No More Learning



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i
success.
Marquis died in 1835, and after two years she again married, this
time the lawyer De Arrom. Losing his own money and hers, he
went as Spanish consul to Australia, where he died in 1863. She
remained behind, retired to the country, and turned to literature.
From 1857 to 1866 she lived in the Alcazar in Seville, as governess
to the royal children of Spain. She died April 7th, 1877, in Seville, -
somewhat solitary, for a new life of ideas flowing into Spain, and
opposing her intense conservatism, isolated her from companionship.
Fernan Caballero began to publish when past fifty, attained
instant success, and never again reached the high level of her first
book. La Gaviota' (The Sea-Gull) appeared in 1849 in the pages
of a Madrid daily paper, and at once made its author famous. (The
Family of Alvøreda,' an earlier story, was published after her first
Washington Irving, who saw the manuscript of this,
encouraged her to go on. Her novels were fully translated, and she
soon had a European reputation. Her work may be divided into
three classes: novels of social life in Seville, such as Elia' and
Clemencia'; novels of Andalusian peasant life, as "The Family of
Alvoreda' ('La Gaviota' uniting both); and a number of short
stories pointing a moral or embodying a proverb. She published
besides, in 1859, the first collection of Spanish fairy tales.
Fernan Caballero created the modern Spanish novel. For two
hundred years after Cervantes there are few names of note in prose
fiction. French taste dominated Spanish literature, and poor imita-
tions of the French satisfied the reading public. A foreigner by
birth and a cosmopolitan by education, the clever new-comer cried
out against this foreign influence, and set herself to bring the
national characteristics to the front. She belonged to the old Span-
ish school, with its Catholicism, its prejudices, its reverence for the
old, its hatred of new ideas and modern improvements. She painted
thus Old Spain with a master's brush. But she especially loved
Andalusia, that most poetic province of her country, with its deep-
blue luminous sky, its luxuriant vegetation, its light-hearted, witty
populace, and she wrote of them with rare insight and exquisite
tenderness. Tasked with having idealized them, she replied:_"Many
years of unremitting study, pursued con amore, justify me in assuring
those who find fault with my portrayal of popular life that they are
less acquainted with them than I am. ” And in another place she
says: -“It is amongst the people that we find the poetry of Spain
and of her chronicles. Their faith, their character, their sentiment,
all bear the seal of originality and of romance. Their language may
be compared to a garland of flowers. The Andalusian peasant is
elegant in his bearing, in his dress, in his language, and in his
ideas. ”


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Her stories lose immensely in the translation, for it is almost im-
possible to reproduce in another tongue the racy native speech, with
its constant play on words, its wealth of epigrammatic proverbs, its
snatches of ballad or song interwoven into the common talk of the
day. The Andalusian peasant has an inexhaustible store of bits of
poetry, coplas, that fit into every occurrence of his daily life. Fernan
Caballero gathered up these flowers of speech as they fell from the
lips of the common man, and wove them into her tales. Besides their
pictures of Andalusian rural life, these stories reveal a wealth of
popular songs, ballads, legends, and fairy tales, invaluable alike to
the student of manners and of folk-lore. She has little constructive
skill, but much genius for detail. As a painter of manners and of
nature she is unrivaled. In a few bold strokes she brings a whole
village before our eyes. Nor is the brute creation forgotten. In her
sympathy for animals she shows her foreign extraction, the true
Spaniard having little compassion for his beasts. She inveighs against
the national sport, the bull-fight; against the cruel treatment of
domestic animals. Her work is always fresh and interesting, full of
humor and of pathos. A close observer and a realist, she never dwells
on the unlovely, is never unhealthy or sentimental. Her name is a
household word in Spain, where a foremost critic wrote of 'La
Gaviota':-“This is the dawn of a beautiful day, the first bloom of
a poetic crown that will encircle the head of a Spanish Walter
Scott. ”
Perhaps the best summary of her work is given in her own words,
where she says:-
«In composing this light work we did not intend to write a novel,
but strove to give an exact and true idea of Spain, of the manners
of its people, of their character, of their habits. We desired to
sketch the home life of the people in the higher and lower classes,
to depict their language, their faith, their traditions, their legends.
What we have sought above all is to paint after nature, and with
the most scrupulous exactitude, the objects and persons brought
forward. Therefore our readers will seek in vain amid our actors for
accomplished heroes or consummate villains, such as are found in
the romances of chivalry or in melodramas. Our ambition has been
to give as true an idea as possible of Spain and the Spaniards. We
have tried to dissipate those monstrous prejudices transmitted and
preserved like Egyptian mummies from generation to generation. It
seemed to us that the best means of attaining this end was to
replace with pictures traced by a Spanish pen those false sketches
sprung from the pens of strangers. ”


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FERNAN CABALLERO
THE BULL-FIGHT
From (La Gaviota?
W*
HEN after dinner Stein and his wife arrived at the place
assigned for the bull-fight, they found it already filled
with people.
A brief and sustained animation preceded
the fête. This immense rendezvous, where were gathered
together all the population of the city and its environs; this
agitation, like to that of the blood which in the paroxysms of a
violent passion rushes to the heart; this feverish expectation, this
frantic excitement,-kept, however, within the limits of order;
these exclamations, petulant without insolence; this deep anxiety
which gives a quivering to pleasure: all this together formed a
species of moral magnetism; one must succumb to its force or
hasten to fly from it.
Stein, struck with vertigo, and his heart wrung, would have
chosen flight: his timidity kept him where he was.
He saw
in all eyes which were turned on him the glowing of joy and
happiness; he dared not appear singular. Twelve thousand per-
sons were assembled in this place; the rich were thrown in the
shade, and the varied colors of the costumes of the Andalusian
people were reflected in the rays of the sun.
Soon the arena was cleared.
Then came forward the picadores, mounted on their unfortu-
nate horses, who with head lowered and sorrowful eyes seemed
to be -- and were in reality — victims marching to the sacrifice.
Stein, at the appearance of these poor animals, felt himself
change to a painful compassion; a species of disgust which he
already experienced. The provinces of the peninsula which he had
traversed hitherto were devastated by the civil war, and he had
had no opportunity of seeing these fêtes, so grand, so national,
and so popular, where were united to the brilliant Moorish
strategy the ferocious intrepidity of the Gothic race. But he
had often heard these spectacles spoken of, and he knew that
the merit of a fight is generally estimated by the number of
horses that are slain. His pity was excited towards these poor
animals, which, after having rendered great services to their
masters,- after having conferred on them triumph, and perhaps
saved their lives, - had for their recompense, when age and the
excess of work had exhausted their strength, an atrocious death
1
i


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which by a refinement of cruelty they were obliged themselves
to seek. Instinct made them seek this death; some resisted,
while others, more resigned or more feeble, went docilely before
them to abridge their agony. The sufferings of these unfortu-
nate animals touched the hardest heart; but the amateurs had
neither eyes, attention, nor interest, except for the bull. They
were under a real fascination, which communicated itself to
most of the strangers who came to Spain, and principally for
this barbarous amusement. Besides, it must be avowed — and
we avow it with grief — that compassion for animals is, in
Spain, particularly among the men, a sentiment more theoretical
than practical. Among the lower classes it does not exist at all.
The three picadores saluted the president of the fête, preceded
by the banderilleros and the chulos, splendidly dressed, and car-
rying the capas of bright and brilliant colors. The matadores
and their substitutes commanded all these combatants, and wore
the most luxurious costumes.
“Pepe Vera! here is Pepe Vera ! ” cried all the spectators.
« The scholar of Montés! Brave boy! What a jovial fellow!
how well he is made! what elegance and vivacity in all his
person! how firm his look! what a calm eye! ”
“Do you know,” said a young man seated near to Stein,
“what is the lesson Montés gives to his scholars ?
He pushes
them, their arms crossed, close to the bull, and says to them,
Do not fear the bull — brave the bull! ) »
Pepe Vera descended into the arena. His costume was of
cherry-colored satin, with shoulder-knots and silver embroidery
in profusion. From the little pockets of his vest stuck out the
points of orange-colored scarfs. A waistcoat of rich tissue of
silver and a pretty little cap of velvet completed his coquettish
and charming costume of majo.
After having saluted the authorities with much ease and
grace, he went like the other combatants to take his accustomed
place. The three picadores also went to their posts, at equal
distance from each other, near to the barrier. There was then
a profound, an imposing silence. One might have said that this
crowd, lately so noisy, had suddenly lost the faculty of breathing.
The alcalde gave the signal, the clarions sounded, and as if
the trumpet of the Last Judgment had been heard, all the spec-
tators arose with most perfect ensemble; and suddenly was seen
opened the large door of the toril, placed opposite to the box
>>>


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FERNAN CABALLERO
occupied by the authorities. A bull whose hide was red pre-
cipitated himself into the arena, and was assailed by a universal
explosion of cheers, of cries, of abuse, and of praise. At this
terrible noise the bull, affrighted, stopped short, raised his head;
his eyes were inflamed, and seemed to demand if all these prov-
ocations were addressed to him; to him, the athletic and power-
ful, who until now had been generous towards man, and who
had always shown favor towards him as to a feeble and weak
enemy. He surveyed the ground, turning his menacing head on
all sides - he still hesitated: the cheers, shrill and penetrating,
became more and more shrill and frequent. Then with a quick-
ness which neither his weight nor his bulk foretold, he sprang
towards the picador, who planted a lance in his withers. The
bull felt a sharp pain, and soon drew back. It was one of those
animals which in the language of bull-fighting are called "boy-
antes,” that is to say, undecided and wavering; whence he did not
persist in his first attack, but assailed the second picador. This
one was not so well prepared as the first, and the thrust of his
lance was neither so correct nor so firm; he wounded the ani.
mal without being able to arrest his advance. The horns of the
bull were buried in the body of the horse, who fell to the ground.
A cry of fright was raised on all sides, and the chulos surrounded
this horrible group; but the ferocious animal had seized his
prey, and would not allow himself to be distracted from his
vengeance.
In this moment of terror, the cries of the multitude
were united in one immense clamor, which would have filled
the city with fright if it had not come from the place of the bull-
fight. The danger became more frightful as it was prolonged.
The bull tenaciously attacked the horse, who was overwhelmed
with his weight and with his convulsive movements, while the
unfortunate picador was crushed beneath these two enormous
masses. Then seen to approach, light as a bird with
brilliant plumage, tranquil as a child who goes to gather flowers,
calm and smiling at the same time, a young man, covered with
silver embroidery and sparkling like a star. He approached in
the rear of the bull; and this young man of delicate frame, and
of appearance so distinguished, took in both hands the tail of the
terrible animal, and drew it towards him. The bull, surprised,
turned furiously and precipitated himself on his adversary, who
without a movement of his shoulder, and stepping backward,
avoided the first shock by a half-wheel to the right.
was


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The bull attacked him anew; the young man escaped a second
time by another half-wheel to the left, continuing to manage him
until he reached the barrier. There he disappeared from the
eyes of the astonished animal, and from the anxious gaze of the
public, who in the intoxication of their enthusiasm filled the air
with their frantic applause; for we are always ardently impressed
when we see man play with death, and brave it with so much
coolness.
«See now if he has not well followed the lesson of Montés!
See if Pepe Vera knows how to act with the bull! ” said the
young man seated near to them, who was hoarse from crying
out.
The Duke at this moment fixed his attention on Marisalada.
Since the arrival of this young woman at the capital of Anda-
lusia, it was the first time that he had remarked any emotion on
this cold and disdainful countenance. Until now he had never
seen her animated. The rude organization of Marisalada was too
vulgar to receive the exquisite sentiment of admiration. There
was in her character too much indifference and pride to permit
her to be taken by surprise. She was astonished at nothing,
interested in nothing. To excite her, be it ever so little, to
soften some part of this hard metal, it was necessary to employ
fire and to use the hammer.
Stein was pale. «My lord Duke,” he said, with an air full of
sweetness and of conviction, is it possible that this diverts you? ”
"No," replied the Duke; "it does not divert, it interests me. ”
During this brief dialogue they had raised up the horse. The
poor animal could not stand on his legs; his intestines protruded
and bespattered the ground. The picador was also raised up; he
was removed between the arms of the chulos. Furious against
the bull, and led on by a blind temerity, he would at all hazards
remount his horse and return to the attack, in spite of the dizzi-
ness produced by his fall. It was impossible to dissuade him;
they saw him indeed replace the saddle upon the poor victim,
into the bruised flanks of which he dug his spurs.
“My lord Duke,” said Stein, "I may perhaps appear to you
ridiculous, but I do not wish to remain at this spectacle. Maria,
shall we depart ?
"No," replied Maria, whose soul seemed to be concentrated in
«Am I a little miss ? and are you afraid that by
accident I may faint ? ”
her eyes.


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1
1
“In such case,” said Stein, "I will come back and take you
when the course is finished. ” And he departed.
The bull had disposed of a sufficiently good number of horses.
The unfortunate courser which we have mentioned was taken
away — rather drawn than led by the bridle to the door, by
which he made his retreat. The others, which had not the
strength again to stand up, lay stretched out in the convulsions
of agony; sometimes they stretched out their heads as though
impelled by terror. At these last signs of life the bull returned
to the charge, wounding anew with plunges of his horns the
bruised members of his victims. Then, his forehead and horns
all bloody, he walked around the circus affecting an air of provo-
cation and defiance: at times he proudly raised his head towards
the amphitheatre, where the cries did not cease to be heard;
sometimes it was towards the brilliant chulos who passed before
him like meteors, planting their banderillos in his body. Often
from cage, or from a netting hidden in the ornaments of a
banderillero, came out birds, which joyously took up their flight.
The first inventor of this strange and singular contrast could not
certainly have had the intention to symbolize innocence without
defense, rising above the horrors and ferocious passions here
below, in its happy flight towards heaven. That would be,
without doubt, one of those poetic ideas which are born spon-
taneously in the hard and cruel heart of the Spanish plebeian,
as we see in Andalusia the mignonette plant really flourish be-
tween stones and the mortar of a balcony.
At the signal given by the president of the course, the clar-
ions again sounded. There was a moment of truce in this bloody
wrestling, and it created a perfect silence.
Then Pepe Vera, holding in his left hand a sword and a red-
hooded cloak, advanced near to the box of the alcalde. Arrived
opposite, he stopped and saluted, to demand permission to slay
the bull.
Pepe Vera perceived the presence of the Duke, whose taste
for the bull-fight was well known; he had also remarked the
who was seated at his side, because this woman, to
whom the Duke frequently spoke, never took her eyes off the
matador.
He directed his steps towards the Duke, and taking off his
cap, said,
«Brindo (I offer the honor of the bull) to you, my
lord, and to the royal person who is near you. "
1
1
woman


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At these words, casting his cap on the ground with an inimi-
table abandon, he returned to his post.
The chulos regarded him attentively, all ready to execute his
orders. The matador chose the spot which suited him the best,
and indicated it to his quadrilla.
"Here! ” he cried out to them.
The chulos ran towards the bull and excited him, and in
pursuing them met Pepe Vera, face to face, who had awaited his
approach with a firm step. It was the solemn moment of the
whole fight. A profound silence succeeded to the noisy tumult,
and to the warm excitement which until then had been exhib-
ited towards the matador.
The bull, on seeing this feeble enemy, who had laughed at
his fury, stopped as if he wished to reflect. He feared, without
doubt, that he would escape him a second time.
Whoever had entered into the circus at this moment would
sooner believe he was assisting in a solemn religious assembly,
than in a public ainusement, so great was the silence.
The two adversaries regarded each other reciprocally.
Pepe Vera raised his left hand: the bull sprang on him.
Making only a light movement, the matador let him pass by his
side, returned and put himself on guard. When the animal
turned upon him the man directed his sword towards the ex-
tremity of the shoulder, so that the bull, continuing his advance,
powerfully aided the steel to penetrate completely into his body.
It was done! He fell lifeless at the feet of his vanquisher.
To describe the general burst of cries and bravos which broke
forth from every part of this vast arena, would be a thing abso-
lutely impossible. Those who are accustomed to be present at
these spectacles alone can form an idea of it. At the same time
were heard the strains of the military bands.
Pepe Vera tranquilly traversed the arena in the midst of
these frantic testimonials of passionate admiration and of this
unanimous ovation, saluting with his sword right and left in
token of his acknowledgments. This triumph, which might have
excited the envy of a Roman emperor, in him did not excite the
least surprise — the least pride. He then went to salute the
ayuntamiento; then the Duke and the royal” young lady.
The Duke then secretly handed to Maria a purse full of gold,
and she enveloped it in her handkerchief and cast it into the
arena.
V-189


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Pepe Vera again renewed his thanks, and the glance of his
black eyes met those of the Gaviota. In describing the meeting
of these looks, a classic writer said that it wounded these two
hearts as profoundly as Pepe Vera wounded the bull.
We who have not the temerity to ally ourselves to this
severe and intolerant school, we simply say that these two
natures were made to understand each other— to sympathize.
They in fact did understand and sympathize.
It is true to say that Pepe had done admirably.
All that he had promised in a situation where he placed him-
self between life and death had been executed with an address,
an ease, a dexterity, and a grace, which had not been baffled for
an instant.
For such a task it is necessary to have an energetic tempera-
ment and a daring courage, joined to a certain degree of self-
possession, which alone can command twenty-four thousand eyes
which observe, and twenty-four thousand hands which applaud.
IN THE HOME CIRCLE
From (La Gaviota)
A
MONTH after the scenes we have described, Marisalada was
more sensible, and did not show the least desire to return
to her father's. Stein was completely re-established; his
good-natured character, his modest inclinations, his natural sym-
pathies, attached him every day more to the peaceful habits of
the simple and generous persons among whom he dwelt. He.
felt relieved from his former discouragements, and his mind was
invigorated; he was cordially resigned to his present existence,
and to the men with whom he associated.
One afternoon, Stein, leaning against an angle of the convent
which faced the sea, admired the grand spectacle which the open-
ing of the winter season presented to his view. Above his head
floated a triple bed of sombre clouds, forced along by the im-
petuous wind. Those lower down, black and heavy, seemed like
the cupola of an ancient cathedral in ruins, threatening at each
instant to sink down. When reduced to water they fell to the
ground. There was visible the second bed, less sombre and
lighter, defying the wind which chased them, and which sep-
arating at intervals sought other clouds, more coquettish and


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more vaporous, which they hurried into space, as if they feared
to soil their white robes by coming in contact with their com-
panions.
“Are you a sponge, Don Frederico, so to like to receive all
the water which falls from heaven? ” demanded José, the shep-
herd of Stein. "Let us enter; the roofs are made expressly for
such nights as these. My sheep would give much to shelter
themselves under some tiles. ”
Stein and the shepherd entered, and found the family assem-
bled around the hearth.
At the left of the chimney, Dolores, seated on a low chair,
held her infant; who, turning his back to his mother, supported
himself on the arm which encircled him like the balustrade of
a balcony; he moved about incessantly his little legs and his
small bare arms, laughing and uttering joyous cries addressed
to his brother Anis. This brother, gravely seated opposite the
fire on the edge of an empty earthen pan, remained stiff and
motionless, fearing that losing his equilibrium he would be
tossed into the said earthen pan an accident which his mother
had predicted.
Maria was sewing at the right side of the chimney; her
granddaughters had for seats dry aloe leaves, -excellent seats,
light, solid, and sure.
Nearly under the drapery of the chimney-
piece slept the hairy Palomo and a cat, the grave Morrongo,
tolerated from necessity, but remaining by common consent at
a respectful distance from each other.
In the middle of this group there was a little low table, on
which burned a lamp of four jets; close to the table the Brother
Gabriel was seated, making baskets of the palm-tree; Momo was
engaged in repairing the harness of the good "Swallow (the
ass); and Manuel, cutting up tobacco. On the fire was conspicu-
ous a stew-pan full of Malaga potatoes, white wine, honey, cinna-
mon, and cloves. The humble family waited with impatience till
the perfumed stew should be sufficiently cooked.
“Come on! Come on! ” cried Maria, when she saw her guest
and the shepherd enter. “What are you doing outside in
weather like this ? 'Tis said a hurricane has come to destroy
the world. Don Frederico, here, here! come near the fire. Do
you know that the invalid has supped like a princess, and that
at present she sleeps like a queen! Her cure progresses well -
—
is it not so, Don Frederico ? »


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ren.
Her recovery surpasses my hopes. ”
My soups! ” added Maria with pride.
“And the ass's milk,” said Brother Gabriel quietly.
« There is no doubt,” replied Stein; "and she ought to con-
tinue to take it. ”
"I oppose it not,” said Maria, “because ass's milk is like the
turnip — if it does no good it does no harm. ”
"Ah! how pleasant it is here! ” said Stein, caressing the child-
"If one could only live in the enjoyment of the present,
without thought of the future !
“Yes, yes, Don Frederico," joyfully cried Manuel, « Media
vida es la candela; pan y vino, la otra media. ' ” (Half of life is
the candle; bread and wine are the other half. )
“And what necessity have you to dream of the future ? ”
asked Maria. “Will the morrow make us the more love to-day?
Let us occupy ourselves with to-day, so as not to render painful
the day to come. ”
"Man is a traveler,” replied Stein; "he must follow his
route. ”
“Certainly,” replied Maria, «man is a traveler; but if he
arrives in a quarter where he finds himself well off, he would
say, We are well here; put up our tents. »
“If you wish us to lose our evening by talking of traveling,”
said Dolores, we will believe that we have offended you, or
that you are not pleased here. ”
“Who speaks of traveling in the middle of December? ” de-
manded Manuel. Goodness of heaven! Do you not see what
disasters there are every day on the sea ? — hear the singing of the
wind! Will you embark in this weather, as you were embarked
in the war of Navarre ? for as then, you would come out morti-
fied and ruined. ”
Besides, » added Maria, “the invalid is not yet entirely cured. ”
“Ah! there,” said Dolores, besieged by the children, "if you
will not call off these creatures, the potatoes will not be cooked
until the Last Judgment. ”
The grandmother rolled the spinning-wheel to the corner, and
called the little infants to her.
“We will not go,” they replied with one voice, “if you will
not tell us a story. ”
“Come, I will tell you one,” said the good old woman. The
children approached. Anis took up his position on the empty
((
((


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3013
earthen pot, and the grandma commenced a story to amuse the
little children.
She had hardly finished the relation of this story when a
great noise was heard. The dog rose up, pointed his ears, and
put himself on the defensive. The cat bristled her hair and pre-
pared to fly. But the succeeding laugh very soon was frightful:
it was Anis, who fell asleep during the recital of his grandmother.
It happened that the prophecy of his mother was fulfilled as to
his falling into the earthen pan, where all his little person
disappeared except his legs, which stuck out like plants of a
new species. His mother, rendered impatient, seized with one
hand the cotlar of his vest, raised him out of this depth, and
despite his resistance held him suspended in the air for some
time-- in the style represented in those card dancing-jacks, which
move arms and legs when you pull the thread which holds
them.
As his mother scolded him, and everybody laughed at him,
Anis, who had a brave spirit, - a thing natural in an infant,-
burst out into a groan which had nothing of timidity in it.
“Don't weep, Anis,” said Paca, “and I will give you two
chestnuts that I have in my pocket. ”
« True ? " demanded Anis.
Paca took out the two chestnuts, and gave them to him.
Instead of tears, they saw promptly shine with joy the two rows
of white teeth of the young boy.
“Brother Gabriel,” said Maria, "did you not speak to me of
a pain in your eyes ? Why do you work this evening ? ”
“I said truly,” answered brother Gabriel; “but Don Frederico
gave me a remedy which cured me. ”
“Don Frederico must know many remedies, but he does not
know that one which never misses its effect,” said the shep-
herd.
"If you know it, have the kindness to tell me,” replied Stein.
"I am unable to tell you,” replied the shepherd. "I know
that it exists, and that is all. ”
“Who knows it then ? » demanded Stein.
« The swallows,” said José.
« The swallows ? »
“Yes, sir. It is an herb which is called 'pito-real,' which
nobody sees or knows except the swallows: when their little ones
lose their sight the parents rub their eyes with the pito-real,


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1
((
and cure them. This herb has also the virtue to cut iron - every-
thing it touches. »
“What absurdities this José swallows without chewing, like a
real shark! ” interrupted Manuel, laughing. "Don Frederico, do
you comprehend what he said and believes as an article of faith?
He believes and says that snakes never die. ”
"No, they never die,” replied the shepherd. When they see
death coming they escape from their skin, and run away. With
age they become serpents; little by little they are covered with
scales and wings: they become dragons, and return to the desert.
But you, Manuel, you do not wish to believe anything. Do
you deny also that the lizard is the enemy of the woman, and
the friend of man ?
If
you do not believe it, ask then of
Miguel. ”
“He knows it ? »
“Without doubt, by experience. ”
“Whence did he learn it ? ” demanded Stein.
"He was sleeping in the field,” replied José. "A snake
glided near him. A lizard, which was in the furrow, Saw it
coming, and presented himself to defend Miguel. The lizard,
which was of large form, fought with the snake. But Miguel
not awaking, the lizard pressed his tail against the nose of the
sleeper, and ran off as if his paws were on fire. The lizard is a
good little beast, who has good desires; he never sleeps in the
sun without descending the wall to kiss the earth. ”
When the conversation commenced on the subject of swallows,
Paca said to Anis, who was seated among his sisters, with his
legs crossed like a Grand Turk in miniature, “Anis, do you know
what the swallows say? "
"I? No. They have never spoken to me. ”
«Attend then: they say — " the little girl imitated the chirping
of swallows, and began to sing with volubility:-
1
« To eat and to drink!
And to loan when you may;
But 'tis madness to think
This loan to repay.
Flee, flee, pretty swallow, the season demands,
Fly swift on the wing, and reach other lands. "
"Is it for that they are sold ? ”
“For that,” affirmed his sister.


## p. 3015 (#589) ###########################################

FERNAN CABALLERO
3015
During this time Dolores, carrying her infant in one hand,
with the other spread the table, served the potatoes, and distrib-
uted to each one his part. The children ate from her plate, and
Stein remarked that she did not even touch the dish she had
prepared with so much care.
« You do not eat, Dolores ? ” he said to her.
“Do you not know the saying,” she replied laughing, «He
who has children at his side will never die of indigestion,' Don
Frederico ? What they eat nourishes me. »
Momo, who found himself beside this group, drew away his
plate, so that his brothers would not have the temptation to
ask him for its contents. His father, who remarked it, said to
him :-
"Don't be avaricious; it is a shameful vice: be not avaricious;
avarice is an abject vice. Know that one day an avaricious man
fell into the river. A peasant who saw it, ran to pull him out;
he stretched out his arm, and cried to him,
Give me your
hand! What had he to give ? A miser — give! Before giving
him anything he allowed himself to be swept down by the cur-
rent. By chance he floated near to a fisherman: "Take my
hand! ' he said to him. As it was a question of taking, our man
was willing, and he escaped danger. ”
“It is not such wit you should relate to your son, Manuel,”
said Maria. “You ought to set before him, for example, the bad
rich man, who would give to the unfortunate neither a morsel of
bread nor a glass of water. 'God grant,' answered the beggar
to him, 'that all that you touch changes to this silver which you
so hold to. The wish of the beggar was realized. All that the
miser had in his house was changed into metals as hard as his
heart. Tormented by hunger and thirst, he went into the coun-
try, and having perceived a fountain of pure water, clear as
crystal, he approached with longing to taste it; but the moment
his lips touched it the water was turned to silver. He would
take an orange and the orange was changed to gold. He thus
died in a frenzy of rage and fury, cursing what he had desired. ”
Manuel, the strongest minded man in the assembly, bowed
down his head.
Manuel,” his mother said to him, you imagine that we
ought not to believe but what is a fundamental article, and that
credulity is common only to the imbecile. You are mistaken:
men of good sense are credulous. ”


## p. 3016 (#590) ###########################################

3016
FERNAN CABALLERO
"But, my mother, between belief and doubt there is a
medium. ”
“And why,” replied the good old woman, "laugh at faith,
which is the first of all virtues ? How will it appear to you
if
I say to you, I have given birth to you, I have educated you,
I have guided your earliest steps — I have fulfilled my obliga-
tions! ' Is the love of a mother nothing but an obligation? What
say you? ”
"I would reply that you are not a good mother. ”
Well, my son, apply that to what we were speaking of: he
who does not believe except from obligation, and only for that,
cannot cease to believe without being a renegade, a bad Christ-
ian; as I would be a bad mother if I loved you only from
obligation. ”
"Brother Gabriel,” interrupted Dolores, “why will you not
taste my potatoes ? ”
"It is a fast-day,” replied Brother Gabriel.
“Nonsense! There is no longer convent, nor rules, nor fasts,”
cavalierly said Manuel, to induce the poor old man to participate
in the general repast. “Besides, you have accomplished sixty
years: put away these scruples, and you will not be damned for
having eaten our potatoes. ”
“Pardon me,” replied Brother Gabriel, “but I ought to fast
as formerly, inasmuch as the Father Prior has not given me a
dispensation. ”
“Well done, Brother Gabriel! ” added Maria; Manuel shall
not be the demon tempter with his rebellious spirit, to incite
you to gormandize. ”
Upon this, the good old woman rose up and locked up in a
closet the plate which Dolores had served to the monk.
"I will keep it here for you until to-morrow morning, Brother
Gabriel. ”
Supper finished, the men, whose habit was always to keep
their hats on in the house, uncovered, and Maria said grace.


## p. 3017 (#591) ###########################################

3017
GEORGE W. CABLE
(1844-)
ERHAPS the first intimation given to the world of a literary
and artististic awakening in the Southern States of America
after the Civil War, was the appearance in Scribner's Mag-
azine of a series of short stories, written by an unknown and hith-
erto untried hand, and afterward collected and republished in Old
Creole Days. This was long before the vogue of the short story,
and that the publication of these tales was regarded as a literary
event in those days is sufficient testimony to their power.
They were fresh, full of color and po-
etic feeling — romantic with the romance
that abounds in the life they portrayed,
redolent of indigenous perfumes. - mag-
nolia, lemon, orange, and myrtle, mingled
with French exotics of the boudoir,- inter-
pretive in these qualities, through a fine
perception, of a social condition resulting
from the transplanting to a semi-tropical
soil of a conservative, wealthy, and aris-
tocratic French community.
Herein lay
much of their most inviting charm; but
more than this, they were racy with twink-
ling humor, tender with a melting pathos, GEORGE W. CABLE
and intensely dramatic.
An intermixture of races with strong caste prejudices, and a time
of revolution and change, present eminently the condition and the
moment for the romance. And when added to this, he finds to his
hand an almost tropical setting, and so picturesque a confusion of
liquid tongues as exists in the old Franco-Spanish-Afro-Italian-Amer-
ican city of New Orleans, there would seem to be nothing left to be
desired as "material. The artist who seized instinctively this oppor-
tunity was born at New Orleans on October 12th, 1844, of colonial
Virginia stock on the one side, and New England on the other. His
early life was full of vicissitudes, and he was over thirty before he
discovered story-telling to be his true vocation. From that time he
has diligently followed it, having published three novels, “The Grand-
issimes,' Dr. Sevier,' Bonaventure,' and John March, Southerner,'
besides another volume of short stories.



## p. 3018 (#592) ###########################################

3018
GEORGE W. CABLE
That having received his impressions in the period of transition
and ferment following the upheaval of 1861–1865, with the resulting
exaggerations and distortions of a normal social condition, he chose
to lay his scenes a half-century earlier, proclaims him still more the
artist; who would thus gain a freer play of fancy and a surer per-
spective, and who, saturated with his subject, is not afraid to trust
his imagination to interpret it.
That he saw with open sympathetic eyes and a loving heart, he
who runs may read in any chance page that a casual opening of his
books will reveal. That the people whom he has so affectionately
depicted have not loved him in return, is perhaps only a corrobora-
tion of his own words when he wrote, in his charming tale (Belles
Demoiselles Plantation, « The Creoles never forgive a public men-
tion. ” That they are tender of heart, sympathetic, and generous in
their own social and domestic relations, Mr. Cable's readers cannot
fail to know. But the caste line has ever been a dangerous boundary
- a live wire charged with a deadly if invisible fluid — and he is a
brave man who dares lay his hand upon it.
More than this, the old-time Creole was an aristocrat who chose
to live behind a battened door, as does his descendant to-day. His
privacy, so long undisturbed, has come to be his prerogative. Wit-
ness this spirit in the protest of the inimitable Jean-ah Poquelin -
the hero giving his name to one of the most dramatic stories ever
penned — when he presents himself before the American governor of
Louisiana to declare that he will not have his privacy invaded by a
proposed street to pass his door:-“I want you tell Monsieur le
President, strit -- can't — pass — at
me — 'ouse. »
The Creoles of Mr.
Cable’s generation are as jealous of their retirement as was the brave
old man Poquelin; and to have it invaded by a young American who
not only threw their pictures upon his canvas, but standing behind
it, reproduced their eccentricities of speech for applauding Northern
audiences, was a crime unforgivable in their moral code.
Added to this, Mr. Cable stands accused of giving the impression
that the Louisiana Creole is a person of African taint; but are there
not many refutations of this charge in the internal evidence of his
work? As for instance where in (The Grandissimes) he writes, “His
whole appearance was a dazzling contradiction of the notion that
a Creole is a person of mixed blood”; and again when he alludes
to the slave dialect,” is the implication not unequivocal that this
differed from the speech of the drawing-room? It is true that he
found many of his studies in the Quadroon population, who spoke a
patois that was partly French; but such was the “slave dialect of
the man of color who came into his English through a French strain,
or perhaps only through a generation of close French environment.


## p. 3019 (#593) ###########################################

GEORGE W. CABLE
3019
A civilization that is as protective in its conservatism as are the
ten-foot walls of brick with which its people surround their luxurious
dwellings may be counted on to resent portrayal at short range,
even though it were unequivocally eulogistic. That Mr. Cable is a
most conscientious artist, and that he has been absolutely true to
the letter as he saw it, there can be no question; but whether his
technical excellences are always broadly representative or not is not
so certain. That the writer who has so amply proven his own joy
in the wealth of his material, should have been beguiled by its pictur-
esqueness into a partisanship for the class making a special appeal,
is not surprising. But truth in art is largely a matter of selection;
and if Mr. Cable has sinned in the gleaning, it was undoubtedly
because of visual limitation, rather than a conscious discrimination.
In 'The Grandissimes,' his most ambitious work, we have an
important contribution to representative literature. In the pleasant
guise of his fascinating fiction he has essayed the history of a civili-
zation, and in many respects the result is a great book. That such
a work should attain its highest merit in impartial truth when taken
as a whole, goes without saying.
The dramatic story of Bras Coupé is true as belonging to the
time and the situation. So is that of Palmyrea the Octoroon, or of
Honoré Grandissime's “f. m. c. ” the half-brother, or of the pitiful
voudou woman Clemence, the wretched old marchande de calas. Had
he produced nothing more than his first small volume of seven tales,
he would have made for himself an honored place in literature.
As a collection, these stories are unrivaled for pictorial power and
dramatic form, and are so nearly of equal merit that any one would
be as representative in the popular mind as the one which is given
here.