第6章 THE MADNESS OF JOHN HARNED(1)

I TELL this for a fact.It happened in the bull-ring at Quito.

I sat in the box with John Harned, and with Maria Valenzuela, and with Luis Cervallos.I saw it happen.I saw it all from first to last.I was on the steamer Ecuadore from Panama to Guayaquil.Maria Valenzuela is my cousin.I have known her always.She is very beautiful.I am a Spaniard--an Ecuadoriano, true, but I am descended from Pedro Patino, who was one of Pizarro's captains.They were brave men.They were heroes.Did not Pizarro lead three hundred and fifty Spanish cavaliers and four thousand Indians into the far Cordilleras in search of treasure? And did not all the four thousand Indians and three hundred of the brave cavaliers die on that vain quest? But Pedro Patino did not die.He it was that lived to found the family of the Patino.I am Ecuadoriano, true, but I am Spanish.

I am Manuel de Jesus Patino.I own many haciendas, and ten thousand Indians are my slaves, though the law says they are free men who work by freedom of contract.The law is a funny thing.We Ecuadorianos laugh at it.It is our law.We make it for ourselves.I am Manuel de Jesus Patino.Remember that name.

It will be written some day in history.There are revolutions in Ecuador.We call them elections.It is a good joke is it not?--what you call a pun?

John Harned was an American.I met him first at the Tivoli hotel in Panama.He had much money--this I have heard.He was going to Lima, but he met Maria Valenzuela in the Tivoli hotel.

Maria Valenzuela is my cousin, and she is beautiful.It is true, she is the most beautiful woman in Ecuador.But also is she most beautiful in every country--in Paris, in Madrid, in New York, in Vienna.Always do all men look at her, and John Harned looked long at her at Panama.He loved her, that I know for a fact.She was Ecuadoriano, true--but she was of all countries; she was of all the world.She spoke many languages.

She sang--ah! like an artiste.Her smile--wonderful, divine.

Her eyes--ah! have I not seen men look in her eyes? They were what you English call amazing.They were promises of paradise.

Men drowned themselves in her eyes.

Maria Valenzuela was rich--richer than I, who am accounted very rich in Ecuador.But John Harned did not care for her money.He had a heart--a funny heart.He was a fool.He did not go to Lima.He left the steamer at Guayaquil and followed her to Quito.She was coming home from Europe and other places.I do not see what she found in him, but she liked him.This I know for a fact, else he would not have followed her to Quito.She asked him to come.Well do I remember the occasion.She said:

"Come to Quito and I will show you the bullfight--brave, clever, magnificent!"But he said: "I go to Lima, not Quito.Such is my passage engaged on the steamer.""You travel for pleasure--no?" said Maria Valenzuela; and she looked at him as only Maria Valenzuela could look, her eyes warm with the promise.

And he came.No; he did not come for the bull-fight.He came because of what he had seen in her eyes.Women like Maria Valenzuela are born once in a hundred years.They are of no country and no time.They are what you call goddesses.Men fall down at their feet.They play with men and run them through their pretty fingers like sand.Cleopatra was such a woman they say; and so was Circe.She turned men into swine.Ha! ha! It is true--no?

It all came about because Maria Valenzuela said:

"You English people are--what shall I say?--savage--no? You prize-fight.Two men each hit the other with their fists till their eyes are blinded and their noses are broken.Hideous! And the other men who look on cry out loudly and are made glad.It is barbarous--no?""But they are men," said John Harned; "and they prize-fight out of desire.No one makes them prize-fight.They do it because they desire it more than anything else in the world."Maria Valenzuela--there was scorn in her smile as she said:

"They kill each other often--is it not so? I have read it in the papers.""But the bull," said John Harned.

"The bull is killed many times in the bull-fight, and the bull does not come into the the ring out of desire.It is not fair to the bull.He is compelled to fight.But the man in the prize-fight--no; he is not compelled.""He is the more brute therefore," said Maria Valenzuela.

"He is savage.He is primitive.He is animal.He strikes with his paws like a bear from a cave, and he is ferocious.But the bull-fight--ah! You have not seen the bullfight--no? The toreador is clever.He must have skill.He is modern.He is romantic.He is only a man, soft and tender, and he faces the wild bull in conflict.And he kills with a sword, a slender sword, with one thrust, so, to the heart of the great beast.It is delicious.It makes the heart beat to behold--the small man, the great beast, the wide level sand, the thousands that look on without breath; the great beast rushes to the attack, the small man stands like a statue; he does not move, he is unafraid, and in his hand is the slender sword flashing like silver in the sun; nearer and nearer rushes the great beast with its sharp horns, the man does not move, and then--so--the sword flashes, the thrust is made, to the heart, to the hilt, the bull falls to the sand and is dead, and the man is unhurt.

It is brave.It is magnificent! Ah!--I could love the toreador.