The author and publisher have provided this e-book to you for your personal use only. You may not make this e-book publicly available in any way. Copyright infringement is against the law. If you believe the copy of this e-book you are reading infringes on the author’s copyright, please notify the publisher at: us.macmillanusa.com/piracy.
Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Epigraphs
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Books by Carlos Fuentes
Copyright
For
Luis Buñuel
great artist of our time
great destroyer of easy consciences
great creator of human hope
The Christian speaks with God, the bourgeois speaks of God.
—Kierkegaard
On s’arrange mieux de sa mauvaise conscience que de sa mauvaise reputation.
—Emmanuel Monnier
Chapter 1
THEY BELONGED, in the words of Uncle Jorge Balcárcel, to a Guanajuato family of more than slight accomplishments and decidedly worthy lineage. Guanajuato is to Mexico what Flanders is to Europe, the very core of a distinct style of life, and the preservation in all purity of tradition. An enumeration of the State’s public figures would be endless, yet would fail to indicate the importance of political feeling in this region which boasts of being The Cradle of Mexican Independence. If one seeks the roots of the Republic’s political system and patterns, one must go to Guanajuato. Here the delicate execution of devious plans originated. Here men know the uses of apparent and cloaking legality and are wise both in formal procedures and the tactics of smoke-filled hotel room maneuvering. Their ancestors during the centuries of New Spain were the students—and also the foot-soldiers—of Voltaire and Rousseau. Today their sons gather on the pompous stairways of the State University—in olden times a Jesuit center—to engage in discussions of Heidegger and Marx. Politically the men of Guanajuato possess a highly developed double faculty: an understanding of theory, and the ability to convert it into practical action.
The citizen of Guanajuato is, in other words, a practiced, talented, certified hypocrite. He is a lay hypocrite, as are all the best, and will serve whatever church seems in his opinion most likely to provide an efficient carrying-out of the theoretical “general will.” Intelligent, coolly and clearly motivated while opaque externally, heirs to a tradition which Mexico’s excessive political centralization has not destroyed, the men of Guanajuato represent the spirit of the Mexican heart. Seriousness that in Michoacan is streaked with solemnity, in Guanajuato is attenuated by irony and the sense of what is convenient. Zacatecas’ provincialism is in Guanajuato leavened with universality: did not Baron von Humboldt visit here, does not the city of Guanajuato possess a Teátro Juárez which was decorated by the scenographer of the Opéra Comique? The tradition is that of the Century of Reason. What in a Pueblan is blatant hypocrisy, in a Guanajuatan is talented insinuation. What in a native of Mexico City is enthusiasm or reluctance, is pure compromise in the Guanajuatan.
The Ceballos family belonged to this singular heart of the Mexican spirit. For other families the key name in the history of the State might be Count de Casa Rul, or Intendent Riaño, or Don Miguel Hidalgo, or Don Juan Bautista Morales, or Father Montes de Oca. For the Ceballos there was no name more illustrious—witness the several portraits scattered through the rooms of their stone mansion—than that of Governor Muñoz Ledo, who had permitted the poor immigrant family to establish their clothing shop near the church of San Diego back in 1852.
The head of the house, Don Higinio Ceballos, had been a humble apprentice to one Baldomero Santa Cruz, a well-known dealer in woven stuffs on Sal Street, Madrid. He had learned his business thoroughly. A good cobbler sticks to his last—Higinio stuck to his counter and profited slowly but surely.
The Ceballos, Spaniards and moreover shopkeepers, were not looked upon with favor in that era of galloping Mexican independence. But the secretary of the governor of the State, when he encountered the obvious attractions of green-eyed seventeen year-old Mercedes, found reason to be pleased. She became Señora Lemus and arranged that her father’s business should move from the shadows of the Alley of Dead Dogs to the sunny principal building across the street from the great church of San Diego. Naturally, the family always preferred to attribute their good fortune not to Secretary Lemus but to Governor Octaviano Muñoz Ledo, for in Guanajuato public relations have precedence over private truth.
Under such high auspices, the family could only prosper. The three sons received instruction from private tutors and learned those things which, next to practical business experience, are most important to worthy dealers in woven goods who are perilously rising socially. Not everything was rosy. Governor Ledo soon fell from power. But although Secretary Lemus had been a Conservative, he knew how to flip while toppling, and he landed securely planted in the field of Liberalism. In 1862, when Prim’s Spanish army landed upon Mexican soil, the anti-Spanish uproar, led by youths who ran through the streets of the old city shouting “On to Madrid!,” obliged Don Higinio to close his shop and hide with all his family—family of crinoline and curls, sideburns and cutaways, lapel carnations and waistcoat watch fobs—in the safety of the Lemus residence.
Even more than native Mexicans, the Ceballos clan were delighted when Prim departed. Business prospered again. At Ceballos and Sons, Guanajuatan ladies in pursuit of style could always find the latest and best in watered silk, Chinese shawls, or Brussels lace. When old Higinio died, the same day that Emperor Maximilian arrived in Mexico, his family was already well established in the provincial society.
The lordly residence in front of the church of San Roque had by this time been acquired. It was a colonial house, whitewashed, built of warm-colored quarried stone and walnut timbers. Thoroughbred horses clattered in and out of the wide zaguan, and in the stable were the black carriage for formal occasions, the Tilbury for outings, and the two seater for daily use. Grooms, maids, cooks and gardeners, music masters and tutors, hurried upon tight boots or bare feet through the long halls of the big dwelling.
The French invasion divided the three brothers. Pánfilo and José preferred to go on with the business, the former adhering without reservation to the Emperor, while the later professed in whispers the liberal ideas which had been the family’s original motive for emigration to Mexico. Francisco, the youngest, joined the liberal struggle and marched with General Mariano Escobedo. He was captured in Jalisco and executed on the spot.
Don Higinio’s widow, Margarita Machado, presided over not only the house but also the business. She was a wide-awake native of Córdoba, cheerful and unpreoccupied. Everything she did was done with an appearance of confusion, but the result was always perfect order and harmony. She was plump and jovial. The ladies of Guanajuato, unsophisticated and solemn, always had occasion to admire her. She kept up with the latest happenings in the great centers of fashion, received illustrated magazines from Paris and London, and was the first to display the bustle. She was intelligent, graciously intelligent: she guarded appearances and never let herself become either too sad or too happy about the varied events of daily life. This meant, carried to the extreme, that she was incapable of showing or asking for compassion. Shortly after Don Higinio’s death she was once again to be seen scurrying about the marketplace followed by a servant, fingering heads of lettuce and cabbage, choosing pumpkin blooms and scented herbs, and showing off a brand new Scotch plaid.
Margarita considered herself an immigrant, no longer a Spaniard but not yet a Mexican. Through her example she tried to give her lesson of simple human honor to her sons José and Pánfilo.
“Who could have told me,” she would say to them, “when Higinio began his apprenticeship in Madrid, that in Mexico we would come to be so prominent! Sometimes it frightens me. Don’t forget: if we are anything in this world, we owe it all to honest labor. We are not aristocrats. We are merely a modest liberal family. Holy Virgin! Sometimes I wish the Santa Cruzes could see us now!”
Pánfilo always followed the words of his mother to the letter, taking her advice about what fabrics to buy, what patterns to feature, to whom credit should be granted and to whom denied. He was the hard worker, while his brother José—Pepe—was the shrewder. Pánfilo opened the store at seven in the morning and did not leave it except for the few minutes required to walk hastily home and breakfast with the family, and return. Pepe, on the other hand, liked parties, and would spend long social evenings discovering the clothing needs of the ladies and gentlemen present, so that on the following day he could have ready the cut or sample requested. He never arrived at the store until ten, and in the afternoons and evenings was always absent—teas, picnics on the lakes of Olla and San Renovato, card games. Occasionally he made trips to Mexico City. He lost the Madrid accent which Pánfilo, speaking with his teeth closed, clung to so tenaciously.
Pánfilo thought of nothing except the clothing store. But Pepe was waiting for a chance to look higher. Pánfilo died a bachelor. Pepe married, in 1873, Señorita Guillermina Montañez. It was the same year that Governor Florencio Antillon ordered the construction of the Teatro Juárez. The Governor’s mustaches and goatee, his lustrous boots, his white trousers and blue jacket with great lapels bordered in gold, shone prominently at the Montañez-Ceballos wedding.
Pious, strict, without a trace of humor, Guillermina was accepted rather than loved by widow Margarita. “Ave Maria, this house is going to be as stiff as stays!” Occasionally, trying to prick Guillermina a little, Doña Margarita would talk about the dance-loving, witty and graceful girls of Andulusia, but her words blew like Mediterranean spray across the stone severity of her daughter-in-law. The Ceballos were becoming truly Mexicans, and from the day Guillermina entered the house it began to resemble a tintype. Out with flowers and decolletage; in with high collars, stiff faces, and solemn colors.
Guillermina Montañez was the daughter of an old family whose wealth had been in mining. Mining had for all purposes ceased during the wars of Independence, but loss of fortune simply added to Guillermina’s pride. People of the middle class must, in order to feel themselves aristocrats, have something to sigh about. His wife’s pretensions made Pepe more than ever dissatisfied with his simple merchant status, and he determined to rise. The revolt of Tuxtepec and Porfirio Díaz’ ascent to power decided his destiny. Montañez relatives and Pepe’s own friends came to hold positions in the federal government, and Pepe multiplied his trips to the national capital. These journeys made one thing very clear to him: mining was going to come back. Díaz was offering assistance in the form of cheap rail transportation. The latest techniques and machines for the extraction and refinement of non-precious metals were being imported. The demand for industrial ores was increasing and would continue to increase. Pepe convinced Guillermina—not without difficulty, for she preferred looking back to leaping forward—that they ought to sell their old gold mines in order to exploit new ones of mercury, lead, and tin. Working in partnership with a British firm, from 1890 on he received a very large annual income from the new mines. Nor did that end his quick economic climb. The Land Law of 1894 made it possible for him to acquire, illegally, but with the acquiescence of the Porfirista authorities, 48,000 hectares in a region adjacent to the State of Michoacan, where he bought an additional 30,000 hectares, uniting subtropical crops with the wheat, alfalfa, and beans of Guanajuato.
In 1903 when President Porfirio Díaz passed beneath the bronze capitals and statues of the Muses to inaugurate the Teatro Juárez, the Ceballos family occupied one of the principal boxes. There Pepe presided, rosy, paunchy, resplendent with a graying beard cut in the style of the Emperor of Austria-Hungary. Surrounding him were stiff and haughty Guillermina and the always cordial octogenarian Doña Margarita; the hunched silence of the merchant Pánfilo, the obsequious attentiveness of the Lemus family who were now converted into poor relations, and the chatter of the two children, Rodolfo and Asunción, who were being allowed to stay up late for the first time. It could be said that this moment was Pepe’s zenith. At the second intermission, Governor Obregón González made a little gesture that Pepe should pass to the presidential box to converse with Don Porfirio. During the last act many of the audience divided their attention between the mournful arias of the Ethiopian-Egyptian couple, and the discreet murmurs from the box of honor.
“Your presence truly honors us. This is a night that will not be forgotten,” Pepe had said.
“Guanajuato is a bastion of Mexican progress,” responded Don Porfirio.
“Tomorrow you will see beautiful fiestas. The Mayor has arranged everything most elegantly,” went on Pepe, to whom the general remarks were incomprehensible.
“Good, good,” commented Don Porfirio. “Let us have everything. Peace has cost us such labor that every Mexican has a right to divert himself now and then.”
“Peace is wholly your accomplishment, Señor President,” Pepe concluded.
After this triumph, there were no more great events in the life of the family. Doña Margarita died in 1905. Pánfilo moved from the big house of cut stone to rooms above the store. Poor hard-working merchant, without his mother he could not anticipate changes of style: bustles were replaced by hobble skirts, dark fabrics by fanciful ones, but Pánfilo did not notice. Before expiring the old lady had instructed him: “Keep your eye on what is worn by King Edward the Seventh,” but Pánfilo did not understand, and his store was soon transformed into a solemn place to which customers came only in view of a funeral or some official occasion. With a certain ironical sadness he observed that his old clients now dealt at the shop which had been established on the opposite corner by another Spaniard recently arrived in Mexico, Don José Luis Régules.
The mansion at the foot of Jardín de Morelos was often the scene of large parties. Pepe Ceballos, true son of his mother, loved noise, the pop of wine corks, the whisper of violins and taffeta. Guillermina presented her exaggerated dignity as counterpoint, and for years these gatherings were the most talked about in Guanajuato. The city’s gentility, families in government or in mining or business, others which had become affluent through cotton or flour or wool or leather, met again and again in the old colonial home. In the large salon on the second floor, where the old-fashioned decor had become French at the turn of the century, a quartet played the waltzes of Johann Strauss, Juventino Rosas, and Ricardo Castro, servants hurried with trays, and there were even political discussions. Two groups generally formed: one consisted of government functionaries and businessmen and mine-owners, and was the larger; these gentlemen applauded every aspect of the Díaz regime. In the other group were the new industrialists who asked for certain changes, greater freedom, new minds around the president. But all of them respected Díaz profoundly and considered him indispensable.
From time to time there would also be parties for the children. Rodolfo, the elder, in time would become a lawyer. Pepe had already confidently enrolled him in the Catholic Law School for the year 1912. Doña Guillermina expected to marry off Asunción, the daughter, at the age of eighteen, and with this in mind cultivated the little Balcárcel del Moral boy, who was the heir of another rich family.
One night in 1910, Guillermina received word that her husband—so ruddy, so healthy—had fallen with a terrible fever in a village near León. He had been three days traveling his estate on horseback. Night and a violent rain storm had descended upon him together. He was dying of pneumonia, and so delirious
that it was impossible to move him from the dirty adobe hut where he lay. Proud Guillermina hurried to him, only to find, upon arrival, the peon’s dead fires, the mourning neighing of horses, and Pepe’s body. It would appear that the Ceballos patriarchs were accustomed to dying on historic dates, for this was a morning in the third week of November and soon afterward it was known throughout the region that on the same day Madero had risen in revolt in San Luis Potosí.
* * *
The funeral procession, headed by the widow and the two black-clad children, had just dissolved when Pánfilo drew near his sister-in-law and informed her that she could count upon him as the man of the family. Guillermina paused at the exit to the Municipal Cemetery, facing the compact panorama—brown, green, and black—of mountains, glens, and churches. She reflected that she would not go far relying upon the judgment of the aged clothier. She would have to trust her own good sense to resolve the problems caused by her husband’s death. She was sad and a little troubled, but at the same time felt lighter, for sadness was the feeling she most enjoyed. Taking Rodolfo and Asunción by the hand, she boarded the black carriage and rode home.
Shortly thereafter, she sold the mines to Pepe’s British associates at a very good price indeed, and entrusted the vast hacienda to an administrator. She decided to wed Asunción three years earlier than planned before, at fifteen, and to prepare Rodolfo to take his father’s place. She was glad to rid herself of the mines, in whose exploitation, sweaty, tyrannous, often criminal, the first wealth of her ancestors had been founded … lords of the manor but not of the manner, men of rough words and quick whips. She was going to limit herself to landowning; it was like stepping from a muddy street to the sidewalk. Rodolfo’s projected law career was abandoned. It would be enough for him to handle the hacienda. But if the unlinked events of the already busy revolution were incomprehensible to her, even more so was her son’s character. It seemed that the Andalusan Doña Margarita had been resusitated to infuse, in a disagreeable and accentuated way, the boy’s physical appearance and spirit. No one was less worried about anything than Rodolfo Ceballos. No one was less suited for the management and discipline of large landholdings.
The Good Conscience Page 1