of breath. When-
ever I turned round to see if I could help him he
commanded me, by means of a brusk movement of
his arm, to hasten on. The streets were so deserted
at this hour that even when he was extremely far
behind us I could hear his stumbling, heavy footsteps
and his groaning and his panting, and at intervals he
made again the noise of spitting feathers from his
mouth.

CHAPTER XVII

When our procession left Jalapa, on the second
morning after this, the town was very agitated by
some awful rumors. It was being said that now the
Liberals were returning and that this time they would
sack the place, and also that the patron saint of the
Imperialists was so displeased with Maximilian having
taken to himself a German Jesuit as confidant that she
would henceforth help the other side, and also there
was in the market-square a Belgian of the bodyguard
who said aloud that he and his companions had so
often thrashed the Mexicans — he meant, of course, the
Liberals — that they probably had learned the art them-
selves and he was going to leave the cursed country.
Those who heard him were in such a terrible excite-
ment that they did not stop to have a single word
with him. The women and the men were hurrying
about in a distracted fashion; it was being noised
abroad that women would be made to promenade the
plaza with their children, so that if the Liberals be-
sieged the town they would, through motives of high
chivalry, not aim into the plaza. This was quite a
new idea which Maximilian's European soldiers had
suggested to the governor of the town; the Liberals
knew nothing of it. And amid this general confusion
there was hardly any one who looked a second time
at us, and that is how we rode away. If there had
not been all this turmoil, I am sure a good part of
the population would have followed Don Arcadio's
mule and would have asked Faustino, who was walk-

242

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 243

ing with a baggage-mule, if he would tell them our in-
tentions. On the next three animals were Don Eu-
genio and Maria and myself — I think Faustino got
the mules, and as there was one for the girl she
mounted it and came with us.

And what did I care when we left the town behind
us and no single person of our company said anything?
If this had been a funeral procession, I would still
have had my thoughts immensely occupied with that
long map from Don Arcadio's wall which he had rolled
up till it looked as if it were a lance, and which he
carried fastened to his back. The colored people on
it, and the trees which were like long, brown rivers,
and the writing everywhere which looked like flowers
that a child would paint, and then the gods and the
extraordinary mountains and a chief whose legs and
arms were covered with the plumage of gay birds — all
these had sent me dreaming from the day when first
I saw them, and to think that we were actually going
to travel in accordance with this marvelous affair! A
flame was rushing up and down my body, and I mur-
mured a few bars of that old song, the dear Paloma.

Don Eugenio turned round in his saddle and was
evidently pleased. "You sing that song," he said, "at
the right moment. Have I told you of the jefc whom
I heard not long ago inside a drinking-shop where
he explained to any one who cared to listen how he
had remained so honest? He related that in moments
of temptation, when a wicked man was trying hard
to bribe him or when, in some other way, the hands
of Justice were in danger of not working freely, he
would hum a portion of that song and thus the pa-
triotic fervor would come over him and he would
utterly reject the tempters. And he also said he did
not know what happened in the House of Congress

244 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

in the capital, but he believed they ought to station
there a choir perpetually chanting this Paloma, even
if it had the usual result of making deputies inaudible."

Our patron, Don Arcadio, had reined his mule back,
so that he was riding level with the pair of us. "Of
course," he said, ''if it is true that all the various
ingredients of earth can be transmuted into one an-
other, then there will no longer be a reason for es-
teeming gold above the rest of them. I should be
pleased to pull this metal down and others like it
from their pedestals. I should be so much nearer my
great object."

"On the other hand," said Don Eugenio — there
was a grim line of laughter round his lips — "I am
more than half afraid," he said, "that you would be
much further from it. Surely you would rouse to des-
peration all those people who are thickly crusted round
with gold and are esteemed for nothing else. And
they have always been brought up to think that they
are firm upon their pedestals. They are a million
times more numerous than those great golden statues
in the Babylonian temple and the statues of Lucullus
and of Pompey."

"Which have been pulled down," said Don Arcadio.
His mule put back its ears and kicked my master's
animal. There had not been the smallest provocation,
and my master's mule did not retaliate. "Where are
those golden statues now?" asked Don Arcadio, after
he had composed himself again upon his saddle.

"If it comes to that," said Don Eugenio, "I have
heard that in Arabia at one time there were flourishing
a thousand and twenty-five poets, and although I have
not read their works I am prepared to wager that a
good proportion of them sang about the change and
transitoriness of things. And there was one person

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 245

in my own country, Lope de Vega, who went so far
as to proclaim that the sea and play and love and
fortune are unrecognizable as such without change.
What a great man," said my master, "is that poet!
He is commonly belittled by this world of little men,
because he wrote in such prodigious quantities. I
think your mule is going to kick again."

"He drags my arms out of their sockets," Don
Arcadio said. "I hope he will grow tamer by and by."

"There was a famous writer in Madrid," said Don
Eugenio. "He used to patronize our bookstall, and
I can remember how he told us, drawing himself up
to his full height and speaking with a voice that trem-
bled, how he told us that if Spain possessed an army
which was worth its pay, like England's army, and
some battleships as good as England's and, beyond
all else, as much in the Exchequer as there was in
England's, then would Lope de Vega be as famous as
Shakespeare. ... I do not assert," said Don Eugenio,
"that Lope de Vega and Shakespeare will pass away,
but in the end the golden statues are pulled down and
I imagine that the men who pull them are themselves
not seldom crushed. But, sir, what is your special
reason for desiring to be that kind of reformer?"

Don Arcadio shook his head. "Well," he explained
with care, "it is not statues, it is gold that I am want-
ing to pull down. My special reason is that — it is like
a saying of our Liberal statesmen: liberty and the
Democracy!' And I am more a Liberal than most of
them, because I mean it. I wish to apply to all the
substances of earth what they pretend, or most of
them pretend, it is their aim to practise upon human
beings. Why should gold or princes be regarded as
above their fellows?"

"Really," said my master, "this is most enjoyable.

246 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

How melancholy we all were at the beginning of the
ride! And now, caramba! I feel so exhilarated that
I do not care how much I moralize. I do not care how
humble are my illustrations. I suggest that as the
representative of aristocracy we take that mule of
yours. If he may lead the others he will be content
and probably he is a most efficient leader and, if cir-
cumstances did not thwart him, he would certainly
be leading now. With all respect to you, dear friend,
and your great work of transmutation, it is less than
likely that you will be able to transmute one mule into
another mule, one prince into another man. And I will
even beg to doubt if you will ever be successful in
transmuting gold, for you have had long rows of prede-
cessors."

"Ha!" cried Don Arcadio triumphantly, "but you
are wrong! If you put certain naked princes in a
crowd of naked people, do you think that any one will
know who is a prince?"

"I am astonished," said my master, "that you should
be satisfied with such an argument that goes no fur-
ther than the surface. Look, if you have got the
power, more deeply into all those naked ones and you
will recognize that some of them are real princes."

"But the princes of this world are never chosen in
that manner," Don Arcadio pointed out.

"And more's the pity. Though there would be one
enormous obstacle," said Don Eugenio, "for how should
we restrict the number of electors? I think only
those should have the suffrage who themselves are
eligible for election. Surely I have told you the old
proverb that it is the nightingale alone which under-
stands the rose. But more and more the suffrage is
extended, so that even if the real prince were chosen
by some accident and were to sit unclothed adminis-

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 247

tering equity, then he would have no glamour in the
eyes of his unworthy audience."

"And as the people who are in the seats of
princes . . ."

"Oh, I quite agree with you, alas," said Don
Eugenio, "they should not be there; but even if the
people who revere them are a crowd of fools and we
are not, should we not make ourselves the greater
fools if, having nothing to set up, we try to pull the
princes down? And in the golden statues of antiquity
there often was, so I have read, a covering of gold on
bronze or wood; the people worshiped with more ardor
and emotion since they thought the statue was of solid
gold. And if the gold which should have been inside
the statue had been taken by a thief, would he not
have been a far greater thief who could have taken
from the people their illusions? I believe," said Don
Eugenio, "that a prayer is often grander and more
lovely than the god. We said a little time ago that
all things pass away, and yet I like to think that
lovely thoughts have children and endure forever."

We had now come to a path so narrow that the
mules could only go in single file and I am sure that
Don Arcadio's was very pleased. The branches over-
head were almost meeting one another, while the blue
and yellow flowers which hung down from them were
being struck by Don Arcadio's long map. He must
have studied it acutely in Jalapa, since he was so
certain that this was the proper path for us. But I
for one was not particularly anxious that we should
not lose the way; I will confess that the ingenious and
grandiose designs in Don Arcadio's head were not as
dear to me as Don Arcadio would have wished. Ah,
no, he probably did not think I was capable of fol-
lowing such beautiful, august, and philosophical ideas.

248 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

But all the benefits which they would soon or late con-
fer upon humanity I should — this I am sure he had
decided — I should to the full enjoy when he himself
was dead. The path meandered through the under-
growth, and as I was the last of the procession I could
sometimes not see any one except Maria who was just
in front of me, and when I was enabled to catch sight
of Don Arcadio and his map my heart was warm with
kindly thoughts for him; but chiefly I was hoping
that we would get off our animals and gather round
the map and then consult and argue and discuss and
speculate, as if we were a band of real brigands.

It would happen now and then that we emerged
into an open space, from which we could look out
beyond the palm-trees and the other trees to where
they lost themselves in the pale distance. But we
likewise saw the mountain ranges on our left and these
it was that we would have to cross and they did not
look any nearer than from Don Arcadio's house. We
only walked our mules, because Faustino was on foot.
And it was not a path for rapid riding, even if the
mules had wanted to go quickly. Now and then, I
say, we found ourselves on a green, open space, but
very seldom did we see a bamboo hut with some one
strolling round it, very seldom did we hear the voice
of pigs which told us that there was a hut inside the
jungle, still more seldom did we meet a traveler— this
country was but thinly populated.

Still we did come to a village after several hours
and the people of it led us to the ptdque shop, which
was their inn. Outside it hung a painting, not a very
good one, of the Holy Family; but otherwise that inn
was not more glorious than any of its neighbors, which
were all constructed of bamboo and with a thatch of
palm-leaves. Don Arcadio ascertained that the pro-

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 249

prietor had nothing we could eat, not even beans nor
pineapples, but merely jars of pulque which, said Don
Arcadio, would not be helpful to assist us on the way,
and so he ordered that we should proceed right through
the village and should halt beside the first stream
we encountered. We had not a large supply of food
upon Faustino's mule — since it was necessary for us
to bring clothing for the nights and also sundry tools
which were to dig the gold of Tamaulipas — but we
should be able without doubt, said Don Arcadio, to
replenish our supply of food in other places. And we
passed all through the village, being only followed by
some children and some dogs and the proprietor — a
melancholy person — of the pulque shop. I wondered
what reproaches he would level at us, but when we
arrived outside the village and beheld a stream of
water and got off our mules, this man assisted Don
Arcadio and Don Eugenio, who were naturally rather
stiff, to leave their saddles. Yet he did not speak,
except to mutter at a child or two who were already
bathing in the stream. But when my master stretched
himself luxuriously on the water's bank and said that
now we surely had come to the end of all our troubles,
this man only sighed and said "Which end?" And
presently he went back to the village.

We remained an hour or two, reposing. That is,
all of us reposed with the exception of the Noahcite.
My master was unloosening the stirrup which he had
upon his right foot — an old stirrup made of steel and
silver — when he happened to remark that it would be
a most uninteresting world in which the metals could
all be transmuted into one another. But he did not
think, he said, and with profound respect for Don
Arcadio, that this consummation would be ever brought
about. "In fact," he said, "I have a notion that your

250 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

metals take upon themselves an individuality, so that
one piece of silver is not just the same as every other
piece."

The Noahcite was thoroughly aroused. He sat bolt
upright and expressed himself with vigor.

But my master spoke at the same time, nor did
he bother to lift up his voice. He had detached the
spur, and now as he lay down beside the Noahcite
he made himself as comfortable as he could, he drew
his hat down on his eyes and said:

''Of course I do not know as much of metals as of
books. You may have noticed that a man is not the
same in every work. The treasures of invention and
of eloquence may not be gathered always by the great-
est of us, and the learned Vossius was right when he
condemned a critic who denied that Xenophon was
author of the Expedition of Cyrus, because forsooth
the critic was unable to discern in it all those inimitable
strokes of eloquence which are the mark of that illus-
trious historian."

The Noahcite was talking loudly and his arms were
moving up and down.

"They said of him," quoth Don Eugenio, "that he
had all the sweetness which a man can have. Perhaps
he did not soar into the heights with Plato nor de-
scend into the secret causes with Thucydides." And
then my master fell asleep.

I do not know how long the Noahcite continued to
discourse about his metals. When Maria came with
me into a shady spot a little further down the river
he was talking in a very mournful fashion, being evi-
dently grieved that Don Eugenio should go on living
in such error. And for his part Don Eugenio had a
smile upon the lower portion of his face, the only

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 251

portion that there was exposed. And in his sleep he
murmured, "All the sweetness, sweetness."

When we started off again we knew that we would
have to camp that night on this side of the mountains
— ^we would not come near another village. And as
we were unaccustomed to such lengthy rides, we all
of us were very glad when Don Arcadio's mule stopped
suddenly as it was crossing a small open space and
then lay down upon a pile of moss. The Noahcite
himself received no injury, but he accepted Don
Eugenio's suggestion that this would be a delicious
and convenient place for an encampment. In five
minutes we were all collecting twigs of wood and in a
very short time after this Maria had begun to cook
our evening meal. This was to be the first meal and
the last of Don Arcadio's famous expedition.

CHAPTER XVIII

It has never caused me grief that I am so incapable
of writing on our scenery. The editors and other
journalists of Mexico are nearly always poets, and the
students, both of medicine and law, seem to have
ample time to spare for poetry, and I have heard of
some great General or Minister or Bishop coming to
a town of which the mayor receives him with the
recitation of a poem he himself has written, while the
schoolmaster is asked to hand a copy of his ceremonial
poem to the great man's adjutant or secretary, to the
end that it may be perused at leisure. So you see that
if we are deficient here in certain things, in poets we
are wonderfully well-provided. I believe that many
of our splendid swarms of poets have described the
scenery, and who am I that I should hope to follow
them? It is a subject that is too magnificent for
such a one as I. And yet I always think with sorrow
of that evening in our expedition when the baseless
mountains seemed to float in air and to have wreathed
around their summits a faint garland of no color I had
ever seen, it was the color of the dreams, perhaps,
of grandfathers when they have played with little
children. And the sky was like a flock of shadows
gathering in fields of ivory. I think with grief about
that evening on account of the calamitous events I
am about to tell you and also on account of the divine
events, a pageant so tremendous on the treetops and
the mountains and the sky that even in the middle
of our panic and the clash of arms, of which you will

252

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 253

be learning soon, I had to gaze in wonderment around
me. Well, it seems that as I am no poet I will place
the scenery before you like a corpse to gaze at; and
I have been told that in the foreign countries where
the law does not prevent one from dissecting corpses
one regards with pity and contempt the people who
are satisfied with gazing.

First of all, when we had finished supper, we un-
rolled the map and spread it on the ground; Faustino
took a piece of burning wood out of the fire and held
it over this or that part of the map, as Don Arcadio
directed. No one, except Don Arcadio himself, knew
how to read the map and he explained it to us very
well.

And afterwards, when Don Eugenio was lying there
— his back supported by his saddle — and Maria and
Faustino and myself were putting blankets round the
fire or getting other twigs of wood or doing nothing,
Don Arcadio walked to and fro in meditation. Then
my master started speaking and we gradually all as-
sembled near him, that is, we sat round the fire, and
in the darting light of it I could perceive that every
one was listening intently.

"There must be many people," so he said, "who
have imagined that if they could wander in the open
country, with a few companions, they would free them-
selves from all the squalor and the wickedness and
cruelty of towns. Who has not heard them speaking
of the wilderness as though it were a place of healing,
where the wind would drive away whatever evil may
have settled on them and where they would presently
develop virtues? Bueno, we are in the wilderness, and
it is seemly that we should consider what is going
to happen. If we do not find ourselves improving,
ought we to be very much ashamed? And will the

254 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

shame be forced upon us by the sight of other and
more edifying people? Or shall we be blind to all
their greatness?

"I believe," said Don Eugenio, "that the inhabitants
of places such as this are naturally just as wayward,
just as noble or abandoned as the dwellers in a town.
And we are clearly meant to take this view, because,
whatever else may be uncertain as to Adam and his
faults for which we still are suffering, his existence —
if he did exist — was in the country."

"I am not uncertain as to Noah," said the Noahcite.

"But when the people of the town go out into the
country," said my master, "they are in a state of
freedom or of lawlessness — whichever you may like
to call it — that they have not known before. They
are as travelers in Spain who ask the landlord of a
little hostelry v/hat he can give them, and the answer
is that he can give them everything and then, on being
pressed, he adds, 'Of what Your Grace has in his
saddle-bags.' If you want all your furniture of laws
out in the country, you must take them with you.
And do you believe," said Don Eugenio, "that the
greater lawlessness in which these country-people live
has the effect of making them more virtuous? They
are restricted and are supervised far less than dwellers
in the town, and so are able to give far more play to all
their appetites and passions. Being deeply stirred, as
are the townsmen, by the elementary demands for
food and women, they are not so much debarred from
taking either; even if the conscientious king or presi-
dent sees fit to make the town laws applicable to the
country, he will not apply them. It may be, of course,
that when the average countryman has taken all he
wants of food, or land-producing food, and women,
he is satisfied and settles down into a creditable life,

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 255

whereas the townsman is prevented, more or less,
from reaching a condition of satiety. And if that is
the general case one might advance the theory that
the laws should be removed a little from the towns-
man, so that in the first place he should be more
natural, and in the second that he should attain the
country person's happy state. In fact, the laws have
been so frequently condemned by philosophic people,
seeing that they make life duller and less natural and
altogether less attractive that I scarcely know why
we maintain them. And if lawless people wax in
virtue, while the people who live under laws are con-
stantly at odds with them, does it not seem advisable
to brush these laws away? Then life would be worth
living for a townsman and he would in time become
as satisfied and virtuous as any dweller in the country.
Ah, but there is a most grave objection, for the virtue
which flows into us when we are satisfied is not much
more worth having than the virtue which grows under
a policeman's eye. And, by the way, there is another
school of thought which says that virtue does not
flourish if it is not under the command of laws. 'Take
the severe restraint away,' says Seneca, 'and what will
then become of virtue? — Imperia dura tolle, quid virtus
erit?' He would have told us that we are mistaken
when we praise the virtues of the country-people on
the ground that they are relatively lawless. And he
would not have extolled the virtue which is the result
of satisfied desire. I hope," said Don Eugenio, "that
you appreciate how much I feel all this, since nobody
is more aware than I am of how little virtue I possess
and how much that exceeds the quantity there was in
me before my body and my spirit had been battered
for so long and thrown from side to side and made
into uninteresting ruins. . . . But we talk of satisfied

256 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

desire, and is there such a thing? With most of us
I fancy that it means that we have come into the state
when the desire in us has withered. And, by all the
saints, how can we be without desire? O let not our
desires grow blunt or satisfied! We should be as the
glow-worm when the passionate beauty of his light
goes out. O let there be such laws and such restric-
tions over us that we are always striving, always serv-
ing, always adding to the beauty of the world . . ."

"And so," said Don Arcadio, with a puzzled air,
"you want us to be under laws and you were saying
that you did not want us to be under them so much.
Is that not so?"

"My friend," said Don Eugenio, "the only attri-
bute of greatness which I have in me is that I do not
fear to contradict myself ... I have arrived at the
conclusion that the great laws which protect from us
such things as other people's food and women are
most excellent — the little laws about a thousand other
things I do not speak of. God be thanked that we
are constantly repressed by those great laws, and it
is God perhaps and not the wisdom of our ancestors
who first established them. Can you imagine that a
single race of men would have deprived themselves
of the enjoyment of these two commodities, unless
they had been under the impression that this was the
will of God or of the Devil? I do not pretend to
know how these repressive and most admirable laws
began to be established, but if it was owing to the
Devil's influence — which I consider very likely — there
is not the smallest reason for us to repine, since it
would be repugnant to our common sense if we did
not believe that God employs the Devil, when he can
be profitably used, and that if God were not more
satisfied than otherwise He would before now have

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 257

destroyed him. Well, if I were asked to paint a
portrait of the Earliest Great Legislator I should not
be much disposed to let him have a venerable and
inspired appearance; on the contrary, I should depict
a savage who is in the throes of physical discomfiture
produced by an excessive yielding to these two desires
or one of them. And in the sluggish brain of that
poor man we have the source of subsequent great
laws. The ignorance in which he was himself envel-
oped should not make our gratitude less hearty: if
he thought it was the Devil working in him I believe
that ultimately it was God. Because the work of this
man and of his successors looks as if it were an acci-
dent we should not blasphemously think it is so. I
have seen a beautiful, eld bridge that spans a road
and joins the chapter-house of a cathedral to the
vicar's close. The two ends of the bridge were not
exactly opposite each other, for which reason it was
necessary for the bridge to turn at a slight angle;
furthermore, the ground was not so high at one side,
so that there the arch was built upon a lower level.
And the whole affair was most divinely picturesque.
No doubt a modern architect would say that this was
accidentally achieved — and I am sure that he himself
would have corrected both the inequalities and have
destroyed the beauty. I believe that when the Archi-
tect of Things produces His incomparable work it does
not rest on accident.

"As for these relatively lawless people of the open
country," said my master, "it behoves us to regard
them not with feelings of aversion but with pity. They
are far less fortunate than we are. And, who knows?
perhaps we shall be able to persuade a few of them
to bow to our own stricter laws, which are so great
a blessing."

258 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

Scarcely had my master said these words when we
were conscious of a troop of men among the trees.
I tried to think how soon they would burst in upon
us and assassinate us, but they seemed to stop. We
sat in the most perfect silence, gazing at each other.
And I felt the blood jerk to and fro inside Maria's
hand.

Of course we had some weapons, but they were not
lying near us round the fire, except Faustino's long
machete, which was useful for the cutting off of
branches. And we sat there just as if we never would
get up again. . . . The people who were watching us
were all so silent and the night was growing dark. I
shivered as I looked into the fire, which now seemed
smaller and more ruddy, but this may have been be-
cause of the surrounding darkness. Anyhow, as I
looked up again I thought I could see many ruddy
eyes that glared and flashed among the trees. And
then Faustino crossed himself and started muttering
about his sins. I heard him groan that if he had
been better this would not have happened.

But my splendid master interrupted him. He tried
to speak in his most ordinary voice. "My dear Faus-
tino, I should like to tell you of a boy," he said, "who
swore that he would do one good act every day, and
it was near the point of midnight on a certain day
and he could think of nothing good which he had done.
He therefore gave his white mouse to the cat."

"Alas, alas, I have done nothing," said Faustino.
"But nevertheless I will be of good cheer"— he
straightened himself and bit his lower lip— "because
I have such faith in God. I am sure that if he likes
He can protect us in this horrible position."

"Why then did He bring us into it?" said Don
Arcadio.

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 259

I was so glad that they were speaking. It might
even happen, so I thought, that if the people in the
dark observed how good and harmless were my master
and the Noahcite and all of us they would be kind.
And then I hoped they would emerge, because I really
was inquisitive to see them.

Don Eugenio rolled over on his side and with his
face towards the fire. "Ah, well," he said, in a loud
voice, "I think we ought to go to sleep or we shall
not be ready for the road to-morrow morning. Now
may God have pity on us always." And he actually
shut his eyes, as if he were in his own comfortable bed.

But Don Arcadio was rather agitated still. He
shifted first to this side, then to that, and then he
burst out with some words that were not wise. "Yes,
that is it," said he, "and may God recollect how you
have pity on the lawless people of the countryside."

"I have pity on them," said my master, opening
his eyes and speaking very clearly, "I have pity on
them if their gold miscarries, that is, if by chance the
gold which we are going to fetch from Tamaulipas
does not find its way into the pockets of the gallant
country -people."

Then I heard a whispering among the trees. It was
a hurried consultation, and in a very little time the
noise increased, as they were not by any means of
one opinion. Here and there a word was audible and
oaths and exclamations — until one man spoke in rough
command and said that they would go back to the
place where they had left their animals and there,
he said, they would take counsel. And his comrades
very soon obeyed him; we could hear them talking
as they went.

We looked at one another and the same thought
came into our heads; but all of us, save Don Arcadio,

26o THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

knew it was hopeless to attempt to run away from
them in such a country.

"If only one could pack the mules," said Don
Arcadio.

We did not answer him, and my good master said
that, as presumably we should that night have little
sleep, we ought to take this opportunity, while they
were arguing about us. It would not astonish him,
he said, if they assisted us by slaying one another.

"If they were religious people," said Faustino, "it
would be so simple. But they are the Liberals, I am
sure, and they will not respect the holy Catholic re-
ligion."

"Well, if you have always done so," said my master,
"then you can await your destiny without uneasiness.
Come, let us try to sleep."

"Sefior," he said, "it shall be so. But there was
some one in Jalapa who once told me that when he
was fighting with an enemy and they were all of them
good Catholics it was so different. His troop was being
hunted, it was nearly captured. Then it came into a
village, and as they were riding past the church, one
of the troop leaped from his horse and asked a man to
lead it to the stream and there to wait for him. He
ran himself into the church — all this was in our State
of Veracruz — and fortunately there was some one in
the inside, sweeping it. He made that man go with
him to the sacristy — he held out his revolver at him —
in the sacristy they took some garments of the priest
and these the soldier put upon himself; they found
the little table with its white cloth and they also found
the bell — these things he forced the village man to
carry and to march before him out into the open air.
And I must not forget that in his own hands he was
carrying the Holy Sacrament, with the revolver hidden

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 261

somewhere up his sleeve. As they went slowly from
the church, which was a blue and white one ..."

"But, my dear Faustino," said my master, "I assure
you I believe the tale as if I had been there myself."

"And it was in the State of Veracruz," Faustino
said. "As they went slowly from the church the peo-
ple of the village who perceived them knelt with one
accord and prayed. They did not stop to look into
the face of either of them. And the troop of enemies
came galloping along and in a moment they were off
their horses and were kneeling and were praying.
Very slowly did the man walk with the Sacrament,
and in the end he slipped behind a house, he took
those garments off and ran to where the horse was
hidden. After that he only had to ride by certain
forest paths to where his comrades were expecting
him."

We spoke of other things a little. Then we tried
to hear what they were doing, and then suddenly their
captain called to us in his rough voice and he was not
far off. He told us that if we delivered to them such
things as they wanted they would not molest us. We
might think it over, he announced, for several minutes,
and he told us that he was called Bustamante.

"Bustamante! He is the most powerful in all the
region," said Faustino, who was filled with awe. "Oh,
would that it were true that God can write straight
lines on paper ruled with crooked ones."

"It seems to me," said Don Eugenio, "from the
way in which the Senor Bustamante spoke that we had
better keep our minds upon the earth. Suppose one
of your water-sellers lets the water be abstracted from
the small jug which he has in front of him and from
the large one which he has behind him. You might
think at first that he would be a useless man, but I

262 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

believe that they are largely used in Mexico to carry
messages. Now there are times when we must not
allow the hero in us to display himself."

"Oh, if we fight them," said Maria, "they will send
us all into the other life."

"And I would sooner go to Tamaulipas," said my
master. "Shall we say that we agree to their condi-
tions?"

"What is all our property," quoth Don Arcadio,
"compared with the fulfilment of my plans? I very
willingly agree."

"Seizor Bustamante!" said my master in his loud
voice. "Have the goodness to approach. We are at
your disposal."

Bustamante shouted that we should stand up and
hold our hands above our heads. And as he and his
followers came out into the open space we saw that
they were numerous. They had their black and red
striped rugs which fell down from their shoulders to
their feet, but the sombreros showed that they were
Liberal soldiers. . . . What they wanted chiefly were
the money and the weapons. Don Arcadio and Faus-
tino helped in placing these and other things around
the fire. They treated us much better than I had
expected, which perhaps was partly owing to the pru-
dence of the Noahcite and of Faustino, who obeyed
their slightest wish and evidently did not want to hide
a single thing. The Noahcite inquired if they would
like to have some bottles of old brandy, but the captain
thanked him and declined it.

"Notwithstanding," said Don Arcadio, "let us drink
each other's health."

And as they drank they all became so cordial, they
loudly praised us and they twined their arms around
us and they said that never had they been with trav-

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 263

elers as pleasant as ourselves, and never had they
tasted any beverage more pleasant than this brandy.
Don Arcadio ordered that another bottle and another
should be opened. He himself was kissed on both his
cheeks by Bustamante, who invited him to join their
band. But Don Arcadio said that he must go to
Tamaulipas.

"We have heard all that about your gold!" cried
Bustamante. "You will never find it! Go with us,
I say!"

His comrades, who were drinking rapidly, exhorted
us to go with them. "We find more gold above the
surface," they declared, "than you will ever get in
Tamaulipas."

"But, my friends," said Don Arcadio, "I know where
it was hidden by the natives. And I have my reasons
why I wish to find it. One of them is that I shall
present a portion of the gold to you."

They laughed at him, they patted him upon the
back, they drank his health again and urged my master
to persuade him to go with their merry band.

"Caramba! if we go with you or if we do not go,"
my master said, "it is not I who want to march to
Tamaulipas. In comparison with Don Arcadio I am
very ignorant about the metals, but I do know that,
according to Agricola, the medieval German, twelve
men who were taking buried silver from a mine, the
Crown of Rose, were killed by a great spirit that was
temporarily inside a horse's body. I am certain there
are many more examples. But in loyalty I am obliged
to follow Don Arcadio."

Some of them approved so thoroughly of my dear
master that they called out, "May the Spaniard live!"
And some of them had fallen to the ground and some
were singing. Then it was that the large Aztec map

264 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

was found between the blankets of the Noahcite, and
he who found it swore this was a secret map which
gave all their positions and that Don Arcadio was a
spy of the Imperialists. At once there rose a pan-
demonium: "Let him be hanged!" "The traitors!"
"Strip them to the uttermost!" "Oh, fools that we
have been!" "They are the instruments of the ac-
cursed Archduke!" "Liberty and the Democracy!"
"Let all of them be hanged!" "This brandy has been
poisoned!" "We are in a trap!" "The vile conspira-
tors!" "Crowned devils!" "They are worse than
North Americans!" "Will they escape?" "Oh, spare
the pretty kitten!" "Long live Juarez and the Revo-
lution!" "So they would deceive us!" "But we are
not foolish!" "Kill them!" "After they are tor-
tured!"

Then they flung themselves upon us. And with
ropes and cords they started tying up our hands.
One villain gave my master such a blow that a long
stream of blood came from his forehead. And I do
not think my master had opposed him in the slightest.
. . . When we all were lying there so helplessly they
told us that if any one endeavored to escape he would
be shot. They settled down between us and the fire,
on which they piled more wood ; two men were posted
on the outskirts of the open space, they leaned against
the trees and watched us.

"What is this, you shameless one?" cried Busta-
mante, who had overheard some angry words which
Don Arcadio was muttering to himself. "My com-
rades! He has dared to say that we are brigands!
We, the soldiers of the revolution! We, who are re-
establishing the social guarantees!"

A comrade here and there growled bloodthirsty ad-
vice, but they did not themselves rise up to cut off

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 265

any part of Don Arcadio's body. The most sensible
of all of them said it was opportune for every one to
sleep, and the Imperialists, he said, were made like
that — to them there was no difference, for they were
so depraved, there was no difference between a brigand
who takes anything and Liberal soldiers who give
everything and are prepared to give their lives. "Lib-
erty and the Democracy!" said he. "And now let
everybody go to sleep."

They spoke no more and even the two sentinels
appeared to have obeyed his bidding. At all events
they did not stop me when I rolled myself to where
my master lay. The blood was now no longer flowing
from his wound and he had both his eyes shut, though
I could not see if he was sleeping. . . . How repulsive
and how cruel was the world, I never, never, never
would do anything but loathe it, after what had hap-
pened to my dear old master.

There was now a little wind among the treetops,
and the sky on which their dark forms seemed to
move was growing paler. And the wind was gently
driving the large clouds.

I saw the hated bodies of our foemen more dis-
tinctly. How I wished that every one would be
plunged down into the darkness of the lowest hell.

A silver lace was thrown across the summits of the
trees and now the mountains rising up behind them
had mysterious caves between the blackness. And the
moon came over the black mountain range, and on
each sailing cloud it was as if a lamp were lit, and
I shall never see a sight as beautiful.

CHAPTER XIX

Don Eugenio was sitting by me and he had awak-
ened me; the others all seemed to be busy rolling up
the rugs or putting burdens on our mules. And as
they walked about they spoke to one another very
little and they ate their food, and I saw one who gave
the Noahcite a kick.

My master's face was very mournful as he put his
hand on mine and told me that I must observe most
carefully what he was going to say. This was for the
moment, so he said, the thing which was most pressing.
Then he told me that Maria now belonged to Busta-
mante and that if a word or glance of mine displeased
the captain he would probably assassinate me.

I was horrified to hear that this big blustering fellow
had so soon succeeded, even though Maria was Maria.
Could she not have been more faithful to me and to
Don Eugenio? Yes, really when I looked at my dear
master's mournful face and at the wound upon his
brow, I was indignant with Maria more especially be-
cause she had abandoned him.

"Poor Don Eugenio," said I, "and it was you that
rescued her. She is a monster of ingratitude."

He smiled a little. "If," said he, "we had applied
ourselves more thoroughly to Roger Bacon, who was
a great alchemist and chemist also, then perhaps we
could explain by chemistry why the affections of a
woman alter. Mind you, it would not console me.
And in this case other agencies were brought to bear.
But I am grieved that we were cut off in the middle
of our geological researches. I believe the chief law

266

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 267

of that science, which is the phenomenon of the in-
ternal heat of mines, is at the bottom of Bacon's entire
chemical theory. It would have remained for us to
study the internal heat of men and women. I am
grieved that we have not applied ourselves to this
most fascinating subject."

One of Bustamante's followers came up and roughly
ordered Don Eugenio to place himself among the rest,
between the riders.

"But are you not grieved," I said, as we were doing
what this man commanded, "are you not a little
grieved because Maria has deserted you?"

"I ordered her to do it," said my master. "And
remember to be very careful, as I told you."

But there was no risk of any indiscretion, for Maria
rode beside her lover, far ahead of us, and we four
luckless ones on foot were in the middle of the caval-
cade. Thank heaven that the road was very bad for
horses, which prevented them from going fast; in fact,
the horses often were obliged to stop and test a boulder
with their front legs — this was one of the old Spanish
highways that had fallen into disrepair. What we
most suffered from was the uncertainty about our fate.
And we should have been glad to know where we were
being taken to. The horsemen just in front of us and
just behind us merely uttered a contemptuous word
from time to time, and later on they scarcely spoke
to us at all. And so it came about that Don Eugenio
was able to explain to me how he had managed with
Maria.

"It was in the middle of the night," he said, "that
I was roused by those two persons, who requested
me to go with them into the jungle. Bustamante's
manner had completely changed — he brought back to
my mind a certain picture in the Soul-Combat of Pru-

268 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

dentius, the Christian poet; we had a good copy of
this book at Zaragoza, with uncolored illustrations of
the tenth century, and Bustamante did indeed resemble
one of the five anxious Virtues who are interviewing
Avarice. You probably will not believe me, but when
I looked at the girl I saw in her an even greater
similarity to Avarice, whose hands are open and whose
eyes are very round and whose expression is so inno-
cent. They whispered that if I would go with them
into the jungle I could settle what they had to put
before me and they would infallibly abide by my
decision. It appeared that she had been rejecting his
advances; and the captain told me that in matters
of this kind he was extremely chivalrous. He never
took a girl, he said, against her will, and he believed
that this characteristic had made him famous through-
out the region. Well, Maria had referred him to my-
self; if I agreed then she would raise no further ob-
stacle. Of course I could have given my consent im-
mediately and saved myself some inconvenience, but
I thought it would be more becoming if I went with
them into the jungle. Now I do not know if I was
right or wrong, but I was under the impression that
Maria would consent as soon as I had said the slight-
est word and thus I was a little sore that I should
have been roused so needlessly. Aye, that is how
they irritate us. It is doubtful whether I should have
been able to preserve the proper frame of mind if I
had not remembered what some holy ones have said
concerning women. First of all, if we should be dis-
posed to think ourselves superior to them and there-
fore to rejoice, we have the salutary words of Saint
John Chrysostom, the Archbishop of Constantinople:
'We are ordained,' said he, 'to rule over them; not
merely that we may rule, but that we may rule in

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 269

goodness also; for he that ruleth ought especially to
rule in this respect, by excelling in virtue; whereas
if he is surpassed he is no longer the ruler.' And,
with regard to the waywardness of women, I remem-
bered happily the words of that sagacious Father who
advised us to suspect a woman if her actions seemed
all clear and open; such a woman, said that Father,
was an emissary of the Devil and no real woman who
inherited from Eve some trace of sin and who might
also hope she would inherit the Kingdom of Heaven.
This Father whose well-balanced writings, my dear
Juanito, I commend to you most warmly — wise men
will be guided by them after you and I and this
ridiculous old Noahcite are totally forgotten — well,
this Father says, in one of his main chapters, that it
is most excellent to have one's own opinion, though
it is a thing for which one has to pay. And it is his
opinion that the woman you need not suspect is she
who on the one hand does not ostentatiously lay all
her actions bare, and on the other hand does not con-
ceal them absolutely. She in whom we place our con-
fidence must regulate her actions towards us even as
she regulates her dress. I may inform you that the
average man is not attracted nor repelled by what is
in a woman's soul; the voice that speaks to him im-
periously is the body of a woman. And the woman
knows it, whether he does or does not. She has the
sense to take the average man, beyond all others,
into her consideration, and she usually lets him see
of her a little less than he believes he would like
to see. 'Strong and perfect as are Urim and Thummin
on the breastplate of the high priest,' says that ven-
erated Father, 'just as strong and perfect is the man
who knoweth what he wants.' The robes of women
seem to the philosopher to be designed not so much

270 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

for the purpose of obscuring and of veiling the fine
texture and the outlines of her body as the texture and
the outlines of the thoughts of man. Now they have
said that the most futile error of a human being is
to prophesy, for he is ignorant of what the future
has in store; and yet is it not much more foolish for
a man to guess and guess at what he knows already?
Think of all the years which men have spent in pon-
dering about a woman's body. And before you think
of judging any woman, ask yourself if you would like
her to be judging you.

"Bueno, we went out into the jungle. Bustamante
walked in front, to show the way to us; Maria and
myself walked hand in hand. He led us carefully and
we kept close behind him. Underneath the trees the
ground was very soft and mossy, but we did not seat
ourselves till Bustamante thought we had gone far
enough to talk without arousing any one. However,
we did very little talking and the little that there was
was very friendly. I reminded him of what Cervantes
says, that things which cost a trifle are not much
esteemed. He said he loved her more than any woman
he had ever owned. And I said that a woman's love
is far too often cast like sunbeams on a dunghill and
the dunghill then becomes, I said, more disagreeable.
But if he really loved Maria there must be some good-
ness in him. And he asked Maria to embrace me,
which she did, and then I left them."

While my master was discoursing to me in this
memorable fashion we continued to advance, as best
we could, along that ancient highway. At a certain
point it made abruptly for the mountain barrier, and
we struck off towards the lowlands. Then a horseman
was so kind as to inform us that we also should be
going over there to Tamaulipas, but we had to cross

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 271

the boundary a little further down. It was much
pleasanter for us to walk along these meadows than it
had been on the road. And fortunately they were
saving up their horses, so that we were not compelled
to walk more rapidly. The meadows had upon them,
here and there, a cow — perhaps the owner of them was
a Liberal, and so we let them graze in peace. But
suddenly we heard a shot, and saw that one of them
was lying on her side and kicking. It was Bustamante
who had done this, for Maria's sake. He had been
asking her, as we learned presently, what he could
give her to display the greatness of his love; and she,
who might have easily obtained the silver decorations
on his hat or some of his gay buttons or a piece or
two of gold, was moved to think of something higher.
She had heard that people in the large towns some-
times drink the milk of cows, which is procured in tins
from foreign countries,* and she said that it would
give her much delight to have a cup of cow's milk.
That is why her lover Bustamante shot the cow. And
while this matter was attended to, we others walked a
little way and then sank down upon a slope amid green
bushy shrubs and brilliant floripundio flowers. The
horsemen waited on their animals till Bustamante
should arrive, and when he came he was in such good
humor that he said we would have our siesta in this
place and would not march away until Maria wished
it. He dismounted, as did all the others.

Soon they were all lounging on the grass or lying
prostrate with their hats upon their faces, to protect
themselves from insects. One or two of them repaired
a saddle or began to clean a gun, but far the busiest
person was Maria, who had started with enormous

* See Note II., p. 305.

272 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

zeal to make tortillas. On her knees she rubbed and
rubbed the flour and did not once look up, for she
was anxious not to meet the eyes of her old friends.
We four sat down together; I remember it as well
as if it happened yesterday how Don Eugenio, to make
himself more comfortable, took out from his breast
the several books which he was carrying — some of
the pious ones from Zaragoza and that other one which
was about a Mexican Archbishop and which was en-
titled "Safeguard against Oblivion." Bustamante
stood behind Maria, to encourage her — his eyes were
glowing — and at last when she had made a few tortillas
and some other food had been unpacked we, most
of us, were eating. We were eating in an indolent
and airy fashion, for it was extremely hot, and there
was not much conversation. We four prisoners were
treated nonchalantly; they were talking to us just as
much as to each other and in fact we all were at our
ease. Then Bustamante, who was seated now beside
Maria and was looking at her very tenderly — not
caring whether any one observed it — Bustamante
turned to Don Arcadio and told him casually that
he thought his execution would take place on the next
morning, that is, if we came that night to San Geronimo
in Tamaulipas, where the trial would be held.

It was extraordinary how calm the Noahcite was.
Perhaps he had been sure that this would happen;
but I never thought that he could so control himself.
The work to which he had devoted all his life would
now be wasted. And he did not seem to care. And,
on the other hand, he did not let a supercilious smile
be on his lips; I had been told that heroes when they
were condemned invariably wore it. Don Arcadio's
face was serious, but not more serious than usual. As
I gazed at him I told myself that he was much more

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 273

difficult to understand than Don Eugenio. But al-
though I did not understand him properly, there may
be clever people who, from my description, will know
more of him than ever was vouchsafed to me.

Then Bustamante spoke: "In years that have gone
by," said he, "when I was no politician and no patriot
I used to be a shoemaker, and I have made for you
and for your father and your brother who are dead.
It grieves me that I have to put an end to you."

"But if you think I am a spy," said Don Arcadio,
very simply, "then you have no choice."

"Caramba," said the captain, "I will not allow you
to be shot in that way, without honor. Since I was
so well-acquainted with your family and you, I will
arrange a very noble ceremony for to-morrow morning.
And when you see your father and your brother after-
wards, I hope that you will all three be so generous as
to pray for me who need your prayers. It is myself
that I am speaking of." He had been growing more
and more affected. Now he turned his back abruptly
on the Noahcite, and I could see his shoulders twitch-
ing.

As for poor Faustino, he sat helplessly and hope-
lessly beside us. Tears were following each other
down his cheeks, but he did not make any sound. And
Don Eugenio cleared his throat and said that he would
read a little from a book.

"It is a lesson for us all," said he, "to contemplate
the grandeur of the Noahcite. His very lofty aim is
unachieved, alas ! and he does not revile his fate. But
if he thinks that all of him will be forgotten, he may
like to hear a passage from this book."

"May the Devil seize you!" Bustamante cried. He
shook his fist above his head, but did not turn his body
round towards us. "Will you leave the man alone,

274 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

for he is in a corner out of which he never will escape.
I pity him, I tell you."

"And I pity you," said Don Eugenio serenely, "if
you think that there is no escape. Whether he dies
sooner or dies later, he will not be killed entirely. As
for you, permit me to remind you of the very foolish
Pluches who wrote the Spectacle de la Nature and
said — he was an enemy of Newton's — that if the great
mass had such a power of attraction he could not com-
prehend how anybody could escape out of a corner
of Notre Dame. . . . This book," my master said, "is
by Antonio de Robles, a notary public, a commissary
of the Holy Office, an ecclesiastical judge and so forth."

Practically every one was staring at my master on
account of his rebuke to Bustamante. I suppose that
they had never heard their leader spoken to in such a
way. And one or two of them were smiling grimly,
but I was uncertain of the reason.

Then the Noahcite addressed my master: "I am
interested in your book," said he, "but I should like
to tell you that since yesterday a change has come
to my philosophy. What I have hitherto pursued was
knowledge, all the knowledge of the human race, and
thus I was to grasp at happiness, which I would then
bestow on all the world. But I have come to the
conclusion that a greater thing than happiness is
beauty. I am glad that I discovered this in time.
Well, I am ready for your admirable book, and pray
do not stop to congratulate me or to comment on
my new pursuit. These gentlemen would like to hear
what you have got to read."

"So be it," Don Eugenio said. "I see the date is
1757. I will try to find the profitable passages," he
said; and for a long time, while he did so, everybody
watched him. But Maria went on making the tortillas,

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 275

which were passed from hand to hand, as also were
the strips of meat. I did not know how long we
would remain, but no one seemed to be in any hurry
to depart — they lay among the gorgeous flowers, and
they slowly ate and watched my master. He was
eating while he read; he searched and searched the
book, and his expression always grew more fixed. So
concentrated was he on his task that I am sure he
did not know his hand was carrying from time to
time some food into his mouth. And when at last
he spoke to us his mouth was rather full.

"Unhappily," he said, "this man, Antonio de Robles,
does not appear to have, as I had confidently hoped,
a general safeguard against oblivion. He considers
only his particular Archbishop, who will be remem-
bered, so he says, because of certain merits. By the
way, have we not all of us observed that if a person
is the subject of a brief discussion he may have been
favorably judged, whereas if the discussion is a long
one he will have been judged severely? And I think
that the Archbishop would have made himself more
safe against oblivion if Antonio de Robles had put
down a series of demerits. Here," said Don Eugenio,
"in the twentieth chapter is the list of qualities: 'His
aloofness and his understanding, his humility, his
inimitable temperance and mortification, his purity
and chastity, his wonderful haranguing and the sacred
exercises of his soul' " — at this point Don Eugenio
paused and finished what was in his mouth — " 'the
gift of tears, which he was even wont to shed while
he was sleeping.' Is it necessary to read on? I must
admit that if a man is capable of shedding tears for
his iniquities or any other thing while he is sleeping,
everybody — except the individual who may be called
upon to share his bed — must unreservedly admire him.

276 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

How will such a man of marvels be forgotten? Yes,
it seems to me that you will never find a greater man
among the holy ones, or in the words of Augustine:
Si Sanctorum singulorum perquirerem vitas, ut puto
majorem neminem invenirem." And my master, who
at first lost his patience with the book, had now re-
gained his equanimity. He turned back to the early
pages, and his smile was like a blessing. He was per-
fectly absorbed.

And when, at Bustamante's signal, every one pre-
pared to start again, then Don Eugenio got up. He
did not seem to know what he was doing, and the
happy smile remained upon his face until Faustino
brought the mule to him, and then he was astonished.
But Faustino told him that we all — himself included —
would be riding now, in order to reach San Geronimo
that night.

We sped through numbers of green meadows and
the trees went flying past us. All the afternoon we
hurried on — there was no road at all, and I am not
sure if we were avoiding any villages. We rode down
two ravines, that were both steep and rocky; we
climbed up on the side opposite. And towards the
fall of night I grew so tired that I did not for a time
brush off a yellow insect from my hand, though he
was drawing blood. I merely looked at him. And
it was in the dark when finally we found ourselves
upon a road, and then the palm-trees gave way to a
hedge of cactus — we were in the place called San
Geronimo.

This was in the possession of the Liberals, and in
a very little time we had an escort of white figures
who rose up from where they had been sitting near
the hedge or came out of their little houses. As they
walked along beside us, some of our men told them

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 277

of a series of great exploits, ending up with the defeat
and capture of ourselves. I was so weary that I
could not notice much, but over everything there was
the stolid silence of these villagers. They were so
different from the natives of Jalapa and so like too
many people of my native Colorado.

Then we halted. I could see two men with torches
who had come to speak to Bustamante. And instead
of taking us to some place where we could lie down,
they and the rest of us went to the largest house, the
house of the alcalde. They were going to hold the
trial of the Noahcite.

Outside the house there was a great deal of con-
fusion, as the followers of Bustamante all got off their
horses and in vain they looked for any one who would
take care of them. The whole of San Geronimo was
pushing into the alcalde's house. They did not mind
how much the followers of Bustamante cursed them.
And the men with torches even struck at one or two.
I heard the shout of somebody who said that he had
lived in San Geronimo for sixty years and let them
try their culprit in another place, said he, if they
intended to deprive the people of their rights. Then
I saw Bustamante pushing in with Don Arcadio and
some others.

In the midst of all the turmoil and as I was standing
with my mule, a horseman threw his reins around
my head and then another did the same, and several
others put their reins into my hands. I found myself
with half a dozen animals to watch, but they all looked
as weary as I was myself. And when Maria's voice
was in my ear and she was making me some propo-
sitions I let all the reins drop, for I knew these crea-
tures would not run away. Maria wanted me to lift
her up, because the windows were so high. And after-

278 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

wards, she said, she would lift me up also, and in that
way we would see the whole of Don Arcadio's trial.

I went with her very eagerly, until we came to
where some of the natives had assembled, underneath
a window, and we followed their example : I bent down,
Maria stood upon my back and with her hand she
grasped the iron bars. She told me that she could
see very well indeed. But I was being pushed about
by other people who had reached the window after us.
Maria said that our three friends were all together,
but the people who surrounded us began to make so
great a noise that neither she nor I could hear what
those inside the room were saying. And Maria was
so heavy that I wished we had not come. I touched
her legs and said that it would be better if we went
away, but she pretended not to hear me.

"Bustamante speaks!" she cried, "and he is waving
both his arms."

"Oh, you nephew of the Devil!" growled a man
beside me. "You are keeping me away. And who
are you?"

He and the others started arguing, for some said
that as strangers we must be received with courtesy
and others swore that they would not allow us to
remain. Of course, with all this added noise it was
impossible for any one to hear a word of Don Arcadio's
trial. And I wondered why the men inside the room
did not throw water on us or inform us in some other
way that we must have respect for Justice.

Suddenly I thought that as Maria had been so un-
faithful to me, why should I be helping her in such a
slavish manner? No, I would not for another moment.
And I moved away, I staggered out from all those
people, out into the doorway of another house, and
soon Maria came and sat down at my side.

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 279

"We only have to listen to them," so she said, "and
it will be as if we saw it all ourselves."

"Oh, you nephew of the Devil 1" I exclaimed. I
shook her off and she began to cry.

"If — if," she sobbed, "you really loved me, if
you . . ."

And I asked her roughly to be quiet.

"You would know," she sobbed, "how difficult it is
to be a girl. You are the one I love, by all the saints."

"And what of Bustamante?"

She was pouring kisses over me, and in my ear she
murmured that we would escape together, like the man
whom Don Eugenio was talking of.

We sat there very peacefully and we paid no atten-
tion to the varied noises. Once I thought that I could
hear Faustino, then again it was a whirl of sound.
And we were happy. I believe we sat there for a long
time.

Somewhere in the night a bird was singing, and I
shivered, for I thought of Don Arcadio.

"Oh, kiss me, kiss me," sighed Maria,

CHAPTER XX

We stayed there till the crowd of natives at the
window suddenly dissolved itself and passed into the
night. They went in almost perfect silence, and the
people who were streaming out of the alcalde's house
were so subdued that I could hope that Don Arcadio's
fate was undecided. Surely if they had resolved to
shoot him as a spy they would have shrieked their
"Liberty and the Democracy!" or some such words
of triumph. But when I ran forward to a little group
I heard them say at once that it would be in a few
hours. Well, why had they not triumphed over the
poor Noahcite? I thought that the most likely ex-
planation was that Don Eugenio had pleaded for him.

Bustamante came on to the steps of the alcalde's
house; he looked as stern as possible, and he was tug-
ging his mustache. But, nevertheless, Maria made
her way towards him. And he nodded at her.

I did not feel absolutely confident about the fate of
Don Eugenio, and when at last the flow of people from
the house was finished and the door was shut and he
had not emerged I was afraid to question anybody.
But when I reached the back of the alcalde's house I
heard my name; and there was my dear master in
the blackness of a cellar dungeon. He had seen me
passing overhead as he looked out into the night of
stars. But when I tremulously asked what they were
going to do with him, he told me that the other two
were in the dungeon also; they were utterly exhausted
and asleep. He did not know if there would be a

280

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 281

priest for Don Arcadio's confession, and he was en-
deavoring to make himself as worthy as he could
for this last office.

"You may know," said he, "that if there is no
priest available, the Catholic father of a dying child
must christen it himself; the water may be ordinary
clean water. And I think, for Don Arcadio's con-
fession, that it is incumbent on me to remove out of
my mind as much uncleanliness as possible. Oh, I
have never thought of my untoward life with half the
sorrow that I feel at present. But, in spite of it, I
am afraid that I would also fall asleep if I sat down."

"But is your life in jeopardy?" I asked.

He shook his head. "Now go away, my son," said
he, "and come back here soon after dawn."

I had to ask him if he did not think it horrible that
Don Arcadio, who was such a blameless man and so
benevolent, should have to die in this way. And my
master said that if I wanted to prolong his life he
would advise me to secure the flesh of winged serpents.
He informed me that he had it out of Roger Bacon how
they were employed with great effect by Tantalus,
a man who was attached to the person of the King of
India. But if Plato and Aristotle failed to prolong
their existence it v/as not surprising, for they were
ignorant even of the quadrature of the circle which
Bacon declares to have been well known at his time,
and which is indefinitely inferior to the grand medical
doctrine of Tantalus.

As he was saying this my master laughed. He
laughed in such a fashion that I could not bear to look
at him. He put his hand out through the iron bars
and gripped me round the wrist, in order to encourage
me. And then I crept away.

It seemed to me, as I went wandering along the

282 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

dark, deserted roads of San Geronimo, that in this
world there was no justice anywhere. Why should a
man like Don Arcadio be executed, for although I
did not understand his beautiful, great, philanthropic
scheme, of course it must be understood by God, and
why did God allow him to be murdered? Surely there
could be no God, I thought; and as the watchman
strode along he raised his melancholy voice and cried,
"It wants an hour to midnight, it is calm and very
dark." He carried an old soldier's lance upon his
shoulder, and the iron tip of it was faintly gleaming
in the starlight. There was no trace of the moon, but
all the sky was lit with stars and they were shining
very brilliantly. "It wants an hour to midnight,"
cried the watchman, "it is calm and very dark." He
walked across an open space — I followed him — and
I could see him quite distinctly. He himself must
have perceived that it was lighter, for his lance turned
backwards and he was examining the sky; but he
continued with the same announcement, "It is calm
and very dark." And as I looked at all those stars
they seemed to me to be ilie eyes of God. And I
stood still and gazed at them. The watchman passed
away from me, so that I could no longer see him, but
I still could hear him calling, "Calm and very dark."
I found a shelter underneath a hedge of cactus, and
at daybreak I was wakened by the noise of some ex-
cited people. They were arguing with one another very
vehemently, and I heard them say it was a scandal
and an outrage. They were gathered round a thin,
tall, nervous-looking fellow, and he clearly was amused.
They shouted at him, but his answer was to hold up
all the fingers of one hand. "It is exorbitant! You
are a sinful man of avarice! Oh, wait," they cried,
"until you have the yellow fever! Do you think that

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 283

we have endless money?" And they shouted other
things.

One old dilapidated woman stood apart, and in a
cracked voice she was saying, "Jesus, Jesus, Jesus."
I could see that she was counting on her fingers. And
when she had thus invoked the name sufficiently she
lifted up her miserable voice and sang:

''Get thee, Satan, far from me.
Near my death-bed thou shalt not be,
Seeing that upon the day
Of Holy Cross I used to say
A thousand times Jesus, Jesus,
Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus."

Then she continued with the recitation of her kind of
rosary. And all the time those angry persons were
entirely taken up with the tall man. He shook his
head and smiled at them, the more they objurgated
him. "And only for the reason that you are a friend
of the alcalde! It is monstrous! Why should you
have such a place instead of us? For God's sake, will
you sell it for three ounces?" But the man held all
his fingers up and went on smiling. "Wait until your
luck deserts you! Then in our turn we shall laugh!"
so they exclaimed. "And why should you be of the
firing-party more than Tomas or Angel or Cristobalito
or any of us? Vaya, will you sell the place or will
you not? Oh, wretched miser! But one cannot have
a hide without the claws."

The poor old woman halted in her invocation. She
was staring at her hands and muttering, because the
noise had caused her to forget how often she had said
the name of Jesus. And she looked upon those people
with reproachful eyes.

"Well, how much will you sell it for?" cried one.

284 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

"You hold yourself as if you had the place by merit?
Have you ever shot a gun in all your life?"

"And which of you can shoot indeed? Aha," de-
clared the tall man, "you will not insult me very easily.
Now I must go and talk to the alcalde. Will you let
me pass along?"

They clustered round him, so that he could not
escape, and while he shouted they were shouting back.
The poor old woman, in the meantime, rolled away to
a more quiet place.

"Fucha!" called a voice, "then I will pay two
ounces and Angel two. What do you say?"

He looked thoughtful. And again they all spoke at
the same time; but before they went away it had been
settled that he should receive four ounces and that
those two persons should have his place in the firing-
party.

I went hastily to where I had been speaking with my
master, but he was not in the dungeon and the other
two were not there either. As I peered in through the
bars I saw that it was empty, and I could see very well
because some light was entering by the open door in
the wall opposite. Two followers of Bustamante hap-
pened to be going past, and when they saw me they
inquired if ghosts were living in that cellar. And they
laughed at me and crossed themselves.

But when I asked them eagerly for news of Don
Eugenio and the others, they explained that we were
to assemble in a field outside the village. They would
show me where it lay.

And on the road they asked me who I was and
where I came from and where I was going to. They
asked me many other questions in a kindly way and
did not seem to mind the vagueness of my answers,
if indeed I answered them at all. We overtook 3

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 285

number of pedestrians and several men on horseback —
these were the officials — and at last we came into a
field from which the mist had not all gone, though it
was very warm already. In the next field, so they
told me, I would find my friends who had been brought
there by an escort. But as I ran on I saw that in the
middle of the field my master and the Noahcite were
sitting on a pile of stones ; Faustino stood beside them
and the escort was a long way off. Since it is
customary for a man in Mexico to make a speech
before they shoot him, whether he is guilty of a crime
or whether he has been a politician, they had all retired
from Don Arcadio and the others, so that he could
make his preparations for a worthy speech. When I
came up to them my master motioned me to sit down
at his side.

Faustino happened to be speaking, in a tone of grim
determination: "They shall pay for it," said he,
"and they shall pay a hundred-fold. The birds
shall . . ."

"Thank you, thank you," interrupted Don Arcadio,
"you have been more than faithful to me, dear
Faustino, during all these years, and you would never
rest, I know, until you had avenged me. But how
ugly is the thought of vultures tearing up the flesh of
Bustamante. And I want my last thoughts to be
turned towards the beautiful. Have I not told you
that it is no longer happiness but beauty which I am
pursuing."

"My dear friend," said Don Eugenio, "I used to
think that you were mad, but now I think it is with a
celestial madness, and that God is talking through you.
Otherwise how could you at this last, when you are
going to lose your life, go so serenely on a new pur-
suit?"

286 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

"But I have found life!" Don Arcadio cried. "He
who has turned his eyes to that which is worth more
than life itself, he surely has found life!"

My master had been weeping, but a smile now
flickered on his face.

"It seems to me," said Don Arcadio, "that we shall
not discover what life's beauty is if we believe that
it lies in the loveliness and strength of body or in
loveliness and brilliance of the mind. The beauty of
our life is in pursuing with the greatest zeal that
beauty which is out beyond us and which we can never
reach. I say it wants the greatest zeal, because a
glimpse of everlasting beauty may well bring the tears
into our eyes. You, my dear friend," said he, his
hand on Don Eugenio's arm, "what were you weeping
for? . . . But I will leave you for a little time," he
said.

And as he walked away from us towards another
rock and there sat down, a hundred paces off, I could
not keep myself from shuddering. His words I had
not understood, but I was thinking of that most
abominable firing-party which would utterly destroy
the beauty of his body.

Then my master clenched his fist and looked up
at Faustino, and "By all the holy saints," he said,
"that man shall not be killed. We must prevent
it!"

But Faustino threw his hands out.

"We must talk to them. There may be something
noble left in Bustamante."

"May the vultures tear it out," Faustino said, in
bitterness.

"I tell you," said my master, "if I have to give
myself instead of him, I do not care. But Don
Arcadio shall not be killed. Just when he has become

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 287

a sane man, after all these years. And he is so
divinely sane. He shall not, shall not die."
We heard the quavering voice of that old woman:

''Get thee, Satan, far from me,
Near my death-bed thou shalt not be,
Seeing that . . ."

"Oh, what can I do?" cried Don Eugenio. "This
is a most wretched country."

"And he has not been confessed," Faustino said, in
desolation. "Oh, what can I do?"

The voice of the old woman still continued:

"Of Holy Cross I used to say
A thousand times Jesus. Jesus,
Jesus . . ."

"Ah, look there!" cried Faustino. "Look at them!"

A mob of people, some on foot and some on horse-
back, was advancing towards us. It was a large crowd,
though I could not see distinctly for the sun was daz-
zling. It had burst through the last fragments of the
mist and nobody, I think, could have avoided seeing
that it was a warrior much more gay and splendid
than those countrymen of ours whom it endeavored to
conceal from us.

Don Eugenio whispered to me that I was to run into
the village and bring out the priest. He knew there
was none, but he did not wish me to remain there.

And as I was racing back towards the village I was
shouting at the sunlight, I was laughing at it — so
Maria told me later on — and I was running with my
head now this way, so she told me, and now that, as
if I were afraid of being struck.

CHAPTER XXI

Maria told me many other things while she was sit-
ting on my bed. I was so feeble and so happy that I
did not even want to know why I was there. It was
sufficient that Maria should be smiling down upon me,
and her smile was drawing me out of a dark abyss
... I do not like those people who will not acknowl-
edge how profound a love they have for any friend
until they lose him, but I am not sure if you do not
look more profoundly into anybody's heart if you your-
self are nearly lost. When you are lying there so
prostrate and so feeble, vv^hen you have let your little
energies and obstinacies slip away from you, then you
no longer set up a resistance to the love which from
the heart of the dear friend is pouring over you. How
strange it is that when your body is so powerless you
should be far more likely to perceive what a tre-
mendous and eternal power the wings of love can grant
to you. It is a fact — such is our country — that a
Mexican has often said to a beloved person that his
feeling for her is unparalleled in all the universe. We
Mexicans may have the Spanish blood in us diluted or
imaginary, but all that does not diminish in the least
some Spanish traits — and they believed that what they
said was true and often the beloved person also thought
that it was true — what would you more? But as for
me, I must say that I did not know how great a love
there was between Maria and myself until those days
in San Geronimo. It was the weakness of my body

288

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 289

and my growing love which hindered me from paying
much attention to the words she said. I did not greatly
mind what accident had brought me to that room, so
long as I could happily remain there.

It was a bare room, like any other, and from time
to time the owners of the house — an oldish couple —
would come in and look at me and gravely nod
their heads. But all my food was brought me by
Maria.

And one day she said that Don Eugenio was l5^ng
in another house. Both he and I were getting well
again, she said. It was the death of Don Arcadio
which had overwhelmed us.

"For a week or so," quoth she, "poor Don Eugenio
was worse than you. We had to rope him to the bed.
And in the middle of his imprecations, which were
terrible, he laughed and sang together — as you did
yourself when you were running down the street before
that execution."

I remembered in a flash about the vultures that
Faustino spoke of, and I prayed that they might feast
on Bustamante.

But Maria said that Bustamante had permitted her
to nurse the pair of us. "One must not be ungrateful,"
said Maria. "And he never punished Don Eugenio,"
she said, "for any of the fearful things he uttered.
Don Eugenio has been calling down on Bustamante's
head a list of punishments that we in Mexico had never
heard of and he cursed him with round Spanish oaths,
or else they may have been from learned books; at any
rate the people who were loitering outside the house
could listen easily, and what he said was carried up to
Bustamante, if by chance he was not present. All I
recollect," pursued Maria, "are two words: Anathema
sit! Whatever he might say he ended up with those

290 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

two words. And there is in the town^ which is three
hours away, a diligent young schoolmaster. He left
his school and came here on a horse, and now he stays
with Don Eugenio, putting down those imprecations
on a piece of paper. He is one who studies everything,
and now he will not leave where Don Eugenio is, but
with the spectacles upon his long, thin nose he gazes
at him, and he waits for words."

"But is my master still in the same state?" said I.
"You told me he was getting well again."

"Because he curses," said Maria. "For a time he
was quite gentle, he was humble and devout, so that
we were afraid that he was going to die. But now, the
gods be thanked, he has returned to imprecations, and
it is a certain sign that he is getting well. As soon as
you are strong enough, my Juanito, you shall come
with me to listen. They are all so full of admiration
in that room and very happy — it is like an entertain-
ment— all except one man, who is severe and says that
Don Eugenio, if he should die in this condition, will
be lost for ever. But the schoolmaster is fighting with
that man. He loves our Don Eugenio because of his
great language, and he also says that he is very like
the early Christians, who were careful, first of all, in
their assemblies to consign the pagans and the heretics
to execration and to physical chastisement, or if these
should not be brought about, then to damnation for
eternity."

"I wish," said I, "that we could go to Don
Eugenio."

"And then he laughed and sang and prayed, but
always in delirium. And then one day he sobbed
unceasingly, and after that he was quite humble — it
was then we thought that he would die. You should
have heard him singing the old Litany:

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 291

'Kyrie, eleison.
Christe, eleison.
Kyrie, eleison.'

"He was a little out of breath, but while he paused we
others sang the next piece very heartily:

'Christe, audi nos.
Christe, exaudi nos.
Pater de ccelis Deus,

miserere nobis.'

"While we were singing that he beat the time. And
he went on alone :

'Fili, Redemptor mundi Deus,

miserere nobis.

Spiritus Sancte Deus,

miserere nobis.

Sancta Trinitas, unus Deus,

miserere nobis.'

"The schoolmaster, who led our singing, feared that
Don Eugenio would wear himself away. 'Dear Sir,'
said he, 'let us proceed now to the end of it. A man
may die of singing just as well as of . . .'

"'What a glorious death!' said Don Eugenio, and
he went on:

'Sancta Maria, ora pro nobis.
Sancta Dei Genitrix, ora pro nobis.'

Another sort of smile came over him. 'A glorious
death!' said he. 'That woman who was rushing up
and down the corridor — it was a good inn of Castile
and I was coming from the capital — ah, years ago.
Well, she was rushing up and down — and do you know

292 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

what sort of traveler was lying in her room, and dead?'

" 'I do not know/ said the severe man. 'I am very
much surprised at your behavior.'

" 'It was years ago,' said Don Eugenio, 'and, more-
over, I did nothing. She ran up and down the corridor
as if she were distracted. She was making very wild
and incoherent sounds — I put my head out — she was
in her night-attire and barefoot. When I urged her to
be calm, to tell me calmly what had happened, she
could not control herself; but finally she said that Don
Fulano, who was old, was lying on her bed, a corpse.'

" 'It would be well,' said the severe man, 'if you
would remember that you may yourself at any moment
be a corpse.'

" 'And when they arose early in the morning,' said
Don Eugenio, 'behold, they were all dead corpses.'

"I believe he was repeating this from Holy Scripture.

" 'Well,' said he, 'I told the woman that she was
disturbing every one and that it would be better if she
came with me to the proprietor, as I myself did not
know what to do in such a case. While we were going
she continued with her lamentations, and while I was
knocking at the door of the proprietor she moaned;,
and yet he did not hear us, for he had a heavy sleep.
I knocked,' said Don Eugenio, 'more loudly, so that
he awakened and replied. I told him what had hap-
pened and I asked him what we ought to do, but he
said only: "Glorious death!" and then rolled over on
his side and went to sleep again.'

"The telling of this tale," pursued Maria, "caused
him to forget how weak he was." If he had not been
weak, thought I, he would not have recited such a
mediocre tale; but on the other hand my master's life
was lovely, like a flower that blooms and fades, not like
the painting of a flower.

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 293

"But as he finished it/' quoth Maria, "he lay there
with his eyes shut, smiling faintly. Thereupon the
schoolmaster said that he need not, anyhow, sing all the
litany, he might sing the conclusion of it. Don
Eugenio did not answer him, but only frowned. He
said again that Don Eugenio might omit the rest, and
your good master said that he was very sorry he could
not so much as reach the 'Mater immaculata,' and it
was a hundred years ago exactly, so he said, it was in
1 766 that Pope Clement XIII granted Spain the privi-
lege of adding this after the 'Mater intemerata.' What
a man is Don Eugenio!"

"There cannot be in all the world," I said, "a more
delightful and more gracious soul. If you and I,
Maria," so I said, "can see how excellent a man he is,
you may be sure that if we had the understanding we
should see much more than that. And we shall never
meet with any one who equals him in grandeur or in
charm of thought, who can surpass him for gay wis-
dom and for real virtue. He does not, like many
others, feign to be more wicked than God made
him . . ."

"Juanito, my dear love," she murmured.

I was like a stone from which a fire was leaping, and
I had not known that it was in me. But this world
is a good place, I think, because it may be given to us
once or twice to come in contact with a person who
will make us live.

". . . and he never," I continued, "injured any one,
you may be sure, except himself. All other men he
is prepared to serve — he is a river which brings to the
land its fruitfulness and rolls along beneath the wil-
lows, meditating, and which flings itself down cataracts
in laughter. Yes, that is our Don Eugenio; and in the
daytime he reflects what is in heaven and earth, like

294 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

one of those clear streams, and in the night he is the
brother of old darkness and the stars."

Maria was still sitting on my bed. And now she
threw herself into my arms. "How splendidly you
speak!" said she.

When I could speak again I pointed out that every-
thing which I possessed had come from Don Eugenio.

"My dear one, my most Holy Sacrament, my little
lamp of olive oil ! " said she.

We stayed there for a time in happiness, and later
on she said that if I had the strength I might go with
her to the house where Don Eugenio lay. And, leaning
on her arm, I went there — fortunately it was not far
distant.

In the room was Don Eugenio, fastened to the bed
with ropes, and he was talking vehemently. Several
persons whom I had not seen before were round about
him, and Faustino was there also, looking most
dejected.

When my master saw me he broke off in his tirade
and "Oh, you villainous young man!" he cried. "You
that have forged the Apostolic Letters and that gave
a judgment which was odiously unjust and stole my
concubine. You have adulterated food and drink, you
have uprooted all the boundary-stones and so you shall,
I vow you shall, be punished by canonical and civil
law. What have you done?" He glared at me. "And
why? Carajo, tell me, monster of ingratitude, the boy
I loved— the— the . . ."

A man — he was the schoolmaster — made signs to me
that I should go. Maria likewise had been thinking
that it would be better, and she pulled me out into the
open air. She told me that I need not feel uneasy as
to anything; his violence was one of the best symp-
toms and would soon subside.

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 295

We started walking round the house, and underneath
a window, sitting on the ground, was Bustamante. He
was stroking his mustache.

He was amused to see me. "You and I," said he,
"we are the objects of his hatred. But you seem to
care! He is a lunatic at present. It is nothing,
Juanito. It will pass away, and that reminds me, I am
going to-morrow."

"Juanito has been very ill," Maria said, "and he
cannot be without me yet."

"Ah, well, he shall have the best of all our horses,
after mine, and you shall have a good one," Busta-
mante said. And, turning with a pleasant smile to me,
he added that he liked me and that he would charge
himself with looking after me. "To-morrow we must
march towards the north," he said, "for that is what
Juarez orders."

And by this time Don Eugenio was less furious.
We could hear him talking with determination: "It is
like a storm and we are being blown about. It is a
stormy world," said he.

"May God protect us," said Faustino.

"Yes, but I would rather swim among the waves
which throw you here and there, and fling you down
and scream at you and fight with you than I would
swim in a calm, placid sea. Oh, it is splendid to be
fighting!" said my master.

"God protect you," said Faustino.

"From iniquity and evil thoughts," said Don
Eugenio. "It seems to me that I was talking with
great roughness — was it against Bustamante? Well,
he did us wrong. But, nevertheless, if anybody mur-
ders me I hope that I will say: 'God be your
judge.' "

296 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

"Amen. That is," Faustino said, "if God will judge
him better than they do in Mexico."

"Do not be blasphemous," said the severe man, in
a rasping voice, "God is the judge of all the world.
He is immeasurably better than all other judges."

"That is true," Faustino said, "but why does He
leave Mexico to them?"

And for a time Faustino, the severe man, Don
Eugenio, and some others were disputing, and one could
not profit much by listening to them. Bustamante
asked Maria and myself to go with him down to the
stables, so that we could see the horses he intended us
to have. I would have pleaded with him that we might
remain at San Geronimo, I would if necessary have
defied him, for I loathed the very thought of going,
but Maria looked into my eyes, and off we went. And
when we reached the stables, Bustamante was most
gracious; he assisted us to mount those admirable
horses, and he said that if we liked we could, in order
to get used to them, go for a ride round San Geronimo.

So we proceeded for some distance down a shady
road, and then Maria turned up through a wood of
palms and other trees, and after coming to the ridge
we went along it. Underneath us, to the right, we saw
the gayly-colored church of San Geronimo, and there
was also the alcalde's house. Maria told me that I
never would see San Geronimo again, because we two
were going to escape. I trembled with excitement and
with love for her, but how could I leave Don Eugenio?
And then she said that Bustamante certainly would
leave him, as he was too ill to travel. We would all
be joined together later on, she said.

Well, there was nothing for me but to go with her.
I think she must have somehow learned about the
country, for she never showed the slightest hesitation,

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 297

and she said that we were on the road to Colorado.
She had thought of everything, how we would live
together in my native village, and how Don Eugenio
would come to live with us. To her it all seemed very
simple and I will confess that when we tied our horses
up and rested in the middle of a wood, I was as ready
as Maria to rejoice in what was going to happen. It
would be delicious to have Don Eugenio sitting always
happily on the veranda of my home. And what an
honor for my parents ! Then Maria said she knew my
mother would receive her very well, since she had saved
me from becoming one of Bustamante's followers.

And, thanks to Bustamante's horses, we achieved
the journey in three days, and you can easily imagine
the reception that we had. Old Captain Bartolme was
just outside the village, sitting there amid a cluster of
white flowers as if he knew that we were coming.
And he told us with a candid smile that my good
parents had invited him to make his home with them,
because he was acquainted with so many stories of my
doings in Jalapa. If they had not shown him this
great hospitality, he said, then his old age would have
been wretched, since the woman Enriqueta had trans-
ferred her faithfulness, he said, to her old friend Gon-
zalez of the shop.

While he was talking to us a few other people gath-
ered round, and he assumed an air of big importance,
for he had been with us in Jalapa. Thus he was too
busy to inquire about the Noahcite or Don Eugenio.
He said that now we would advance into the village
and he marched, with pomp, in front of our two horses.
He did not appear to have misgivings as to his position
at my parents' hearth now that I had returned. It
seemed to me as if the poor old man who strutted there
in front of us so proudly should have held himself

298 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

more like a captive who is well aware that by the
Ley de Fuga those who are behind will shoot him down
for trying to escape and even if he does not try to do so.

In the first words that my parents uttered I was told
how they had promised to the wonder-working Virgin
of Chichicaxtle that^ if I came back again to Colorado,
they would not attempt to make me a learned man
above my station, but that, on the contrary, they would
persuade me to become a breeder of the fighting-cocks.
And that is what I have been doing ever since.

A few days after my return I traveled with my
father and Maria to the cursed village San Geronimo.
Our object was, of course, to fetch my master; but he
was not in the village. Nobody could tell us whither
he had gone, and he had left no message for me. All
that we could ascertain was that he and Faustino were
still in the village after Bustamante left.

Perhaps he found a pleasant refuge here in Mexico,
perhaps he and Faustino have been wandering for all
these years, perhaps he went to Veracruz and took the
boat for Spain; and this I think is the more probable,
as he would otherwise have surely come to Colorado.
May God have protected him! And may God have
provided him — I say this with extreme sincerity — a
worthier historian.

Much of what he taught me I have not remembered,
much of his delightful conversation has now vanished
and beyond recall, but my whole life, and I believe the
lives of those around me, are made nobler by the frail
and fading recollections of him that I still possess.

NOTE I

A tale extremely similar to this one came from Northern
France in the year 191 6, the burial-party being British and
their clients German. But those people who are fond of
tracing stories to their Buddhist source will certainly not be
astonished that the same one should appear in our time, both
in Northern France and Mexico. It may be that some
readers will be interested if I deal with that part of the
story — making it more simple — which depicts the man deny-
ing his own death (the "Mortuus Loquens," as he is called
by Poggio, that curious, irascible old humanist), and if I try
to trace a step or two of its career down to our army and to
Mexico from the original. . . . We need not argue here if
folk-tales all originate in India, but a very good case is made
out by Mr. Clouston {Popular Tales and Fictions. Edin-
burgh, 2 vols., 1887) for tracing all European drolls or
comic folk-tales from the East. Many of them, as Mr.
Clouston points out, can be found in the early Buddhist
books, especially in the Jatakas or Birth-stories which are
said to have been related to his disciples by Gautama, the
illustrious founder of Buddhism, as incidents which occurred
to himself and others in former births, and were afterwards
put into a literary form by his followers. There are two
old stories in Ceylon which have a near affinity to jests of
the "Mortuus Loquens" class, and which may be regarded as
in the straight line of ancestry. The first of them deals with
a rich man, the employer of twenty-five idiots, whose daily
task it was to cut the plaintain leaves from which the
servants ate and drank. One day the twenty-five had an
idea that the task might be accomplished easily by one of
them. "Let us therefore lie down," they said, "on the soil
and sleep like dead men, and let him who first utters a sound
or opens his eyes undertake the work." And when they
were discovered in that state the master, thinking they were

299

300 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

dead, ordered his servants to dig a deep hole and bury them.
A grave was then dug and the idiots were, one by one,
thrown into it; and when they were being covered up a tool
that one of the servants was using hit an idiot on the leg so
that he moaned. Thereupon all the others exclaimed "You
were the first to utter a sound, therefore from henceforth
you must take upon yourself the duty of providing the
plaintain leaves." . . . The second story from Ceylon (cf. a
paper on "Comparative Folk-lore," by W. Goonetilleke in
The Orientalist, 1, p. 122) is in a Hindu work entitled
Bharataka Dwatrinsati, Thirty-two tales of Mendicant
Monks. One Dandaka, a monk, is cutting the bough of a
tree on which he sits, although some travelers warn him that
if it breaks he will fall down and be killed. Eventually he
does fall down and then he thinks how wise the travelers
were, since everything they prophesied has come to pass;
and he believes that he is dead. His comrades carry him
towards the cremation-place, and at a spot where the road
branches they are undecided whether to go to the right or
the left, and in the midst of the dispute the "dead" monk
says: "Friends, quarrel not among yourselves; when I was
alive I always went by the left road." Then some of them
say: "He always spoke the truth. Let us therefore take the
left road." Certain passers-by declare that they are going
to burn a man who is not dead. The monks reply that he
is verily a corpse, and Dandaka himself persistently asserts
that he is dead; he relates with the most solemn protesta-
tions the prophecy of the travelers and how it was fulfilled
. . . From the East the tale of "Mortuus Loquens" would
be brought to Europe by Crusaders or by Mongol mission-
aries or by other travelers. The most eminent of folk-
lorists are arguing the point, often with considerable wit and
ferocity, as to the spread of Indo-European tales, but how
these traveled they have not decided yet, nor indeed whether
they are not survivals of primitive myths and legends, the
common heritage of the whole Aryan race. However, ^ye
observe that the Chinese possess a variant of our tale; in
the Hsias Lin Kuang Cki collection of humorous anecdotes
there is a story of a man who spoke when he should have

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 301

behaved as if he were a corpse. The author, by the way,
of this tale is unknown, for in China all literature, as Pro-
fessor Giles points out, is pure; novels and stories are not
classed as literature, and so the authors of such works have
no ambition to attach their names. One sees in consequence
a great falling-off from what may be regarded as the national
standard; they excuse themselves by saying that the tales
portray real life and therefore to omit the ordinary frailties
of mortals would be to produce an incomplete and inade-
quate picture. This tale is concerned with a woman who,
when she was entertaining a paramour during the absence
of her husband, was startled by hearing the latter knock at
the house-door. She hurriedly bundled the man into a rice-
sack, which she concealed in a corner of the room ; but when
her husband came in he caught sight of it and asked in a
stern voice: "What have you got in that sack?" His wife
was too terrified to answer; and after an awkward pause,
a voice from the sack was heard to say: "Only rice" . . .
With regard to the diffusion of these Aryan Household
Tales it will be safer if we do not cleave to any school, but
if we hold that much may be due to the identity everywhere
of early fancy and something as, for example, Mr. Andrew
Lang maintains, to transmission. The Aryan people has
itself been scattered widely, from Ceylon to Iceland ; and in
Powell and Magnusson's Legends of Iceland (Second series,
p. 627) there is another variant of our tale: a woman makes
her husband believe that he is dressed in fine clothes when
he is naked; another persuades her husband that he is dead,
and as he is being carried to the burial-ground he perceives
the naked man who asserts that he is dressed, and in reply
to him exclaims: "How I should laugh if I were not dead!"
. . . But although the tale may thus have come overland
into the great mass of German and Scandinavian folk-lore,
we can also trace it more easily to England by another
route. Traveling with the Arabs westward it assumed that
form of two thieves who pretended they were dead. "I
wonder," says a passer-by, "which of the two died first."
"It was myself," says one of them. In Turkey of the four-
teenth century we find the tale attributed to the Khoja

302 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

Nasr-ed-Dur, that perfectly historic buffoon who was in close
relation to Tamerlane, the wild and celebrated conqueror.
The Khoja is said to have asked his wife what the signs
are by which a man is known to be dead. She told him that
when his body and hands are cold, then he is dead. It
happened that one very wintry day he was ascending a hill,
and his feet and hands were very cold, remembering the
words of his wife, he thought he was dead and laid himself
down on the hill. Meanwhile, a number of wolves ap-
proached his donkey and tore it to pieces, so that the Khoja
cried out: "Oh, ye wolves, eat the donkey, for the owner is
dead ; if I were alive be sure I would have made it hot for
you!" In Borrow's version of this tale {The Turkish Jester,
Ipswich, 1884), the man exclaims: "The ass is dead, it
seems, and not the master." . . . Going further westward
the Arabs took to Spain this tale, which there received a
characteristically sardonic twist. It is applied to Andres
Vesalius, the court-physician of Charles V, when he was
dissecting a Spanish cavalier whom he had attended in his
illness. When Vesalius thrust his knife into the gentleman's
bosom, the latter shouted so that it was seen he was not
dead, but very soon (cf. Selected Works of the Friar D.
Benito Jeronimo Fey 00 of Montenegro) he expired, because
the blow had been a shrewd one . . . But while repeating
this in order to show that the story was current in sixteenth
century Spain, one should add that there are grounds for
supposing that it was applied to Vesalius by his enemies.
Throughout his life of fifty years the founder of modern
anatomy was forced to wrestle with the prejudices of his
age. A surgeon of the Imperial armies before he was twenty,
he was not allowed to dissect a corpse, and therefore was
obliged to haunt the Cemetery of the Innocents at Paris and
to struggle with the dogs upon the dunghills, it is said, for
their decaying prey. He was attacked as well by his old
master Sylvius in a fiery pamphlet, and by others of the
school of Galen ; and it is alleged that, owing to his misad-
venture with the Spanish cavalier, the Inquisition ordered
that he should be burned alive, and that this penalty was
commuted into a pilgrimage to Jerusalem. However, it is

THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS 303

much more likely that the Inquisition was displeased with
him because, in their opinion, he did works of magic, and it
is improbable that any living man would be considered dead
by the wise author of the De Corporis humani jabrica. One
fancies that, apart from any pious motives which he may
have had, the pilgrimage appealed to him as a relief from
the unending persecution which he suffered. As he was
returning, to assume the professorship of anatomy at Padua,
his boat was wrecked and he succumbed at Zante . . . From
Spain the "Mortuus Loquens" tale would naturally be trans-
ferred to Mexico . . . And England, which may have been
reached through the German-Scandinavian route, was ap-
proached from Italy, where Poggio (who seems to have inter-
cepted it in the fifteenth century as it passed from Turkey
to Spain), gave such a reputation to all kinds of stories,
original and otherwise, that the most famous authors have
made themselves his channels of transmission. Thus the
celebrated Ming tale. No. 268 of his Facetice or Collection
of good jokes and tales, with which the old Florentine had
bantered his frequent victim Francesco Filelfo, is repeated
in Rabelais, in the Cent Nouvelles Nouvelles, in Ariosto, in
the Ducento Novelle of Celio Malespini, in La Fontaine and
elsewhere, yet none of them acknowledged their indebted-
ness to Poggio — perhaps they wanted the tale to return to
the wistful vagueness of folk-lore, perhaps they were imbued
with the afore-mentioned Chinese sentiment, and, while
chivalrously allowing their own names to be branded, yet
refused to reveal the name of the, so far as they knew, real
author of this totally impure and hence unliterary tale.
Some authors, on the other hand, who do refer to Poggio
and who seem to us more honestly out-spoken, certainly
are quite out-spoken: Gesner says that it is opus turpissi-
mum et aquis incendioque dignissimum, while the Abbot
Tritheme and Erasmus (who knew how to admire Poggio's
erudition and style) are no less severe. The wandering old
scholar, who was much given to laughter and invective, came
back to his own town and was upbraided for his laxity of
morals; he decided that his friends should not appeal to
him in vain and that he would henceforward lead a regular

304 THE HOUSE OF THE FIGHTING-COCKS

existence. So he put aside the mistress who had borne him
fourteen children, married a young girl and wrote, among
other works, his Facetix. These latter circulated all through
Italy, France, Spain, Germany, England; they were read by
all such as understood Latin and were thoroughly appreci-
ated, he tells us, by all men of letters. In certain of the
stories there is no obscenity, and this applies to the "Mor-
tuus Loquens," of which the English version is No. 48 of
the 1567 edition of the Mery Tales and Quicke Answers, a
jest-book that is supposed to have been used by Shakespeare.
We are told of "a felowe dwellynge at Florence, called
Nigniaca, whiche was not verye wyse, nor all a foole, but
mery and iocunde." A party of young men persuaded him
that he was sick, that he was dying, finally that he was
dead. And when they were carrying his bier through the
city a taverner's boy uttered a very harsh judgment upon
the corpse, so that the latter put his head out and, "I wys,
horeson," said he, "if I were alyve nowe, as I am dead, I
wolde prove the a false Iyer to thy face." ... So we have
followed the story in some of its variants as it traveled from
the East. The latest manifestation of it was in that incident
of the late war; and if the German, who then played the
part of "Mortuus Loquens" to the burial-party and ^denied
his death, was a student of comparative folk-lore, he must
certainly have found the situation of surpassing interest.

H. B.

NOTE II

It is not my business to defend Juanito from the charge
of anachronism, and I would not make this observation here
unless I thought that certain critics, who have either over-
looked or tolerated any other lapses into which he may have
fallen, will now feel obliged to register a protest. They will
admit that C. N. Horsford prepared condensed milk by the
addition of lactose in 1849, ^Iso that commercially success-
ful milk condensation began in 1856, but is it likely, they
will ask, that Mexico imported such an article as early as
1866? Well, they may be surprised to hear what luxuries
were sent to Maximilian and Carlota's Court and thus be-
came the fashion. But if no tins of milk had gone by 1866
and if therefore Juanito's account of the above incident is
somewhat inaccurate, one may remind the critic that the
great Diccionario Enciclopedico Hispano-Americano (Barce-
lona, 1887) does not treat this quality of his with harsh-
ness. It explains that an anachronism is produced by vari-
ous causes, such as either the author's ignorance, which is
often justifiable, or else his wish to satisfy the taste of an
ill-educated public, or else the levity which commonly arises
from the very traits that are essential to those people who
devote themselves to writing works of the imagination.
Anachronisms, it adds, are a very grave and unbearable
defect in didactic treatises, whereas in literature, and above
all if unaccompanied by other and more serious faults, they
have a very secondary importance. Then there is Quintana
(1772-1857) who maintains that authors show by their oc-
casional anachronisms how they are possessed of the two
sterling attributes: facility and abandon. We shall attach
the proper weight to this opinion if we recollect that Manuel
Jose Quintana was not only a great poet but a most illus-
trious historian. Majestic in his narrative as Livy, pro-
found as Tacitus in judging man and the event, dexterous

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as Sallust in his methods of assembling these and placing
them in relief, this indefatigable gentleman was famous,
among many other things, for having reached perfection in
the matter of good taste.

H. B.

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