CHAPTER II.
A Mexican Gambling-house.—Navaja, the Mexican Bravo.—John Pearce, the Yankee.
Night had come; one of those nights in May in which Mexico, seen by moonlight, assumes an appearance almost magical. The pale light of the moon sheds its soft radiance upon the stained steeples of the churches and the colored façades of the monuments. The moon here scatters her voluptuous light over the earth in a bounteous fashion, unknown in our northern regions. The crowd upon the Plaza Mayor was not so dense as before sunset; it was less noisy, and more scattered. The promenaders spoke in a low tone, as if they feared to break the silence which was brooding over all. The light noise produced by the waving of fans, the rustle of silk dresses, sometimes a peal of female laughter, melodious and clear as the tone of a crystal bell, or the striking of a church clock at a distance, alone broke the general silence. Veiled women, and men wrapped in long cloaks, glided like shadows over the sand, that hardly crunched beneath their tread. I saw more than one mysterious couple, whose appearance there would probably furnish dainty food to the scandal-loving denizens of the drawing-room. Besides young and beautiful women, there were also those who, to use an English expression, were on the shady side of thirty years. You could see also a considerable number of those doncellas chanflonas, those beauties of easy virtue mentioned by Perez of Guevara. I say nothing of the adventure-seekers whom you find every where in Mexico—bullies, who wear the pavement with their sabres and spurs. Such was the motley crowd which pushed and jostled one another on the Plaza Mayor at the very time I was be taking myself, not without some fear, I must say, to the Callejon del Arco.
I had hardly reached the mouth of the dark lane, when a current of cold air, as if it had issued from a cave, struck my face, and chilled me to the bone. I stood for some seconds at the entrance of the alley, trying to discover some gleam of light from the windows or grated doors, but there were no signs of life in a single house. I then advanced, groping along in search of the house which I had discovered a short time before. I had almost arrived at the cross-road of which I have already spoken, when I heard a noise of footsteps behind me, and saw a man who, coming from the square, was advancing toward me. I wished to keep on the pavement, but my legs getting entangled in the long rapier of the stranger in some way or other, I stumbled, and, to keep myself from falling, grasped his cloak. The man immediately stepped back, and, by the grazing of steel, I knew he was drawing his sword. "Capa de Dios!" cried he. "Whether is it my person or my cloak you are fancying, Sir Robber?"
I thought I knew the voice, and I hastened to reply:
"I am neither a robber nor assassin, Señor Don—"
I thought the unknown was going to assist my memory, and state his name. He did nothing of the kind; but, putting his back to the door of a house, he said, roughly,
"Who are you, and what do you want?"
"I am seeking for the dwelling of Don Tadeo the licentiate," I replied; "and, if I am not greatly deceived, we are standing before it at this very moment."
"Ah! who told you he lived here?"
"Tio Lucas, the public scribe. I wish to consult Don Tadeo on a very important affair."
"Don Tadeo! It is he that is speaking to you just now."
The costume of this man I could not distinguish; his features were precisely similar to the bull-fight amateur, with whose name Tio Lucas had acquainted me. I hastened to reply to Don Tadeo, counting myself happy in having met him, and begged a few minutes' private conversation.
"With the greatest pleasure," he replied. "I am quite ready to take up your affair; but let us first enter the house; we can then speak more at our ease." At the same time, he struck the pommel of his sword against the door behind him. "My profession," added he, "obliges me to employ many precautions. You will immediately comprehend why. Do not be astonished at my queer domicile. You may think me an original, and may have reason."
Don Tadeo paused, and the door of the mysterious house opened with a great clanking of chains. The porter, with a huge lantern in his hand, bowed respect fully to the licentiate, who motioned me to follow him. We walked rapidly along the zaguan or lobby, and, after mounting a very steep stair, stopped before a serge curtain, surmounted by a transparent lantern, on which was inscribed, in large letters, Sociedad Filarmonica. Voices and confused cries escaped from the hall which bore this ambitious title. "Are those your clients who are making such a great noise, Señor Licentiate?" I inquired. Without a word, he lifted the curtain of green serge, and we found ourselves in an immense hall, indifferently lighted. A long table, covered with green baize, and surrounded with players, stood in the middle of the room. Besides the lamps which hung from the walls, the place was lighted up by four candles stuck into tin holders. Some small tables, with refreshments, placed at regular distances from each other, furnished the players with infusions of tamarinds, rose water, or Barcelona brandy. At the bottom of the hall rose a high estrade, ornamented with some size-color paintings, representing, for the purpose, no doubt, of showing the original design of the establishment, a confused group of bassoons, hunting-horns, and clarionets. My surprise may be easily conceived when I found myself in a gambling-house like this at the very time I fancied I was stepping into a lawyer's office. I contemplated my companion as if I were looking upon him for the first time. He was assuredly the very man I had met in the circus and in the Merchants' Arcades. With this strange costume, long rapier, and thick, black curly hair, his appearance partook more of the bandit than of the lawyer. He had taken only a few steps in the hall when he was accosted by two individuals—worthy habitues of such a den. The first was a tall, awkward, sham bling fellow, with a ferocious air, who held out to the licentiate a hand large as a shoulder of mutton, and said, in Spanish, with strong English accent, "How is Señor Don Tadeo to-day?"
"Better than those to whom you wish well, Master John Pearce," replied he, darting upon his interlocutor a look of cold disdain, which pierced him like a sword. "You know well that your reputation here is ruined as much as it was in Texas. Above all, since—"
"Tut!" said the American, evidently not at all desirous that the licentiate should finish his sentence. "With your permission, I have come to consult you."
"Immediately," replied the man of law. "I must, however, give the preference to this gentleman, whom I met before you."
"Do me a favor; listen to me first, Señor Licentiate," cried another personage, with squinting eyes and gray hair, dressed in the national costume of Mexico. "I wish also to ask your advice."
"Ah! is it you, Navaja," replied Tadeo, eyeing the Mexican, who seemed to tremble under his stern glance. "Are you going to trouble me any more about that ugly affair?"
"Tut!" cried the Mexican in his turn. "Since it pleases you, I will take the third place."
It was quite sufficient for Don Tadeo to remind them of these two episodes, which doubtless did not redound to their credit, to shake himself free of their importunities. I admired the power that gave my companion an experience, evidently acquired at great personal risk, among the most dangerous bravos of the Mexican brotherhood.
"Ah!" said Don Tadeo, turning at last to me, "will you now enlighten me, Señor Cavalier, about the affair which has brought you hither? It must be some thing very delicate, since only those cases are brought to me which my brother lawyers consider insurmountable. It was doubtless one of these lawyers who advised you to address yourself to me."
I named the licentiate who had extolled the intrepid heart and good sword of Don Tadeo. He shook his head with a disdainful smile.
"The business in question is a dangerous one," replied he, "I can easily see that. The man who recommended me to you is my declared enemy, and he does not send me such jobs for nothing. Besides, perhaps I am a little too ready to draw in the public streets after nightfall. What of it? I am of Seville, and one hasn't passed several years of one's life among the fighting men in the suburb of Triana for nothing."
"Are you a Spaniard?"
"Of course; and, before being a lawyer, I was what you call a go-ahead fellow uracan y calavera. You see before you a student of Salamanca of that beautiful city:
"'En Salamanca, la tuna
Anduve marzo y abril.
Ninas he visto mas de mil
Pero como tu, ninguna.'[1]
I once made some songs myself, and even set them to music; and it was in consequence of a serenade unhappily broken up, and followed by the death of a man, that necessity compelled me to seek my fortune in New Spain. To insure my success here, I possessed two valuable qualities, which rarely go together—I was a thorough master of law and offence. You yourself can acknowledge that my old humor of sword-playing has not yet left me; but I think, Señor Cavalier, I owe you some amends for the unintentional insult which I lately put upon you. To tell the truth, at that time I was just about to pass my sword through your body. Allow me to offer you, as a slight compensation for my rudeness, some tincture of rose water or Catalonian refino."
Without giving time for reply, the licentiate drew me to a table, where we sat down. My astonishment increased as I became more acquainted with this singular personage. It was not till after we had partaken of some slight refreshment that Don Tadeo would consent to listen to my business, which I told him as clearly and briefly as I could.
"Good!" said he; "you are seeking a debtor you can't find; but won't you tell his name?"
"Ah! his name is one that touches the sympathies of your brethren very nearly, for no one dares take up my case against him."
"Let's hear this terrible name. I am curious to know if it will have the same effect upon me."
"I'll tell it you in a whisper. His name is Don Pionisio Peralta!"
The licentiate never moved a muscle of his face.
"How much does he owe you?"
"Four hundred piastres."
"No more," said Don Tadeo, after a moment's silence. "Let us go to the terrace at the top of the house, where we can converse more at our ease. But, first of all, allow me to finish the business of those two fellows who are waiting for me. The interest even which I take in your case obliges me to put a stop to our conversation for the present, for the purpose of getting some indispensable information among the frequenters of this gaming-house. All I ask of you is to manifest no surprise if you see or hear things you don't exactly understand."
I shook hands with the licentiate. We rose and crossed to a group of players, that had increased considerably since our private conversation began. A crowd of spectators, two deep, surrounded the green board upon which the piastres rolled with a most attractive clink.
The licentiate passed before his two clients, the Mexican and the American, signing them to wait upon him, and walked up to a young man, who, like the other spectators, was devouring the green board with greedy look. This fellow, of a sallow and cadaverous aspect, wore an almost brimless hat over his long, thick hair, and a well-worn esclavina on his shoulders. He was the beau ideal of a lawyer's clerk, sorry at being unable to stake his master's fortune on a card.
"Ortiz!" said the licentiate, "have you writing materials with you?"
"Of course," the clerk replied; and he drew from his pocket a roll containing paper, pens, and ink. The licentiate sat down by himself, wrote a few lines, folded the paper, and passed it to his clerk, who replied to his master's directions, given in a low voice, only by a bow and a hurried exit. The licentiate then begged me to have patience for a few minutes longer, till he had given his two clients their promised consultation, and I mixed with the throng round the table. It was certainly an extraordinary sight; adventurers of all kinds surrounded me, reminding me strongly of the heroes in the old picaresque romances. I was struck by a remarkably characteristic feature. The banker had on the table by him a Catalonian knife, with an edge as keen as a razor. An intimation which he gave the players let me into the secret of this strange proceeding. "I warn the gentlemen now present," said he, "that if any one affects to confound the bank with his stake, I shall nail his hand to the table with this knife." This strange threat seemed not to astonish or offend any one; and I concluded that the mishap provided against by the banker had occurred more than once.
In spite of the extraordinary scenes I was witnessing, I could not help feeling the time rather long till the licentiate drew me away from the green board to a retired corner of the hall, where his two clients, the tall Yankee and the squinting Mexican, were seated together at a table. The American was just finishing a bottle of Catalonian refino, while the Mexican slowly sipped some iced tamarind water.
"Well," said the licentiate, regarding me with a look full of meaning, "here are two gentlemen who will remove your conscientious scruples regarding the four hundred piastres you owe me, and who affirm that you can very easily pay me by making over a similar debt due you by Señor Peralta, who will honor his signature with the greatest grace in the world."
"I did not say that," cried the American, with a roar of laughter. "I don't know if he will pay with pleasure. All I know is that he will pay, or —"
"Softly!" interrupted Don Tadeo. "From the moment that Peralta becomes my debtor, his life is valuable to me, and I require you to respect it."
"Señor Peralta will pay with pleasure, I uphold," said the Mexican, softly, sipping his liquor by mouthfuls as if it burned him, while the American emptied his glass of refino at a single draught, like so much water.
"Make him pay, that's all I care about," said the licentiate. "But is not that Pepito Rechifla with my clerk over there? That's capital! Ortiz has not been long about his business."
The name of Pepito reminded me of the pretty China that I had seen with such a sad face in the Merchants' Arcades. I contemplated the man pointed out by the licentiate with some curiosity. He was a fellow with a sunburned complexion, shaggy, unkempt hair, and a bold, shameless face such a one as is met with nowhere but in the tents of the wandering Bohemians or in the streets of Mexico. "Ah! Señor Licentiate," cried he, "I shall never forget that I owe my life to you. I was to be garroted the day after to-morrow, and it was you who extricated me from the claws of the juez de letras (criminal judge). Some reals from your purse restored me to freedom. Yes, Señor Licentiate, don't be astonished; I know you are my savior; your clerk has told me all."
"Ortiz is a fool!" replied Don Tadeo, dryly; "but I am rejoiced at your good fortune, for I wished to speak with you. I need your assistance. Here's a piastre for your supper."
"Thank you. I am never hungry but when my pocket is empty. When I have a piastre I stake it."
And the fellow hastened to the table. The Yankee and Mexican rose also, and followed him. Don Tadeo, freed from their importunities, drew me aside. "You see these three men," said he, with a smile. "Do you think there is any debtor who can resist three such bailiffs above all, when the debt has been made over to Don Tadeo the licentiate? You understand me, of course. When I wished the debt made over to me, my name confers additional power in this dangerous war; but when the conflict is over, all the advantages will be yours, less the expenses of the campaign, which, along with the honors of victory, you will allow me to retain."
"But how will you light upon Peralta? Up to this moment I could never get a trace of him."
"That is my concern, and that of the three precious vagabonds you saw just now. Don Dionisio Peralta is a bad payer, but a good fence. However, we shall see."
I then reminded Don Tadeo that he had expressed a wish to know more about my business with him, and I offered to satisfy him in this respect. At bottom I wished to examine more thoroughly this singular character. Don Tadeo seemed to guess my real intention. "It is half past ten," he replied, looking at his watch. "I am at your service till midnight. Let us go up to the azotea (terrace). There is nobody there at this hour. The night is beautiful, and you' can tell me your story without any risk of being over heard."
- ↑ At Salamanca I led a very dissipated life in the months of March and April. I saw more than a thousand women, but none so fair as you.