Days passed. We found nothing yet to do while all
listening and doing at Santa Fe were bound up in the crumbling of Granada into Spanish hands. It seemed
best to wait,
watching chances.

Meantime the show glittered, and man's strong stomach
cried "Life! More life!" It glittered at Santa Fe before
Granada, and it was a dying ember in Granada before Santa
Fe. The one glittered and triumphed because the other
glittered and triumphed not. And who above held the balances
even and neither sorrowed nor was feverishly elated
but went his own way could only be seen from the Vega
like a dream or a line from a poet.

For the most part the nobles and cavaliers in Santa Fe
spent as though hard gold were spiritual gold to be gathered
endlessly. One might say, "They go into a garden and
shake tree each morning, which tree puts forth again in the
night." None seemed to see as on a map laid down Spain
and the broken peasant and the digger of the gold. None
seemed to feel that toil which or soon or late they must
recognize for their own toil. Toil in Spain, toil in other
and far lands whence came their rich things, toil in Europe,
Arabia and India! Apparel at Santa Fe was a thing to
marvel at. The steed no less than his rider went gorgeous.
The King and Queen, it was said, did not like this peacocking,
but might not help it.

They themselves were pouring gold into the lap of the