Speaking of EstÉvanez, I recall also Bonafoux, whom I saw frequently. According to GonzÁlez de la PeÑa, the painter, he held my versatility against me.

"Bonafoux," remarked PeÑa, "feels that you are too versatile and too volatile."

"Indeed? In what way?"

"One day you entered the bar and said to Bonafoux that a testimonial banquet ought to be organized for EstÉvanez, enlarging upon it enthusiastically. Bonafoux answered: 'Go ahead and make the preparations, and we will all get together.' When you came into the cafÉ a few nights later, Bonafoux asked: 'How about that banquet?' 'What banquet?' you replied. It had already passed out of your mind. Now, tell me: Is this true?" inquired PeÑa.

"Yes, it is. We all have something of Tartarin in us, more or less. We talk and we talk, and then we forget what we say."

Other Parisian types return to me when I think of those days. There was a Cuban journalist, who was satisfactorily dirty, of whom Bonafoux used to say that he not only ate his plate of soup but managed to wash his face in it at the same time. There was a Catalan guitar player, besides some girls from Madrid who walked the tight rope, whom we used to invite to join us at the cafÉ from time to time. And then there was a whole host of other persons, all more or less shabby, down at the heel and picturesque.

XIV

LITERARY ENMITIES

Making our entrance into the world of letters hurling contradictions right and left, the young men of our generation were received by the writers of established reputation with unfriendly demonstrations. As was natural, this was not only the attitude of the older writers, but it extended to our contemporaries in years as well, even to those who were most modern.