"Well, you're the last man I should ever have supposed to be a monk!"
He recalled some strong denunciations of the Holy Brethren he had heard
pass the lips of his late fellow-prisoner.
"Ah! Senor Don Florencio, in this our world of Mexico we are called
upon to play many parts, and make out home in many places. Yesterday,
you knew me as a prisoner, like yourself in a loathsome gaol; to-day,
you see me in a monastery. And no common monk, but an Abbot, for know,
_amijo mio_, that I am the head of this establishment. But come! As
your host I am not now playing the part I should. You must be half
famished; besides, your toilet needs attending to. For the first,
breakfast will be ready by the time you have looked to the last. Here,
Gregorio!" this was a call to the mayor-domo outside, who instantly
after appeared at the door. "Conduct this gentleman to the lavatory,
and assist him in making his ablutions." Then again to Kearney: "If I
mistake not, you will find a clean shirt there, with some other changes
of raiment. And may I ask you to be expeditious? It has got to be
rather a late hour for breakfast, and the Holy Brethren will be getting
a little impatient for it. But, no doubt, your appetite will prompt
you. _Hasta Luega_!"
With which salutation--the Mexican custom at parting for only a short
while--he passed out of the room, leaving his guest to be looked after
by Gregorio.
Surrendering himself to the mayor-domo, Kearney was conducted to an
outer room, in which he found a washstand and dressing-table, with towel
and other toilet articles--all, however, of the commonest kind. Even
so, they were luxuries that had been long denied him--especially the
water, a constant stream of which ran into a stone basin from some pure
mountain spring.
And, sure enough, the clean shirt was there, with a full suit of
clothes; velveteen jacket, _calzoneras calzoncillas_, scarf of China
crape--in short, the complete costume of a _ranchero_. A man of medium
size, they fitted him nicely; and arrayed in them he made a very
handsome appearance.
"Now, your honour," said the individual in charge of him, "allow me to
show you the Refectory."
Another turn along the main passage brought them to the door, from which
issued a buzz of voices. His host had prepared him to expect company,
and on stepping inside this door he saw it in the shape of some
twenty-five or thirty men, all in the garb of monks of the same order as
Rivas himself.
The room was a large one, saloon shape, with a table standing centrally,
around which were benches and chairs. A cloth was spread upon it, with
a multifarious and somewhat heterogeneous array of ware--bottles and
glasses being conspicuous; for it was after eleven o'clock, and the meal
_almuerzo_, as much dinner as breakfast. The viands were being put upon
it; three or four Indian youths, not in convent dress, passing them
through a hatch that communicated with the kitchen, and from which also
came a most appetising odour.
All this the young Irishman took in with a sweep of his eye, which
instantly after became fixed upon the friars who had faced towards him.
They were standing in two or three groups, the largest gathered round an
individual who towered above all of them by the head and shoulders.
Cris Rock it was, clean shaven, and looking quite respectable; indeed,
better dressed than Kearney had seen him since he left off his New
Orleans "store" clothes. The Colossus was evidently an object of great
interest to his new acquaintances; and, from the farcical look upon
their faces, it was clear they had been doing their best to "draw" him.
With what success Kearney could not tell; though, from the knowledge he
had of his old comrade's cleverness, he suspected not much. There was
just time for him to note the jovial air of the Brethren, so little in
keeping with the supposed gravity of the monastic character, when the
Abbot entering led him up to them, and gave him a general introduction.
"_Hermanos_!" he said, "let me present another of my comrades in
misfortune, the Senor Don Florencio Kearney--an _Irlandes_--who claims
the hospitality of the convent."
They all made bow, some pressing forward, and extending hands.
But there was no time for dallying over salutations. By this several
dishes had been passed through the hatch, and were steaming upon the
table. So the Abbot took seat at its head, Kearney beside him; while
the Texan was bestowed at its foot, alongside one who seemed to act as
vice-chairman.
If the table-cloth was not one of the finest damask, nor the ware
costliest china and cut glass, the repast was worthy of such. In all
the world there is no _cuisine_ superior to that of Mexico. By reason
of certain aboriginal viands, which figured on the table of that Aztec
sybarite, Montezuma, it beats the _cuisine_ of old Spain, on which that
of France is founded, and but an insipid imitation.
The monks of this mountain retreat evidently knew how to live, course
after course being passed through the hatch in a variety which seemed as
if it would never end. There were pucheros, guisados, tomales, and half
a score of other dishes Kearney had never before heard of, much less
tasted. No wonder at their dinner of the preceding day having left such
_debris_ for supper.
And the wines were in correspondence--in quality, profusion, everything.
To Kearney it recalled "Bolton Abbey in the olden time." Nor ever
could the monks of that ancient establishment on the Wharfe have drunk
better wines, or laughed louder while quaffing them, than they whose
hospitality he was receiving on the side of the Cerro Ajusco.
Some strange speech, however, he heard passing around him, little in
consonance with what might be supposed to proceed from the lips of
religious men. But, possibly, just such as came from those of the
Tintern and Bolton Brethren when around the refectory table. Not all of
it, though. If the talk was worldly, it savoured little of wickedness--
far less than that of the cowled fraternity of olden times, if
chronicles are to be trusted. And never in convent hall could have been
heard such toast as that with which the breakfast was brought to a
close, when Rivas, rising to his feet, goblet in hand, the others
standing up along with him, cried out--
"_Patria y Libertad_!"
Country and Liberty! Strange sentiment in such a place, and to be
received with acclaim by such people!