PAX 
 
 (PEACE) 
 
BRENTANO'S HISPANO-AMERICAN SERIES 
 
 ISAAC GOLDBERG, PH.D., EDITOR 
 
 PAX 
 
 (PEACE) 
 
 BY 
 
 LORENZO MARROQUIN 
 
 TRANSLATED BY 
 
 ISAAC GOLDBERG, PH.D. 
 
 AND 
 
 W. V. SCHIERBRAND, PH.D. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 BRENTANO'S 
 
 PUBLISHERS 
 
Copyright, 1920, by 
 BRENTANO'S 
 
 ^ 
 
 All rights reserved 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 The name of the much-wracked republic of Colombia is in- 
 dissolubly linked with that of the most popular novel that has 
 thus far come out of Spanish America, the tender, idyllic 
 romance entitled Maria, by Jorge Isaacs (18371875).* 
 The nationalistic strain in Isaacs was carried forward by later 
 novelists, few of whom have been found worthy of serious con- 
 sideration by lovers of belles lettres. Among these the out- 
 standing exception is ^ren^_^IaTrociuin (died 1918), whose 
 Pax created a furore at the~"time of its appearance. For this 
 tKere were, of course, non-literary reasons. [The caustic satire 
 of the book, its spirited caricatures of loathsome national types, 
 imparted to ft all the political zest of an old roman a clef, 
 and more than one public figure believed that he had been 
 held up to scorn in the pages of this colorful, moving novel 
 of love, intrigue, religion, politics and revolution. Yet this is 
 but a superficial aspect of the book, which as a whole should 
 possess for us Americans of the North the attraction exercised 
 by a work that is written in hot sincerity, Vportraying the evils 
 that consume an author's beloved country/ This, perhaps, is 
 the prime impulse in Pax; it was born of a high religious faith 
 in the service of an ardent patriotism. The author is thor- 
 oughly imbued with his milieu; he knows the people and their 
 customs, the landscape and its secrets, the vanishing nobility 
 and their foundering ideals. If he has not caught the ideals 
 of the rising lower classes, that is because his novel is, in a 
 sense, the defiant swan-song of a departing era. Even to one 
 whose world-philosophy looks in a different direction, Marro- 
 
 * Isaacs' hereditary influences and early environment were of a cosmo- 
 politan nature. His father was an English Jew, his mother a Spaniard, 
 and he was Colombian by birth. He early achieved note through his 
 poems, a volume of which was published in 1865. Maria (1867) estab- 
 lished his fame. His poetry, like his prose, reveals a certain melancholy 
 that has been referred to the Hebraic strain in him; he is likewise gifted 
 with delicate descriptive powers and his muse may be realistic as well as 
 romantic. Besides his poetry and his famous novel he left a prose work 
 entitled La Revolution radical en Antioquia. 
 
 v 
 
 43606C 
 
vl INTRODUCTION 
 
 quin, through his sincerity, impresses with a sense of the re- 
 ligious idealism and the proud-gestured self-abnegation of his 
 class. 
 
 ^, " A novel of Latin American manners " is the sub-title of 
 the book, and truly, if we do not permit that characterization a 
 too great flexibility, the work teems with scenes of the people at 
 their various pursuits and pleasures. We view them in their 
 homes, at the opera, at the race-track, in their offices, at their 
 interminable banquets; we are present at their weddings, at 
 their burials; we follow them to church, visit their literary co- 
 teries, and go with them where not else until the horrors of civil 
 war burst forth. 
 
 And it is here that the book strikes a note that is as timely 
 to-day as when it was written, and applicable to an entire world 
 rather than a single nation. ' Patriot though he be, Marroquin 
 sees nothing beautiful in war. Indeed, so clearly does he be- 
 hold and portray the horrors of human conflict jthat from this 
 standpoint and I say it without the slightest consciousness 
 of exaggeration it merits comparison with the famous war de- 
 scriptions of The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Marro- 
 quin possesses a penetrating power of description, whether he 
 treats of the rich tropical landscape or the foolish humans that 
 blot the lavish pictures of nature with their own violent, yet so 
 often needless, strife. Consider, in this connection, the power- 
 ful episode in the chapter " Alligators and Vultures "; as a bit 
 of sheer, straightforward narrative-description and its effect 
 upon the reader, it is an admirable piece of work. 
 
 The book is pervaded by a certain symbolism that evidently 
 pleasured the author. We meet with it at once in the sketches 
 wherein Roberto has posed as the lone, dying soldier thus 
 encountering a forecast of his heroic death. We come upon it 
 often in the frequent mention of the Castilian roses, and it is 
 to these roses that one of the most beautiful and effective chap- 
 ters of the novel is dedicated. The entire tale is a vast sym-1 
 bol of a war-sick world crying "Peace, Peace! " through the? 
 mute mouths of sacrificed youth. And the author does not lackj 
 
 I a certain sense of humor that helps, now and again, to relievej 
 
 1 the somber details of a war-swept landscape. 
 
 ax is not so strong in characterization as in description. 
 Either the author inclines to caricature (cf. such figures as" 
 
INTRODUCTION vii 
 
 Karlonoff, Montellano, the poet Mata, the inventor Penanegra, 
 the revolutionist Landaburo) or to idealization (Dr. Miranda, 
 Sister San Logorio, Roberto, Alejandro). Yet more than one 
 personage is drawn in living colors, and the general impression 
 is one of movement, animation, realism. 
 
 The book's literary satire, though it may be enjoyed in the 
 spirit of caricature, is not to be taken too seriously. The 
 effervescence of certain distinctly minor symbolists and " mod- 
 ernists " in Spanish American poetry (as in the poetry of the 
 rest of the world) is its own best parody. The long travesty in 
 Chapter VIII, particularly toward the end, shows the poem to 
 be a take-off on the famous third Nocturne of Jose Ansuncion 
 Silva* (1865-1896) beginning 
 
 Una noche, 
 Una, noche todo llena de murmullos, de perfumes, y de musicas de alas; 
 
 Una noche, 
 En que ardian en la sombra nupcial y humeda las luciernagas fan- 
 
 tasticas. . . . 
 
 (On one night, on one night permeated with murmurs, perfumes 
 and the music of wings; on a night in which the fantastic glow-worms 
 gleamed in the moist and nuptial shadows. . . .) 
 
 If the figure of Mata was meant as a caricature of Silva, 
 however, it does the great Colombian poet injustice. Silva was 
 undoubtedly a neurotic Baudelairian figure but he was just 
 as undoubtedly a great poet, one of the chief singers of mod- 
 ern Spanish America. 
 
 It is of passing interest that, though Marroquin was a corre- 
 sponding member of the Royal Spanish Academy, his novel 
 abounds in careless and incorrect passages; in fact, an enter- 
 prising purist (for is not Colombia the home of the great phil- 
 ologist Cuervo?) wrote a Grammatical Analysis of Pax! Yet, 
 as Cuervo himself has shown in his intellectual contest with 
 Valera,f Spanish is destined to be modified in Spanish Amer- 
 
 * For studies of Silva's work the following sources are easily available : 
 
 Antonio Gomez Restrepo : La Literatura Colombiana, Revue His- 
 panique, XLIII, 103, pp. 184-185. 
 
 Alfred Coester: The Literary History of Spanish- America, pp. 455- 
 457. 
 
 Isaac Goldberg: Studies in Spanish-American Literature, pp. 57-64. 
 
 t See El Filologo Cuervo in Francisco Garcia Calderon's Ideas e 
 Impresiones, pp. 215-222. [Editorial America.] Rufino Jose Cuervo 
 (1842-1911) was called by Menendez y Pelayo the greatest Spanish 
 philologist of the nineteenth century. 
 
viii INTRODUCTION 
 
 ica in somewhat the same fashion that Latin was in the countries 
 where the Romance languages arose, a phenomenon analogous 
 to the evolution of English in the United States.* Grammar 
 has but an adventitious connection with good literature; it fol- 
 lows, and by no means leads, art. If linguistic evolution 
 teaches anything, it teaches that purists are human signs that 
 change is taking place, and that purists are too extreme in 
 their static attitude. So, too, have Blasco Ibaiiez and Perez 
 Galdos been attacked in Spain by the purists, and Dreiser in 
 America. But how many expert grammarians can write a 
 Canas y Barro, a Marianela, or a Sister Carrie? 
 
 As a collaborator in the writing of Pax, the author names 
 Jose Maria Rivas Groot. The latter, in the history of Colom- 
 bian letters by Antonio Gomez Restrepo, already referred to, 
 is indicated as a poet of few verses, characterized by a pure, 
 Christiaii idealism, and as a delicate chiseler of elegant, aristo- 
 cratic prose in the manner of the modern French Christian 
 school. 
 
 The growing public of North America that is interested in 
 Spanish American culture, that has read Martin Rivas, by 
 the Chilean, Alberto Blest Gana, and Amalia, by the Argentine 
 Jose Marmol, for example, should find a place on its shelves 
 for Marroquin's Pax. ^ To be sure, Pax considers the revolu- 
 tionary spirit from a different angle; it is essentially aristo- 
 cratic in tone, but it is none the less an important document, 
 and the other side (whichever side it may be) should always 
 be heard. Pax, writes Antonio Gomez Restrepo, is a " repre- 
 sentative, national work revelatory of great gifts." In its op- 
 position to needless war it speaks not only for Colombia, but for 
 all America, for all the world. 
 
 ISAAC GOLDBERG. 
 
 Roxbury, Mass., 
 March, 1920. 
 
 * Cf. The American Language, by Henry L. Mencken. New York. 
 1919. 
 
PAX 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 SKETCHES 
 
 " EXCELLENT partridges! " exclaimed General Ronderos with 
 that smile which made him look younger than he really was. 
 
 He wiped his lips, raised his glass, looked at it against the 
 light and drank it with pleasure. It was a tepid Burgundy that 
 permeated with its aroma the comfortable and refined atmos- 
 phere of the room. 
 
 The tapestries, the curtains, the sideboards focussed on the 
 table the light, which was broken in the prisms of the chande- 
 liers, sparkled in the glasses and shone on the snow white table 
 cloth. On the center of the table, forming a harmony of white 
 colors, rose a bouquet of Castilian roses. 
 
 " Excellent! " repeated Roberto. " They deserve to go down 
 into history, like the falcon of the tale ... the only falcon that 
 was ever served with sauce . . ." 
 
 The ladies looked at Roberto with a mixture of surprise and 
 curiosity. After a brief silence, during which one could hear 
 the knives and forks striking the plates, he continued : 
 
 " A poor nobleman, a great hunter and great lover, possessed 
 as his only fortune a falcon who was his pride ... his Provi- 
 dence! " 
 
 " Something like the crow of the abbot St. Anthony? " inter- 
 rupted Dona Teresa, whose eyes sparkled with irrepressible 
 merriment. 
 
 " That's it; but instead of bread, he carried him pigeons from 
 the neighborhood. The falcon was what he loved best . . . bar- 
 ring a certain lady who lived in a neighboring castle. . . . Her 
 name ? " Roberto glanced at those present. " I don't remember 
 it. ... Let us give her a poetic name, like Dona Sol, Violante, 
 
Ines . . . ," and he turned towards Ines, his cousin, who was 
 listening to the story intently. 
 
 Opposite the young woman sat Count Hugo Dax-Bellegarde, in 
 whose honor the dinner was being given. 
 
 " The beautiful lady of the castle ... let us call her Ines 
 . . . admired this falcon of brilliant plumage and steely bill. 
 She watched him with delight darting through the air, describing 
 wide circles, taking his bearings away on high, and with as- 
 tounding dexterity, with regal majesty, which I can not describe, 
 but which you can imagine at your own pleasure, pouncing on 
 its prey, seizing it with its talons and bringing it to his mas- 
 ter . . ." 
 
 From time to time, a petal, detaching itself from the bouquet 
 of roses, described a semicircle, floated in the warm air, fluttered 
 and fell softly. 
 
 " One fine morning, a morning of blue and gold, like the 
 mornings of all stories, he discovers, with a mixture of happiness 
 and anguish, that the lady, followed by her pages and retainers, 
 arrives at his castle, alights from her pony and ascends the steps 
 leading to the main door. 
 
 " ' My lord marquis, I have invited myself to dine in your 
 company to-day . . .' He trembles with pleasure, as well as 
 with fear ... To dine? . . . That day the falcon had not 
 hunted anything . . . and there was not a turkey or even a 
 chicken in the henyard ... ah! ... yes ... a brilliant idea! 
 . . . and shaking with emotion, he gives his cook a secret order 
 . . . There was a long interval . . . Their appetites increased 
 . . . They sat at the table . . . During the dinner, Dona Ines 
 praised to the sky a magnificent bird which was served to her in 
 an excellent sauce . . . although it was not half so good as this 
 one . . . ' Excellent partridge ! ' she exclaimed . . . even as 
 General Ronderos did just now . . . and at dessert, Dona Ines, 
 with an irresistible smile, asked a favor . . . 
 
 " ' A favor ? ... my own blood ... my own life ' . . . 
 
 " * Not quite so much as that, marquis . . . Your falcon . . . 
 Your falcon is what I desire . . .' 
 'My falcon! . . .' 
 
 ' Yes, your falcon ... It is a woman's whim ... I am 
 in love with him . . . He is my only fancy ... Do you deny 
 it to me? . . . Do you really? . . .' 
 
SKETCHES 3 
 
 " * Ah ! ... It is impossible to comply with your re- 
 quest! ' . . . 
 
 '"Impossible? . . .' 
 
 "'Yes, milady . . . Impossible!' . . . exclaimed the mar- 
 quis. 
 
 "'Why?' 
 
 " ' Excuse me ... the falcon ... we have eaten it! ' " 
 
 The merry comments of the guests, dominated by the sonorous 
 voice of Doctor Miranda, filled the dining-room. 
 
 " All right," said General Ronderos, " what is the end of 
 the story? ... Ah! yes," he added, addressing the two cousins 
 and looking at them steadily, " I can guess it. ... It ended 
 in a marriage, like all stories. . . ." 
 
 The old general's joke made everybody smile maliciously. 
 There followed a short interval of silence. Ines, slightly blush- 
 ing, pretended to be unconcerned by pulling some petals from 
 the roses. The general wa asking himself if he had been 
 guilty of some indiscretion when, suddenly, he realized the 
 peculiar position of some of those present. /There flashed 
 through his mind the old love of Ines and Roberto, the tacit 
 consent of both mothers, the probable marriage, which had been 
 delayed because of the young man's meager fortune, the strug- 
 gles of the latter and of Dona Ana in order to keep up their 
 social position and save the remains of their former wealth. 
 ... He saw in Count Bellegarde the man of the gigantic- 
 enterprises and untiring energy, whom Ines was watching with 
 increasing interest a possible rival of Roberto. . . . Yes, and 
 that word, marriage, which he had spoken thoughtlessly, seemed 
 to have raised a problem in that family. . . . Who would be 
 the victor? 
 
 The steel blue eyes of the count, which gave him a glacial 
 expression, lit up, lik~e a lightning flash, when they contem- 
 plated Ines' sweet and serene face, and they resumed their icy 
 expression when they saw at her side Roberto who, nervous 
 and supple both of mind and body, radiated happiness and 
 endeavored to make the guests merry with his talk and to draw 
 from a habitual gloom his own mother, whose white hair and 
 long transparent hands shone against her black dress. 
 
 Ines, wishing to break the silence and to draw the general 
 attention to some other topic, said in her musical voice: 
 
4 PAX 
 
 " The legend, I believe, has served as a theme for a drama. 
 Isn't that right, Roberto? At least, that's what I think. . . . 
 Now we'll find out. ..." 
 
 " Yes, yes," observed Bellegarde, coming to Ines' assistance. 
 " It is a drama by Tennyson." 
 
 " To which I prefer my own story in plain Bogota prose," 
 added Roberto. 
 
 Bellegarde frowned imperceptibly; his eyelids twinkled and 
 he at once resumed his impassive and ceremonious air. 
 
 The servants drew near, and thrusting their heads between 
 the guests, asked discreetly: " Chateau Lafitte? . . ." 
 
 They filled the cups with the red wine. On the snow white 
 table cloth, the ruby shadows crossed the amethyst of the white 
 wines. 
 
 The roast was brought in. 
 
 Bellegarde, who was on the right of the mistress of the house, 
 Dona Teresa, indicated, with a respectful gesture, that the lady 
 should help herself first. 
 
 " Do you think, Count," asked Roberto, " that it is purely 
 gallantry or merely an old tradition that makes us serve the 
 ladies before we serve the men? " 
 
 The count remained silent, removed his monocle, and with a 
 forced smile of benevolent expectation, looked at Roberto. 
 
 " What can it be but a chivalrous custom, like so many 
 others of French origin? " asked Doctor Miranda. 
 
 " Look up your Genesis, Sebastian, and you will find that 
 that custom comes from the Garden of Eden." 
 
 " From the Garden of Eden? " 
 
 " Yes, Eve helped herself first." 
 
 While carving the roast, Dona Teresa noticed that it was 
 somewhat tough. She shook her head with a gesture of dis- 
 pleasure, smiled halfheartedly and excused herself, saying: 
 
 " I am very sorry, it is not at all tender." . . . 
 
 " Never mind, Aunt," said Roberto. " In that respect, it 
 resembles Ines: It has no heart." 
 
 Among those present, the figure of Doctor Miranda was most 
 prominent. He was shaking his ascetic head negatively at 
 Dona Ana and Dona Teresa, with whom he kept up a heated 
 conversation. Yes . . . yes. ... It was evident that they 
 were reproaching him with his shyness in the matter of speak- 
 
SKETCHES 5 
 
 ing from the pulpit. He never let any one know when he 
 was going to preach. This was unpardonable! Especially 
 with the members of his own family. And then, he chose the 
 humbler and more distant churches. But the public guessed 
 when he was going to preach, and they flocked to the temple 
 and filled it. ... Still, there was not enough room for all 
 those who should profit by his profound, moving periods. . . . 
 Ah! he should mend his ways in future. 
 
 Doctor Miranda addressed Roberto in his sonorous voice. 
 
 " Isn't the last number of La Illustration Santajerena a great 
 one? " he asked. 
 
 " But it is somewhat late," interrupted the general. " We 
 are in the first days of January and the number just out cor- 
 responds to last June." 
 
 " Which means that our subscribers are six months younger 
 than those who are not on our list. You ought to be thankful 
 to me, for I have given you the elixir of Youth." 
 
 " And very fine reading, too, which I recommend to all my 
 daughters of confession. . . . Your study of Santa Fe customs, 
 your colonial sketches, are masterpieces. I have personally at- 
 tended those homely gatherings of our grandfathers where, be- 
 tween sip and sip of chocolate, the chronicles of the city were 
 commented on, the newspapers were read, the news from Spain 
 was discussed and inoffensive jokes, in perfect good taste, were 
 enjoyed more than the chocolate. You have faithfully por- 
 trayed that society, a society capable of the greatest deeds, 
 able to fill the highest positions and whose lives glided along 
 in the greatest peacefulness, in the grace of God, without 
 bitternesses, without ambitions, without jealousies, without any 
 desires, except that of dying a Christian death." 
 
 And while he spoke, his broad expressive gestures gave his 
 words greater force, a special energy. His voice, trained in the 
 pulpit, possessed rich and varied inflections and it was wann- 
 ing up with the heat of his own ideas. 
 
 " Senor Bellegarde," he continued, " you, as a tourist, prob- 
 ably will wish to know the Santa Fe society of a hundred years 
 ago, so different from our own, which has lost its personality, 
 its own character. I strongly advise you to read Roberto's 
 articles." And then, addressing the latter, he said: " I thank 
 you most cordially. You have given me the greatest frights 
 
6 PAX 
 
 with your bull-fights; I have taken part in the excursions to 
 Aserrio and Guarruz de Fucha; you filled me with devotion 
 and enchantment in your Corpus procession; I have prayed in 
 your mangers the Novena of the Child, and I have danced 
 afterwards. . . . Are you laughing, Teresa? I have danced 
 the sampianito and the bolero to the accompaniment of the 
 guitar; I have smacked my lips with pleasure at the meat cakes 
 and doughnuts after the dinner." 
 
 Bellegarde, who had become interested in the figure of the 
 priest, paid now still more attention to him. 
 
 The appearance of Doctor Miranda was of those that reveal 
 superiority and are rendered attractive by this same superiority 
 because there is no attempt at domineering over other people. 
 His bearing was stately and unconsciously majestic; his eyes 
 piercing and full of life; his forehead bony and meditative. 
 A few white hairs at his temples, the paleness of his com- 
 plexion, the marks of penitence, meditation and intellectual 
 toil, formed a contrast with the immaculate whiteness of his 
 skin and the moist glitter of his pupils. The habit of solemn 
 and benevolent thoughts, the internal peacefulness of a stain- 
 less life, the love for his fellowbeings, the joy of an ineffable 
 hope were reflected in his smile, appeared in his graceful ges- 
 tures and marked his whole personality with an indelible seal. 
 
 " Our ancestors," continued Doctor Miranda after a brief 
 pause, " managed to be happy, in spite of the fact that they did 
 not know Wagner, or Nietzsche, or Zarathustra. . . ." 
 
 " Or Tennyson's dramas," added Roberto. 
 
 Bellegarde, trying to please Ines, observed: 
 
 " I don't think that all of Tennyson's dramas are good. I 
 confess that in the poet's garden, frozen by the wintry snows, 
 the flowers were not blooming when he wrote his dramas. . . . 
 I owe him a debt of gratitude because he charmed me, he pro- 
 foundly moved me with his Becket. . . . There is where we can 
 judge him, especially when Irving, the great tragedian, produces 
 the play." 
 
 "Ah! . . . then it is Irving who achieves the success." 
 
 " He could not do anything without such a magnificent 
 theme, without the transformation of the man of the world, the 
 sinner, into the saint, the martyr that the author has portrayed. 
 ... I fancy I can see him now in the last act, wearing his 
 
SKETCHES 7 
 
 miter, wounded, dying on the steps of the altar, while the low 
 chant of the monks reaches one mixed with the shouts of the 
 mob and the rumbles of the thunder that shakes the huge 
 basilica to its very foundations." 
 
 Bellegarde spoke slowly, in a monotonous tone, with a slight 
 French accent, searching for the proper words, but his Spanish 
 was correct and pure. 
 
 General Ronderos complimented him on his perfect com- 
 mand of the Spanish language, and Bellegarde replied that it 
 was not to be wondered at, for his mother was Spanish and he 
 was an admirer of the tongue and literature of Castile. 
 
 " Did you see Irving in Charles I? " asked Roberto wishing 
 to give him a subject for conversation in which he seemed 
 to be perfectly at home. 
 
 "Of course! " exclaimed Bellegarde eagerly, moved by the 
 remembrance. " I saw him. ... Ah ! it is fifteen years ago. 
 ... A long time, isn't it? ... Charles I was Irving's great 
 battle. It was his Marengo. He became so absorbed in his 
 role, that one might have thought Van Dyck's great picture 
 had come to life. I remember the august, cold and melancholy 
 attitude (and Bellegarde turned instinctively to Dona Ana); I 
 remember the haughty and glacial look, the bitter smile, the 
 pale forehead crossed by blue veins, in which one could see 
 the mark of a tragic predestination." 
 
 And as he spoke, he observed the two ladies, trying to divine 
 their souls, to reconstruct their whole lives from their faces. 
 They seemed to be of the same age. But what a difference 
 there was between them! One of them, Dona Ana, with her 
 white head and the vague melancholy tint in her eyes, revealed 
 a life of bitterness and sorrowful resignation. The other one, 
 Dona Teresa, with the lively joy which sparkled in her pupils, 
 with her full rosy cheeks, reflected wellbeing and a life of 
 ease. . . . And then, what a contrast between their children, 
 who were opposite Bellegarde! f Thg^ melancholy of Dona Ana 
 had given forth the jocularity of Roberto; tne exhuberant 
 vivacity^of ppna Teresa, the reserve of Ines. / 
 ^~BelTegarde was gradually arousing ih' Ines a sentiment op- 
 posite to the one she had entertained when she met him for 
 the first time a few days previously. At first, his cold im- 
 passible appearance had been repulsive, but now a new man 
 
8 PAX 
 
 was emerging before her. Through the thick veil that seemed 
 to cover his mind, in spite of his efforts to watch and control 
 himself, there shone a ray of light, a spark of fire which re- 
 vealed him as an ardent lover of art. 
 
 When the dinner ended, they went to the drawingroom. As 
 they passed through the gallery, the Count observed the old 
 portraits and the alabaster vases that adorned it. In the draw- 
 ingroom, he noticed the perfect style, premier empire, in which 
 the yellow designs of the silk hangings and the gilt of the 
 furniture, picture frames and chandeliers harmonized with 
 the general tone of the room, with all those gradations of green 
 which in a delightful cadence, like in a musical chord, de- 
 scended from the brilliant green of an emerald to the opaque 
 tint of dry leaves and the deepest dark-green of the waters of a 
 pool. 
 
 Dona Teresa and Dona Ana withdrew to the neighboring 
 room, the music salon. 
 
 " Ana, I have noticed that you are sad, . . ." said Dona 
 Teresa, affectionately. " I have watched you a good deal. 
 I know you had to sell our old family mansion. . . . Such a 
 comfortable house. . . . Whom did you sell it to? " 
 
 " To a stranger who will arrive here in a few days. I am 
 very sorry, especially on account of goberjto." 
 
 " How is that? . . . He seems so happy to-night. ..." \ 
 
 " The very days on which he is most worried are the ones i 
 on which he appears merrier and more loving. Look at hiny 
 . . . there he is in the center of that group, making everybody 
 laugh. . . . All the same, I am sure that at this very moment 
 he is thinking that this week he must surrender the house to 
 a stranger. ... It is the remains of our fortune. . . . That 
 house is so full of memories. I confess I have not had the 
 courage to go there for weeks and weeks." 
 
 " Don't worry about Roberto. He has genius and can adapt 
 ^ himself to everything. . . . We all love him so much. . .^ 
 Besides, there is that project of Count Bellegarde. ... Ah! 
 . . . there is a great future for Roberto ! " 
 
 In the center of the drawingroom, in a noisy group formed by 
 General Ronderos, Count Bellegarde, Ines and Roberto, and of 
 which the latter was the life and soul, they were chatting about 
 everything, the next opera season, with Rondinelli as prima 
 
 f 
 
SKETCHES 9 
 
 donna and Malatesta as tenor, of the horse races organized 
 for the benefit of the College Hospital by Gonzalez Mjogollon, 
 of the two newly launched reviews : La Mujer Independiente, 
 edited by Dona Aura de Cardoso and La Pagoda Nietzsche, di- 
 rected by the poet Solon Carlos Mata. 
 
 General Ronderos, at that time Secretary of War, was 
 temporarily in charge of the Treasury, and Bellegarde, who 
 had come to the country to develop some big enterprises, took 
 him to a corner of the room where coffee had been served on 
 a marble table.. There, speaking in measured tones and with 
 sober gestures,/ he explained to the interested Minister the 
 wonders wrought through peace and the capital supplied by 
 his company in other American countries. 
 
 His company specialized in colonizing virgin lands and 
 
 canalizing rivers. He had executed important projects in the 
 
 United States, Mexico and Argentina. Unfortunately, his stay 
 
 in Colombia would have to be short, for his friends wished to 
 
 ' canalize the Seine, so as to make Paris a sea port, and with 
 
 this purpose in view, estimates and plans had already been 
 
 submitted to the commission who were studying the project. 
 
 \~ - *ln his opinion, Colombia was the richest and had the most 
 
 \ brilliant future of all the South American countries. AH they 
 
 1 needed was peace, and her material progress, her wealth, her 
 
 institutions would render her incomparable. Bellegarde was 
 
 the representative of some great financiers, a powerful com- } 
 
 s : pany, a business like group, " his group." 
 
 V General Ronderos, whose lively face of mobile features and 
 
 eyes that sparkled under the gray eyebrows, forming a strong 
 contrast with the studied coldness of the Count, listened 
 ecstatically to these progressive projects. 
 
 " In this country, crossed as it is by three mountain ranges," 
 said Bellegarde, " railroads are far too expensive. ... In 
 order to reach your ports, you need to look for cheaper roads, 
 and the best are those that Nature herself offers you : the water- 
 ways. You have that outlet to the sea, only it is primitive, 
 wild, undisciplined. . . . You must tame it, domesticate it; 
 you must confine the Magdalena river to its own bed and in- 
 crease its flow by deepening its channel . . . and then you will 
 have, my dear Minister, a great port at Honda, Port Ronderos, 
 with ships like the La Normandie and La Touraine anchored 
 
10 PAX 
 
 in it. ..." And the Count continued to elucidate his ideas, 
 displaying great knowledge of the subject, full of enthusiasm 
 and faith which he communicated to the old general. 
 
 " Ah ! Sefior Bellegarde, we are going to do a great deal 
 for this country. I want to see you and Roberto to-morrow 
 without fail at the office of the Treasury. I have already given 
 your plans to Doctor Karlonoff, consulting engineer to the 
 Treasury." 
 
 Roberto approached them. 
 
 " Sefior Avila: you are one of us. I thank you for the 
 faith you have in our project and for the trust you have placed 
 in me, taking shares as a founder of the company. . . . You 
 will not be sorry for it. The enterprise will enrich both the 
 country and the shareholders ... if there is peace." 
 
 General Ronderos, twirling his mustache with enthusiasm, 
 spoke encomiastically to Roberto of the contractor's knowledge, 
 his intuition and the accuracy of his computations. 
 
 " Oh! that's nothing, my dear Minister; to find that the Mag- 
 dalena is the most important means of communication in Col- 
 ombia, is like Columbus' egg." 
 
 " Will you allow me to raise an objection, my dear Belle- 
 garde? " 
 
 The Count thought that Roberto was going to object to his 
 project; he took off his monocle, keeping it raised in his hand, 
 and prepared to reply. 
 
 " Go ahead." 
 
 " I wished to remark . . . that there isn't such a thing as 
 Columbus' egg." 
 
 Doctor Miranda and Ines had approached them. Belle- 
 garde replaced his monocle and resumed his cold affability. 
 
 "Ah! Brunelleschi." 
 
 " How is that? " asked Ines. 
 
 " The cicerone who showed me around Florence told me all 
 about it," said Roberto. " The only Italian I spoke was what 
 they use in the operas, but my guide spoke so eagerly and with 
 such gestures that I understood him perfectly. Santa Maria 
 del Fiore, the cathedral at Florence, was not completed; it 
 lacked the roof. A competition was established for the adop- 
 tion of a covering. On the appointed day, the judges met to 
 examine the different projects. Brunelleschi proposed that they 
 
SKETCHES 11 
 
 should build an egg-shaped cupola. The idea seemed imprac- 
 ticable; they thought him mad and threw him out of the hall, 
 but he came back. ' Let us see, gentlemen : this is the shape 
 of my cupola. Whoever manages to make this egg stand on 
 end on this table, let him be chosen to finish the cathedral.' 
 The architects took up the egg, examined it and burst out 
 laughing. Brunelleschi then picked up the egg, dented it a 
 little and left it standing vertically . . . but, of course, it 
 stained the table cover." 
 
 " And that very cupola was the despair of Michelangelo," 
 concluded Doctor Miranda. " When he was thinking about 
 the dome of St. Peter he admired it without wishing to imitate 
 it ... and in his spite, he kept repeating: ' I do not wish 
 to copy you, and I can't surpass you. . . . Come te, non 
 voglio; meglio di te, non posso.' '' 
 
 " But he ended by imitating it, and he was rewarded with 
 all the glory due to originality. To-day nobody remembers 
 Brunelleschi, and that's the reason why I took his part, so 
 that he may be given the credit of having, at least stained the 
 cover of a table with the yoke of an egg . . . which is the fate 
 of those who do not profit from their inventions, while others 
 grow fat upon them," said Roberto. " This has been very aptly 
 expressed in a single verse of Cyrano de Bergerac . . . ma 
 vie ... ce fut d'etre celui qui souffle et qu'on oublie! " 
 
 " And perhaps that's why they call you Bergerac," inter- 
 rupted Doctor Miranda. 
 
 " Are you fond of music, Count? " 
 
 Roberto offered his arm to his cousin, led her to the piano 
 and stood close to her. 
 
 Passing near a table, Ines left upon it a bouquet of Castile 
 roses that she had been wearing in her corsage. 
 
 General Ronderos walked over to Doctor Miranda. Belle- 
 garde, who was greatly displeased at the intimacy between the 
 two cousins, stood up and in his inscrutable attitude, which at 
 times revealed indifference and at times ennui, began to walk 
 around the room, his monocle in his eye, bending over to look 
 at some photographs or standing to examine some oil paintings. 
 He stopped before two richly framed canvases of equal size. 
 He let his monocle drop, took a step back and knit his brow. 
 They did not displease him. Modern paintings, unsteady brush, 
 
12 PAX 
 
 same hand, though the subjects were different; opposite tend- 
 encies. . . . 
 
 Yes, yes, they were by the same artist . . . and in the ap- 
 parent contrast between the two canvases, there was the same 
 idea, the same symbol, the same marked purpose. . . . Even 
 viewing them from afar, taking them in with one look, the 
 coloring indicated the intention of the artist. One was a pic- 
 ture of luminous warm tones; the other of cold somber tints. 
 The atmosphere of the two pictures revealed the antithesis, a 
 tragic play of colors. 
 
 He approached one of the pictures and observed its details . . . 
 The subject, treated with brilliant and transparent tints, was 
 a race course. He looked at the other one; a gray landscape, 
 a battlefield. 
 
 " Let us examine the details," he said to himself as he moved 
 close up to the pictures. " Surely this isn't the hand of a 
 master, but rather that of an amateur. . . Faulty design, lack 
 of training, little anatomic vigor . . . better idea than execu- 
 tion. . . There is no relation between the idea and its develop- 
 ment . . . perhaps they are not finished works but sketches . . . 
 they are not bad; in spite of carelessness, there is depth of feel- 
 ing in the coloring . . brilliancy, frankness, energy . . . The 
 Racecourse. A luminous sky that reflects its splendor on the 
 flat stretch of turf ... the track, the stands full of specta- 
 tors. . . It is an open air study, full of movement, faces brim- 
 ming with anxiety, groups of people, and here and there, bright- 
 ening up the whole, touches of red, blue and yellow in the pen- 
 nants, in the parasols, in the dresses, in the jockeys' jackets. 
 This landscape, this crowd, this movement, enveloped in a warm 
 atmosphere, in a splendor of amber that caresses and trans- 
 figures everything. . . The other one? . . . The gray land- 
 scape. . . A uniform, monotonous, almost upleasant daub with 
 mysterious intensities in its shadows. From the milky sky 
 descends the light on a desert of great black undulations. To- 
 wards the back, amid the fog, reddish flashes that suggest a 
 battle . . . away in the background. . . Here, in the fore- 
 ground, an officer lies on the ground alone, abandoned near a 
 dead fire. The thread of smoke that rises near the dying 
 officer gives the picture an air of heartrending desolation. The 
 ensemble causes an intense, deep feeling. The idea of the 
 
SKETCHES 13 
 
 artist is revealed in the canvas with melancholy grandeur." 
 
 The music continued. To the right, -Roberto, with his hand 
 on the music and his eyes fixed on Ines, watched for the moment 
 in which Ines, with a rapid smile and an inclination of her 
 head, should signal to him to turn over the leaf. Bellegarde 
 left the pictures and walked over to the piano. He saw the 
 couple, the smile. . . The eternal idyl of the cousins ... a 
 sure marriage. . . But no, let us not think about the music, 
 let us go back to the pictures. . . Passing near the table, he 
 stopped, lifted the bouquet, inhaled its fragrance, pulled a few 
 roses . . . then returned to the canvases. " This jockey, here 
 in the foreground, victoriously advancing on the black mare, 
 in that cloud of luminous dust, has been studied with more care 
 . . . One can guess, one can see the model. . . . And the same 
 with the dying officer in the gray picture. . . . It is a fine spirit- 
 ual face . . . yes. Is it the same model? I have seen that 
 face somewhere. . . Where? Ah! yes, her cousin, always her 
 cousin . . . Roberto! \ 
 
 The music stoppedr . . There was a brief applause. 
 
 Bellegarde, who was at one end of the drawingroom, started 
 to cross it, in order to congratulate Ines, and Roberto, watching 
 him, felt himself involuntarily attracted to the stranger, because 
 his lordly feudal air was softened by a visage on which one 
 could always read high and noble thoughts and because of his 
 exquisite distinction. . . 
 
 There were complimentary phrases and excuses. . . " No 
 ... no ... I really don't deserve so many compliments." 
 There were comments on her interpretation, on Chopin, on 
 Sonatas. 
 
 " I see," said Ines, " that you are a connoisseur, an artist, 
 and that you have a special taste for music." 
 
 " Ah ! senorita, allow me to give you an engineer's definition, 
 for I am one; music is a combination of two forces, two 
 beautiful forces: the force of the mind and the force of sound." 
 
 " I disagree with you. . . That is not an engineer's defini- 
 tion; that is an artist's definition . . . and from a good artist, 
 too. . . And you, how do you define music, Roberto? " asked 
 Ines. 
 
 " Music is an exact expression of the indefinite. Another 
 mathematical definition." 
 
14 PAX 
 
 " You surely must be able to play the piano," insinuated 
 the Count, and as Roberto answered in the negative, he con- 
 tinued: "Then, I am sure that you can sing, accompanied 
 by Mademoiselle." 
 
 " Sing? You know, of course, that the song of an owl pre- 
 sages the death of a man. . . If I were to sing, my voice would 
 presage the death of the owls." 
 
 Bellegarde, who had gone back to observe the pictures, cast 
 a questioning look about him. 
 
 "Ah Lyes," exclaimed Dona Teresa, who had approached 
 him. u You want to know who painted them ? . . . A nephew 
 of mine, . . Alejandro. . . He sent me them from Europe three 
 months ago. If you only knew him! He can do everything; 
 he travels, paints, writes . . . amuses himself. . . An artist 
 . . . Artist? no, not exactly ... a passionate amateur, great 
 heart, an intimate friend of Roberto. . . You will meet him 
 soon, for he arrives the day after to-morrow.'* 
 
 " A passionate amateur, yes," said Roberto/ " A squanderer 
 of sentiments, a searcher for emotions ... a St. Augustine 
 ... in the first period. . ." 
 
 "Ah! but that good heart," said Doctor Miranda, "will 
 reach the second period, the second epoch through divine grace." 
 
 " Above all, he is a great friend," said Roberto. 
 
 " Yes," observed Doctor Miranda, " his is a generous friend- 
 ship. Of his friendship it can't be said that it is like the 
 barren figtree of the parable. . ." 
 
 "What title have you given those sketches.,. . I beg your 
 pardon, pictures? " asked Bellegarde. 
 
 "Ah! seiior," said Dona Ana in a voice that was much 
 younger than her face, " Roberto gave Alejandro the idea for 
 these pictures and he caused me great grief by serving as 
 model. . . Just you imagine it, model for a dead man. . . I 
 have even dreamt that I saw him in that desert. . . Well, he, 
 who had suggested the idea, wished to give them their titles and 
 mentioned ' Light and Shadow '. . . This business of the titles 
 has started a polemic in the family. Everybody suggests differ- 
 ent titles; Teresa, * Day and Night,' Sebastian, ' Antithesis ' 
 ... let us see, who else? . . . General Ronderos, * Peace and 
 War.' . ." 
 
f 
 
 SKETCHES 15 
 
 " Ines has suggested," said Roberto, " the motto in our family 
 coat-of-arms : * Glory and Grief.' >; 
 
 " Excellent, senorita," excaimed the Count. " It expresses 
 a great deal. Bien trouve! " 
 
 " And you, Seiior Bellegarde, what title would give them? " 
 asked Ines. 
 
 After thinking for a moment, Bellegarde answered: 
 
 " I would look, not for two titles, not the antithesis, not the 
 equilibrium between two ideas, but the expression of the artist's 
 intimate thought, something that will embrace both pictures 
 . . . both subjects. . . A sort of frame that could enclose both 
 canvases, presenting them together as one whole ... as the 
 lesson, as the desire, as the feeling that those pictures awake 
 in one; as a soul-cry coming from the artist himself and that 
 re-echoes powerfully in the onlookers: the joys of peace, the 
 horrors of war. . . I don't know. . . I can't find. . . 
 
 And he took off his monocle and passed his hand over his 
 brow. 
 
 " A telegram," said one of the servants. 
 
 " It is for me," said Roberto, " and it is from Alejandro! " 
 
 " From Alejandro? " asked several persons at the same time. 
 
 " Yes, he is coming ... he is at Honda. Aunt Teresa, 
 he sends his kind regards to you and Ines; a loving embrace 
 for you, mother, and something else . . . what's this? . . . 
 very bad news! look here, General Ronderos. . ." 
 
 And he handed the telegram to the General, who going over 
 to a chandelier, took out his spectacles and read slowly until 
 he suddenly frowned and crushed the paper in his hand. 
 
 " What is it? " they all asked. 
 
 The General returned the telegram and it passed from hand 
 to hand. Alejandro announced that Floro Landaburo had 
 returned from abroad, and that as he passed through the differ- 
 ent cities, he was organizing committees and addressing politi- 
 cal/ meetings. 
 
 J* He is the eternal agitator," said Roberto to Bellegarde as 
 an explanation of what was happening. " A worthless man, 
 incapable of any good . . . but quite able to set everything 
 on fire. . ." 
 
 A young soldier appeared in the drawingroom. He had a 
 

 
 16 PAX 
 
 r 
 
 wide scar on his forehead, and his manners and gestures in- 
 dicated that discipline was uppermost in his thoughts. 
 
 " Hello, Borrero! " exclaimed Roberto, " what are you bring- 
 ing us? " 
 
 The Colonel handed the Minister a telegram that read thus: 
 
 V Secretary of War: 
 Arrive making propaganda towards peace. 
 
 F. Landdburo." 
 
 General Ronderos exclaimed in a rough voice: 
 
 " It means war! ..." 
 
 " This man," added Roberto addressing the Count, " will 
 arrive at Bogota, will found a paper and agitate the country. 
 Meanwhile, Tubalcain Cardoso, another revolutionist, who was 
 in the Cuban war and is now involved in a revolution in Central 
 America, will come to invade us. . . They will find out pretty 
 soon that Cardoso, with an army of adventurers, will pene- 
 trate into the Llanos." 
 
 All conversations ceased. A horrible thought killed all joy. 
 Everybody, seized by fear, had the presentiment of a disaster. 
 
 Dona Ana, passing her trembling hand through her hair, cast 
 a horrified glance at the gray landscape, the battle-field, the 
 desert with the great black undulations where the officer, 
 stretched on the ground, was dying, abandoned near the ex- 
 tinguished fire. . . The thread of smoke, rising by the side of 
 the dying officer gave the picture an air of heartrending desola- 
 tion. 
 
 " Ah! my good friend," said General Ronderos addressing the 
 Count and restlessly pacing the room. " These rumors always 
 come at the moments of greatest abandon and joy. The thunder 
 of battles is constantly rumbling in our ears, and when the 
 country begins to recover from its misfortunes, when the future 
 smiles at us, alarms like this one," and here, he shook the 
 telegram violently, " come to shatter our hopes. / In all Colom- 
 bian homes, these alarms are lugubriously echoed. Upon the 
 happiness of work, follow terror and anguish. The revolution 
 advances silently; it is the lava that flows relentlessly in the 
 dark, seeking an outlet, and sooner or later explodes through 
 the crater." 
 
MUSIC AND POLITICS 17 
 
 Doctor Miranda, with a voice that filled the spacious draw- 
 ingroom, exclaimed: 
 
 " V#cem terroris audivimus, formido et non est pax" And 
 i fearing that the ladies had not understood, he translated: 
 I " Voices of terror reach us, fear reigns everywhere, there is no 
 ' peace. Non est pax" 
 
 "That's it!" exclaimed Bellegrade with a wide gestui 
 " That ought to be the title of those pictures : Pax! " \ 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 MUSIC AND POLITICS 
 
 GENERAL RONDEROS interrupted his walk, and standing in 
 the middle of the drawingroom, said: 
 
 " I will maintain peace at all costs! " 
 
 The light of a chandelier, striking him full, brought out the 
 lineaments of his energetic visage. The strong features, the 
 wide bronzed forehead, the bushy eyebrows, the mustache trim- 
 med over the lip, the protruding jaw, everything in that face 
 indicated a dominating soul, predestined to struggle and com- 
 mand. 
 
 " I'll vouch for it," said Roberto, " but as long as you hold 
 office, you will see how they start a campaign to oust you, and 
 then there will be war." 
 
 | " Is that possible? " asked Bellegarde. " This country is so 
 urtfortunate and so rich! It needs only peace. Surely all its 
 inhabitants, understanding their own interest, will work against 
 civil war, which brings only ruin and death." / ' * : 
 
 On hearing the last word, Dona Ana shivered and instinct- 
 tively turned to look at the picture in which Roberto had been 
 portrayed dying in the gloomy desert. 
 
 . " In these countries, my friend Bellegarde," said Roberto, 
 { " in these American countries, there are elements interested in 
 
 ; peace and elements interested in War. ... It is a queer thing! 
 Here war is the field of the weak, of those who have been van- 
 quished by life. Peace is the field of the strong, who through 
 their genius, their work and their perseverance obtain a posi- 
 tion, a fortune, a name. . . And it is very queer also that de- 
 
i8 PAX 
 
 feated revolutions strengthen, rather than weaken governments 
 against which they are started." 
 
 " Is that true? We, in Europe, will never be able to under- 
 stand these American countries." 
 
 In order to change the disagreeable subject, Roberto opened 
 a copy of La Mujer Independiente. 
 
 " My friend Bellegarde, this is a review edited by Dona 
 Aura del Campo de Cardoso. . . The very wife of Tubalcain 
 Cardoso, the famous revolutionist. . . Do you wish me to read 
 something? ' Contents: Woman in XXI century; Feminism 
 advances; Psychological monograph by Policarpa Salabarrieta ; 
 A solution through divorce; The mix-up of a Death, or The 
 Accursed Gypsy, by A. del C. de C.' ' : 
 
 Roberto closed the magazine, stood thinking for a minute, and 
 then burst into a peal of laughter. 
 
 " I understand it now; that novel is a vengeance. Yes, sir. 
 A few days ago I met Dona Aura at the Aguanueva, accom- 
 panied by some girls. . . You know that she has stuck at twenty 
 five years of age. I learned afterwards that they were in search 
 of a gypsy, a real or a fictitious one, who could tell fortunes 
 and who, as a proof of the accuracy of her forecasts, used to 
 guess some happening in the life of her customers ... for 
 example, the age. Dona Aura made pitiless fun of the gypsy, 
 but her companions forced her to stretch out her hand, so 
 that she could examine the cabalistic signs and wrinkles. The 
 gypsy seized the hand, but instead of examining it, looked at 
 the face of the poetess. ' In order to find out your age,' said 
 the gypsy, * I don't need to look at the wrinkles in your hand. 
 It is enough to look at those in your face.' ' : 
 
 Roberto opened the magazine again. 
 
 " Here are the works of Tubalcain, the editress' own hus- 
 band. Shall I read? * Political pamphlets of General Cardoso,' 
 for sale at the office of La Mujer Independiente. * My diary 
 of the campaign in Cuba, by General T. C.' ' The great Gen- 
 eral Ezeta, Saviour of San Salvador, by T. C.' ' My banish- 
 ment from Central America, decreed by the Jaguar-Panther 
 Ezeta, by T. C.' * The truth about the battle of Tazeltenango, 
 the narrative of an international revolutionist, by T. C.' * My 
 escape along the Orinoco. Fifteen days among the Gohajiva 
 tribes, by General T. C..' " 
 
MUSIC AND POLITICS 19 
 
 " How is that? . . . there are two contradictory pamphlets 
 there about Ezeta," said Doctor Miranda, stretching his hand 
 towards the magazine. 
 
 " Those two pamphlets are a whole history. It is very 
 curious how Cardoso became acquainted with the Dictator 
 Ezeta," said Roberto. 
 
 " How did that happen? " asked Dona Teresa. " It must be 
 rather amusing." 
 
 " When Cardoso, after having been defeated, left Colombia, 
 fleeing along the Orinoco, he first became acquainted with the 
 Gohajiva Indians and then sought Ezeta's friendship in Sal- 
 vador. Ezeta, very suspicious, refused to see him, but Cardoso, 
 through the Dictator's private secretary, had two pamphlets 
 given to Ezeta. They were two entirely opposite biographies; 
 in one of them, he lauded his dictatorship to the very skies; in 
 the other, with accurate data obtained among the conspirators, 
 he painted the Dictator as a monster. One was entitled : ' Bio- 
 graphy of the great General Ezeta, Savior of Salvador,' and 
 the other: ' Ezeta, the Jaguar-Panther of Central America '. . . 
 The Dictator was to chose and buy one of the Manuscripts. . . 
 Ezeta selected the apotheosis, and sent Cardoso ten thousand 
 dollars. ... A little afterwards, and in spite of the praises he 
 had written, the * international revolutionist ' joined in a con- 
 spiracy against Ezeta, was discovered, sentenced to death, and 
 he finally managed to escape from Salvador disguised as a 
 monk. . ." 
 
 " And where is he now? " asked Dona Ana with grave con- 
 cern. " Is he going to start a revolution ? " 
 
 " He left Mexico and we have lost track of him," answered 
 General Ronderos. 
 
 " And are these men, who flatter and sell their pen to foreign 
 petty tyrants, the ones that are coming to Colombia to start 
 revolutions in the name of Freedom? " asked Doctor Miranda. 
 
 " Here is another copy," said Roberto, in order to change 
 again a subject that was leading them back to the idea of a 
 civil war. " Listen, mother, listen, Aunt Teresa . . . this is the 
 great review of the poet Mata: La Pagoda de Nietzsche. . . 
 Shall I read? , . . Prose or Poetry? Ines, you choose. . . All 
 right, let it be poetry. Now, listen: 
 
20 PAX 
 
 EGYPTIAN NOSTALGIA 
 {From the Volume, Eternal Orient) 
 
 " In the grayish triumph of evanescent colors, 
 
 When issues forth the apotheosis of half tints, 
 
 I wish that the song of my lyre cease 
 
 Beside the imperturbable Sphinx that gazes, gazes, gazes. 
 
 And in the fiery sandy desert, that feigns a white dream, 
 
 To be the eternal sweetheart of the silent Sphinx. 
 
 There where the sun, burnishing its necromantic gold 
 
 Scatters the scarlet of its red hemorrhage, 
 
 Where the camels raise their long and crooked neck, 
 
 Like question marks in a great bitter poem; 
 
 And where the giraffes raise their straight necks, 
 
 Like exclamation marks in a perfect distych; 
 
 In the land of the lotus, where sleeps Rameses, 
 
 Where the river of Mud the bristling crops 
 
 Waters, and where its slime scatters through the delta, 
 
 With the ochers and yellows of its magical gamut; 
 
 There, where the palms spread their fans 
 
 And the sacred Ibis polishes its red bill. 
 
 To die where the palms lose themselves in the distance 
 
 Feigning, in the oasis, the agony of Greenness; 
 
 To die in an orgy, in an impure banquet, 
 
 Like those in which the hand writes upon the wall, 
 
 And at the clinking of the glasses and at the sound of my songs 
 
 To laugh agonizingly the Mane-Thekel Phares, 
 
 There, amid the euphonic green and the iniquitous yellow, 
 
 That the Sphinx perceives with her oblique looks, 
 
 Where the bald Triumvir, leaving Rome tra- 
 
 Versed the seas to obtain from Cleopatra 
 
 The charming aspic of her ardent kisses, 
 
 Offered in lips of myrrhic stars." 
 
 " Stop ! stop ! no more verses of that kind. No more decadent 
 verses! " shouted Dona Teresa, and all joined in noisy protest. 
 
 " No more verses? All right! Here goes some prose of the 
 same brand, but without any guarantee of good taste. It is 
 entitled: 'The Evangel of the Blasphemer,' signed by S. C. 
 Mata. Listen : ' The Superman was traveling in a desert land 
 without sun or trees. His shadow did not follow him. He 
 followed his shadow. He was crossing a bloody chaos. He 
 arrived at the gates of a city, the city of men, more monkeyish 
 than the very monkeys themselves. And the Superman said: 
 " I bring you the good news. I have killed the supraterrestrial ; 
 I have slain love; I have killed the soul." ' " 
 
MUSIC AND POLITICS 21 
 
 "No, no, my sqn! " exclaimed Dona Ana. "Don't read 
 that. . . How fearfully nonsensical! " 
 
 " Never mind," said Dona Teresa. " It is highly amusing." 
 
 " ' Pay no attention to those mendacious hermits who speak 
 to you of the supraterrestrial, of the soul, of love. There is 
 only one sovereign power; the power of genius; there is only 
 one love: the Dionysiac love.' ' : 
 
 " Enough ! That's enough ! " 
 
 But Roberto, who knew that the refutation of Nietzscheism 
 supplied an inexhaustible theme to Doctor Miranda, continued 
 unshakably in his reading, giving the Doctor a sly look. 
 
 "'There is only one God: the Superman. Don't you see 
 the corpses of the three great Dead? Does not the stench of 
 the divine things that are rotting sicken you ? Break the thongs 
 of the Despotic State. Belong not to duty but to will. Do not 
 imitate the humpy camel that obeys and drinks the dirty water 
 of the cisterns and says: " I must." Rather imitate the stub- 
 born donkey that resists his master and goes his way saying: 
 " I will." Rise, search the zenith of will. Rejoice: I bring 
 you the glad tiding : there are no longer any sinners, for I have 
 slain Virtue. There are no deceivers any longer, for I have 
 killed Truth.' 
 
 " ' Above Good and Evil, above Truth and Falsehood, above 
 those great Dead ones, there is nothing but the Superhuman 
 Ego!'" 
 
 Doctor Miranda gradually turned his head towards Roberto. 
 He listened intently to the strident phrases, stopped smiling 
 and with a nervous movement turned in his fingers his snuff 
 box, which flashed in the light. When Roberto finished read- 
 ing, Doctor Miranda exclaimed: 
 
 " It should not be allowed; it is unpardonable that such 
 things should be published! These nonsensicalities, Senor 
 Bellegarde, seem the concoctions of madmen, yet some people 
 are trying to form a school with them." 
 
 " Ah ! in France we have the same things," said Bellegarde, 
 " there we have Verlaine. . ." 
 
 " ' The Blasphemer's Evangel! ' . . . isn't that what it says? 
 . . . What does Mata know about evangels or God ... or 
 even of German or about Nietzsche? Excuse me if I become 
 a little excited. I can't stand this native Nietzschean school, 
 
22 PAX 
 
 these decadent clownish imitators of an author they do not 
 themselves understand. For they belong to those very people of 
 whom Nietzsche says that * they know little and do not learn 
 well '. . . Nietzsche was, at least a sincere man, though led 
 astray by pride. He had the style of grandiose music, some- 
 thing like a reminiscence of his former master, Wagner. When 
 Nietzsche abandoned his master, he tore a magnificent piece 
 from Wagner's cloak." 
 
 He took up the magazine, raised it to his eyes, then threw 
 it on the table disdainfully, and as if forgetting himself in the 
 vehemence of his thoughts: "A great deal of evil," he said 
 with a forceful motion of his neck and head, " a great deal 
 of evil is caused by these things. . . Though ill parodied by 
 our decadents, at bottom, Nietzsche's ideas are disastrous. . . 
 Anarchism . . . Atheism. . . . We all think thus : * Since I 
 have a soul, and since there are innumerable souls, there must be 
 an infinite fountain of love and wisdom whence we come and 
 whither we shall return.' But Nietzsche says: ' If there were 
 a God, how could I tolerate not being God myself? I, therefore, 
 declare that He does not exist.' You can see that that is the 
 paroxysm of atheist pride." 
 
 Doctor Miranda, who was always aroused from his habitual 
 moderation by the subject of Nietzsche and decadentism, paced 
 about the room, took some snuff, approached the table and took 
 up the magazine. 
 
 " But I make a distinction," he said, letting go the magazine 
 again. " I make a distinction between Nietzsche and our 
 Nietzscheists . . . the latter have never entertained a philoso- 
 phic thought, nor even a serious thought; they simply admire 
 an idol they do not know. . . . They seek popularity, advertis- 
 ing, and found pagodas merely to let the public know it. Ah! 
 Nietzsche was something different. Amidst all his horrors 
 and all his pride, he at least had the quality of that satanic de- 
 fect: contempt for popularity. He managed to isolate himself, 
 disdained applause, knew the intoxication of solitude and drank 
 of its bitterness to the very dregs, even to madness. . . These 
 Nietzscheists inspire us ... allow me to say this among our- 
 selves . . . inspire us with contempt, while Nietzsche inspires 
 us with certain surprise mingled with compassion, that com- 
 passion we feel for magnanimous characters and for overwhelm- 
 
5f 
 
 MUSIC AND POLITICS 23 
 
 ing misfortunes. . . Our pagodaists have neither intelligence nor 
 artistic form, whereas the madness of the German atheist is 
 the madness of an artist; it has a certain tragic and somber 
 beauty which endows him with the splendor of a symbol and 
 the value of an example. His life was a philosophic tragedy 
 in which he was at the same time hero, hangsman and victim; 
 a drama in which thoughts are transformed into characters, and 
 at times into specters and which one might call the drama of 
 pride, the tragedy of a mystic atheist. . ." 
 
 " Granted," said Roberto, " but . . ." he added, in order 
 to bring forth the ardent protest of the priest and to seek a 
 topic for conversation pleasing to Bellegarde, " but there is one 
 point on which you, yourself, agree with Nietzsche." 
 
 "I?" asked Doctor Miranda with astonishment, and the 
 index and the thumb with which he was taking snuff stood 
 still while he waited for a reply. 
 
 " Yes, you . . . Nietzsche could not stand Wagner . . . and 
 neither can you. . ." 
 
 " Is that true, Doctor? " asked Bellegarde. " I should like 
 to have your own eloquence so as to be able to convert you to 
 Wagner, for the music of the great master is the most idealistic, 
 the one that speaks best to the mind. He was always pre- 
 occupied with deep moral questions, and his unshakable love 
 for religious principles earned for him the terrible enmity of 
 Nietzsche. A redemption is the motif of all his works . ." 
 
 Bellegarde stopped, fearing to annoy the company with a 
 tedious subject, but Doctor Miranda invited him with a gesture 
 to continue, expressing the pleasure with which he was listen- 
 ing to his remarks. 
 
 f * There is not one Wagnerian opera where someone is not 
 redeemed. . . In Parsifal and in the Meister singers it is a 
 young man; in Tannhduser a sinner, and The Fying Dutch- 
 man, the wandering Jew. . ." t 
 
 Ines attentively followed Bellegrade's words, and at times 
 he seemed to be speaking only to her. 
 
 " I admire in Wagner," he continued, " the revolutionist." 
 And turning to Dona smiling, he added: "The international 
 revolutionist, like Cardoso." 
 
 " Oh! my dear sir! " she exclaimed tones, " don't admire any 
 revolutionists." 
 
24 PAX 
 
 " I admire the revolutionists in art, when they triumph. . ." 
 
 "And what was his revolution about?" asked the priest. 
 
 " To a philosopher, to a thinker like you, the explanation 
 must be simple, and that's why I think it an easy matter to 
 convert you. Wagner was, above all, a thinker, a philosopher. 
 The Revolution? . . ." Bellegarde looked up at the ceiling 
 and then continued: "He managed to embody in the living 
 form of a lyric drama, the most profound, the most abstract 
 thoughts. All his works are dominated by the conception of a 
 philosopher." 
 
 The priest meditated, concentrating his thoughts. Ines said : 
 
 " To be frank ... I don't understand you." 
 
 " Wagner managed to bring about a happy union," con- 
 tinued Bellegarde, " a marriage of convenience and of love, 
 between two sweethearts who had been seeking each other for 
 a long time; the marriage of Drama and Music." 
 
 " A well matched pair," said Roberto. " Both beautiful, 
 both of royal blood. ... I understand that the master also ef- 
 fected a revolution in the orchestra itself," he added, in order 
 to encourage Bellegarde. 
 
 " Oh! he is a symphonic writer without a peer; he subordin- 
 ated the human voice to the orchestra; he reserved for it elo- 
 quent phrases, passoniate impetus, lyric expansion. No one, 
 besides, knows as well as he does, the effects of each instrument. 
 He knew which instruments strike our breast with a dull thud 
 and which electrify our spinal marrow. . . At times, I listen 
 to certain passages, it seems to me that the bows of the violins 
 do not glide on the strings but on my very nerves." And he 
 continued, addressing the ladies: "We will go to the prem- 
 iere of the Opera Company, won't we? I see they are going to 
 produce Werther, by Massenet, a composer who learned from 
 Wagner the new role, the unwonted importance of the orchestra." 
 
 " All that may be so," interrupted Doctor Miranda, playing 
 with his snuff box, " but I understand that Wagner wrote for 
 artists only, and that his works cannot be understood by the 
 common people, and I believe that works of art ought to be 
 understood by all." 
 
 " That is precisely Wagner's own opinion. He maintains 
 that a work of art must come from the people and go back 
 to them. And, in order to convince you, Doctor, let me add 
 
gflr 
 
 MUSIC AND POLITICS 25 
 
 that Wagner was not only a musician, but a great poet, a 
 Christian poet. The innovator who has shown greater respect, 
 greater love for art . . . maintains with admirable valor, in 
 these times of materialism and greed, that the firmer ground 
 for man is the field of art, and that art alone makes life bearable. 
 That is my own conception of~Tite . . . and that is wKy I 
 respect and admire in Wagner the apostle who, with the power- 
 ful elements of music, gave himself up to the redemption of 
 man from material and vulgar interests, elevating him to the 
 cult of the intellect, to tha^t which the human mind holds as 
 most delicate and greatest." * 
 
 " All right, I go ovej>tb Wagner," said Doctor Miranda, 
 pocketing his snuff box. 
 
 " You speak like an ardent admirer," said Ines. " You 
 must know him thoroughly. I have not doubt you are able 
 to interpret him." 
 
 Bellegarde arose without hesitation, while Roberto, showing 
 him the piano, said: 
 
 " There is the wild beast, go and tame it." 
 ~ N ^" Of Wagner, I can't play a thing, senorita, nor can you 
 judge him except in an orchestra; but I can play by heart some 
 pieces by Beethoven, Wagner's real teacher," said Bellegarde. 
 
 Seated at the piano, with his strong and long hands stretched 
 over the keyboard and his eyes looking up, Bellegarde struck 
 a chord, then stopped and turned his head as if looking for 
 Ines. 
 
 " Although I am a bad player and I am afraid of slandering 
 Beethoven with a false interpretation, I am going to play the 
 fourth symphony in B flat, just to please you. . . It is so 
 beautiful. . . You must know the passionate motif of the 
 adagio; the melody is a love song to the countess of Brunswick, 
 the immortal beloved. At the same time that Beethoven re- 
 vealed his love through his music, he wrote her a letter. We 
 have, therefore, a double expression, in words and notes, of the 
 same feeling of intense passion." 
 
 " It would be very curious," observed Roberto, " to compare 
 Beethoven's prose with his music, the love that speaks with 
 the love that sings." 
 
 " The style is the man," said Bellegarde raising one hand 
 from the keyboard and letting it fall on his knee. " The style 
 
26 PAX 
 
 of his letters is uneven, broken up; but the other style, that of 
 his music, is superior to life and reality. After the human 
 words, Beethoven sounded a divine language. . . ." 
 
 He turned to the keyboard, and as if revealing his own feel- 
 ings, he put his whole mind and soul into the musical phrases 
 and began the piece. In the middle of it, as he was commenc- 
 ing the adagio, they heard outside the room a plaintive howl, 
 and a while afterwards, there appeared at the door a big dog 
 waving its tail and with eyes aflame. 
 
 " Be quiet, Maraton! Get out of here! " exclaimed Roberto 
 very much annoyed; and then, softening his manner, and caress- 
 ing the animal, he said in a low voice: "Are you suffering? 
 ... Do you like German music? Listen, but keep quiet. . . 
 All right, go to your own place now, go back to the garden." 
 
 The dog, now calmed, crossed the gallery and descended the 
 steps. Bellegarde, at Ines' suggestion, began anew the inter- 
 rupted passage and as he again came to the adagio and to the 
 same chord, they heard afar a heartrending howl from Mara- 
 ton, who this time appeared in the room greatly excited, and 
 without paying any attention to Roberto, stood howling at the 
 door and turned round and round panting and growling with 
 satisfaction or anger. 
 
 " Get out! " shouted Roberto trying to chase him away. 
 
 " Is he suffering? " asked Ines. 
 
 " Is he enjoying himself? " queried Doctor Miranda. 
 
 Dona Ana seemed sorry; Dona Teresa laughed. 
 
 A servant appeared, bringing two newspapers that had just 
 arrived. 
 
 " It is La Integridad! " exclaimed Roberto, somewhat vexed. 
 " Sanchez Mendez's newspaper. . ." 
 
 On hearing that name, General Ronderos, who had been talk- 
 
 Cwith the ladies, became preoccupied and sad. 
 * Sanchez Mendez," he said " was my best friend ten years 
 _ , and the worst enemy of the revolutionary party, who called 
 him then the Great Inquisitor . . . and now he has joined them 
 against me. His voice has all the prestige of great services 
 rendered, of solid culture and of a brilliant pen; but spite has 
 converted him into an agitator, a destroyer of his own work, 
 a tool in the hands of Landaburo." 
 
MUSIC AND POLITICS 27 
 
 " There is something here where my name is mentioned," 
 said Roberto, and he began to read La Integridad. 
 
 " ' The curtain is about to rise upon the last act in the 
 comedy of the elections! 
 
 " * The sleight-of-hand tricks and feats of jugglery will sur- 
 pass all expectations! The absolutists, who can never be seen 
 except in public offices and in the offices of contractors, will 
 appear in an apalling majority over the two great political 
 parties of the integros and the revaluation. 
 
 " * We shall see, therefore, elected to office, through the impo- 
 sition of political trickery, Roberto Avila and Alejandro Borja 
 and others who have no reasonable claim save their abject sub- 
 mission to the powers that be, and whose only duty will be to 
 defend or abet, at least, the exploiters of the Treasury. On 
 the other hand, General Floro Landaburo, who has been nom- 
 inated as a candidate for representative by republicans of many 
 Departments, will be defeated. 
 
 " * The enthusiastic receptions with which this illustrious 
 citizen has met on his way through the different towns, are, 
 above all, a protest against the vise-like machine that is squeez- 
 ing the life out of our country. 
 
 " ' His candidacy honors the country, because General Landa- 
 buro has always fought against the abuses of the Executive, 
 because he is not afraid of the liberty of his enemies, because 
 he is a respecter of property. 
 
 " * Such will be the result of the struggle, in uneven ground, 
 between the absolutists, whose kernel is the industrial element 
 and whose only strength is the abuse of power, and the two 
 great parties, united by a single aspiration and who form nine 
 tenths of the population: the party of the revaluation and the 
 party of the integros. 
 
 " * Vain will the efforts of Minister Ronderos prove to bring 
 us back to the Constitutional party, from which we are separated, 
 by proclaiming a union ... a mean word that does not signify 
 a coalition for the furtherance of welfare, but a call for the 
 formation of a gang of grafters. 
 
 " * The only possible and logical union is that of the republi- 
 cans supporting the antiabsolutist program inscribed in the 
 standard of the integros. . ' " 
 
28 PAX 
 
 Dona Ana, who was carefully listening to the reading, ex- 
 pressed by her sorrowful attitude the displeasure which the 
 attacks on General Ronderos, and especially those on her son, 
 caused her. 
 
 Roberto noticed this; he stopped reading and opened another 
 paper a very small sheet which also had an article marked 
 on the margin with red pencil. 
 
 They all exclaimed with alarm: 
 
 "Ah! Is it El Escorpion? ... no! no! ... goodness 
 sake! . . . don't read that! . . ." 
 
 " Just let me read this advertisement," said Roberto. 
 
 " WAR UPON THIEVES " 
 
 In order that the country may learn how some individuals 
 filch the public treasury, we will receive all kinds of denuncia- 
 tions in our offices, from 3 to 4 p. m., every day except holidays. 
 Strict secrecy guaranteed. Price: from $50 to $200, according 
 to the importance of the denunciation. 
 
 " And this poem," added Roberto, " which is against you, 
 General Ronderos, is the explanation of the cartoon which 
 I cannot show to the ladies and of why El Escorpion has 
 been sent here. 
 
 " El padre Adan comio en cueros 
 La manzana solamente; 
 Si hubiera sido Ronderos 
 Se traga hasta la serpiente." 
 
 (Starknaked father Adam ate the apple only; if he had been Ronderos, 
 he would have swallowed the serpent as well.) 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 THE CONSULTING ENGINEER 
 
 COUNT BELLEGARDE crossed the square and went over to the 
 Treasury in order to keep the appointment which General Rond- 
 eros had made with him the previous night at Dofia Teresa's 
 house. He crossed the portico of the Government Palace where 
 the afternoon sun shone brightly and passed through the row 
 
THE CONSULTING ENGINEER 29 
 
 of columns that cast their shadow on the pavement of polished 
 bricks. Coming from the heated air of the square, he felt the 
 cool atmosphere of the building as he started up the stairs. 
 As he ascended, he saw people going up and down with sheaves 
 of papers under their arms. Once in the upper floor, he heard 
 through one of the windows the bells of the street cars, the 
 hammering of the roadmenders breaking stones and the rumbling 
 of carriages. He went over to the window and took a look 
 at the city that stretched in front of him like a panorama. He 
 saw the facade of the Cathedral, bathed in the sun, the needle 
 of a pine tree, the roofs, the smoke of a chimney, and away in 
 the distance, the green mass of the mountains and a stretch of 
 blue firmament. His eyes, the experienced eyes of a traveler, 
 could perceive certain traits that impart a certain physiognomy 
 and character to things. He began to hunt for the office of 
 the Treasury. Starting along a corridor through which blew 
 an icy blast, he met several groups, clerks who went about with- 
 out hats, as if they were in their own homes, with their hands 
 in their pockets and their cigarettes in their mouths, policemen 
 with notes and books, solicitants with an air of ennui and ex- 
 pectation. At the end of the corridor, an electric light that had 
 been left lit, shone with ghastly pallor in the brightness of the 
 afternoon. Bellegarde arrived at the end of the corridor and 
 inquired : 
 
 " Where can I see the Minister? " 
 
 "Here, on the left." 
 
 He walked on, met another corridor, hesitated and repeated 
 his question. 
 
 " There, at the end," answered an official who was carrying 
 a despatch. 
 
 At the end of the corridor, behind a wooden railing, he saw 
 an usher in his office : a table, a copying press and a dilapidated 
 chair. 
 
 "May I see the Minister?" 
 
 " He won't receive any one just now, but you may speak to the 
 undersecretary, Docton Alcon," answered the usher as he strug- 
 gled with the lever of the press. 
 
 From the usher's office, one could see a series of chambers 
 at the end of which was the Minister's office. Bellegarde 
 crossed these chambers between rows of clerks bent over their 
 
30 PAX 
 
 desks. He approached and questioned a young man who was 
 deeply absorbed in the reading of a book. The young man 
 looked at him with displeasure for a moment, then leaned over 
 the book again to continue his reading. . . He was reading: 
 " He had crossed the street and was turning round and round 
 that still, dumb coupe of the Baronness, with its driver rigidly 
 sitting on the box. . ." 
 
 Bellegarde dared to ask again: " May I see the under- 
 secretary? " 
 
 " Walk in," answered the clerk, who bent his head down 
 again and continued to read L' Argent, by Zola . . . " rigidly 
 sitting on the box. A white hand lowered the window of the 
 coupe; he saluted and gallantly approached the Baronness de 
 Sandorff. ' Well, M,. Saccard,' asked the Baronness, ' shall we 
 play a game of. . .' " 
 
 " Is it in the next chamber? " asked Bellegarde. 
 
 The young man answered " Yes " with a single movement of 
 his head, so as not to miss the dialogue between the banker 
 Saccard and the Baronness de Sandorff. 
 
 In the next chamber, Bellegarde approached the table of an 
 old clerk, Don Cosme Oramas, who lowered his head and looked 
 at him smiling over his eyeglasses. 
 
 "May I see the Minister? He asked me to call on him 
 at half past two." 
 
 "Come right in; I believe he is receiving visitors to-day," 
 politely answered Don Cosme, with that smile he had bestowed 
 for half a century upon the " intimates " who called on the 
 Minister. 
 
 When Bellegarde walked away from him, the clerk exclaimed 
 with alarm : 
 
 " Half past two? It is time for my milk! " and he went over 
 to some shelves where, hidden by sheaves of documents, there 
 was a cup surrounded by small sponge-cakes. Two employees, 
 at neighboring tables, were deeply engrossed in their tasks; one 
 of them was drawing on paper with the letter head of the 
 Treasury a monogram of his own initials intertwined with 
 those of his sweetheart; the other was neatly manicuring his 
 nails with a penknife. 
 
 In the adjoining chamber, a green room with frescoes on the 
 ceiling, sat Doctor Alcon bent over a map which he was con- 
 
THE CONSULTING ENGINEER 31 
 
 suiting at a table covered with books and surrounded by chairs 
 loaded with papers. 
 
 The light filtered through two green damask curtains in a 
 high window, shining in the varnish of the maps and in the 
 molding of the shelves, and in one of the corners it illuminated 
 with livid rays the bald head of Doctor Alcon. 
 
 The undersecretary drew close to his eyes the visiting card 
 the Count handed him. With severe mien, he read: " Cte. 
 DAX BELLEGARDE Issy-sur Seine B. Hausmann, 
 144.", then, relaxing his features, blushing with feigned hu- 
 mility, he stood up to greet the Count, coughed and pointed to 
 a closed door. 
 
 " The Minister," he said, " has given me orders to show 
 you in immediately. He has been busy all morning with a 
 certain matter. Doctor Karlonoff, consulting engineer to the 
 Treasury, is now conferring with him upon that same matter. 
 They have been closeted for three solid hours. Please follow 
 me." 
 
 He opened the door, pushed his head into the next room 
 and drew back again. 
 
 " Doctor Karlonoff has just left by the other door. His Ex- 
 cellency is now alone. You may go in," . . . and bowing to the 
 Count, he let him pass, returned to his desk and again bent 
 his ivory bald patch over the papers on the desk. 
 
 Bellegarde, as he sat in front of him, found General Rond- 
 eros tired out, with an expression of exhaustion, as if crushed 
 by some gigantic task. Doctor Karlonoff had been with him 
 during three solid hours, explaining the difficulties and dangers 
 in canalizing the Magdalena River. The Minister was dis- 
 heartened, hesitating, sighing at times. He was dizzy with 
 figures and names. He wished Bellegarde to restore to him 
 his faith; he desired him to demonstrate to him that the project 
 was feasable. The Count plunged directly into the matter. 
 Although he had submitted his estimates and plans, he thought 
 it proper to go fully into some details of the scheme that had 
 brought him to Colombia; namely: the canalization and the 
 colonization. He proposed to canalize the main artery of the 
 country, the Magdalena, rendering it navigable to transatlantic 
 steamers; to drain its banks and clear them of its immense 
 forests; to cut and utilize the useful timber; to exploit the woods 
 
32 PAX 
 
 of rubber trees; to colonize these immense regions. . . The 
 " group " of financiers, " his group," the Franco-Belgian com- 
 pany, in view of the report submitted by their engineers, were 
 willing to furnish the necessary capital and had all the ma- 
 chinery ready. In a few days, the enterprise would be placed 
 on the Stock Exchanges of Paris and Brussels. " His group " 
 was only waiting for a cable. 
 
 Very methodically, the Count divided his exposition into 
 four parts. He first showed the disadvantages of the Magda- 
 lena in its present condition; then he made a scientific study 
 of its canalization; afterwards he expounded the advantage of 
 the enterprise, and, finally, he spoke of the requirements of 
 his company, " his group." 
 
 " The Magdalena is a muddy river," he said, while General 
 Ronderos, disheartened by Karlonoff, was gradually recovering 
 his faith, " with sand in a state of suspension; one of the most 
 crooked, capricious and undisciplined that I have studied in 
 America. Sometimes sluggish and almost dry, other times 
 violent and in full flood, it prevents navigation with its shifting 
 sand bars or renders it dangerous with its rapid current. It 
 is either too poor or too rich. Of earth and sand alone, it 
 washes away more than six million cubic meters, according 
 to the data I have obtained from my two assistant engineers. 
 This prodigious mass of debris torn from its banks, flows 
 towards the sea, is deposited at certain intervals and covers the 
 bottom of the stream, shaping and reshaping, at each flood, the 
 line of the stream, the talweg, the depth and the general 
 character of the river. What characterizes the Magdalena is 
 its enormous width. . . Mister Minister, kindly look at this 
 drawing the accuracy of which I can garantee absolutely . . . 
 look at these recurring curves and at this series of islands which 
 it forms in its course." 
 
 He put on his monocle, stooped over a map which he had 
 spread on the table, pointed to several black dots along a blue 
 curve and then, standing up again, he added: 
 
 " An island ought to be an exception in a well-trained river; 
 but here, islands are the rule and the river, always divided 
 into two or three arms, has a very small draught." 
 
 He stood up erect, and becoming somewhat heated, but always 
 with his well trained and harmonious voice, he went fully into 
 

 THE CONSULTING ENGINEER 33 
 
 an explanation of how the evil should be corrected and how the 
 river could be rendered navigable to steamers of deep draught. 
 He summarized what he had expounded in his two reports 
 submitted to the Treasury; the scheme was not impracticable; 
 on the contrary, he thought it quite easy provided the govern- 
 ment supported " his group." The dredgers, far too slow, were 
 not the principal factor. The whole system consisted, parti- 
 cularly, in utilizing the stream itself, narrowing it down by 
 means of skew jetties and forcing it towards the center, where 
 it would deepen its own bottom. The water, he went on, on 
 narrowing down licks the bed of the stream, sweeps the banks, 
 straightens the talweg and carries the sand to the ocean. Some- 
 times the sand, which was the cause of all the trouble, would 
 come in very useful, for it could be employed in filling the 
 marshes and swamps along the banks, thus raising them and 
 converting them into fertile and healthy fields. Why did the 
 Minister hesitate? Nothing was simpler, nothing more clear, 
 nothing so easy; that was how " his group " had canalized the 
 Mississippi and straightened the course of several rivers in 
 Argentina. At any point, according to a map which they, had 
 there on a chair, and which had been drawn right on the spot, 
 they could obtain a depth of seven meters, and that was enough 
 for any sea-going steamer. 
 
 " The company, Mister Minister, does not require any pe- 
 cuniary help of any kind or in any shape; we only ask for a 
 short lease and for some tracts of idle land. The government 
 will be a shareholder in the company, and as a guarantee that 
 work will begin as soon as the contract is signed, I will de- 
 posit one million francs in the Treasury. I confidently ex- 
 pect that the job will be finished within five years. Really, 
 Mister Minister, all we ask of the government is security and 
 peace. 
 
 ^r- " I trust to the good sense of the country. The period of 
 madness, the attempts at suicide have all passed. . . . The 
 agitators, Landaburo, Sanchez Mendez . . . are already too 
 impotent to launch the country into the adventure of war. I 
 
 / also trust in God, Count." 
 
 Ronderos, whose mind fluctuated between the doubts left 
 in it by Karlonoff and the faith inspired by the Count's ex- 
 planations, confessed himself incompetent to judge the matter; 
 
34 
 
 he wished to arrive at a Mti -.ohuum, but he 
 
 it desirable that the Count and Karlonoti should have au in 
 ul explain then respective plans to each other. He 
 pushed an electric bell and sent tor IVvtor Karlonotf. The 
 Count explained that he had no objections whatever to A 
 
 ih the " consulting engineer," but he had asked him- 
 self the question, in his own mind, who this savant with a 
 R .tan or German name might be that wa> disci: 
 criticizing the plans ot eanali^ation drawn bv the assistant on 
 mneeis and ehevked by lielle^aide himself so eaiofullv and 
 alter sueh laborious studu \ ,.ip was heard at 
 
 and there appeared the bald head and the artituial smile of the 
 undersecretary. 
 
 " Dov tor Karlonoff is here awaitm . 
 said Doctor ALon. 
 
 I'll >!>ened. The Tount, expevtiug to behold some 
 
 Russian savant, tall, of wide forehead, tan hair and ^rave 
 appearau. 'prised to see aiming into the room 
 
 a dapper little man, swarthv, of re-> and an enormous 
 
 nose that appeared larger because ot his Lu k of teeth and ill 
 hidden bv his mustaehe. Ho walked in, saluted at a distattCt 
 and with a smile of self assurance and malue, advanced with 
 minced steps, went over to >everal tables, turned over papers 
 and books, looked at several maps and finally, with a defiant 
 .nd a shake of the head, stood in front of the Count. The 
 General introduced them to each 01 
 
 vie, I \\lor v --.uloval \ 
 
 bogal, C'aptain in the Bridges and Highways corps." 
 
 \ . the Count asked with a look whether the person introduced 
 .'.ie real Karlonoff, consulting engineer, the latter hinisoU 
 explained that the name " UvKtor karloiiotl " wa> a pseudonym, 
 a nom de $uerrt with which ho used to sign his political writings, 
 his historical essays, his geographical pamphlets, his astronom- 
 ical observations, his philosophic lectures, his military tu- 
 tus some ot which," ho added with a smile, "had 
 berii stolon from him by Admiral Jurien ue .ore for a 
 
 v ballistics/' 
 
 There was brief hush, a moment of expectation, as when two 
 
 ->s swords. The Minister wont over 
 
 to hi - ind sat down, indicating to Bellegarde a large 
 
THE CONSULTING ENGINEER 35 
 
 leather-lined arm chair on his right. The Count, grave and 
 circumspect, waited for the minister to broach the subject, 
 Karlonoff dragged a chair and sat down in front of them, 
 crossing his hands over his stick. He desired to start the dis- 
 cussion right away and he began by remarking that there were 
 several errors in the canalization plan, that the plats of the 
 river had been drawn by inexperienced engineers, that. . . . 
 liut the General, with a wave of his hand, asked him to be 
 silent, and he expressed his wish that the Count should ex- 
 pound his theories first. The latter unfolded his idea very 
 slowly, very plainly, seeking the clearest terms, avoiding any- 
 thing that might appear dogmatic, always with noble and 
 sober elegance. 
 
 "The advantages? ... I have already explained them in 
 complete sketches which you have there, Mister Minister," he 
 said pointing to a large portfolio with blue covers. " But, in 
 order to make absolutely sure, I take the liberty of referring 
 you to our experience in other countries. I will call your at- 
 tention to the data my group has about the Seine, for instance, 
 which we are at present canalizing so as to make Paris a sea 
 port, as I have already mentioned. It is a simple truth that the 
 most economic transportation is by means of waterways. I can 
 translate this observation into figures; I can remember them 
 because I was a member of the commission that studied the 
 Seine and because I submitted a report to the Committee on 
 II ridges and Roads. There the average rate is one tenth of a 
 centime I am speaking of francs per ton per kilometer; 
 but let us increase this rate; let us raise it to two centimes. 
 For the 185 kilometer the Seine will have, when it is canalized, 
 and deepened from Rouen to Paris, we will have 37 centimes, 
 that is to say, 370 francs, Senor Minister, for a vessel of 1000 
 tons. We needn't compare this rate with what it would cost 
 to carry those one thousand tons by road, and which would 
 have been ... let me think ... I don't believe my memory 
 fails me ... it would have cost 45,000 francs. . . . Let us 
 compare the cost by river with the cost by rail. In the railroads 
 of our country, the average freight rate is 7 centimes, and ap- 
 plying this figure to the transportation of 1000 tons in a dis- 
 tance of 156 kilometers, we have ... let me think, Senor 
 Minister ... I remember . . . this is my business ... we 
 
36 PAX 
 
 have (and he wiped his monocle to help clear his thought) 
 we have a figure of 4080 francs, which must be increased by 
 750 francs for loading the cars, giving us a total cost of 4830 
 francs. . ." 
 
 Karlonoff, surprised for a moment by the precision and the 
 memory of the contractor, decided not to be left behind, and he 
 tried to recall some figures which, in order to display some 
 erudition, he had hurriedly read in the word CANAL in the 
 " Germanic Cyclopedia," and certain old books from which 
 he frequently borrowed information for his journalistic lucu- 
 brations. 
 
 " Here we have in front of us," continued the Count, " two 
 figures: 370 francs and 4850 francs, which represent, respec- 
 tively, the cost of transportation by two different means: vessel 
 and railroad. . . . You can easily see, Senor Minister, the 
 enormous advantages of canalization and transportation by 
 water, even when we have, as in France, the railroad running 
 along the banks of the river." 
 
 " There is no doubt about it! " exclaimed General Ronderos, 
 recovering his enthusiasm, his eyes shining brightly. " There 
 is no doubt about it. And if those advantages are so great in 
 France, they will be even greater here where our railroads, 
 which are few and deficient, charge a freight rate twice as high 
 as in Europe." 
 
 r " Cheap transportation increases intercourse," added the 
 Count, " and this intercourse, quick and economic, through 
 the main artery of the country, means life, civilization. It is 
 the only possible and certain means of progress for this country, 
 destined as it is to a great development. You are right, dear 
 Minister; railroads in this country are difficult and costly. . . . 
 In the river we have a ready-made way; we need only to perfect 
 it, to make it economical and to place it in such condition that 
 large steamers, loaded with colonists who are to people its 
 banks, may reach these rich forests and that immense and fertile 
 valley which constitutes the heart of the republic. How about 
 sanitary conditions? . . . The bed of the river once deepened, 
 and with some supplementary works, there will be no more 
 floods; the marshes will dry up, the whole region will be im- 
 proved and will become as healthy as that of the Mississippi, 
 
THE CONSULTING ENGINEER 37 
 
 which before 'my group ' took it in hand was deadly; now it 
 has an air as pure as the Bois de Boulogne." 
 
 General Ronderos, who loved Colombia deeply, felt his 
 heart beating as when he was twenty years old; his eyes shone 
 brightly; a smile of hope, of joy, bristled up his grayish 
 mustache, disclosing his worn and even teeth. . . . Yes, he 
 would carry out the work, that tremendous enterprise of redemp- 
 tion, and he thought that even if there were obstacles to sur- 
 mount, he would spare no sacrifices in order to bring to a suc- 
 cessful completion a project that was to transform Colombia. 
 Ah! to establish peace on the solid foundation of prosperity, 
 wealth, freedom and general happiness . . . after having strug- 
 gled with corrupt principles, after having struggled with pesti- 
 lential swamps . . . what happiness! what glory! Besides, 
 he thought, the public Treasury would not need to spend any 
 money; the company asked only for lands for the colonists and 
 the right of way for ships once the river had been canalized. 
 . . . Yes, he would end his days in peace, he would die happy 
 if he succeeded in linking his name to the enterprise, if he 
 even managed to see the bginning of that colonization, the 
 river with its large steamers, teeming life on its banks, the 
 forests cleared wealth, wellbeing, colonists by the million 
 enriching those immense tracts of land, banishing war forever, 
 civilizing the country, that unfortunate country which would 
 become opulent, strong, mighty and glorious. 
 
 It was now Karlonoff ' s turn to explain his ideas. During his 
 tiresome monologue, he was prodigal with gestures and attitudes. 
 Bending his head, with his hands in his pockets, he moved the 
 point of his foot; he stood erect, took one hand out of his pocket, 
 tapped on the table with his index finger, then scratched the tip 
 of his nose with it. He meditated a while, took out the other 
 hand. When he became heated, he spoke in a shrill voice. He 
 opened his arms, gesticulated with his head, with his whole 
 body. He opined that in Colombia, as had been done in France 
 when Labadria, Manier, Roals, Gourdon and four more others 
 thought of canalizing the Seine, the naval officers and the ship- 
 builders should be consulted first. 
 
 Bellegarde arched his brows in surprise; he asked if there 
 were in Colombia any naval officers and shipbuilders. 
 
38 PAX 
 
 " There aren't any," answered Karlonoff imperturbably, " but 
 they ought to be appointed ad hoc. I, as a Captain in the 
 Bridges and Fosses corps, would willingly consent to forming 
 part of such a committee and even to becoming its president." 
 
 And without paying any attention to the surprise of the Count, 
 without stopping to take breath, without a pause, for fear that 
 he might be interrupted, that his fingers might be criticized, he 
 resolutely launched into his scheme, in interminable, obscure 
 phrases, piling up abstruse technical terms, going over every 
 country, jumping from one authority to another, from one 
 century to another. Talk about the Seine canal? Ah! they 
 should not forget what the Emperor Julian had written about 
 the slope of the Seine in his Misojogon; the woods and marshes 
 of that remote age covered almost entirely the emplacement of 
 Paris in a surface of 43,665 square kilometers . . . according to 
 the corrections made from Bogota by Karlonoff himself. ... If 
 at that time it rained less than now, the mean flow of the Seine, at 
 Paris, must have oscillated between 30 and 365 cubic meters per 
 second, whereas to-day, after eighteen centuries, in the great 
 floods, it is 2500 cubic meters, which shows palpably that it was 
 necessary to raise the bottom of the river to a level of 7 meters 
 and 80 centimeters and render it navigable, like the North- 
 American lakes described by Reclus, pages 1235 to 1239, which 
 lakes are navigated at a cost of one twentieth of a centime by 
 2550 to 3825-ton steamers infinitely superior to the boats that 
 sailed the Nile, in the time of Rameses II, those happy times 
 when the Egyptians scientifically solved the intricate problem of 
 river-side colonization, for they built their houses outside the 
 reach of the floods, by means of high stockades, which stock- 
 ades were initiated by the peasants of Nantes during the XVII 
 and XVIII centuries in the dams of the Loire, a navigable river, 
 according not alone to Strabo and Caesar, but to the votive in- 
 scriptions of the sailors of the Loire during the Gallo-Roman 
 period. . . . 
 
 General Ronderos lowered his head and relapsed into his per- 
 plexity, fatigue, confusion and dizziness. Bellegarde listened, 
 with surprise at first, then with impatience, and, at last, with 
 supreme disdain, he raised his right hand to his face, took off 
 his monocle and remained for half an hour with his elbow on 
 one arm of the chair, looking vacantly into space. 
 
THE CONSULTING ENGINEER 39 
 
 ". . . And as to the plats, profiles and measurements," con- 
 tinued Karlonoff, after an hour of digressions, " which have 
 been submitted by the company, I imagine and affirm at first 
 sight, that they are full of incalculable and unpardonable errors, 
 and I base my assertion on the fact that to survey thoroughly the 
 area of a country or the slope of a river is a great deal more 
 difficult than it would seem, and in order to demonstrate this, it 
 will be enough for me to remind you that when the Franco-Prus- 
 sian war broke out there was displayed, by the Staff officers of 
 the German army, a map in which the territory was estimated 
 at 533,845 square kilometers; but as soon as the war ended 
 that disastrous war which cost France 14,533 square kilometers 
 no less an organ than the famous, but always mistaken Alma- 
 nac of the London Geographical Society, estimated the territory 
 of France at 520,443 square kilometers; so that at the same time 
 that they were paring kilometer after kilometer from France 
 (and at this point he looked maliciously at the Count) her terri- 
 tory actually kept on increasing, thanks to the erroneous and 
 barbarous computations published year after year by the 
 Annuaire des longitudes of Paris. . ." 
 
 At this moment Roberto Avila, who had arranged to go with 
 Bellegarde to see the Minister, arrived at the Government Palace 
 and hurriedly ascended the stairs. He stopped a while, fatigued 
 by the climb. While he crossed the different chambers, he was 
 thinking about that enterprise to which all his capital was tied. 
 
 As he entered the Ministerial chamber, he stopped for a 
 moment and at once understood what was taking place. The 
 General, his head bowed down, hesitated; Bellegarde was coldly 
 saying good-by; Karlonoff had triumphed, overwhelming the 
 Minister with an avalanche of queer names and abstruse 
 deductions. 
 
 " I was clearly demonstrating," said Karlonoff, thrusting his 
 hands into his pockets, " I was clearly demonstrating that, not 
 only is the canalization for ships of deep draught absolutely 
 impracticable, but that it is founded on unpardonable errors, 
 because the measurements of the heights are all wrong. I will 
 explain : it is enough to take the abcissae of two pairs of stations, 
 so that the sum of those of the second pair be equal to those of 
 the first, and joining, two by two the corresponding points by 
 
40 PAX 
 
 chords that are parallel and with their means on the same ver- 
 tical. . . . Do you follow me, Don Roberto? " 
 
 "Ah! nothing could be clearer!" exclaimed Roberto. "I 
 fancy I can see it! " And he made a sign to Bellegarde, as 
 much as to say: " Don't be impatient; wait, I'll fix this up." 
 
 Karlonoff continued imperturbably : 
 
 " But this is not all, Sefior Minister. We must look at the 
 project from the military point of view. It is dangerous, when 
 those steamers are able to sail the river, that they should be 
 allowed to come so near to the capital of the republic. The day 
 that happens, we will be lost, from the military point of view, 
 unless we manage to build, according to the tactics of Admiral 
 Fieramosca, forts with artillery of heavy caliber, that is to say: 
 Maxim guns number 48, as the ministries of War and the Navy, 
 for whom I am also consulting engineer, have advised; and for 
 this reason I think I have clearly demonstrated that the enter- 
 prise is impracticable from the military point of view. We will 
 be invaded as the Normans invaded Paris through the Seine. 
 But there is something else; this is a grave matter from the 
 point of view of Right, for the Political and Municipal Code, 
 respecting the rights of the owners along the banks of the river, 
 is entirely opposed to this kind of enterprises in articles 1893 
 to 1896." 
 
 " What articles did you say? " asked Roberto. 
 
 " 1893 to 1896 of the Political Code, repeated Karlonoff un- 
 shaken. 
 
 " I don't believe that Code has any more than five hundred 
 articles. Let's have a look at it," said Roberto, and going over 
 to some shelves, he scanned the titles. 
 
 There was an expectant silence. Bellegarde sat down; Gen- 
 eral Ronderos straightened up, anxious to see the solution of 
 this concrete point. This matter, of easy verification, was going 
 to show him whether or not Karlonoff knew the subjects on which 
 he spoke, piling up figures and names. . . . While Roberto 
 looked through the books in the shelves, in the interrogating 
 silence of the room, there came to the chamber, somewhat dead- 
 ened by distance, the noises from the square. 
 
 " * Military Code.' . . . No. . . . * Collec . . . ' Not this 
 one, either. . . ' Laws of . . . ' Here it is, General; let us see 
 now! . . ." 
 
THE CONSULTING ENGINEER 41 
 
 He opened the volume at the last page, looked at it, smiled 
 and handed it over to the Minister. 
 
 " Look here, gentlemen," he said: " the ' Political Code ' has 
 no such article 1893; it only has 378." 
 
 " I may have made a mistake in my figures," continued Kar- 
 lonoff not in the least disconcerted, " an engineer, a geologist, a 
 soldier, a geographer need not know anything about laws. . . . 
 I don't give a rap about them." And passing immediately to 
 another subject, he went on : " These plans, these maps contain 
 as many mistakes as there are lines in them. There is only one 
 real and authentic map of the river : The Military Map of the 
 Magdalena, drawn by myself and submitted to the Chief of 
 Operations in the last war." 
 
 " And, in order to draw that map, you visited those regions, I 
 suppose? " asked Roberto. 
 
 " Modern science has spared us those troubles. I can recon- 
 struct a whole region through the science of tectonics. It is the 
 anatomy of the earth. With only a handful of earth, with a 
 stone, I am like Cuvier with a bone, I can tell you depths to 
 within a few millimeters." 
 
 " All right," said Roberto, " you may not know laws because 
 they are not your specialty, but you surely know the Canal San 
 Martin; there, difficulties of a similar character were sur- 
 mounted." 
 
 " The Canal San Martin? ... Of course I do! It is twelve 
 kilometers long, but there the river is not subject to changes in 
 its bed." And again changing the subject, he continued: " We 
 have not taken into account seismology, another new science 
 which is perhaps unknown to M. Bellegarde." 
 
 " I don't know," said Roberto, stopping him, " whether the 
 Canal San Martin is twelve kilometers long or not . . . maybe 
 it is ... but I am perfectly sure although I don't know any 
 seismology, that it has four acts, six tableaux and I don't know 
 how many scenes." 
 
 "Four acts ..." interrupted Ronderos, " a canal? . . . >: 
 
 " Yes, sir, it is the name of a drama." 
 
 " Seiior Bellegarde," exclaimed General Ronderos rising, " I 
 have confidence in your project and we will sign the contract! " 
 
42 PAX 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 CONQUERORS 
 
 " ALEJANDRO, have you ever seen in Europe such a landscape 
 as this?" 
 
 " I feel intoxicated with the perfumes from this mountain." 
 
 They had left Honda at dawn, and the heavy air, the unbear- 
 able heat had given place to delightful breezes that wafted the 
 acrid odor of the barks of the trees, the smell of the mosses and 
 resins and the fragrance of the flowers hidden in the jungle. 
 
 In the silence of the early morning one could only hear the 
 horses' shoes striking the steep road, the warbling of some early 
 bird and the dropping of the dew as it trickled down the leaves 
 and fell on the road. 
 
 The dawn, the breath of the mountains, his- friends' company, 
 imparted to Roberto an exuberance of life, of strength, of 
 happiness. Truly, life is a pleasure. 
 
 They came to a clearing and saw above their heads a dome of 
 diaphanous blue. As the fog disappeared, the landscape, 
 down in the distance, appeared as if in the transparency of a 
 twilight. A new light shone; from the sea of fog emerged the 
 sharp outline of the peaks, the masses of foliage and the expanse 
 of the valley. When the fog was finally dissipated, the valley 
 appeared far away at the bottom, cut from end to end, in narrow 
 bends, by the Magdalena. 
 
 The forest awoke. There was a concert of trills and songs 
 and a fluttering of wings. The birds flew from the neighboring 
 branches, crossed the road diagonally and vanished again chirp- 
 ing among the trees. 
 
 " What happiness," exclaimed Alejandro, " to breathe this 
 damp cool air laden with the emanations from the forest, that 
 fills my lungs and intoxicates me like wine. . . . How beautiful 
 this immensity that has never been measured and is not described 
 in any guide book . . . this. . . . Hold on a moment! . . . 
 Hold on a moment! you have inspired me with a magnificent 
 . . . a sublime thought. . . . Where did we put it? ... Yes, 
 in this bag on the right hand side. ..." 
 
 He produced a silver flask, unscrewed the stopper, poured out 
 
CONQUERORS 43 
 
 some liquid and took off his hat, exposing his ruddy face framed 
 by his beard and his golden locks. 
 
 " Here is to my country, the most beautiful, the best beloved 
 of all countries ! " 
 
 In spite of his joyful tone, there was a touch of emotion and 
 tenderness in Alejandro's voice. 
 
 They continued the ascent. 
 
 " Faust, Faust," exclaimed Roberto, " you are always the same 
 . . . you are always yearning for new sensations, seeking all 
 excesses and all contrasts." 
 
 " That reminds me, sir weathervane, have you finished that 
 translation of Faust? " 
 
 " It is beyond my power; Goethe encloses the diamond of his 
 thought in the hardest of quartz. The translator has a stone- 
 cutter's job, and I was not made for that sort of work ... it is 
 more suited to the patience and the tenacity of Doctor Al- 
 con. . . ." 
 
 " Talking of something else. ... Do you know that General 
 Ronderos has slated us for the Senate? " 
 
 "No! . . . who would care for that sort of thing? ... I 
 suppose you told him that it is impossible, that we decline the 
 honor, that. ..." 
 
 " I haven't told him anything of the kind, for the simple 
 reason that we cannot abandon him in the struggle. ... He 
 himself warned me that he was not inviting us to go to Tabor 
 but to Calvary. " 
 
 They heard behind them, down the slope, the noise of rolling 
 stones and of a herd of animals struggling up the mountain. 
 They stopped and turned round to have a look. It was Casa- 
 nova, Alejandro's steward, and Wilan Gil, nicknamed Chispas, 
 General Rondero's steward, bringing fresh animals and two 
 carriage horses newly imported from Europe. 
 
 "How are the sorrels?" 
 
 They were two thoroughbreds. Under their soft shining 
 hides, one could see their veins and their powerful muscles. 
 
 " See how scared they are, walking through this wilderness," 
 said Alejandro. 
 
 " And without deigning to speak to those mules, just as we 
 noticed in El Mow, by Uncle Manuel." 
 
 They reached the height and began the descent. At the bottom 
 
44 PAX 
 
 of the hill roared a stream which rushing down to the road, 
 formed a pool and then continued its headlong course down the 
 valley. 
 
 The mules thrust their ears forward and dilated their nostrils 
 as they rushed towards the pool. The early rays of the sun, 
 shining through the tremulous transparency of the water, gilded 
 the stones at the bottom. 
 
 " You go ahead," said Alejandro to Gil and Casanova, " and 
 tell them to get our lunch ready at El Consuelo." 
 
 After changing their mounts, the stewards hastened ahead and 
 the two friends continued on their way. 
 
 " And how is business? " 
 
 "Business?" asked Roberto. "To be perfectly frank . . . 
 you know that I started in business with very little . . . almost 
 nothing. . . . Well, that little has gone on increasing . . . 
 increasing. ..." 
 
 Alejandro was on the point of saying something when a man, 
 who was traveling in a hurry, caught up to them. He gave 
 them a nasty look, with a mixture of surprise and disappoint- 
 ment, spurred on his horse and left them behind. 
 
 " Do you know him? " asked Roberto. 
 
 "No." 
 
 " He is Escipion Socarraz." 
 
 "Escipion? . . . With that air, without stopping? . . . 
 What has happened?" 
 
 " That is a story . . . which is very often repeated." 
 
 " I left him four years ago at the El Sauzal with his old man, 
 who wanted to teach him to work." 
 
 " He will never learn that, and there is not one man alive 
 who will be able to teach him, either. . . . Well, you know that 
 the poor old man, who still goes barefooted, spent the little money 
 he had saved for thirty years to send his son to college. But no 
 one could make Escipion study. He coveted honors and dis- 
 tinctions, but he would not work for them and he asserted that 
 the professor disliked him because he was poor and that the rich 
 students were favorites. He was expelled from college because 
 he started I don't know what revolt. He went home saying that 
 he did not care to study any longer and that he was anxious to 
 start work right away. The old man gave him all he had, and 
 Escipion made it vanish in quick time. He asked for more 
 
CONQUERORS 45 
 
 money; the old man refused it. Escipion forged his father's 
 signature trying to get it; his father, when he discovered the 
 crooked deal, threw him out of the house." 
 " And now?" . . . 
 
 " Can't you guess ? . . . Now he is an aggressive and humor- 
 *) ous journalist; he writes for El Escorpion. . . . No, he does not 
 / write. He is the responsible editor. He lets others write and 
 \ he faces the music and answers for everything. . . . The title , 
 of the paper will show you its aims. ... I bet he is on his way * ' 
 to meet Landaburo and place his paper and himself at his dis- 
 posal." 
 
 V^ " No one would benefit more by war than Escipion. . . . Men 
 ^of his type obtain through our revolutions, at one jump, as if\ 
 , by magic, the social position, the wealth and the celebrity that 
 / others only reach through great efforts, after a life of arduous 
 f and meritorious toil." _,^/ 
 
 \^ " Those are Landaburo's men, his future soldiers, his future 
 captains, and . . . believe me, it will be a terrible army, for 
 they cannot lose anything by defeat, whereas they can gain every- 
 thing if they triumph." 
 
 For a long time they continued in silence along their way with 
 their heads hanging down. Their enthusiasm was disappearing 
 at the prospects of war. 
 
 Suddenly Alejandro pulled up the reins, and looking at his 
 friend fixedly, he said : 
 
 " Let us talk again about your cousin Ines. ... Has the 
 wedding been arranged yet? No? When I went away, you 
 were full of enthusiasm. ... Is she as beautiful, as aristocra- 
 tic, as discreet as ever? " 
 "No. . . ." 
 "No? How is that?" 
 
 " No; she is now more beautiful, more aristocratic, more dis- 
 creet than ever." 
 
 " And you love her . . . and she returns the compliment. So 
 you are getting married, at last ... No no. You are always 
 like a butterfly; you'll neither finish the translation from Goethe, 
 nor Don Melchor's biography, nor your colonial studies, and 
 you will not complete one sonnet in your life and you will not 
 marry Ines." 
 " Maybe." 
 
46 PAX 
 
 " Look here, I am rather pleased at that. Ines is not for you 
 and you are not for Ines." 
 
 " Well, there is not a woman so much like me as she is," 
 replied Roberto enthusiastically. " I feel that when I am with 
 her. Same tastes, same temperaments. ..." 
 
 " Exactly! a couple of dreamers, a couple of wills o' the wisp. 
 That will never do! They say that two strong wills should not 
 be united, nor two weak ones, either. You need another kind of 
 woman. You must oppose stern reality to your dreams, and 
 resolution to your hesitancy. For a complicated nature like 
 yours, you need a simple, unsophisticated, practical, primitive 
 nature, like that of a girl who came up the river with me. . . . 
 You say I never remember you? . . . Well, I thought of you 
 when I saw that girl. She comes with her father, a millionaire 
 who is going to settle down in Bogota. That girl certainly 
 would suit you. . . ." 
 
 "Nothing doing! A scientific marriage, according to pro- 
 gram, according to schedule. ... A mariage de convenance? 
 . . . that won't suit me. If I ever get married, it will be on the 
 spur of the moment." 
 
 " Even her name is pretty," insisted Alejandro. " Lola . . . 
 Lola Montellano." 
 
 " Montellano! " exclaimed Roberto, arching his brows with 
 displeasure. " He is the very man who has bought our house, 
 through an agent." 
 
 " Did you sell your house? " asked Alejandro with a mixture 
 of surprise and regret. " Well, that is an argument in favor of 
 what I was telling you. Of the vital money question, you only 
 know one side: you know how to spend it." 
 
 "And what about yourself? " Roberto questioned ironically. 
 " Ah ! I respect in you the master who has the authority of ex- 
 perience. . . . You will have to sell half of Sauzal and Ceba- 
 deros to defray the expenses of your last trip and of the contents 
 of those boxes there ... I can guess," he continued, pointing to 
 the ten mules that carried Alejandro's baggage, " that you have 
 there, tapestries, bronzes, works of art, all the surprises that you 
 have promised me ... I can tell you right away who your 
 buyer will be. It would be very funny if it were that same 
 Montellano. I guess the father will buy your estates, and I 
 recommend that you marry his daughter. ..." 
 
CONQUERORS 47 
 
 " That Montellano . . . you will meet him to-morrow, per- 
 haps to-day. . . . He has amused me very much during the 
 voyage. There is a strong contrast between his method of seeing 
 and feeling things and our own w^iy; but he is not a man to be 
 laughed at; he is a formidable fighter, a winner. He has made 
 a fortune by dint of muscle and brains . . . through hard work, 
 as he says. Some one has told me the story of his life. He 
 arrived, twenty years ago, at the forest of Taguate, with only 
 his wife, an ax in one hand and a fixed idea in his head, namely, 
 to get rich. He cleared the forest tree by tree and snake by 
 snake and . . . but you'll hear him tell you about it. ... At 
 the end of ten years, those mountain sides were covered with 
 fields of grazing grass and sugar cane. In order to get his mill 
 going, he diverted a stream that passed through the town. The 
 citizens protested; they were dying of thirst. It was then that 
 a struggle started between the town and the mill, and that 
 struggle is still going on. Sometimes the citizens, armed to the 
 teeth, attack the one hundred men at the mill, beat them and 
 set fire to the sugar plantations. . . . Other times Montellano 
 sweeps down on the town, the fight begins, swords flash in the 
 sun, his men win, blood flows freely . . . and the water also 
 flows through his mill. One month, only one month of grinding 
 at the mill and the safe is full again. After his strokes with 
 the ax, he tries some financial strokes. He is the greatest buyer 
 of real estate in those regions. Finally, he has decided to invest 
 his money in houses and estates . . . and he comes to exercise 
 his talents, his energy, his audacity in a far wider field: he 
 comes to conquer the capital." 
 
 " So that the girl," said Roberto sarcastically, " has most ex- 
 cellent qualities. She is hardworking and a good housekeeper." 
 
 " Come on, let us talk seriously. I don't recommend you that 
 girl because of her money. ... Of course not! One ought to 
 be the master, not the slave of money. . . . But you really need 
 some one that will take advantage of your initiative and talent, 
 not for the benefit of others but for yourself. She possesses 
 precisely what you lack: ambition, a will that will guide you, 
 that will force you to think of the realities of life, that will make 
 you understand your duties." 
 
 "My duties? ... Ah! yes, any one who marries her will 
 have plenty of duties." 
 
48 PAX 
 
 " No, she will make the yoke easy to bear; you'll manage to 
 shape her to suit your fancy." 
 
 " Yes, any one who marries her will have plenty of duties, 
 for father-in-law Montellano will get mixed up in his real state 
 affairs. . . . Thanks! I must decline the girl. . . . How could 
 I leave Ines ? And now even less than ever. I would be guilty 
 of desertion in the face of the enemy! " 
 
 " Enemy? . . . Who? ... A rival? ..." 
 
 " You'll make his acquaintance and he'll be a great friend of 
 yours. . . . He is a man who maintains that the only aim in life 
 is art ... a stubborn Wagnerian who admires in the Master, 
 rather the apostle of art than the artist that he was. He is a 
 dangerous rival. You can easily see how much you and Ines 
 will like him, with those ideas of his. ... I have never seen 
 in any one such a perfect balance between the head and the 
 heart. . . . You see, I can do him justice. . . . He has even 
 conquered me. ... I have risked in his enterprise all that I 
 have, all that remains to me, because he is a great contractor." 
 
 " And what is his name ? " 
 
 "Bellegarde?" 
 
 " I know him by name. I learned that he was coming to 
 Colombia and that some friends had given him letters of intro- 
 duction for Aunt Teresa." 
 
 " And that's why she invited him to dinner on New- Year's 
 day. . . . That very night I noticed that Ines managed to melt 
 the ice of which he is made up. ... Although he does not seem 
 to have ever loved any women except those on pictures or in 
 statues, I noticed certain signs and gestures that showed me he 
 is not indifferent to living beauty." 
 
 " And what did you see ? " 
 
 " I repeat, almost imperceptible gestures, tones of voice, fur- 
 tive glances." 
 
 " And is that all?. . . That isn't much, even for an Othello." 
 
 " There is something more serious than that. I was standing 
 near the piano, besides Ines; there was a mirror in front of me, 
 and without his suspecting anything, I saw him approach a table 
 on which Ines had left a bouquet of Castile roses and I saw him 
 take up two or three and conceal them furtively." 
 
 " Is that so? . . . I am very glad of it ! And I hope Ines will 
 
CONQUERORS 49 
 
 respond to his affection. . . . And what about his enterprise? " 
 
 " As I told you last night, Bellegarde has a redeeming idea, a 
 colossal project, the canalization of the Magdalena and the 
 colonization of the forests on the banks of the river. The con- 
 tract with the government has already been signed." 
 
 "That's great!" exclaimed Alejandro. "I think the idea 
 is admirable." 
 
 " Yes, admirable, not only for the country generally, but for 
 ourselves particularly," added Roberto with increasing enthu- 
 siasm. " I told you that we have sold our house, partly to pay 
 our debts and partly to buy some shares in this enterprise. . . . 
 You also should buy a few shares. I have asked Bellegarde 
 to reserve some for you. Ah! you shall see! We'll be rich 
 . . . no, not rich, millionaires." 
 
 " And have you paid for the shares? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " So that you have burned your ships? All your future, all 
 your happiness is tied to the success of this enterprise." 
 
 " Everything. On it depends my mother's peace of mind, my 
 position in life, the fulfilment of my ambitions, my marriage. 
 ... I have staked everything on one card." 
 
 " Yes, I will also take some shares," exclaimed Alejandro, 
 glancing at the vast panorama with an expression of triumph. 
 " I will also take some shares ! . . . And while you help Belle- 
 garde at Bogota, I will come to these forests and use up my 
 energy, this excess of vigor which constitutes both my happiness 
 and my misfortune. ... Ah! we'll accomplish wonderful 
 things! . . . Yes, I'll sell Cebaderos and buy some shares. . . ." 
 
 Suddenly, Roberto made a gesture of disillusionment. 
 
 " Wonderful things? ... Ah! if there were only peace! . . . " 
 
 " There shall be peace. It is true that Landaburo has gone 
 up the river haranguing all the towns on his way. It is true 
 that Cardoso, according to a rumor along the coast, has been 
 sneaking along the frontier; but the country wants peace. . . . 
 Landaburo's colossal vanity, Sanchez Mendez's spite, the em- 
 bition of Cardoso, and Polanco, Socarraz's jealousy ... all will 
 go up in smoke and will vanish before the breezes of progress 
 and wealth. The nation will finally come to know those men 
 and learn to despise them. Ourselves, under the leadership of 
 
50 PAX 
 
 General Ronderos, will exert our utmost energy against those 
 barbarians and against wild nature. . . . This enterprise must 
 be carried out, and it shall be carried out." 
 
 As he spoke, his faith, his enthusiasm, his warmth revealed 
 his true self. His athletic body seemed to emanate will and 
 power. In his blue eyes shone the spark of madness which in- 
 spires to impossible adventures and gigantic enterprises. 
 
 " Yes, I'll go to those forests; I'll banish the crocodiles from 
 the river; I'll build a great port. Where the tigers roar, the 
 locomotives shall whistle; where there is nothing but an im- 
 penetrable jungle, cities shall arise." 
 
 They had arrived at another summit; they turned round and 
 contemplated the vast horizon. 
 
 They continued on their way, intoxicated with their own 
 ideas, discussing details, peering into the future, outlining their 
 dreams of struggle, prosperity and progress. Yes, they would 
 achieve the conquest of those immense forests, impenetrable, full 
 of swamps, inhabited by wild beasts. The river, converted into 
 a deep channel, would allow the big steamers to pass with their 
 crowds of immigrants and would go back again with the produce 
 of those fertile regions. A world would awake there, a world 
 that had been divined and discovered, but had remained uncon- 
 quered. And from that intact, virgin world, full of incalculable 
 treasures hidden in the shadow of its forests, there would issue 
 a hubbub of life, a hymn of resurrection, a clamoring of bells 
 and anvils from the new towns. Busy cities, throbbing with 
 life would emerge from the smiling plantations, and amidst the 
 thundering of industry, the humming of commerce and the roll- 
 ing of gold, millions of men, happy, rich and enjoying peace, 
 would bless and acclaim the founders of their prosperity and 
 greatness. 
 
 And the two men, descendants of the Spanish conquerors, feel- 
 ing within them the awakening of an instinct for noble adven- 
 tures and gigantic conceptions, intoxicated by the endless hori- 
 zon, stimulated by the perfumes of that tropical morning, ex- 
 tended their arms in a wide gesture of dominion, hope and 
 victory. 
 
HAPPENINGS AT THE INN 51 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 HAPPENINGS AT THE INN 
 
 THEY had almost reached the inn, when Roberto shouted with 
 surprise : 
 
 "What's that?" 
 
 In the middle of the square, in front of the inn, two men, face 
 to face, were challenging each other; one of them, slender, swar- 
 thy, with a black beard, held a club in one hand; the other, big, 
 fat, cross-eyed, tightly clutched a razor. Through one of the 
 windows peered the panic stricken face of a girl. 
 
 " Be quiet! " shouted Alejandro. " Be quiet, Escipion! . . . 
 What's the matter, Milan ? " 
 
 The two warriors, the reporter of El Escorpion and General 
 Ronderos' steward, after casting a murderous glance at each 
 other, a look with which they seemed to postpone their quarrel, 
 withdrew. 
 
 A plump woman issued from the inn. She greeted the travel- 
 ers joyfully and then began to pour forth complaints. Those 
 two young men gave her no peace at all. . . . She was quite 
 happy at Sabana, at El Sauzal, but she had had to move. There 
 was a quarrel like that one every week; all because of her 
 daughter Bibiana, who did not love either one of them or loved 
 them both. . . . Finally, she had set up her inn there, far away, 
 but the devil brought the two lovers after her daughter. . . . 
 Some fine day there would be an accident ! . . . 
 
 " The razor ... the club ..." laughed Alejandro remem- 
 bering Roberto's fits of jealously. " How is that? ..." 
 
 ".Get off your mules," said the innkeeper. " Come and get 
 your lunch, for if you don't hurry. ... I am going to have a 
 lot of people to-day." 
 
 They went in. At the table, with his back to the door, a man 
 was hastily swallowing a dish of eggs. Above his white coat 
 could be seen his neck and his bald head, red and greasy. 
 
 " My dear Gonzalez Mogollon," said Alejandro, throwing his 
 arms from behind around the neck of the man. " You here? " 
 
 " Yes, my friend. How glad I am to see you! Four years 
 without seeing you! I knew you had come up the river on 
 
52 PAX 
 
 board the Panchita Stevenson. Where did you leave the Sisters 
 of Charity? I came here to meet them, because, you know, my 
 life is devoted to the poor. ... I don't want to make a noise 
 with my affairs," he added in a droning voice and gesticulating 
 furiously, " but I may tell you that to-day I have three plans 
 and one project on my hands. Look at this piece of ribbon in 
 my watch chain; I tied it there so that I could remember not to 
 let General Landaburo go by without speaking to him about an 
 agreement between the club La Revaluation, of which he is the 
 leader, and that of La Integridad, to which I belong. They 
 tell me that he is in a good frame of mind, and that he is preach- 
 ing peace. Look at this piece of cotton I have in my ear; it is 
 to remind me that I must found here, as I have done at other 
 inns, a series of moral readings, compulsory and gratis ... a 
 practical idea for education and uplift. While the guests eat, 
 whether they will or not, I get them a reader who entertains them 
 with the most edifying literature. Besides, I am waiting for 
 the Sisters of Charity, to see if they will take charge of the 
 Teaching Hospital, another idea of mine, a practical idea, abso- 
 lutely practical. And, mind you, I don't speak about it because 
 it concerns me, for my thoughts are always on heavenly things." 
 
 " You are always so busy, Seiior Gonzalez, with hundreds of 
 plans in your head at the same time." 
 
 " My friend, everybody curses Gonzalez Mogollon, but I 
 always win my point." 
 
 " Who did you leave behind on the road? " added Gonzalez. 
 
 " I left behind the two Sisters, with whom I was very friendly 
 during the journey," said Alejandro walking up and down the 
 hall. 
 
 " And Landaburo? " asked Gonzalez. 
 
 " Oh, yes; he also remained behind. He could have arrived 
 yesterday, but he stopped at Honda, doing some propaganda 
 work, spouting against the policy of the closed door and against 
 the white terror and about the rights of the people and the law 
 number 22 with its iniquitous paragraph, but . . . withal 
 preaching peace, a peace after his own fashion." 
 
 " I bet my head," roared Gonzalez Mogollon, striking his own 
 neck with the edge of his hand, " yes, my head, that before 
 fifteen days I have made the leaders of the two parties come to 
 an agreement. I have already arranged a banquet. . . . Landa- 
 
HAPPENINGS AT THE INN 53 
 
 buro said peace? . . . Then we shall have peace for twenty 
 years." 
 
 " Talking about actors," said Alejandro, " the Opera Company 
 is coming." 
 
 " And the pri . . . ma don . . . na," interrupted Roberto 
 sneeringly. 
 
 " Yes, man, a marvel, a charmer. Even her name is charm- 
 ing: Rondinelli, Swallow. If you could only hear her in Aida, 
 in the final duet with Malatesta." 
 
 " Malatesta . . . Rondinelli . . . Opera," added Gonzalez in the 
 attitude of a man who is watching somebody. " I'll get the 
 hold of them. . . . I'll squeeze them . . . you'll see how I get 
 a benefit night out of them for my Teaching Hospital . . . and 
 so that I won't forget, I'll undo this button in my waistcoat." 
 
 " Look, Roberto," said Alejandro in low tones, " There you 
 have Montellano's daughter." 
 
 "The millionaire? . . . yes, yes," interrupted Gonzalez with 
 a threatening and malicious gesture, " even if he swears and 
 comes away with his non serviam, I must get twenty thousand 
 dollars out of him for the Society for Compulsory Salvation . . . 
 and about thirty thousand for the hospital I have already men- 
 tioned." 
 
 Montellano's spurs resounded on the cobblestones, and with 
 his legs wide open, so as not to trip, he went over to speak to the 
 landlady about the lunch. 
 
 Lunch was served very shortly after, and with appetizing 
 viands the travelers restored their forces, exhausted by hunger 
 and the early start. 
 
 After lunch, Montellano, still wearing his riding coat, his 
 spurs and his hat, leaned on a stool against the wall and gave 
 himself up to the enjoyment of a quiet digestion. Almost asleep, 
 with his eyes half closed, he was thinking of his estate, La 
 Danta, the sugar mill, the bloody fights for the water, the river 
 of honey, the river of gold. He thought of the other properties, 
 in the warm lands and in the cold lands, of the money loaned out, 
 of the tardy debtors, of the business transactions Roberto had 
 mentioned, of the probable yields of a certain property, of the 
 new business that was awaiting him at the capital, of the new 
 house he had bought without seeing it. And as he thought of 
 these things, he faintly perceived the objects that surrounded 
 
54 PAX 
 
 him: the mules stamping on the stones while they chewed their 
 fodder, a brooding hen, scratching in the grass, followed by her 
 chicks. He heard the noises of the inn, of a monotonous conver- 
 sation and of tin whirh was being trailed around by a boy, and, 
 drowning all these noises, enveloping everything in a soothing 
 lullaby, came the murmur of the earth, a murmur made up of the 
 roaring of the streams, the silky rustling of the banana trees and 
 the sleepy song of the cicadas. Suddenly, to that symphony 
 was added the thunderous snoring of Montellano, interrupted 
 now and then by incoherent words: one hundred thousand . . . 
 double the rent ... go on with the harvest . . . not one cent 
 less. . . . 
 
 Meanwhile, Dolores went out to stretch her legs, holding up 
 her riding habit. She wished to take a look at the road they 
 were going to follow, and at one side of the house, she saw the 
 narrow steps of the road higher up, in the frigid atmosphere, 
 the peaks of the mountain range, on which rested threatening 
 clouds. Then she went over to the other side of the house 
 and glanced at the road they had left behind. She moved a 
 few steps and stood at the edge of a steep bank, over the warm 
 earth below. Near her, the dry leaves were shaken by some 
 lizards. The top of a palm that grew at the bottom of the 
 precipice, waved like a fan at her feet, and among its leaves 
 flashed a bunch of red fruit. From the trees hung the trans- 
 parent red and purple bells of some creepers. An enormous 
 butterfly, with its velvety wings shining in the light, crossed in 
 front of her. 
 
 " I was right," said Alejandro, leaning against the frame 
 of the door and looking at Dolores. " Look, Roberto, look 
 at that rosy face, look at that vigorous body . . . and above all, 
 look at those eyes." 
 
 " Yes, they are full of determination and fire." 
 
 From her high observation point, Dolores glanced at the 
 landscape and she saw the deep wide valley extending as far 
 as the horizon as if embracing half a continent. She trembled 
 to see at her feet the tops of the intertwined trees waving to 
 and fro, displaying, when their branches parted, lights and 
 shadows and the roots, trunks and creepers that coiled like 
 snakes fighting with each other at the bottom of the precipice. 
 In successive waves, forest follows forest, until the waves disap- 
 
HAPPENINGS AT THE INN 55 
 
 pear in the distance. The nearest forest shines in all the 
 splendor of its red flowers and the vivid green of its foliage. As 
 the forests disappear in the distance, the colors become dulled 
 and mingle with each other. Only at intervals can be seen the 
 fans of the palm trees, the yellow flowers of the guaduales 
 and the black patches of the cuttings and the clearings. 
 
 From the 'river, as it flows through the burning sand, rises 
 a vapor that floats along with the stream, and through this 
 veil, torn at times by the breeze, may be seen the flash of 
 the water. 
 
 Standing out against the sky, the cone of Tolima displays 
 its pearly shadings and the white cap on which fall cascades 
 of carmine and gold. An intense light, a tropical light, with 
 streaks of red, yellow and green, floods everything in a riot 
 of color. 
 
 Roberto, who also wished to admire the landscape and at 
 the same time to make the acquaintance of Alejandro's Lola, 
 approached the edge of the precipice and let his eyes wander 
 over the magnificent landscape. He remained there as if in 
 ecstasy, charmed by the sunshiny morning and enjoying it with 
 his whole being, which in those moments became so sensitive 
 that it vibrated at the slightest sensations. The leaves rustled. 
 Dolores turned her head around and smiled. Roberto, very 
 courteously approaching her, uttered a few formal phrases which 
 did not displease her in the least. She encouraged him to pro- 
 long a conversation in which Roberto had an opportunity 
 to display his wit and cleverness and all the treasures of 
 his fantasy. 
 
 A merry chorus interrupted their conversation. 
 
 Noisily, with light colored dresses, decorated with flowers, 
 their hats over one ear and a smile under their musketeer 
 mustaches, the men of the Opera Company chorus came out into 
 the square. Behind them came the tenor, Malatesta, majes- 
 tically wrapped in a Scottish plaid that covered the crupper 
 of the mule. 
 
 "All hail, Radames! " shouted Alejandro, humming the 
 march from Aida. 
 
 " La-ri-la-ri . . . Salute, caro Alessandro! " answered the 
 tenor in a thunderous voice, swelling out his shirt with his 
 powerful lungs. He took off his hat, wiped his brow and his 
 
56 PAX 
 
 brown locks with his handkerchief, rubbed his broad neck and 
 stared at Alejandro with his olive colored pupils. 
 
 " Cuanto caldo! . . . Heavens! How hot!" he exclaimed. 
 
 Madame Rondinelli came into the square and stopped her 
 mule. 
 
 " Eccola qua! " said Roberto, sticking his elbow into Ale- 
 jandro's ribs. "Really, a beauty! Let's help her to get off 
 her mule." 
 
 " Go on! You'll find that she has one of those heads you 
 have admired a hundred times in the canvases of the Venetian 
 masters." 
 
 Roberto went over near her and admired the elegance of 
 her tall well-built figure and the beautiful neck with its 
 sculptural curves. Her features had a rhythm of lines in 
 which one could see a lack of thoughts and worries, and her 
 eyes had the placidity of those of a doe. Her mouth, through 
 which flitted a disdainful smile, was very enticing and charm- 
 ing. 
 
 " Alessandro! Alessandro! Cuanto e bella la tua terra, 
 ma e terribile! * Precipices! Precipices! I was crying, cry- 
 ing . . ." said Madame Rondinelli, looking at Roberto with 
 her eyes distended by fear. " This is a treacherous mule. At 
 last I am on firm ground ! Oh ! Malatesta e cascato per terra 
 tre volte, ed io rideva ha! ha! ha! " and she walked over to the 
 inn arm in arm with Alejandro. 
 
 Panting, she threw her hat to one side. Roberto, following 
 her, observed the unconscious arrogance and haughtiness of her 
 movements, the wide gestures in which her enormous red shawl 
 waved like a rich purple mantle and fell in wide folds that 
 reminded one of the attitudes of a tragedian. As she spoke 
 to Alejandro, in empty chatter, she moved her head, showing off 
 the sculptural curves of her neck. Over the warm whiteness 
 of her skin floated little locks, rebellious rings with amber 
 glints and flashes of flames, and a magnificent tress, rising from 
 the back of the neck, twisted and curled itself up on top of 
 the head. 
 
 1 Italian: Alexander! How beautiful your country is, but how aw- 
 ful! [Four lines later] Oh! Malatesta fell to the ground three times, 
 and how I laughed! 
 
HAPPENINGS AT THE INN 57 
 
 They crossed the square, and when they reached the shadow 
 of the inn, the noise of horses hoofs coming from the road 
 made them turn round. 
 
 A very thin individual, of livid face and lusterless eyes, 
 sweating and wearing a velvet waistcoat and very long hair, ar- 
 rived at the inn. 
 
 " Alejandro," said Roberto in ironical tones, pointing towards 
 the new arrival, " let me introduce you to the poet Mata, editor 
 of La Pagoda de Nietzsche; one of our notables . . . one of 
 Colombia's hopes ..." 
 
 "Thanks, thanks," said Mata alighting, "thanks; only one 
 little volume of Nitroglicerinas which have been quoted in all 
 the American papers, including La Abeja, of Tehuantepec. If 
 you insist," he added with a frown of inspiration, " I will re- 
 cite to you my verses of the last number of La Pagoda. I'll 
 go over the last verses, the ones that have been applauded 
 most. 
 
 " I would like, in my tomb, under lotus buds, 
 To drink the shadow among mummies of immovable eyes." 
 
 " My friend," interrupted Alejandro very much annoyed, 
 " you so young, yet thinking of death? " 
 
 " Yes, sir. Death is my beloved, my eternal sweetheart, as 
 I say in my next volume: Amor Dionisiaco" and he con- 
 tinued : 
 
 " Let, then, my corpse be covered with the sands of the Nubian 
 
 Strand, like the pleats of a fair shroud, 
 
 And instead of priests of hypocritical sighs, 
 
 Let raucous bonzes read their prayers from their papyri." 
 
 He halted. 
 
 "Ah! a great idea! . . . I'll leave this poem right here, in 
 the album of El Consuelo. . . . Here, landlady, bring me the 
 album! " and he wrote down: 
 
 " To my unforgettable friend General Landaburo, whom I 
 came to meet on an important political mission: 
 
 " Instead of a cross and a Latin inscription, I want magnificent 
 Signs on my gravestone with yellow hieroglyphics. 
 
58 PAX 
 
 Instead of the requiescat, in Gothic characters, 
 I want the suggestive demotic characters. . . ." 
 
 When he finished writing, taking advantage of a moment 
 when no one was looking, he took out a little syringe, pulled up 
 one leg of his trousers, and closing his eyes and biting his 
 lip with pain, he injected some morphia into his calf. 
 
 As he bent down, Mata dropped some printed sheets from 
 his pocket. Roberto picked them up: they were the proofs of 
 La Pagoda de Nietzsche, with an account of the " splendid and 
 popular " reception of General Landaburo at El Consuelo. . - 
 
 "Look here," said Roberto to Alejandro, "here we have 
 the account of a meeting. A meeting with speeches and every- 
 thing, right in this place, to-day, a meeting that has not taken 
 and never will take place. ... Ah, Landaburo and Mata . . . 
 that's a fine couple for you. . . . See, the poet is now in the 
 next room, nailing Landaburo's photo on the wall with the help 
 of Escipion Socarraz." 
 
 The Sisters of Charity arrived and crossed the square. 
 Gonzalez Mogollon went forward to meet them. 
 
 Alejandro was seized by a deep emotion and became very 
 gloomy. 
 
 " Is that sister, so young and distinguished," asked Roberto, 
 "the little marchioness of Montemar? " 
 
 And Roberto admired the tall figure, the queenly carriage, 
 the ascetic paleness, the fascination of her blue pupils, the 
 imperturbable calmness of eternity that was revealed by her 
 whole person. 
 
 Roberto was going to continue, but he was interrupted by a 
 tremendous racket. 
 
 " Hurrah for General Landaburo! " shouted Mata when he 
 heard the clatter of horses' hoofs in the court. On hearing him 
 shout, all the travelers came out and they beheld a man of mili- 
 tary aspect with gauntlets and riding boots, seated on a red 
 velvet saddle with yellow fringed trappings and pistol cases. 
 He rode a horse who wagged his tail furiously as he felt the 
 spurs on his sides and from whose mouth issued blood-tinged 
 foam. 
 
 " Hurrah for the immortal Landaburo ! " yelled Socarraz. 
 
 The horseman twirled his mustache nervously, sat up straight 
 
HAPPENINGS AT THE INN 59 
 
 on his saddle in a heroic pose and cast a conqueror's glance on 
 the group composed of gentlemen, chorus people, Sisters of 
 Charity, servants and grooms. 
 
 " General Landaburo! " exclaimed Mata, coming forward 
 with a glass in his hand and running an imminent risk of be- 
 ing squashed to death by the restless horse, " allow me, in the 
 name of La Pagoda de Nietzsche and of the Revaluation, to offer 
 you this glass of welcome. . . . Hurrah for the hero of our 
 ideal! Hurrah for the eminent republican! Hurrah for the 
 scourge of Cesarism! Hurrah for the terror of the grafters! 
 Hurrah for the future founder of the Republican party of the 
 Revaluation! " 
 
 Landaburo tried to calm his steed, accommodated himself 
 in the saddle, threw out his chest, extended his hand, in 
 which shone a silver handled whip, made a sweeping gesture, 
 smiled, fixed his eyes far away, as if he had a sea of heads 
 in front of him, and began to speak as if he were at a 
 review. 
 
 "Soldiers! . . . I mean citizens, and ladies: 
 
 " I can see in your moist eyes the satisfaction you feel at 
 finding me once again in your midst, after a year or more of 
 absence from this country, which I would call Mother country, 
 although here our rights are denied us, our rights which we 
 should never let sink into oblivion. 
 
 "I am addressing you at this time, although we are with 
 the foot in the stirrup, so to speak, because it would appear 
 very strange that a man of my fame, and who has rendered 
 such invaluable services to the great cause of the Revaluation, 
 should pass by without a word to those who, without distinc- 
 tion of race or nationality, are listening to me so courteously. 
 It would be an unpardonable sin on my part, and one for 
 which I would never forgive myself, should I not address a 
 few words to the neutral and passive masses that are listening 
 to me and that live in a continual struggle for their daily 
 bread, born for and living in servitude, like feudal children 
 of the glebe, at this period of exclusivism when the policy 
 of the closed door rules the land. Yes, although the supporters 
 of the government and the government themselves live in Asiatic 
 luxury, dressed in silk that costs five hundred dollars a yard, 
 while you have only a few tatters to cover your flesh; although 
 

 60 PAX 
 
 they dwell in opulent palaces while you live in miserable hovels, 
 I advise you, as a matter of prudence, to live in and for peace, 
 and to preach it to the four winds." 
 
 The people at the inn, standing in single file, listened to 
 the harangue, some with surprise, some with curiosity, some 
 with astonishment, some with amusement. 
 
 " I know for a fact," added Landaburo, " that my appearing 
 speaking of peace, like Charles Albert of Savoy, with his sword 
 in its sheath, will swell with pride the flunkeys of the govern- 
 ment; I know for a fact that the iniquity of article 22 with 
 its frightful paragraph, will not be admitted; I know for a 
 fact that we will continue to be denied our share of sun, air 
 and water; I know for a fact that, forgetting the blood I have 
 shed in all the Departments, they will continue to mock at 
 my chiriquiteno or chirequitano origin, as they say. Never 
 mind! Let us continue to bear, for the sake of peace, the iron 
 heel on our necks. Long live peace! For when in the clock 
 of the nations the white hour of freedom strikes, there will al- 
 ways be found among the ashes a few dying embers that 
 gathered together and blown mightily will burst into a flame 
 that will be like the dawn of better days. 
 
 " I advise peace so that we shall not throw any more human 
 victims into the hungry maw of the hydra of war. The hour 
 of the Revolution has not dawned yet. Long live peace! 
 Convinced already of the uselessness of recrimination, let us cast 
 water on our camp fires and let us fill our soldiers kits, not 
 with bullets but with articles for export." 
 
 " Long live peace! " 
 
 " I, who have always been the first man to seize a rifle and 
 the one to fire the last shot, I feel that I have enough author- 
 ity to preach peace. The last disastrous and devastating revo- 
 lution was a tremendous object lesson to show the country what 
 war is. To me belongs the honor, by no means small and 
 which you certainly won't deny me, of having completely dis- 
 credited revolutions." 
 
 " Long live peace! " 
 
 Gonzalez Mogollon did not lose a syllable; he was deeply 
 moved, and stood at Landaburo's feet, blew his nose loudly, 
 dried his tears, jumping back and forth and turning about so 
 as to avoid the horse's caracoling. 
 
GLORY AND GRIEF 61 
 
 " General," he exclaimed, " you have stirred me. I invite 
 you this very moment to lay the cornerstone of the Teaching 
 Hospital. A magnificent work; the plans were drawn up by 
 Doctor Karlonoff. And you must make me another speech like 
 this one, with plenty of peace in it ... plenty of harmony, and 
 respect for authority. ..." 
 
 Then, turning toward Robert and Alejandro with a certain 
 air of reproach: 
 
 "Well, friends, why don't you applaud? Now we're really 
 assured of peace for twenty years." 
 
 As the torrent of words continued to pour forth in the yard, La 
 Rondinelli asked Roberto, in a low voice: 
 
 "Who is speaking? ... I don't understand. ... A tooth- 
 puller? ... Is he selling patent-medicines? ... A wander- 
 ing doctor? . . . Some tippler? Or a big gossip?" 
 
 " A wily politician, senorita." 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 GLORY AND GRIEF 
 
 " GOOD-BY, Roberto." 
 
 " Good-by, Faust." 
 
 "I'll expect you at the Bicontinental. Then we'll take in 
 the opera; they're giving Werther; don't forget." 
 
 Alejandro left. 
 
 The huge key turned in the lock, the door creaked and 
 Roberto entered his family's old manse, which for months had 
 been unoccupied; he crossed the outer vestibule and found the 
 yard invaded by grass, and some sparrows, like the proprietors 
 of the place, flying from the garden to the entablature of the 
 colonnade. To the left of the low corridor, wide and solid, 
 and constructed as if it were to be mounted with courtly delibera- 
 tion, there spread the stone staircase. From the wall to <the 
 high balustrade stretched spiders' webs. 
 
 In the center of the garden the grotesque mask of the 
 fountain, as usual, was belching gushes of water into the 
 stone basin; amid the solitude of the patio it seemed that the 
 
62 PAX 
 
 water was sobbing and weeping at the desertion of the 
 owners. 
 
 Endeavoring to combat his gloomy feelings, he mounted the 
 staircase with assumed nonchalance, crossed the wide corridor 
 and penetrated into the obscurity of the spacious salon, which 
 was hung with a double row of family portraits, the ancestral 
 canvases, which loomed from the dark background, whereon 
 glittered the Avilas' thirteen blue bezants against a field of 
 gold. He had come to take down these paintings before de- 
 livering the house to its new owners; he stopped for a mo- 
 ment to contemplate them and imagined that he could feel the 
 proud faces gazing down upon him with a look of resentment 
 and astonishment. They had been there for years and years, 
 motionless in their gold frames, forming part of the family 
 and serving as an example to successive generations. He ap- 
 proached the first portrait: the companion of the Catholic 
 Monarchs, the founder of the family. As he removed it, 
 Roberto, with mingled feelings of love and sadness, read the in- 
 scription once more: " Don Pedro Avila. Lord of the states of 
 las Navas and Villafranca, vassal of the king and of his 
 Council, first Count of Risco and of Cadahalso, fought in the 
 battle of Albufera against Portugal. Took Cadahalso by force 
 of arms, for which the monarchs gave him the title. He served 
 personally and with his followers in the capture of Granada." 
 
 Roberto, fascinated afresh by the brilliancy of the warrior's 
 array stood in contemplation; the Count was represented as 
 standing, clad in half armor; the helmet, adorned with crim- 
 son plumes, was placed upon a small table covered with 
 scarlet velvet. To this martial outfit was added a coat of mail, 
 red embroidered breeches, white buckskin boots, with spurs. 
 Roberto removed the portrait and placed it upon the floor. He 
 passed to the next. The soldier of Quesada: Alonso Avila y 
 Cabrera, who, in his iron costume stood erect on the canvas 
 with both hands resting upon the hilt of his sword. His eyes 
 glanced defiantly from under the steel of the helmet. 
 
 Don Miguel de Avila y Arevalo, wrapped in his black 
 toga, against which stood out the cross of the Order; his face 
 framed in his wig; his hand placed against some yellow parch- 
 ments. Down from the wall he came, too. The fourth: 
 Doctor Melchior de Avila y Castillo, Fiscal of Guatemala, 
 
GLORY AND GRIEF 63 
 
 whence he came and progressed to the post of Oidor of Santafe, 
 in 1702. As Roberto took this painting from the wall a nail 
 made a wide rent in the toga; he thought he could hear a groan 
 as the canvas tore, and with a vague fear carefully put the por- 
 trait to one side, irresolute and shaken. There remained ten 
 portraits and it seemed that one after the other they asked him : 
 " Why are you throwing us out? " And he, without removing 
 his eyes, wishing that they might understand him, thought in 
 reply: " It is not my fault." 
 
 Whereupon there came to his mind the chain of events that 
 had at last compelled him to surrender the paternal mansion. 
 
 With that clarity with which the past flares up in critical 
 moments, there appeared to him the ruin of the Avilas' vast 
 fortune, brought about by political overturns and successive 
 revolutions. 
 
 His grandfather, Don Cristobal, had received the inheritance 
 intact: fertile estates that bore the names of battles in which 
 the family's founder had figured : El Risco, Villafranca, la Sa- 
 bana; Las Navas, Cadahalso, with extensive tracts upon the 
 river Magdalena. Don Cristobal encumbered his property to 
 aid the government, which had been attacked by three distinct 
 revolutions. In the last one the revolutionists triumph, im- 
 pose contributions upon him, expel him from the country, and 
 he dies in exile, an octogenarian, amid poverty and privation. 
 
 His father, educated in England and possessing aristocratic, 
 literary and artistic tastes, denies his calling and learns many 
 industries. He goes to Cuba, to Yucatan; he acquires capital, 
 machinery, hires laborers; he installs himself in the estates upon 
 the Magdalena, and just when fortune is beginning to smile upon 
 him, when he has erected sugar mills, tobacco factories, and 
 has developed the cultivation and exploitation of textile plants, 
 . . . war breaks out, burning, demolishing, ruining every- 
 thing. 
 
 Going back now to the earliest of his personal recollections, 
 almost lost in the haze of his childhood, Roberto sees himself 
 one night on the estate of El Risco, with his mother and his sister 
 Elisa, then yet an infant. 
 
 Outside there is suddenly heard the clash of arms; the 
 terrified servants give the alarm; he is dressed hurriedly, his 
 mother takes the infant in her arms, they climb a hill, cross 
 
64 PAX 
 
 the wild passes, take refuge in a hut, and at daybreak be- 
 hold the soldiers gather all the cattle of the farm, force the 
 animals out onto the road and drive them in the direction of 
 Bogota. The government, as he learned later, had in this 
 manner collected a war contribution that had been imposed 
 upon his widowed mother and which she had been unable to 
 pay. His mother's face came to him, with its seal of ineradic- 
 able melancholy, her kind, sad eyes, which all at once, with- 
 out cause, became moist with tears, as if her thoughts were 
 ever centered upon her misfortune. He could behold, too, the 
 outburst of tears that had occurred when she had been forced 
 to sell the estates in order to pay the debts, which had been 
 increased by the interest of many years. 
 
 Roberto, too, had wished to work, even to redeem the former 
 family home, and had gone off to a mountain, the sole remnant 
 of the vast territorial fortune. With infinite effort, assuming 
 new debts, he had overcome the mountain and started a planta- 
 tion of coffee trees. But war, with its sinister regularity, had 
 appeared. It was then that he served in his first campaign, un- 
 der General Ronderos. Returning to the capital, he found 
 there the joy and the honors of victory, and also received news 
 that the revolutionists had bivouacked for months and months 
 on his plantations. 
 
 At that moment it had come to him that it was for him to 
 perform the definitive liquidation, that he alone must re- 
 ceive the blow of the collapse. 
 
 He must witness, dispiritedly and lacking all strength for 
 the struggle, the final scene of the shipwreck. Of the royal 
 legacy, despite all efforts to preserve it, there remained only 
 this fragment, this house which he was going to transfer that 
 very afternoon, and with the loss of which he beheld the 
 splendor of the Avilas vanish forever. 
 
 Upon the portrait that lay nearest his feet he read again 
 the motto Glory and Grief, and it occurred to him that surely 
 that had been more grief than glory. 
 
 Overcome at last by the gloominess that he had been trying 
 to shake off, he sank into an armchair, rested his head against 
 the brocaded back and dropped his hands languidly .upon the 
 carved arms. He glanced at the portraits that lay upon the 
 floor: " There is Don Pedro Avila, the first of the family . . . 
 
GLORY AND GRIEF 65 
 
 and I am the last! He founded the house; ... I have come 
 to deliver into the hands of another " (and he smiled bitterly). 
 " These first two men were persons with red blood and will 
 power, men of action, who, for their energy and ambition, found 
 a world of Moors to combat, a world of Indians to conquer." 
 
 His eyes wandered sadly along the row of gowned celebrities, 
 judges and fiscals. ..." They, too, discovered for their imag- 
 inations and their chivalrous sentiments a world of adventure 
 and love in the romantic life of colonial days; for the exercise 
 of their gifts they found the viceroyalty: the education of a 
 people, the formation of a nation, the organization of a govern- 
 ment. These two last persons witnessed the struggle for In- 
 dependence and its attainment: they had a fatherland to make 
 great and free. The one was a companion of Narifio in the 
 southern campaigns; the other, the constant friend of Sucre; 
 both had scorned titles and colonial honors. All of these men 
 were born into heroic epochs, worthy of great efforts. The 
 iron conquistadores, through the generations, bequeathed to me 
 drops of proud, adventurous blood; these gowned dignitaries, a 
 taste for courtly refinements and their mystic aspirations; the 
 heroes of the struggle for Independence, their love for great 
 things and affection for this piece of earth ; and all this former 
 glory, all these aspirations and desires, mingling in my veins, 
 merging in my soul, have produced as their final offshoot, at 
 the end of all the generations, a meditative, vacillating, con- 
 tradictory spirit, a neurotic, complicated scion. The swords 
 became rapiers, and with the effect of time have for me become 
 converted into scalpels. These ancestors of mine were for- 
 tunate enough to live during an epoch when life was scorned 
 and people struggled for glory. ... I have been born into days 
 when it is glory that is scorned, and the struggle is for existence: 
 the struggle for life! 
 
 " There seethe within me vaguely and confusedly, ambi- 
 tions and desires for something that I can't define, but which 
 I shall be unable to realize; aspirations toward something that 
 I shall never discover; I wander and cast aimlessly about in 
 the space that separates this world of greatness that has been 
 left behind from this world and prose and pettiness that sur- 
 rounds me. 
 
 " And for this sort of struggle, for deceit and artifice, for 
 
66 PAX 
 
 this petty prose, I am utterly incapable; I'm alien to it. ... 
 I haven't the aptitude nor the power to fight against a Landaburo 
 or an Alcon; I'm one of yesterday's defeated; I battle without 
 faith, without enthusiasm; the very impulse of ambition is born 
 in me with the quiver of defeat, initiative rises companioned 
 by the certainty of failure, illusion, with the instinct of dis- 
 aster, and desire with the previous knowledge of disillusion- 
 ment. . . ." 
 
 He arose and tore himself away from the spot, to escape from 
 those fixed glances and to scatter his own thoughts. In the 
 corridors his imagination brought to life familiar scenes of 
 other days ; the old manse was filled anew with persons ; Roberto 
 could see his mother come through the door, the old servants 
 walking along the passageways, Aunt Indalecia (who had 
 died twenty years before) with her huge shell-comb, her ker- / 
 chief crossed over her bosom, watering her flowers; finally he 
 saw a little boy running hither and thither everywhere, happy, 
 breathless, caressed by all, and he told himself gloomily that 
 he was that little boy. How much had happened since then! 
 How distant were those days of games and caresses! How 
 far away had those beloved faces gone ! ... In the solitude of 
 the patio the water, with its monotonous, plaintive song, be- 
 moaned the desertion of the masters. Across the way, the 
 dining room, once so bustling with life during the meal hours, 
 and redolent with the aroma of chocolate served in silver cups. 
 To the left he beheld, with its wall-paper of floral design and 
 his mother's needlework, the little bedroom where, at the age of 
 ten, he had awaked one morning after an attack of pneumonia, 
 beholding his mother bent over him with tear-filled eyes, lav- 
 ishing passionate kisses upon him. In one nook of the patio 
 he recognized the favorite spot, now unoccupied, of Maraton, 
 the loyal Newfoundland dog, who was so sullen with others, 
 and so docile and affectionate with him, and could vision 
 those large eyes out of which shone an almost human tender- 
 ness. 
 
 He remembered how, while he would play with the dog, 
 his mother would entertain herself by throwing down to him 
 white roses from the bush which, scaling the walls, wound it- 
 self in and out among the banisters of the little balcony. Now 
 all was solitude, all was forsaken, silent, only in the stone 
 
GLORY AND GRIEF 67 
 
 basin the water continued to murmur in notes of muffled sad- 
 ness. 
 
 Two loud knocks resounded upon the door. Roberto went 
 down. It was Montellano, whose body darkened the vestibule 
 with its bulk. He wore a costly new overcoat which still re- 
 vealed the creases of its Parisian package, a shining silk hat 
 which had not yet conformed to the shape of his head; around 
 his neck a silk handkerchief secured by a solid gold pin, and 
 on his feet the same shoes that he had worn during the voyage, 
 stained with gray cakes of mud. 
 
 As Montellano advanced his daughter became visible; she 
 was dressed in black. Roberto felt a deep pleasure at meet- 
 ing once more the traveling guest of El Consuelo, and he ad- 
 mired anew those deeply expressive eyes that shone from out 
 of the black lace shawl. 
 
 " Senorita . . . Seiior don Ramon, I was waiting for 
 you." 
 
 While Montellano walked on without further ceremony, 
 Roberto offered his hand to Dolores as they mounted the stair- 
 case, which she ascended with a firm step, with a certain 
 triumphant air, and a flash of determination in her eyes. 
 
 " The house is a solid structure," commented Montellano, 
 panting from the effort of the ascent, in the meantime striking 
 right and left with his cane, so powerfully that the wall was 
 defaced. They entered the hall, and Montellano, stumbling 
 against the furniture and the scattered portraits, made his way 
 to the windows, which he opened noisily. A flood of light 
 inundated the salon. Dolores, tingling with curiosity, flitted 
 hither and thither, sinking her heels into the thick carpet, gaz- 
 ing into the mirrors that sent back her enlarged image from 
 greenish depths, as if from the bottom of a lake; stroking the 
 damask of the red hangings with delight, passing her palms 
 across the scarlet brocade of the chair backs; at length she sank 
 into the high armchair and from her seat, with child-like wonder 
 she admired the long row of portraits that seemed to follow 
 her with that same acute, penetrating glance that Roberto 
 had noticed when he first looked upon them. 
 
 " Papa, how rare and old all of this is," said Dolores. " Did 
 you buy this, too? How could the women ever have sat in 
 such high chairs as these? " 
 
68 PAX 
 
 " I'm going to fill the place with completely new furniture, 
 and none of these faded curtains, either," continued Montel- 
 lano. " I'll have everything lined with velvet. This place 
 looks like a sacristy and makes you afraid to talk loud in it. 
 But I'll buy it, lock, stock and barrel." And turning to 
 Roberto, who, was biting his lips impatiently and nervously: 
 
 " Friend Avila, will you sell it to me? " 
 
 Roberto had been noting how ill Montellano's body, which 
 seemed to have been hewn out with an ax, harmonized with this 
 seigniorial environment of faded and soft objects; his brick- 
 colored face; his stentorian voice, habituated to the immensity 
 of the plains and the solitude of the woods; his brusque move- 
 ments; his way of carrying himself, and his heavy breathing; 
 his rustic gestures. His feet, accustomed to moving freely amid 
 stones and tree-trunks, put his shoes out of shape; his hairy 
 hand, as it pointed to various objects, clutched and brandished 
 a huge cane. 
 
 " Let's proceed to another room," suggested Roberto. 
 
 And ascending and descending staircases, opening leather 
 screens; passing through many doorways, some very narrow 
 and others very wide, crossing dark passageways, running here 
 and there about the dismantled and deserted dwelling, they 
 went from room to room. 
 
 " Here," observed Montellano, " is where I can have my 
 office; there must be more light; your rooms can be over here. 
 This window must be changed, the banister must be removed, 
 the wide corridor must have windows set into the wall . . . 
 h'm . . . h'm . . . this is going to cost a fortune." 
 
 They left the top floor and descended to the garden, which 
 was of ample dimensions. 
 
 Montellano, with his face turned toward the wall, his arms 
 spread so as to hold the cane at both ends, was engrossed in 
 walking along the wall, taking its measure. 
 
 " One, two, three . . . six, . . . eight . . . ten." 
 
 In the meantime Roberto and Dolores were walking amid 
 the rose bushes. 
 
 She danced happily along the garden paths, as if in her ele- 
 ment, admiring the flowers, plucking some, expanding her 
 nostrils with delight to inhale deeply the scent of the pinks. 
 At times she felt a tug at her skirt or at her mantilla, and 
 
GLORY AND GRIEF 69 
 
 with eyes that betokened terror, while her lips parted in 
 laughter, she cast her glance and her body backward, as 
 Roberto released her from the clutches of some rose-bush which, 
 like a lover, seemingly desired to detain her. 
 
 In the flower-beds there is a profusion of awkward malvar- 
 rosa stems, crowned by flowers of a luminous red; old rose- 
 bushes with shrub-like trunks, green leaves and purple shoots; 
 white lilies, geraniums that glow like burning coals, floating in 
 waves of foliage; clumps of pinks, fuchsias that hang like large 
 drops of blood, lilies like alabaster vases; and on the ground, 
 overflowing the beds, the milky furrows of the lilacs. Above 
 the flowers leans an evergreen papaw-tree and an orange-tree, 
 whose leaves are dimmed and stiffened by cobwebs. 
 
 "Why, look, papa! There are even medicinal plants her: 
 alder, balm-gentle, mint, sweet-basil." 
 
 Don Ramon, impassive, speaking to himself, continued to 
 take measurements with his cane, and wrote down numbers upon 
 his shirt-cuffs. 
 
 " We'll have to cut down all this rubbish. I'm going to 
 transfer the staircase to the center, and add two shops extend- 
 ing to the rear of the house. I'll speak to Doctor Karlonoff 
 about it; he's an engineer that was highly recommended to 
 me by Doctor Alcon." 
 
 " And this darling rose-bush that winds about the balcony! " 
 exclaimed Dolores, enchanted. 
 
 At the edge of the garden-wall there arose, clutching at all 
 the cracks, the stems of an old rose-bush that twined its 
 branches around the banisters of a high balcony and covered 
 the frame with a leafy pavilion. Against the dark green back- 
 ground stood out, like a constellation, Castilian roses, so pale 
 that they seemed to be dying of homesickness. As the wind 
 breathed upon them, they shuddered with a feminine tremor 
 and exhaled from their snow-white chalices an aristocratic 
 aroma, an aroma that seemed to come from bygone centuries. 
 Roberto stepped forward, plucked a few roses and offered them 
 to Montellano's daughter. 
 
 " These roses," he explained, " have a history all their own. 
 In the seventeenth century there came from Castile, Dona 
 Agueda de Leon, the wife of the Judge de Avila; the Spanish 
 lady was grieved to leave her native land, and in remembrance 
 
yo PAX 
 
 of it brought along a branch of this rose-bush, which she 
 watered most carefully during the long sea- voyage; she planted 
 it here, and when it had grown, the greatest solace for her 
 longing lay in her breathing the perfume of these flowers, 
 in which she breathed the perfume of her fatherland. On the 
 anniversaries of her marriage she would adorn herself with 
 bouquets of these flowers. When she died they covered her 
 with her cherished roses." 
 
 "What an intresting tale! " 
 
 " As the house and the rose-bush now belong to you," added 
 Roberto, his face clouding with sadness, " you acquire the right 
 to wear the Castilian roses on your bridal veil." Dolores 
 blushed, fixing her large dark eyes upon him; she smiled, sought 
 for a reply, but remained silent. 
 
 During all this, Montellano kept wandering about the garden, 
 making his calculations in a loud voice, taking measurements 
 with long, even strides. He struck to right and to left, scatter- 
 ing flowers all about. 
 
 " This thing is in the way," he said, approaching the rose- 
 bush, and through force of habit as a former mountain cutter 
 he frowned, held his breath, stepped back, clutched the handle 
 of the cane and struck the rose-bush a formidable blow. 
 
 The stem quivered, revealing a wide gash; the branches 
 creaked gloomily, the twigs trembled, balanced in the air, as 
 if a sensation of pain had coursed through their veins, and a 
 rain of white petals descended upon Dolores and Roberto. 
 
 Roberto, after staring at the coarse fellow with the concen- 
 trated anger and scorn of ten generations, concealed his emo- 
 tion with a dry, guttural laugh. 
 
 " Here you have your bridal veil already, and all of Cas- 
 tilian roses," he exclaimed, softening his voice and turning to 
 the maiden. 
 
 " Papa, this rose-bush is mine and I wish to keep it. No- 
 body must take it away," she added, with imperious voice and 
 manner. 
 
 Roberto, bowing, thanked her and hastily took his leave. 
 
 Reaching the vestibule he paused, undecided; before tearing 
 himself forth from the place he wished to look for the last 
 time upon the patio of the paternal house. There came to him, 
 like a voice bidding farewell, the friendly plaint of the water 
 
CASTILIAN ROSES 71 
 
 in the basin that seemed to be lamenting the desertion of its 
 masters. 
 
 In the street his eyes fell upon the family escutcheon, 
 chiselled out over the entrance. On the stone, decayed and 
 weatherbeaten, he could make out the old inscription: Glory 
 and Grief. 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 CASTILIAN ROSES 
 
 IN her little sewing-room, where everything is spick and 
 span, seated upon a low leather chair, Dona Ana is knitting 
 with two steel needles that meet and cross like fencing foils. 
 Every time she pulls at the yarn the ball on the floor jumps, and 
 a cat lying under the chair catches at the skein of wool. 
 Through the window, a slanting ray of the setting sun comes 
 to illumine that countenance which is covered with a pallor of 
 suffering, a deep, resigned, ineradicable sadness, and re- 
 veals, against the dark material of her clothes and the gloom of 
 the room, two white patches : the satin of her hands and the sil- 
 ver of her hair. Opposite the chair, in a Florentine frame, is 
 the Dolorosa by Carlo Dolce. Elsewhere on the wall hangs a 
 pendulum clock, which with its tick-tock has marked the 
 passing of a few happy hours and of many sad ones. Upon the 
 various tables and on the wall there keep company with Dona 
 Ana objects that are insignificant to a stranger, but which 
 speak an intimate language to her, crystallizing several dis- 
 tinct epochs of her life. From a faded daguerreotype her hus- 
 band, who has been dead for twenty years, smiles at her. There, 
 beneath a convex glass, is the lock of hair given by her when 
 she was his sweetheart; a black, lustrous lock which to- 
 day, feeling her youth so remote and long accustomed to 
 combing her gray hair, she considers as having been cut from 
 another person altogether. Nearer, between two miniatures of 
 eighteenth-century Spanish dames that stand pompously out 
 from the polished ivory, is the photograph of Roberto, taken 
 at the time of his first communion: a picture now yellow with 
 age, with the features dimmed, showing clearly only the two 
 black spots of a pair of staring, affectionate eyes. 
 
72 PAX 
 
 At intervals, in an ecstasy of grief, Dona Ana would with in- 
 finite tenderness let her gaze rest upon the picture of Elisa, her 
 daughter who had died at the age of eighteen; it was the 
 portrait that Alejandro had had painted in Paris by a Hun- 
 garian artist, Mme. Parthagy; against the gray background 
 the brush had represented the girl's bust amid a glow of mel- 
 ancholy light; in her face the artist had combined the maiden's 
 inner, delicate feeling for moral beauty with the harmonies 
 of form; she had expressed with almost religious emotion the 
 sweetness of that face, upon which adolescence and suffering 
 had at the same time impressed their seal ; over the delicate linea- 
 ments, over the chaste forehead, floated a delicate pallor; from 
 her deep eyes there seemed to issue a dimmed splendor that 
 radiated to all the lines of the chaste portrait. 
 
 The thoughts that passed through Dona Ana's mind at that 
 moment harmonized with the somber tints of the afternoon; she 
 saw about her the canvases that had been discolored by the 
 years, here and there touched by the beam of the setting sun, 
 portraits of the beloved departed, the scattered remnants of a 
 greatness that had crumbled to ruin, all that had been and that 
 was now no longer. In her mourning soul there commingled 
 the past that had gone and this afternoon that was dying, van- 
 ishing in the same dusk. 
 
 The last beams of the sun are caught against the gilded 
 carvings of a table and the projecting edges of a frame. The 
 ashes of the afternoon fall upon the earth, and there come the 
 quivering tones of a bell. This mystic, plangent voice that 
 goes flying from belfry to belfry, fills the room with sonorous 
 melancholy and inundates the old woman in waves of sadness. 
 It is like a requiem for the dead that remain unburied in her 
 heart. The clangor of the bells seem to forecast for her a fate 
 marked by ineluctable sorrow. 
 
 Through the window, which permits entrance to the dying 
 light, come the noises of the city, muffled by the distance. 
 
 She cast her glance into the irrevocable past; the decisive 
 scenes of her life lived anew. That day on which, at Gus- 
 tavo's side, fluttering with bashfulness, upon the steps of the 
 altar, covered with her nuptial veil, she had seen through the 
 gauze, as through a dream, the shining candles and the white 
 orange-blossoms. . . . Then there arose out of the past the 
 
CASTILIAN ROSES 73 
 
 days during which, at the side of a cradle, she had kissed the 
 satin skin of a baby boy. Afterwards, what a night was 
 that, good God! the first night of widowhood, a night of 
 horror, a black night in which the flames of four candles, tor- 
 mented by an icy wind, illumined from time to time a yellow 
 countenance and two closed eyes. . . . And she thought that 
 life is composed of three pieces of cloth: a bridal veil, swad- 
 dling clothes, and a shroud. 
 
 Then came her long widowhood, financial straits, struggle, 
 the sale of her estate, her anxiety over the future of her two 
 children, the concentration of all her love upon .Roberto and 
 Elisa. . . . Ah, Elisa, so sweet, so beautiful on the night she 
 made her debut at the ball: the bouquet of Castilian roses 
 in her blue corsage; her elegant simplicity as she crossed the 
 grand salon, and suddenly, in that very place, the look of death 
 in her eyes. . . . Then days of anguish and hope; her lin- 
 gering agony . . . those drizzly afternoons in which the phy- 
 sician, Doctor Agiieros, shaking his head, and speaking half 
 words, with his ceremonious circumspection and his profes- 
 sional condolence, told her that the illness was incurable, that 
 it was heart-trouble, that treacherous family ailment of the 
 Avilas. . . . And on top of this awful blow, that absence, 
 that other solitude, the absence of Roberto, the trip to Europe, 
 in search of health, to consult Doctor Laplace. . . . Then the 
 return, ah! ... Always that panting breath, the dark rings 
 around her eyes, the seal of an incurable disease ! 
 
 She let her head fall upon her bosom; the needles dropped 
 into her lap; her hands, thinned by years of anxious strain, 
 crossed; from her lips, which scarcely moved with a fervent 
 tremor, issued a prayer toward her who was also a mother, and 
 who likewise wept the misfortunes of her son. 
 
 " For him, most sacred Virgin." 
 
 And from that Dolorosa haflging on the wall, her compan- 
 ion through life, there wafted to the forehead resting upon her 
 palms a feeling of resignation, of tranquillity, of consola- 
 tion. 
 
 She remained thus for a long time amid the silence and 
 the dying light. Then from the darkness of her thoughts 
 rose a light, a dim ray of hope: the house had been sold; 
 that very afternoon Roberto had surrendered it. But from 
 
74 PAX 
 
 the sale there remained a considerable portion that would allow 
 them to purchase shares in the great enterprise. She must 
 dispel all anxiety; General Ronderos had approved her course, 
 with all the interest of his affection, with all the weight of 
 his experience. Within a short time their fortune would have 
 been won back. All uncertainties, anguish and poverty would 
 be at an end. ... As she gave herself up to her dreams there 
 came to Dona Ana scenes that sent a quiver of joy through 
 that heart which was so unaccustomed to happiness. . . . She 
 was in her old dwelling. . . . Roberto and Ines were walking 
 in the garden, and she, from above, was throwing Castilian 
 roses down upon them; the couple sent her a look beaming 
 with infinite tenderness and supreme happiness. ... Ah! 
 The complete realization of her happy dreams required the 
 success of the enterprise; peace. . . . Would there be peace? 
 Fear of war was already in the air! Her hopes languished, and 
 the smiling light that had arisen in the dark gloom of her 
 thoughts was extinguished. 
 
 The final reflections of the sunset had also disappeared; she 
 was engulfed in darkness; night had conquered ... the white 
 of the curtains, the design on the walls and even the pale 
 forehead of Elisa's portrait faded into an all-embracing dark- 
 ness. 
 
 She was about to burst into sobbing and ease her soul with 
 tears; but habituated to silence, Dona Ana sighed only in- 
 wardly. . . . 
 
 " Are you there, mother dear? " 
 
 For some time Roberto, standing silent upon the threshold, 
 had stopped to control himself and give his voice that merry 
 ring which he invariably assumed in the presence of his mother. 
 He had just transferred the house; his hands were filled with 
 Castilian roses, which he had just picked. He had intended 
 to throw them into his mother's lap as soon as he caught sight 
 of her, but no sooner had he entered than his resolution aban- 
 doned him and he tried to discountenance the sadness of the 
 occasion with some jolly trifle. 
 
 " Mother, the opera company gives its first performance to- 
 night. We'll subscribe for a box, won't we? ... It will be 
 great fun." 
 
 And he coughed slightly. 
 
CASTILIAN ROSES 75 
 
 But Dona Ana, hearing his words, which he had tried to 
 utter in a natural tone, was not deceived. Roberto's voice 
 was veiled, half broken; his cough had betrayed the effort 
 he had made to conceal his emotions; from the scent of the 
 Castilian roses that had scattered through the room she could 
 guess what had just happened: the transfer of the house, the 
 farewell to those corners so rich in intimate recollections . . . 
 the rose-bush! . . . Ah! Her poor, beloved Roberto had 
 brought her those roses, the last ones, to place upon Elisa's grave. 
 
 "Subscribe? Of course, my son. It will be very enjoy- 
 able . . . ever so much." 
 
 Roberto knew that his mother had been waiting for him; 
 he heard her commonplace remark and understood that these 
 words had come from lips still trembling with prayer, from a 
 throat still choked by a sob. There was a brief silence, which 
 Roberto hastened to interrupt: 
 
 " Very well. . . . Let's make particularly sure of attending 
 la Rondinelli's benefit ... a genuine artist. . . ." 
 
 He meant to continue, but he saw that he would betray his 
 feelings, that his voice was failing him; he grew silent . . . 
 he now regretted having brought the roses; he did not dare 
 to give them to her; they would arouse in his mother an en- 
 tire epoch of the past : his father, Elisa ; she would conceive 
 the idea of taking these flowers to Elisa's grave. He had not 
 thought that at this hour, in such a state of mind, this bouquet 
 of flowers would reach the memories and the griefs hidden at 
 the bottom of her soul, and produce an outburst. ... He 
 tried to retreat in silence. 
 
 " I knew," said Dona Ana, " Rosina and Mirandola. . . ." 
 
 Roberto succeeded in mastering himself once more, forced 
 a laugh, and continued to speak, telling of the arrival of the 
 chorus at El Consuelo; the incidents of the trip; and as he 
 spoke he drew nearer to her, seeking her in the gloom. An 
 aroma of tenderness, delicate as the aroma of bygone cen- 
 turies, wafted through the room. Dona Ana felt the silky 
 petals falling upon her, while he felt the old woman's fingers 
 clutch him convulsively, and the moisture of two tears. He 
 let go of the last roses, and gropingly, in an unwonted impulse 
 of affection, he sought his mother's head, took it in his hands, 
 bent over and pressed upon her lips a long, mute kiss. In 
 
76 PAX 
 
 the touch of her lips he could feel the unrevealed bitterness 
 and anguish which tormented that mind; he felt that the 
 bond of affection and grief, which united those two souls, had 
 become stronger and tighter than ever. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THE BALLAD OF DESPAIR 
 
 THE spacious dining-room of the Hotel Bicontinental re- 
 sounds with the footsteps of the servants who are making the 
 final preparations for the banquet organized by Gonzalez 
 Mogollon in honor of Landaburo, and also for the purpose of 
 celebrating the union of the integros and the revaluadores. 
 The waiters bustle about the table, place in succession upon it 
 the menus, the buttonhole flowers, the fruit baskets, the cards 
 with the names of the guests; they hang festoons upon the walls, 
 place above the two doors to the room trophies, banners, and 
 wreaths displaying gold-lettered signs alluding to the function. 
 The two newspapers representing and acting as spokesman for 
 the two organizations to meet in the dining-room that night, 
 have sent two huge wreaths: La Integridad, La Revaluation. 
 
 Montellano and Dolores, as they came to the main dining- 
 room, were detained by a servant who informed them that a 
 special room had been prepared for guests that evening. 
 
 "What's the reason?" asked Montellano, as he crossed 
 the resplendent main dining-room and went in quest of the 
 table that had been prepared for him and Dolores in an 
 adjacent compartment. 
 
 " Because to-night they're giving a banquet to chief Landa- 
 buro," answered the attendant. " He's what you call a real 
 friend of the people." 
 
 Montellano and his daughter seated themselves and stared 
 with surprise and curiosity into the grand salon, at the long, 
 glittering table that awaited the guests; they could make out 
 the plates and the covers, the bouquets of flowers, colored 
 dishes containing raisins and almonds, and the loaves of bread 
 in napkins that were knotted like white lilies. Clusters of elec- 
 tric lights sent streams of light that drew sparks from the 
 
THE BALLAD OF DESPAIR 77 
 
 nickel of the salt-cellars and the caps of the demijohns, cov- 
 ering the tablecloth with clear, dark shadows. The confusion 
 of footsteps and the creaking of the waiters' shoes make one 
 feel at times that the floor is weak and has given way. From 
 outside come the sound of footfalls upon a brick paving, com- 
 mands uttered in a French accent, the clatter of cutlery and 
 plates. 
 
 In the gloomy corridor that leads to the door of the waiters' 
 room, the proprietor of the hotel paces back and forth with the 
 air of a general on the eve of battle. His massive body and his 
 canine countenance give him a great resemblance to Sanchez 
 Mendez, the head of the integros, the most conspicuous per- 
 sonage of the political banquet. 
 
 Montellano continued to converse with the attendant, asking 
 him about the details of the banquet; his loud voice, too 
 voluminous for the room in which he was, filled the adjoin- 
 ing compartments. 
 
 Alejandro, Roberto and Bellegarde came in; Montellano 
 arose to greet Alejandro and Roberto as if they were old 
 friends, but they merely nodded and took a distant table. 
 Roberto's face betrayed traces of worry; he looked wan and 
 pale. Dolores cast a tender glance in his direction; whereupon 
 the mists of sadness rose from Roberto's countenance and he 
 came over to Dolores, uttering a few gallant remarks. Later, 
 during the meal, Dolores' black eyes and Roberto's brown 
 ones kept up a continuous dialogue. 
 
 Bellegarde was content to observe Alejandro attentively: 
 that face whose outline was more pleasing than correct, looked 
 like a sketch, but a sketch drawn by a master's brush; the 
 fair, golden hair, the full and sensuous lips, the ample, vigor- 
 ous forehead, which seemed to be surrounded by a halo of en- 
 thusiasm; the eyes of cold blue, which at times acquired a ten- 
 der tone and at others flashed with a gleam of madness, as he 
 spoke of art, of the past, of fame; at such times his words 
 were ardent and his voice quivered. He had been endowed 
 by nature with the gift of admiration, of intense feeling, of 
 communicating his faith and his enthusiasm. 
 
 A burst of laughter that poured forth like silvery notes, and 
 a stentorian voice, announced la Rondinelli and the tenor of 
 the Italian opera company. 
 
78 PAX 
 
 The profuse light illuminated the correct profile of the prima 
 donna and threw a soft, gold glint over her silken tresses. 
 
 The ill-garbed, perspiring musicians were riling into the 
 banquet salon. Carefully they placed upon the floor their black 
 violin cases, drew their flutes from their cases and their clarinets 
 from the cloth bags. 
 
 They took seats far from the increasing buzz of conversa- 
 tion. Somewhat later the guests descended upon the place; they 
 wore a solemn air, whispered mysterious sentences into one 
 another's ears, stifled outbursts of laughter, and exchanged 
 affectionate words; amid the suppressed conversation they wan- 
 dered around the table, stooped down in search of their places 
 and drew the chairs apart, scraping them noisily along the floor. 
 The orchestra burst into the march Broken Fetters, words by 
 the maestro Mata, and dedicated expressly to Landaburo. 
 Dolores, who from her table was following all the details of 
 the banquet with intense curiosity, gazed at the row of white 
 shirt-fronts bent over the plates of soup, the huge pink in 
 Landaburo's buttonhole; the tight frock coat and the high 
 collar that were torturing Doctor Alcon; the immense red bald- 
 head and the multifarious gestures of Gonzalez Mogollon; 
 Mata's yellowish complexion and his ghastly glance; Doctor 
 Agliero's spectacles, which flashed with the affected movements 
 of his head. After the silence that accompanies the soup and 
 the fish, the conversation grew livelier, and there came to 
 Dolores, through the footsteps of the waiters and the clatter of 
 the plates, fragments of the guests' conversation: 
 
 " The white-hour of a near future. ..." " Revaluation or 
 chaos. . . ." " Half the nation enslaved. . . ." 
 
 " They ate in the triclinium and then proceeded to the 
 vomitorium, as Juvenal says. ..." 
 
 " Conciliation of extremes . . . universal embrace ... en- 
 forced salvation . . . practical idea . . . from the religious 
 standpoint." 
 
 " Oyster soup . . . pearl, illness of the oyster . . . the pearl, 
 an illness, like genius. ..." 
 
 " Doctor Charcot, my professor at la Salpetriere . . . the 
 idea? a product just like this wine." 
 
 " Crass ignorance . . . unpardonable errors. . . . My his- 
 toric refutations. . , ." 
 
THE BALLAD OF DESPAIR 79 
 
 At the head of the table bulged the corpulent figure of Doctor 
 Sanchez Mendez, who, in silence, bent over his plate, gulped 
 down the oyster soup with keen relish. From where she sat 
 Dolores could make out only his huge head, bristling like a 
 brush above his white shirt. 
 
 The news of the banquet, the music and the unusual il- 
 lumination that lighted up the street had attracted a crowd of 
 curiosity seekers; some political friends of the hero of the occa- 
 sion, headed by Socarraz, had pressed around the entrance, 
 their brows arched and their necks stretched forward, ready 
 to hail, to applaud and to scatter upon the four winds the 
 precious words of " Chief Landaburo." 
 
 The hush of the commencement was followed by general mer- 
 riment; the voices grew louder, toasts were given, glasses 
 clinked; as a result of a sated appetite, frequent libations, the 
 light reflected in the mirrors, the guests grew rapidly expan- 
 sive and talkative, gushing about " universal brotherhood " ac- 
 cording to Gonzalez Mogollon's desires. That worthy, who 
 was always anxious to make rapid headway, thought it the 
 psychological moment for his purpose, and arose to state the 
 purpose of the banquet. He had the orchestra silenced and 
 began to speak. As he did so, he scattered drops of red wine 
 over the tablecloth. He confessed his poor oratorical gifts, and 
 made a distinction between the religious and secular way of 
 doing things; he did not like to speak about himself; he 
 served only to save humanity and to do good among all the 
 classes of society. He knew that it was the custom not to offer 
 toasts until after dessert, when champagne was being served; 
 but he had permitted himself the liberty of taking the floor 
 during the carving of the pigeons because that was the kind of 
 fellow he was; and who he added as a soldier of the 
 Fatherland, did it more because of his anxiety for harmony 
 than because he had organized this banquet, which was to 
 effect the union of the Integridad club, whose president was 
 Sanchez Mendez, and the Revaluation, presided over so bril- 
 liantly and astoundingly by General Landaburo. 
 
 Roberto, Alejandro and Bellegarde, keenly interested in poli- 
 tics insofar as it affected general peace were following the 
 course of the banquet with deep curiosity and commenting upon 
 the various incidents. 
 
 
80 PAX 
 
 " This Doctor Mogollon who has just finished talking," 
 said the Count, " strikes me as a man of excellent inten- 
 tions. His desires for the conciliation of the two parties could 
 not be more patriotic; he's working for peace, no doubt." 
 
 " For war," interrupted Roberto. " What he's after is to 
 rehabilitate Landaburo, who has lost ground since his recent 
 defeats, and is detested and fallen in prestige even among 
 his best friends. . . . Landaburo, was, is, and will always 
 be, an agitator, a revolutionist." 
 
 " But, how is it, then," asked Bellegarde, in surprise, " that 
 Doctor Alcon, Doctor Sandoval y Sabogal, important govern- 
 ment employees, should be present? " 
 
 " I'll explain that," offered Alejandro, " although it's not 
 an easy matter. At the beginning of his political career Alcon 
 attained public office by supporting the government; but, being 
 a clever fellow, he afterwards saw that he would advance more 
 rapidly in the opposing camp, and he began to write in La 
 Integridad, attacking the government, especially in its finan- 
 cial affairs; and general Ronderos, when he took charge of 
 that department, asked the President to have Doctor Alcon 
 be given the post of under-secretary so that he might review all 
 his acts." 
 
 " As for Karlonoff," concluded Roberto, " his entrance into 
 the La Integridad group is of more recent date; only a few 
 days ago he was swinging the censer and chanting dithyrambs 
 to General Ronderos. To-day I learned that after the minister 
 signed the contract with you, thus flouting the counsel of the. 
 consulting engineer, he made a bee line for the office of Doctor 
 Sanchez Mendez, the head of the integros, gave him a tight 
 hug, placed himself under Mendez's orders, swearing eternal 
 war against Ronderos, because he believes Ronderos lost." 
 
 " So that," observed Bellegarde, " if the union of these two 
 elements is effected, peace may be endangered." 
 
 "No! " replied Alejandro, in a firm voice and with resolute 
 gesture. " No; for General Ronderos is in the war ministry 
 and he will conquer these obstacles as he's conquering all others, 
 with an inexorable hand." 
 
 " Pardon me, but I don't understand politics very well. . . . 
 Roberto has told me that at one time Sefior Sanchez Mendez 
 and General Ronderos were close friends, and that they helped 
 
THE BALLAD OF DESPAIR 81 
 
 to establish the present order of things. . . . Why do not the 
 friends of each attempt a reconciliation, an understanding be- 
 tween the two? " 
 
 " Understanding? Agreement? Sanchez itches for power 
 and will hear of no other arrangement than being given a free 
 hand." 
 
 Montellano shot penetrating glances in the direction of that 
 group of important politicians who sooner or later were to 
 serve him in his manipulations. 
 
 In the banquet salon the merry strains of the orchestra re- 
 sounded anew. 
 
 Then there began a conversation upon Nietzsche's system 
 and Mata's poetry. Landaburo began to feel that uneasiness 
 which always troubled him when he occupied a secondary place 
 in the attention of the public. 
 
 " Sefior Gonzalez," he blurted, " will you be so kind as to 
 have them bring me my raw meat? " He paused to note the 
 effect of his words, awaiting the question, Why raw? But 
 nobody heeded him, so he explained of his own accord: 
 " You see, I got used to it during my last campaign, and I must 
 prepare for the next." 
 
 Despite everything, the conversation continued to revolve 
 about Nietzscheism. 
 
 Doctor Agiieros then discoursed, in his affected way, about the 
 homoplasy of gray matter, on the ubiquity of sensation, upon 
 telepathy and upon the theory of mental suggestion advanced 
 by his unforgettable Charcot. 
 
 " My dear Mata," queried Gonzalez Mogollon, " why so 
 sad? Why so silent? Why do you deprive us of the gems of 
 your genius? Why, with your forthcoming volume My Pen- 
 tateuch, you have already acquired an important political 
 standing." 
 
 Mata, with his sunken eyes and his silent manner, looked 
 more cadaverous than ever. 
 
 " A verse, poet," shouted Landaburo to him. " Poetry is the 
 sister of liberty. . . . Give us a tear from your oppressed Polish 
 heart." 
 
 The poet seemed to awake; the conversations and the urgings 
 continued; Mata bowed, brought out his little morphine needle, 
 raised the cuff of his coat and without being noticed applied an 
 
82 PAX 
 
 injection. At once he straightened up, aflame with inspira- 
 tion. . . . 
 
 " Give me a theme! . . ." 
 
 " This carnation," suggested Landaburo. 
 
 " Then give me four rhymes, whatever you wish. I accept 
 the theme: the red carnation is suggestive. . . . You will see the 
 poem in my next volume, Red Lines." 
 
 " Here you have your four rhymes," said Landaburo, passing 
 him the menu, upon the back of which was written : " Utrajadas 
 . . . lirio . . . desolladas . . . martirio. ..." 
 
 The poet's face assumed an inspired expression, he passed 
 his hand across his perspiring forehead, and over his romantic 
 locks as if in the agony of a painful travail, looked at the 
 table, the wall, and into infinity . . . and suddenly burst forth, 
 with the pink in his hand : 
 
 " BLOOD STAIN, for my forthcoming volume Red Line. 
 
 " No tiene las blancuras de auroras ultrajadas, 
 No tiene los pudores anemicos del lirio, 
 Ni el viejo Azul. . . . Es rojo cual carnes desolladas 
 Que sienten la sublime neurosis del martirio." 
 
 (It has not the white of ultra dawns, nor the anemic modesty 
 of the lily, nor the old blue. . . . It is as red as torn flesh that 
 feels the sublime neurosis of martyrdom.) 
 
 "Bravo! " shouted Landaburo. "My flower! It has been 
 consecrated by art. ... A stupendous stanza. Let it not be 
 overlooked in the Banquet Review." 
 
 Roberto, from his place, said to his friend: 
 
 " Frankly, it would be hard to do better in four lines." 
 
 The regular popping of the champagne resounded. 
 
 All turned to Doctor Sanchez Mendez, expecting him to speak, 
 but he excused himself definitively, asking Doctor Alcon to 
 take his place; but the latter, after having blushed with the 
 purple of learned modesty, excused himself, likewise alleging 
 his well-known incompetence, his ignorance, his lack of ex- 
 perience in speaking before the public. 
 
 " They don't wish to compromise themselves," said Roberto. 
 " They eat but they don't orate. They do as the English- 
 men's mosquito: they eat but they don't sing." 
 
THE BALLAD OF DESPAIR 83 
 
 Doctor Agiieros, who was very fond of speech-making and 
 declaiming, arose unbidden, adjusted his spectacles, smoothed 
 his long shocks of hair, and with a mellifluous voice and ex- 
 quisite refinement, began: 
 
 " Those in charge of the government, empirical physicians, 
 have given to the invalid a poison which kills slowly; in ten 
 years of peace they have galvanized him; with fleeting con- 
 vulsions of ephemeral activity they have filled his veins with a 
 strange blood: depreciated currency! Can you not hear the 
 voice of the anguishing land demanding at the top of its lungs 
 the suppression of the injection? The evil must be attacked 
 where it exists, and the remedy must be applied loco dolienle, 
 to the wound itself; cataplasmic emollients must be placed 
 upon the rapid inflammation produced by the repellent political 
 measures of the prevailing constitution. Against this official 
 treatment my fellow partisans, some ten years ago, rebelled in a 
 struggle that has my admiration; but as they did not win out, 
 I recognize that the system of liberal bleedings did not produce 
 the desired result for our cause. Let us to-day apply a dif- 
 ferent treatment: if, having been tried by various doctors, a 
 proposed remedy for an evil is proved to be ineffective, tend- 
 ing rather to aggravate the evil, it is empiricism, it is blindness, 
 to persist in applying it; it attests, at any rate, scant inventive- 
 ness. Let us seek another remedy in political therapeutics. 
 Gentlemen, here's to conciliation! " 
 
 As he concluded, voices were heard: 
 
 " Let Landaburo speak." 
 
 Karlonoff, intercepting Landaburo, arose. 
 
 " Gentlemen, we are in dire need of real men, and it is great 
 honor for me to raise this glass in greeting to two celebrities of 
 the highest worth, Doctor Sanchez Mendez and General Landa- 
 buro. I greet particularly, and as my adversary of yesterday, 
 the latter, in this epoch that so greatly lacks men capable of 
 dominating the times and the field by means of vast conceptions 
 worthy of a Hannibal or a Napoleon, despite their contradic- 
 tions and errors of a military nature ; despite my efforts to spread 
 in this country the knowledge and the study of military science 
 and the art of war, little attention has been devoted to them up 
 to the present; all our military men have been committing capi- 
 tal errors, seeking the worst lines of retreat; the first of all, 
 
84 PAX 
 
 Bolivar, generally called the Liberator; the mulatto Piar was 
 a thousandfold superior to him, even as the Pinzons were 
 superior to Columbus, for Bolivar never had a fixed plan of 
 campaign, and his leadership was null, fatal, if not downright 
 disgraceful. General Landaburo is beloved because he is the 
 father of his soldiers, pardon me this digression, while Bo- 
 livar made a needless sacrifice of his armies, which he formed 
 with iron-like tenacity, like the Indian who, during his peo- 
 ple's festive occasions, gambles away at bisbis or chirombolo, 
 the ten or twelve golden reales that represent the toil of an en- 
 tire week." 
 
 Stifled laughter was heard, and murmurs of disapproval; 
 some of the guests were whispering to one another, paying no at- 
 tention to Karlonoff's toast. The latter went on: 
 
 " I speak without beating about the bush, for history knows 
 neither friends nor parties; many pseudo-historians, perhaps 
 not so much through bad faith as through ignorance, have 
 distorted these facts; but I, in my Refutations, have solemnly 
 given them the lie, for they are merely plagiarists who speak 
 of matters without understanding them. Gentlemen, let us 
 raise this same glass in toast to La Revaluation and to La In- 
 tegridad; let us embrace and welcome General Landaburo who, 
 just as Doctor Sanchez is the pen, will be the sword of our 
 side. Here's to General Landaburo, who did not commit 
 Bolivar's errors, impelled by the ambition of entering the 
 capitals and being hailed as Liberator." 
 
 " Enough! Enough! " 
 
 " Let Landaburo have the floor," shouted some in indigna- 
 tion, and Karlonoff was forced to sit down. Landaburo had 
 entrusted Socarraz with having a photograph of him taken as 
 he arose to speak, and for this reason was especially concerned 
 with his pose, his appearance and the gesture that he already 
 could behold printed in the papers, the almanacs and on the 
 cigarette packages. 
 
 As Landaburo prepared to speak, there rippled along the 
 tables, from the reserved salon to the end of the dining-room, 
 a tremor of expectation, swelling to a buzz of admiration. 
 
 " Shh! The General is going to speak. . . . Chief Landa- 
 buro." 
 
THE BALLAD OF DESPAIR 85 
 
 Proud to be the target of all eyes, and flattered to see what 
 a crowd had gathered in the doorway of the dining-room, 
 Landaburo arose confidently, ready for the photographer; to 
 give proof of his coolness, he placed a glass to one side, ar- 
 ranged his pink, swept the assembly in a circular glance and 
 burst forth in his trumpet-like voice: 
 
 " I devote my wandering and fecund life, hour by hour and 
 minute by minute, to the service of Liberty. I am still covered 
 with the dust of the road; I was unable to change attire." 
 
 " Bravo! . . ." clamored the crowd. 
 
 " I have only this moment removed my boots and spurs. . . ." 
 
 "Bravo!" 
 
 " Bravissimo! " 
 
 "What talent!" 
 
 ". . . and spurs, and I scarcely had time to pluck in gardens 
 of Casiano this beautiful, symbolic pink which stands for 
 the fire with which we should advance the revaluation of 
 ideals, the color of the blood that we shed to the last drop, 
 when we plunged ardently into conflict with the party support- 
 ing the prevailing constitution." 
 
 " No mention of blood," interrupted Gonzalez earnestly. 
 " Conciliation is the word! " 
 
 ". . . And this pink symbolizes, too, the raw meat upon 
 which we fed, when, in our battle for revaluation and fra- 
 ternity, we preferred the wandering, battling existence of the 
 vast pampas, free of trammels and laws, rifle in hand and 
 anger in the socket, to the fate of conforming to the intellectual 
 tortures and above all, the material ones, of peace, and to the 
 politics of the Swiss and the closed door. For this reason my 
 enemies called me the revolutionary Marat; a better comparison 
 would be that with Lafayette, for once conquered, my soul 
 is overcome with generosity. If I am at all famous, it is not 
 because I seek glory everywhere through my speeches, but be- 
 cause of the talent of my fellow citizens, who discover merit 
 wherever it exists. 
 
 " I confess that there are many revolutionary leaders who 
 feed their vanity by rejecting this conciliation and wrap them- 
 selves in the toga of the recalcitrant. Not I ; I come to deprecate 
 legal strife; I, who have given to my cause all that a man can 
 
86 PAX 
 
 give; I, I who have faced the torrents of the sky and the 
 torrents of bullets, and who have during the past ten years 
 confronted the sufferings of peace. 
 
 " Instead of blood, let us make flow in torrents the fertiliz- 
 ing water of discussion. As I said in my speech at El Consuelo, 
 to the Revaluation party, to Colombia, to all Spanish America: 
 In our soldiers' knapsacks let us place not cartridges but fruits 
 for export. I believe that both the lower and the higher spheres 
 of the Administration will be grateful to me for that slogan. 
 The men of the Constitution have everywhere conquered us, 
 and have imposed upon the country ten years of peace, thus 
 proving to us our incapability of waging war. Fate has been 
 unkind to us, and has gone over to the enemy bag and bag- 
 gage. We have taken the wrong road; but as Mr. Bristol, the 
 Archbishop of Chicago, says : * What matters it that man sins 
 from time to time ! ' 
 
 " Landaburo," said Roberto to his friends, " has just ac- 
 complished what can be done only by popes and garrotes . . . 
 he has made a cardinal, for in Chicago there is no cardinal, to 
 my knowledge." 
 
 " Gentlemen," continued Landaburo, " I have demonstrated 
 my love for peace, for liberty, but I cannot conclude without 
 showing my love for the people and proclaiming some of my 
 theories for the betterment of its condition." 
 
 " Long live the friend of the people! " shouted Socarraz; and 
 the crowd behind him, which had invaded the salon, took up 
 the cry. 
 
 " That a man should enjoy the fruit of his toil is an ac- 
 cepted fact; but what must not be tolerated is the amassing 
 of those great fortunes that insult the poor; all capital exceed- 
 ing ten thousand dollars should be divided among the peo- 
 ple." 
 
 And as he spoke he pointed to Montellano who, seated op- 
 posite the speaker, in the special dining-room, flared up with 
 rage. 
 
 " And it is neither just nor legitimate," resumed the orator, 
 " that these vast fortunes should be transmitted through in- 
 heritance, for these legacies result in the laziness of the heir 
 and in all the vices engendered by idleness. Why in this very 
 
THE BALLAD OF DESPAIR 87 
 
 place, to go no further, we have a man whose income is almost 
 equal to that of the nation." 
 
 Montellano and Dolores left. In the salon the acclamations 
 continued to resound. 
 
 "Bravo!" 
 
 "Sublime! " 
 
 "Long live the republican revindicator ! " 
 
 " Long life to the friend of the people ! " 
 
 The crowd, like a huge wave, had inundated the salon; frock 
 coats mingled with jackets, guests were merged with spectators, 
 and enthusiasm could be read upon every countenance. 
 
 There were embraces, handclasps, tears, clinking of glasses, 
 exchange of tender sentiments, toasts from everybody to every 
 conceivable thing. 
 
 "Here's to friendship!" 
 
 "To peace! " 
 
 "To my wife Juliana! " 
 
 " To the Republic. ... ! " 
 
 "To the Latin race in America!" 
 
 " To Angelita and the babies! " 
 
 " To humanity ! " 
 
 " To Tubalcain Cardoso ... the great absent one! " 
 
 "To Dante!" 
 
 "To Perucho!" 
 
 "To this! " 
 
 "To that!" 
 
 The general expansiveness, universal brotherhood and ten- 
 derness had reached their height. Gonzalez Mogollon, deeply 
 moved, with his bellowing voice dominated the din, that 
 oceanic tumult: 
 
 " It's a great success. . . . This union is due to me . . . 
 there will be peace for twenty years. . . . I'll wager my 
 neck. ..." And placing his glass upon the table, he passed 
 his finger across his prominent Adam's apple as if slashing 
 his neck. 
 
 Karlonoff was going from group to group trying to con- 
 tinue his interrupted speech : " The ineptitude and the ridicu- 
 lous tactics of Bolivar came to such a pass, that . . ." 
 
 Socarraz, half tipsy, scattering an odor of brandy, and 
 
88 PAX 
 
 taking advantage of this opportunity to mingle with impor- 
 tant personages, was meandering from group to group, order- 
 ing the servants to fetch champagne aplenty; he clasped every- 
 body's hand; he was profuse with enthusiastic words in favor 
 of Landaburo Sanchez Mendez, and Alcon; all at once he dis- 
 covered the dining-room in which were Bellegarde and Ale- 
 jandro; he summoned an attendant imperiously, ordered him 
 to procure a bottle of champagne and made his way with it 
 into the dining-room. 
 
 The champagne, his hearty eating and the copious drinking 
 previous to his entrance, had set fire to his face, which was 
 generally of greenish hue. 
 
 " Don Alejandro, Don Roberto, Serior Bellegarde, here's a 
 glass to the General, to Doctor Sanchez." They turned to look 
 at him, but made no reply. 
 
 " Senores, here's to reconciliation, to peace." His voice 
 quivered slightly, the high color of his cheeks faded and was 
 subsiding to green. Roberto pitied the fellow, and desiring to 
 humor him, arose. 
 
 " Very well, Escipion, I'll have one with you . . . but leave 
 us." 
 
 " And won't the gentlemen join me? " 
 
 Bellegarde blinked, Alejandro mastered his feelings, restrain- 
 ing a convulsive movement of his hands. 
 
 " Well, since you won't join me," shouted Socarraz, turning 
 to Bellegarde and Alejandro, " I won't drink either; I don't 
 need to." 
 
 And he lowered his glass so violently that the champagne 
 spilled over the tablecloth. 
 
 Bellegarde rang the bell; two attendants approached in 
 haste. 
 
 " Take this drunkard out of here," he said in his ever 
 even voice, and continued his conversation with Alejandro. 
 
 Gonzalez Mogollon had also drawn near to help prevent a 
 scene. 
 
 "Ah! My dear Socarraz, you're a most excellent fellow; 
 . . . calm, now, calm; conciliation, peace. . . ." And he 
 placed his arm on the young man's shoulder. 
 
 Socarraz released himself from Gonzalez, planted himself in 
 front of Bellegarde, darted a furious glance at him through 
 
THE BALLAD OF DESPAIR 89 
 
 his squinting eyes, then turned his back bruskly upon him. 
 
 Gonzalez Mogollon took him by the arm and they left to- 
 gether. Gonzalez's voice could be heard. 
 
 " Calm. . . . Calm, now. . . ." 
 
 Bellegarde and his friends withdrew. Sanchez Mendez was 
 much vexed when he learned of the incident between Socarraz 
 and Bellegarde, and feared lest the high spirits produced by 
 the champagne and the invasion of the dining-room by the 
 populace should finally lead to slaps and blows, a not very 
 promising prologue to the ratification of peace and concilia- 
 tion. He, too, was a man of refinement, of aristocratic tastes, 
 and only political necessity obliged him to attend such ban- 
 quets as this, and to mingle with persons like Socarraz and 
 his associates. He had an understanding with Gonzalez Mo- 
 gollon. 
 
 " Where is the poet Mata? My dear Mata, let's have some 
 unpublished composition of yours, the very latest, which you 
 recited at Dona Aura de Cardoso's home and which has created 
 so much comment. . . . What is the name of the poem? . . ." 
 
 And he placed his hand upon the poet's shoulder, casting at 
 him through his thick glasses a most good-natured glance. 
 Mata wavered, raised his filmy eyes and replied in a thick 
 voice : 
 
 " The ballad of despair." 
 
 The crowd was silenced; a wide circle was formed; Mata 
 took his place beside a table. 
 
 His asthmatic voice broke at times, becoming hoarser than 
 ever, a sigh, a mere breath. During the declamation he tried 
 to make vigorous gestures, energetic motions, to assume pathetic 
 poses; he would with great effort straighten up, thrust forth 
 his chest and raise his arm, but at once he would bend over in 
 partial collapse, incline his head, drop his arm as if it were 
 of lead, and then lean against the table, casting his hazy eyes 
 about; his voice would die out, he would grow pale, where- 
 upon with another supreme effort, in a convulsive attempt that 
 shook his entire body, he would raise his head, lift up his arm 
 once more, waver, and pull out the cuffs of his shirt, upon 
 which shone two buttons representing skulls. 
 
 " Ballad of despair. . . . From my volume, The Song of 
 My Songs," 
 
go PAX 
 
 Fray Martin of la Cogulla, 
 The prior of Calatrava, 
 Who exhausted all penances, hair shirts, fasts and disciplines, and with 
 
 hooks 
 
 Rent his pale flesh, 
 Castigated his appetites, 
 And with pious 
 Reflexions and readings in missals and breviaries illuminated by the 
 
 masters, 
 Dominated 
 
 The passions of body and soul, 
 Soul and body, 
 
 And was a venerable monk with his long and noble beard, 
 Noble and longj. 
 And when he was 
 In the choir, 
 Chanting the renowned sequences before the black lecturn, 
 
 His figure 
 
 Illuminated by the beams that the liturgic window-panes 
 Distilled, 
 
 Shedding with silvery light the fleece 
 Of his beard; 
 In frames that an artificer of Bizantium 
 
 Had carved, 
 
 He seemed to be the great Pontiff of Life and Death, 
 The great Pontiff of the Extinct and the Nothingness; 
 And it was thus, with the prestige of his abbatial gold, 
 And the onyx of the choir, and the finely wrought filigrees 
 
 Of the stole and the amice, 
 Of the cingulum and the alb, 
 
 And reading from folios which chrysography adorned with its royal 
 lilies, its chimeras and its griffes, the rings of the 
 rattlesnake; the serpents 
 And the gargoyles, 
 
 And the red and the blacks of the medieval letters, 
 It was thus that the good monk, of Death and Nothingness, 
 Fray Martin de la Cogulla, 
 Overawed 
 
 The monks and the worshipers of the dank, dark 
 Calatrava. 
 
 II 
 
 One night, 
 
 One night, 
 
 At one, at two in the morning, 
 
 At one, 
 
 At two, 
 
 At three in the morning, 
 
THE BALLAD OF DESPAIR 91 
 
 The penitent having been kept awake by the frogs and the rats, 
 By the frogs which, in the moats of the convent, 
 
 Croaked, 
 
 By the rats that gnawed, 
 
 That gnawed with their teeth on the edges of the pages 
 Of an ancient parchment which, with hinges and keys, 
 Related the fame of old Calatrava, 
 The good monk, unable to sleep, 
 
 Meditated, 
 
 Meditated, 
 
 Meditated, 
 
 And in that gray night, and in the mystic vigil, 
 Amid austere penances, and amid the white visions, 
 There appeared suddenly, laden with tenderness, fascination, gentleness 
 
 and promises, 
 Dona Sancha, 
 
 Dona Sancha de Almudejar who once, during the agile tournaments, 
 Had crowned the strong and noble Martin. 
 
 Ill 
 
 In the battlemented tower 
 With its merlons and its arches, 
 
 There resounded, with funereal clang, and in a hoarse voice of bronze, 
 with three strokes, 
 
 The bell, 
 
 The bell which, suspended in the night, 
 
 Rang out 
 
 Its sighs, its plaints, 
 
 Its terrors, its prayers, 
 
 And the good monk, unable to sleep, 
 
 Kept meditating, 
 
 And in the gloom of his cell, 
 
 All filled with perfumes, with promises, with tenderness, with purity, 
 There appeared beside his cot the dominating vision, 
 
 The vision of Dona Sancha, 
 Dona Sancha de Almudejar, who once,, during the agile tournaments, 
 
 Had crowned the strong and noble Martin. 
 
 IV 
 
 And out of the darkness 
 
 Of the solitary cell 
 
 Arose the tormenting recollections of former passionate days, 
 Of other nights, warm nights, sweet nights, clear nights, 
 Of balls and tournaments and feasts and merry dins, 
 
 In which the beautiful 
 
 Dona Sancha 
 
 Seemed like a living lotus 
 
 Who triumphed 
 Amid the rhythm of the guzlas and of the stirring trumpets, 
 
92 PAX 
 
 Amid the measured clank of the grieves and the helmets and the coats 
 
 of mail, 
 To which 
 
 The youthful labourers 
 Kept time, 
 
 Passing in measured gait through the august pride of the arches and 
 the glory of the proud standards. 
 
 He wished to give a grandiose finale to the poem of his deep melancholy ; 
 He felt the kiss, he felt the touch, he felt the ice of mortal despair. . . . 
 
 And the good monk, 
 
 Before the pale 
 
 Sweet vision, 
 
 Magic vision, 
 
 Very softly, 
 
 Very softly arose, 
 
 And through long corridors 
 
 In which the wind moaned, 
 
 Spreading the three strokes, the funereal clang, of the mournful Bell, 
 Through the arched cloister, and through patios in which the ray of 
 the moon, shedding its shimmering mercury, 
 
 Cast 
 
 The long, black shadow, 
 
 Black and long, 
 Of the good monk, the good monk glided along 
 
 Like a specter, 
 
 Glided along, 
 
 Crossed and passed on. 
 
 VI 
 
 And by the alborescent light, 
 
 The pale light 
 
 Of the dawn which in the infinite, greenish heavens with its rhyming 
 canopy, and the silk of its mist 
 
 Resembled 
 
 A crystal strophe, 
 
 And in sight of the astonished friars, who were already chanting matins, 
 The old penitent, Fray Martin de la Cogulla, 
 
 Went to the tower, and one stair 
 
 After the other, 
 
 And another stair, 
 
 And another stair, 
 
 And another stair, 
 
 He climbed 
 
 And in the white 
 Tower, where a black old beam of decayed wood extended out toward 
 
 the sad asphodels of the dawn, 
 With the cord that tightened his waist, 
 
NOSTALGIA FOR DEATH 93 
 
 The good friar, crac! hanged himself; 
 
 And against the lime walls of the tower, 
 
 Projected in shadows 
 
 By the gray and silver 
 
 Beams of the moon, 
 
 Stretched stiffly 
 
 The cowl 
 
 And the gray hair, 
 
 The fleece 
 
 Of his beard, 
 
 And the verterbrae, 
 
 The serge, 
 
 And the feet, 
 
 And the sandals, 
 
 And the cord, 
 
 And the gaunt 
 
 Corpse, 
 
 All forming 
 
 A long shadow, 
 
 A single, 
 
 Single, 
 
 Long 
 
 Shadow. 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 NOSTALGIA FOR DEATH 
 
 " WE should have left the place sooner," said Alejandro 
 to his^ friends, as they crossed Bolivar Square. " In that way 
 we should have avoided the explosion of fraternity and Socar- 
 raz's gallantries. ..." 
 
 From the square and the neighboring streets there arose in 
 the darkness a merry, festive din. The crowds were on their 
 way to the theater, anxious to witness the opening performance 
 given by the Italian troupe. 
 
 The moon, in the west, escorted by silver-lined clouds, was 
 sailing in an inky ocean. In the east, against a curtain of 
 black velvet there stood out the Cathedral towers. The lights 
 from the carriages flashed by in the darkness like glow-worms. 
 
 *' I'm very desirous of hearing Massenet's Werther; it's the 
 first time the opera is sung in Bogota." 
 
 Before the entrance to the theater, under the electric lights, 
 there is a veritable commotion: carriages coming and going, 
 

 
 94 PAX 
 
 amid the clatter of hoofs; others stop, and men and women come 
 forth, the latter scattering perfume in their wake. Dark over- 
 coats, silk wraps, furs, uncovered heads, issue from the shadows, 
 pause in the entrance, glitter in the intense light of the vestibule, 
 and are lost in the semi-darkness of the staircase, as they ascend. 
 
 The three friends in their front box are admiring the spec- 
 tacle: the full house; the perfumes, the buzz of conversation, the 
 flash of the shining shirt-fronts out of the dark recesses of the 
 boxes, the gems sparkling on the white necks. The fluttering 
 of fans, the silken glints, the glitter of jewelry. . . . 
 
 " I can't understand," said Roberto, " how they could have 
 made a drama of so simple a plot as Goethe's Werther, which is 
 so devoid of action. The theme of the novel is slight: Wer- 
 ther falls in love with Carlotta, who is already betrothed to 
 Albert. She, faithful to her vow, marries her sweetheart. Wer- 
 ther, crushed, commits suicide. The whole matter might be 
 summed up by such a quatrain as the one about Corinne : 
 
 " Oswald loved Corinne, 
 But he was silly enough 
 To give his hand to an Englishwoman, 
 And poor Corinne died. 
 
 " But Massenet's skill and success lay precisely in his 
 choice of a simple plot, almost devoid of action, in which there is 
 only one great passion; such a plot suited his inspiration, his 
 disposition and his tendencies better than any other. Drama, 
 musical drama, lives upon action; but that action is internal, 
 moral, arising from deep passions. ..." 
 
 And as this was a theme that attracted Bellegarde, he con- 
 tinued : 
 
 " That is how music can become spiritualized, noble, ap- 
 pealing to the spirit, overpowering the soul, scorning to pander 
 to the nerves and to flatter the senses. . . 
 
 " But the selfsame Massenet's La Navarraise, which I heard 
 in Paris, has, quite to the contrary, a most violent, agitated plot. 
 . . . The story would have been much to the taste of a certain 
 public hereabouts: the civil war in Spain; clamors, commotion, 
 confusion to the accompaniment of drums, trumpets, shots and 
 cannon booms. . . . The music fairly reeked powder. 
 
 " And that's why it was a fiasco. There's an explanation for 
 
NOSTALGIA FOR DEATH 95 
 
 it all. Mascagni had just made a striking hit with his Caval- 
 leria Rusticana. Massenet wished to write his Cavalleria, too; 
 and he included every device that Mascagni had employed: he 
 let the orchestra loose, he overdid the melodies, and lowered his 
 exquisite gifts to the vulgarity of certain Italian methods, to 
 noisy ensembles, to convulsive phrases that run through the 
 whole scale, to facile contrasts. 
 
 " And in this brutal game, this game of throat-cutting and 
 bullet-firing, Massenet was bested, for he was made to depict 
 the morbid passions, the delicate weakness of Werther. . . ." 
 
 The curtain arose. 
 
 Bellegarde wiped his monocle and turned toward the stage, 
 where a picturesque scene showed the village of Waldheim. 
 
 A beautiful sumrner morning; amid the peace of nature rises 
 the song of the children; then the waltz movement, the lively 
 motif that announces Carlotta's arrival. 
 
 " The musical phrase," said the Count, " corresponds to the 
 freshness of the village maiden ; see how frank and sincere it is ; 
 notice its rhythms, so full of originality and joy." 
 
 " I don't know this opera," said Alejandro. " I doubt very 
 much whether Massenet can have represented, or rather, reflected 
 in music, the soul of Werther; for, if I remember rightly, he was 
 above all passionately fond of nature. This passion, not so 
 much for Carlotta as for nature, is a strange sentiment, a deep 
 one, and most difficult to express. ... I doubt ..." 
 
 " Very well," replied the Count enthusiastically, and with 
 unwonted spirit seizing Alejandro's arms and bending over the 
 red velvet railing to hear more plainly the voices and the orches- 
 tra, " this, precisely this, is what Massenet has accomplished 
 with poetry, passion, with the passion of a soul dominated by 
 emotion. ... Do you hear? Do you hear, Alejandro? " he 
 added, pressing his friend's arm more tightly. . . . " What 
 Werther is singing now, before the entrance to the house, in this 
 beautiful morning, and what the orchestra is singing with him, 
 is a homage, a hymn to nature rather than to woman. . . . Isn't 
 that so? ... Listen, friend Roberto ... ah! that violoncello 
 solo . . . and now the violin, the preludes from the harps, the 
 clear and tenuous tones of the flutes, all this song of ecstasy 
 above an accompaniment that undulates and throbs, recalls the 
 fields, and has a scent of summer, the odor of ripe grain, of new- 
 

 1 
 
 96 PAX 
 
 mown hay, the murmur of the zephyrs in the vine leaves, the 
 coolness of the water that flows murmurously through the flower- 
 mottled meadow." 
 
 Only two boxes had remained unoccupied in the thronged 
 auditorium. 
 
 There was a bang of doors, trie, trac and into these two 
 boxes, amid a shuffling of chairs and the striking of canes that 
 caused all eyes to turn in that direction, thus destroying the 
 harmony of the moment, there appeared Landaburo, Gonzalez 
 Mogollon, Mata, Agiieros, the guests of the political banquet 
 who noisily took their places. 
 
 Landaburo placed himself in the center of one of the boxes, 
 between Karlonoff and Mata; he folded his gloves across the 
 railing, thrust out his chest, arranged his pink, coughed, swept 
 the theater with his circular glance, flattered to see that although 
 he was interrupting the performance, he had become the target 
 of all eyes. In the rear of the box flashed Doctor Agiieros' 
 spectacles. In the furtherest corner, Roberto's opera-glasses 
 espied Alcon's pale bald head. 
 
 'r''*"" That is the group," said Roberto to Bellegarde, " which, not 
 understanding art, would enjoy the sport of war." 
 >" Alejandro, in ill humor, wrinkled his brow and added : > 
 
 " And just as they have come now to interrupt the perform- 
 ance, for the sake of being seen, so they wish to disturb the peace 
 and the prosperity which our country now enjoys." 
 
 The audience soon settled back and centered its attention anew 
 upon the stage. Werther and Carlotta, in the moonlight, are 
 singing a love duet, filled with memories and with supreme fare- 
 wells. With chaste and tender speech she exclaimes, " We must 
 part . . ." And after a melody that rises and falls, recalling 
 the breath of the zephyrs, the twinkling of a star, the mystery of 
 the night, the orchestra plays its prelude of gloomy farewell ; the 
 harmony of the accompaniment vibrates, the glacial gust passes, 
 the persistent, somber bass sighs. 
 
 The curtain fell. Roberto, between the acts, paid a visit to 
 the Ines's box; no sooner had the knob moved than she turned 
 around, greeting him with a gentle inclination of her neck and 
 shoulders. Up to that moment she had been cold and serious; 
 at once, however, she became lively, and a pink flush rose from 
 her heart to her cheeks. " She's a marble statue," Dona Aura 
 
NOSTALGIA FOR DEATH 97 
 
 had commented in the opposite box; but noticing how animated 
 Ines had become, the poetess bent over and whispered something 
 behind her fan into Mata's ear. From this, Roberto and Ines 
 guessed that they were the topic of the conversation. In Dona 
 Aura de Cardoso's box there was an unceasing stir, and she, 
 exuberant, her eyes smiling through her gold-rimmed glasses, 
 with a certain forced animation by which she tried to conceal 
 her forty years, turned this way and that, shook hands with 
 Mata, Agiieros, Landaburo and all the rest who came to visit 
 her and court her in homage to her husband's position as "an 
 international conspirator," the " champion of Revaluation," 
 " the immortal Cardoso." 
 
 At the back of Dona Teresa's box was General Ronderos, si- 
 lent, frowning, biting at his mustache. He had come only to 
 please and accompany Dona Teresa ; it had been some time since 
 he had gone to the theater; the spectacle brought to mind other 
 festivities; between the stage and his glance there arose scenes 
 from the past; in spirit he lived again long years of his life; his 
 stormy youth; Mirandola and Rosina's company; the balls and 
 the banquets given by his father; that first love affair, the fatal 
 duel; the death of his adversary, his escape from the country, 
 his residence in Europe so many years; the return to his native 
 land; his happy marriage, his labors in the country bordering 
 the Magdalena ; his rehabilitated fortune ; his wife's death ; then 
 that of his daughter, in a hunting accident; his loneliness; then 
 politics, to forget his sorrows in the agitation of public life; his 
 love, now concentrated entirely upon his country. ... Ah! 
 His country, for which he had suffered so much! His cam- 
 paigns, the determined, constant struggle with the Revaluation 
 party; the endless conflict; his anxiety to see this nation peace- 
 ful and happy ! In vain ! . . . Here he had come to the end of 
 his years, was already a man with overwhelming responsibili- 
 ties, and he could see the strife breaking out anew, and, yonder 
 on the horizon, the threatening clouds of another tempest. . . . 
 
 " You're preoccupied, General. . . . Don't you care for the 
 opera? " asked Roberto. 
 
 "The opera?" he repeated, waking from his thoughts, re- 
 turning from afar. " Yes, Roberto, my boy, I am preoccupied. 
 This Landaburo, although he goes around making speeches 
 about peace, is without doubt up to something. This Revalua- 
 
98 PAX 
 
 tion party, as they call it, or Revolution party, as I call it, is by 
 no means napping. . . . Just look at them there, over in that 
 virago's box, Seflora Cardoso's; there's a mysterious air about 
 them, an air of mutual understanding, joy. ... Ah ! Tubal- 
 cain Cardoso! It's many months since he left Mexico. I've 
 lost track of him. . . . Will he invade us? ... I've sent tele- 
 grams to all the consuls. ..." 
 
 " Yes, I told you so the other night, over at Aunt Teresa's; 
 we must keep wide awake. . . . But the government counts on 
 many friends." 
 
 "Friends? . . . You can see for yourself; within our own 
 party ranks there is a group of dissenters; last night " (he low- 
 ered his voice and bent forward as he added this), " last night 
 there was a meeting at the home of that chump, Gonzalez Mo- 
 gollon, for the purpose of deciding what attitude they shall as- 
 sume toward those agitators. They've made a peace pact, and 
 I call it a war agreement. And among many others, there were 
 present that hypocrite Alcon, that swindler Karlonoff, and others 
 who are supposed to be friends of ours, and who yet obey San- 
 chez Mendez. And this political banquet. . . . Yes, I've got 
 reason to be worried." 
 
 Roberto left. 
 
 Bellegarde entered the box and sat down beside Ines. 
 
 " You were right," she said, leaning her opera-glasses against 
 the railing of the box, " you were right: exquisite music, orig- 
 inal, novel; still, I don't quite understand it yet. ... I see, of 
 course, that the orchestra plays a very important part; its role in 
 the Italian operas we know here is a modest, servant's one. . . . 
 It seems to me that in this modern music the orchestra has risen 
 in the social scale, and is in a higher class than before ... it 
 is as important as the human voice." 
 
 "Yes, indeed, senorita, precisely! . . . and Massenet has 
 made so much of a theme that would have perhaps proved sterile 
 to others. . . . He discovered an immense passion and drew 
 inspiration from it. ... One of those passions," he continued 
 in a deeper tone, " which transform an existence, which fill an 
 entire lifetime, which inspire a man's every act." 
 
 " Yes; one of those passions," commented Ines with an arch 
 smile, " that are no longer in style. A man who would cherish 
 
NOSTALGIA FOR DEATH 99 
 
 such a one to-day would appear ridiculous, outmoded, just as if 
 he wore this day a surcoat and a powdered wig." 
 
 " And it is strange," continued Bellegarde, assuming once 
 more his cold voice, " that Goethe should describe this passion, 
 such an intense passion, and so sincere a one, without 
 ever having felt it; his romantic crisis was very soon over, like 
 a child's illness: slight and short." 
 
 " Then Goethe would have been more noble had he felt the 
 passion and not described it." 
 
 At this point General Ronderos and Dona Teresa joined the 
 conversation; Dona Teresa declared frankly that she preferred 
 Carmen or Cavalleria Rusticana; the music of these operas was 
 much more understandable, and, above all, more happy; the 
 toreador's song was one of her favorite pieces. . . . She couldn't 
 stand sad, melancholy music. . . . There were enough troubles 
 and afflictions in the real world without going to the theater to 
 add to them with feigned sorrows. 
 
 " Don't you agree with me, Ronderos ? " 
 
 He, however, excused himself on the grounds of utter incom- 
 petence in the matter of music ; he recalled having read Werther 
 with much pleasure, some time before, and had realized that the 
 book revealed a morbid imagination and contained a powerful 
 poison, of great strength, as he had told himself, and a glorifi- 
 cation of suicide. 
 
 " In short," he concluded, " it wouldn't surprise me that an 
 edition of Werther should have an immense success in this coun- 
 try ; for the book would harmonize with the dominant passion of 
 the land: the passion, the mania of destruction; a very powerful 
 poison, the impulse to annihilate whatever is left standing; the 
 suicidal craze, the nostalgia for death." 
 
 The bell announced the rise of the curtain. Bellegarde arose 
 and bowed to Ines. 
 
 " I happen to think, at this moment," he said, " of the words 
 with which Werther described to his friend the passion that 
 dominates him. ' Ah, come what may, I cannot say that I have 
 not known happiness.' " And bowing still lower: " * I en- 
 joy all the happiness that has been given to man.' " 
 
 He withdrew backwards, bowed ceremoniously at the door, 
 and left. 
 
100 PAX 
 
 Roberto had gone off in search of Alejandro; he had not 
 found him in his box, so he walked toward the stage, opened the 
 door that communicated to the wings, and crossed behind the 
 scenery. In La Rondinelli's dressing-room stood Landaburo, 
 Mata and Karlonoff, in heated discussion. 
 
 Karlonoff was continuing a monologue: 
 
 " In the innovations which I made in the construction of this 
 theater I took as model the theater at Bayreuth, the cornerstone 
 of which was laid in 1872; it was not opened, however, till 1876. 
 Some ignorant architects say that the good acoustics of an audi- 
 torium is all a matter of accident; that's an egregious error. 
 The Scala theater holds more than three thousand spectators, 
 while the model theater of Bayreuth can accommodate only one 
 thousand, seven hundred and fifty-eight. ..." 
 
 Alejandro, seated upon the red plush sofa, was examining the 
 painting upon a fan. La Rondinelli, at the dressing-table, 
 which was laden with bottles, was combing her hair, as she 
 sucked her lozenge ; she was complaining of the effort it required 
 to sing, and of the defective acoustics of the auditorium. Mala- 
 testa, who, leaning against the door, was gulping down a glass of 
 beer, ventured the observation that this defect had not existed 
 the past season, when he had sung there. The evil was due to 
 an alteration that had recently been made. 
 
 " Yes," agreed la Rondinelli, turning her head. " They say 
 that the theater has been spoiled now, by some Russian or Polish 
 scholar ... a fellow by the name . . . what's his name, 
 now?" 
 
 " I have it," said Malatesta " A Russian, wasn't he? No 
 ... he must have been a German. . . . Kar . . . Karlonoff. 
 . . . That's it! " he exclaimed in his resonant voice. ..." A 
 stupid barbarian, that Karlonoff." 
 
 All suppressed their laughter. One of the visitors, unable to 
 restrain himself any longer, exploded. 
 
 " What are they laughing at? " asked la Rondinelli. " Why 
 did that gentleman leave ? " 
 
 " Ha ! Ha ! " they replied. " Didn't you know ? That was 
 Karlonoff." 
 
 " Impossible ! " exclaimed Malatesta. " A Russian . . . 
 that . , ." 
 
NOSTALGIA FOR DEATH , . 
 
 101 
 
 "Impossible!" burst from la Rondinelli. "That ... the 
 Polish scholar? Ha! Ha!" 
 
 And the entire company laughed heartily. 
 
 Ganzalez asked a benefit for the Teaching Hospital. 
 
 " What grace," said Alejandro, " what art, mademoiselle, you 
 put into those three notes of the theme, that afterwards are in- 
 terwoven into the orchestral score; that last theme, so pure in the 
 flutes, so sparkling in the tones of the harps, so drenched with 
 tenderness in the violoncellos! " 
 
 " Those three dominating notes, unless I am mistaken," said 
 Roberto, " I have heard before, arranged in the same manner, in 
 La Patrie and in Cavalleria Rusticana." 
 
 "You don't say so! " 
 
 " Certainly you have a wonderful memory! " exclaimed Mala- 
 testa. "Really!" 
 
 Landaburo, who could not remain silent for long, began : 
 
 " I understand " and he waved his arm as if he were brand- 
 ishing a sword "I understand but one theme: the blast of 
 victory! I understand only one instrument: the drum, which 
 speaks its mind frankly." 
 
 " Mademoiselle Rondinelli," said Doctor Agiieros, with his 
 affected manner, passing his fingers through his hair, " allow 
 me to recommend a recipe, some throat lozenges. They will 
 strengthen your voice and counteract the acoustic deficiencies of 
 the stage. . . . My clinical professor in Paris, Doctor La- 
 place . . ." 
 
 " Ready? " asked the prompter in the doorway. " Shall we 
 sound the first signal? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Ah ! The bugle, there's another noble instrument," con- 
 tinued Landaburo. " Now in the last revolution, in my famous 
 charge upon the heights of Gachaneque, thanks to the 
 bugle . . ." 
 
 "The bugle?" exclaimed Karlonoff, who had glided back 
 into their midst, " the bugle was one of the worst errors com- 
 mitted by Napoleon at Austerlitz, and by Bolivar at Boyaca. 
 Modern tactics have suppressed it. Signals, in order to avoid 
 discovery by the enemy, should be made by the kepis." 
 
 The second call sounded. All left except Mata, who wished 
 
102 PAX 
 
 to remain alone with la Rondinelli to declare his passion. But 
 she, occupied in giving the finishing touches to her eyes with the 
 pencil, paid no attention to what the symbolistic poet said. 
 
 " Werther's passion is a suggestive one, seiiorita. ... A 
 hopeless passion. . . . Will mine be the same? . . . Werther 
 did well to commit suicide. Suicide is the most fitting end for 
 a brain that is superior to its epoch. ..." 
 
 Third call: a bell. The boxes and chairs began to fill up. 
 The curtain rose: Carlotta is in her room, alone; it is night; 
 she reads and re-reads Werther's letters; and the music follows 
 the reading of the letters, echoing the phrases of love and sad- 
 ness. Carlotta reads aloud: " I write from my lonely room," 
 and the progress of the musical phrase, the pauses of the orches- 
 tra, the foreboding quiver of the basses, all accompany the 
 thought, all express abandonment, absence, suffering. Carlotta 
 takes another letter: " The merry songs of the children come in 
 through my window," and then the orchestra changes mood, be- 
 comes vivacious, laughs, plays, as if expressing childish anima- 
 tion. The beloved one reads the last sentence: " Will we ever 
 meet again? . . . Never! Never! " Whereupon Carlotta be- 
 comes silent; but then the orchestra, interpreting the grief, utters 
 a mighty, crashing chord. 
 
 Landaburo and Doctor Agiieros entered Dona Aura de Car- 
 do'so's box; they began to speak in a low voice, with serious ex- 
 pressions, and the countenance of the poetess gradually lost its 
 jovial aspect, grew pale and more serious with each passing 
 moment. 
 
 On the stage the great duet between Carlotta and Werther 
 was going on, a scene of hushed declamation between the sim- 
 ple village maiden and the agitated thinker, and in that room in 
 which the very objects seemed to evoke recollections of love, the 
 gloomy dialogue continued, insinuated by the human voice, ac- 
 centuated by the plaints of the orchestra. Werther leaves and 
 bids farewell forever. 
 
 Suddenly there comes a scream from Dona Aura's box. A 
 fan falls to the pit ; all heads are turned upon the spot, and be- 
 hold the poetess, pale and leaning upon Landaburo's arm, leaves 
 her box. The great news circulates throughout the theater: 
 General Tubalcain Cardoso, the " great absent one," has died 
 in the desert of Tarapaza. 
 

 
 NOSTALGIA FOR DEATH 103 
 
 After a moment's disturbance in the auditorium all opera- 
 glasses are once more turned to the stage ; the third act continues. 
 A messenger from Werther brings a letter to Carlotta's husband : 
 " Send me the pistols; I am about to go on a long journey." 
 And Carlotta herself, innocently, unaware of her lover's inten- 
 tions, hands over the arms in a mute scene; the human voice is 
 silent and the tragic episode is accompanied by a single cry, 
 a tremor from the orchestra. 
 
 "Do you hear that, Roberto?" asked Bellegarde. "We're 
 now at the most tragic moment of the opera, in which the per- 
 sonages must be silent and the instrumental music has the right, 
 or rather, the duty, to speak for them." 
 
 Werther commits suicide: " Farewell, nature; garb yourself 
 in mourning. Your child, your friend, your favorite, ap- 
 proaches his end." The curtain falls. There is an outburst of 
 applause; the artists are called several times before the curtain; 
 a group of enthusiasts goes behind the stage to congratulate 
 them. Roberto and Alejandro stumble across Mata in a dark 
 corner, behind a piece of scenery, pale and with a sinister look 
 in his eyes. He is about to imitate Werther; the contagion of 
 suicide has fascinated him; a revolver glistens in his hands; 
 Alejandro tears it out of his grasp; Gonzalez Mogollon, who has 
 come to insist upon a benefit performance, intervenes: 
 
 " No, give him back his weapon. Mata has no intention of 
 doing that. I'll bet my head on it. I'm going to enter him on 
 the Compulsory Salvation's list of members." 
 
 " It's strange," commented Bellegarde to Alejandro, in the 
 vestibule of the exit, while he raised the collar of his coat 
 against the cold gusts that came from the street. " Here, in a 
 privileged country, they don't think of life, of happiness, of art, 
 of the sheer joy of existence, but rather of destruction, of war, of 
 suicide. This young fellow, this Seiior Mata, who has talent, 
 and a future, plans suicide. Does this rich country, favored 
 by God, plan suicide, too? ... How strange this mysterious 
 fascination is. . . ." 
 
 Roberto offered an explanation: 
 
 " A mystery? ... a fascination? . . . It's the nostalgia 
 for death." 
 
104 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 MONTELLANO, installed in the ancient home of the Avilas, is 
 writing in his office, a vast room upon the walls of which hang 
 the plans of his estates. The crude light which enters through 
 the open balcony windows, strikes cold glints from the iron safe, 
 from the copying-press, from the copper clasps of the account 
 books and from the varnish of the shelves. He is sending out 
 telegrams, orders, instructions to every corner of the Republic, 
 in which he maintains in constant motion a veritable army of 
 employees, to whom Montellano is always present, and who 
 imagine that they can hear his grumbling voice at every moment, 
 dominating all else: " Increase rent by one hundred twenty- 
 three thousand dollars. . . ." " Demand payment from Pepe 
 Redondo without accepting any excuses. ..." " Give salt to 
 cattle; indispensable increase jugs milk. . . ." " Buy up or- 
 ders for payment and stopped military pensions, but don't give 
 any more than thirty per cent of their value. ..." " Sell 
 cattle dead from epidemic, look out for confiscation. . . ." It 
 is absolutely necessary for the gigantic machine to keep going, 
 without stopping for a moment; from every direction there must 
 come flowing streams of money to fill that insatiable monster 
 that lurks in a corner with open jaw: the iron safe. At times 
 he pauses, hesitates, concentrates his thoughts; his black, round 
 eyes assume the hard, external brilliancy of an eagle's; it seems 
 that from his eerie he surveys the entire panorama of the repub- 
 lic; his glance sweeps immeasurable expanses; yonder he dis- 
 covers, in an obscure spot accessible only to him, a bit of prey, a 
 certain profit. During his meditation he remains as if in ec- 
 stasy, while he moves his fingers in unconscious spasms, and as 
 soon as he has come to a decision, in the violence of his desire 
 he opens his hand and then slowly half closes it. 
 
 Through the windows come the noises of the city, which is 
 beginning to stir, and the morning breeze, which ruffles the 
 covers of the lounges and the tablecloth; a distant din is heard, 
 a confusion of bells, the rolling of wheels and the clatter of 
 hoofs, the snap of whips, whistles ... the commotion ap- 
 
IN THE EAGLE'S TALONS 105 
 
 preaches and grows louder . . . the street-car passes by, and 
 there is .heard the persistent, monotonous clang of a bell that 
 summons folk to mass; from the street, footsteps, clearing of 
 throats, the rumble of carts and carriages. 
 
 From a neighboring room are wafted the clear, mechanical 
 tones of the piano at which Dolores is studying : do-re-mi-f a-sol- 
 la-si-do . . . do-si-la-sol-fa-mi-re-do. . . ." 
 
 A soft tap at the door. 
 
 "Come in!" 
 
 Amid the sound of beads and medallions there enter two 
 Sisters of Charity. . . . The millionaire envelops them in a 
 rapid glance; he makes a gesture of annoyance; he observes the 
 masculine figure and the square shoulders of Sister Visitacion, 
 and bows with a movement of instinctive respect to Sister San 
 Ligorio. Every day she is thinner, more spiritualized. The 
 eyes in her dark sockets possess an ineffable fascination, and 
 reveal the incurable nostalgia of the exiled, the glorious tran- 
 quillity of hope. 
 
 "What brings you here, Sisters? " asked Montellano in his 
 stentorian voice, arising and taking several paces that made the 
 floor tremble. 
 
 All were seated; there was a brief pause during which the 
 room resounded with the whir of the street-cars and the bell of 
 a nearby tower. The Sisters glanced at each other; it was Sister 
 San Ligorio who spoke, and as she did so, she gently raised her 
 hands, which had been resting upon the arms of the chair: 
 long, aristocratic hands, as if made of immortal substance. Her 
 voice, sadly musical, penetrated to the depths of one's soul. 
 
 " Seiior Montellano, we know of your generosity, and we have 
 come to ask alms for the sick who cannot go to the hospitals 
 and who are cared for by Sister Visitacion and me at their own 
 homes." 
 
 Montellano whirled about on his swivel-chair till the spring 
 creaked, and then rose. 
 
 "Alms, my dear Sisters? But you can't imagine what a 
 plight I'm in ... the Bogota expenditures are enormous . . . 
 and these lessons Dolores takes. ... I don't make anything at 
 all ... nobody pays me. . . ." 
 
 He turned to the wall and slapped a plan that was signed by 
 Karlonoff. 
 
106 PAX 
 
 " There was a fortune invested in the reconstruction of this 
 house alone. . . . Karlonoff nearly ruined me with his faulty 
 plan. ..." 
 
 As he spoke he gesticulated wildly, assuming desperate pos- 
 tures. His voice drowned out the tumult of the street, the 
 rumble of the carts and the carriages, the clatter of hoofs, the 
 piercing cry of the vendors: "Get your lottery tickets here! 
 . . . La Revaluation! . . . La Integridad! . . . El Escorpwn, 
 with a caricature ... ! " 
 
 " Pardon us, Sefior Montellano," said the Sister in her melo- 
 dious voice. " We shall return upon a more propitious occa- 
 sion; our poor sick charges lack everything and we are obliged 
 to have recourse to the charity of compassionate souls. . . ." 
 
 Once again Montellano's booming voice burst forth. 
 
 " My dear Sisters, you own about twenty houses, half of la 
 Sabana, shares in every bank, funds in Europe . . . rather than 
 my helping you, you could come to my aid. . . ." 
 
 The Sisters smiled protestingly, resignedly, and amid the 
 noise of their beads and their medallions they walked to the 
 door. 
 
 " You will obtain better information," said Sister Visitacion, 
 turning to Montellano. " We will return later; we lack no con- 
 fidence in your generous heart." 
 
 "Wait a moment! Wait a moment!" cried Montellano. 
 " I don't want you to leave empty-handed." 
 
 And he began to rummage very eagerly through his coat 
 pocket, the pockets of his vest, of his trousers. At last he 
 found two filthy bills, two bills of a peso apiece, and he gave 
 them to Sister San Ligorio. 
 
 " Heaven reward you, Sefior Montellano." 
 
 At the foot of the staircase the Sisters met Alejandro, who, on 
 noticing them, grew suddenly silent and bowed very low. 
 
 " Monsieur Alexandre," said Sister Visitacion, " why haven't 
 you come to visit us? " 
 
 " I'll come to-morrow. . . ." 
 
 After they had gone he ascended the stairs hurriedly. He 
 came across Alcon at the office door; but Alejandro walked 
 straight in, leaving the door open. Alcon returned to the gal- 
 lery where he had been waiting, and while Alejandro was busy, 
 became engrossed anew in his reading : LA INTEGRIDAD 
 
IN THE EAGLE'S TALONS 107 
 
 Director, Luis Sanchez M&ndez. He was eager to taste the 
 pleasure of reading an article that had been composed by him 
 and Karlonoff with the object of thrusting difficulties into the 
 way of Ronderos and his friends. How he delighted in smell- 
 ing the odor of fresh ink from his writings! 
 
 CANALIZATION. Our worthy readers have already been informed 
 of the contract made some three months ago between his honor the 
 Minister of Finance and Senor Bellegarde. Acting as the interpreters of 
 the taste and the wishes of our compatriots we wish to satisfy one and 
 the other by gathering the views of persons who understand the matter 
 and belong to different classes, parties and professions. Accordingly we 
 have sent questionaires to the gentleman whose names follow. . . . 
 
 Noticing the intrusion of a French idiom, he was thunder- 
 struck, as if by an electric shock. He could see that Karlonoff 
 had at the very last moment gone over the proofs. He thought 
 he would be lost if his collaboration in the article should become 
 known, and had resolved to hide his complicity at all events, by 
 this grammatical error. 
 
 " The director of La Integridad," ran the note that had been sent 
 to the persons listed, " in view of your well-known competency in fiscal 
 affairs, engineering and canalization, respectfully asks you to reply to 
 the various questions of the following interrogatory, if it be your pleasure 
 to do so." 
 
 From the end of the corridor came the scales and the vocal 
 exercises that Dolores was studying ; a passage that was for- 
 ever begun and forever cut short; la Rondinelli's voice would 
 mingle with the sounds. 
 
 " Let us begin over again, seiiorita." 
 
 Alcon continued to read : 
 
 "1. In your opinion, is the work of canalization a scientific possibility? 
 
 2. Should complete faith be placed in the plans, sketches, outlines 
 
 and draughts presented to the Ministry by the French engineers? 
 
 3. Would the system of movable dikes be preferable to the use of 
 
 dredgers? 
 
 4. In this enterprise, undertaken with foreign capital, would there not 
 
 be a danger to national security and in general to the Latin race 
 in Americe? 
 
 5. In case a million francs is placed into the Treasury as a bond, to 
 
 what purpose should this money be devoted? 
 
 6. If, in your opinion, it should be devoted to the amortization of our 
 
 weak currency, what procedure should be followed? 
 
io8 PAX 
 
 The director of La Integridad hopes for an early reply. 
 
 Addressed to Doctor Melchor J. Alcon, publicist and philologist. 
 General Floro Landaburo, the well-known revolutionist. Doctor Carlos 
 Onofre Sandoval y Sabogal, colonel of bridges and highways. Doctor R. 
 Agiieros, physician. S. C. Mata, poet. Giovanni Malatesta, artist. 
 N. Gonzales Mogollon, merchant. Ramon Montellano, banker. Nic. 
 Villafane, commission merchant. Nabuc. Benavides, agriculturalist and 
 coffee plantation owner. N. Tapia, agriculturalist. John K. Gachar- 
 nah, traveling agent. Escipion Socarraz, politician and journalist. 
 Terencio Nochols, photographer. Exposito Montes, manufacturer of 
 footwear. Neron Jaspe, professor of tailoring (studios in Dublin and 
 Naples). Sinai Largacha, book-binder. Aura de Cardoso, man of 
 letters." 
 
 Alcon stopped reading with a start, for from the office came 
 the sounds of an altercation between the millionaire's bellowing 
 voice and that of Alejandro, which was quivering with rage. 
 
 " It's already two months since we closed the sale of Ceba- 
 deros, and we haven't finished yet." 
 
 " The deed was signed yesterday. What more do you wish, 
 Don Alejandro? " 
 
 " I'm all out of patience: after endless chaffering we fixed a 
 price of 55,000 dollars. . . . When it came to signing the docu- 
 ments you suddenly discovered that you would have to remodel 
 the house of the estate. . . . Whereupon we had to draw up 
 another deed at the notary's, and there you added, without even 
 consulting me, that the expenses of the registry and the notary's 
 fee would be paid by me. I agreed to that, too. ..." 
 
 " Well, if you agreed, what are you complaining about, Don 
 Alejandro? " 
 
 " Two weeks later, when you gave me your word of honor 
 that nothing would be altered in the document, you added a new 
 clause. ..." 
 
 " You mean that about the walls? " asked the raucous voice. 
 
 " Yes," replied the angry one. 
 
 " Why, you agreed to that, too." 
 
 " At last, Don Ramon, the document was signed yesterday, in 
 which you yourself had set down that you would pay 55,000 
 dollars in gold or in letters of exchange. ..." 
 
 " Very well. And didn't I give you, yesterday, when the 
 paper was signed, the letters of exchange ? " 
 
 " Not on Europe, though, but on the square of Manizales, 
 
IN THE EAGLE'S TALONS 109 
 
 and I haven't been able to find a purchaser. . . . Nobody needs 
 funds in Manizales." 
 
 " That's easily arranged." 
 
 " Will you give me gold? " 
 
 " Not quite that. My dear Alejandro, you confessed freely, 
 at the notary's, that you were fully satisfied. I'll exchange the 
 letters on Manizales for some on Europe, if you allow me a 
 rebate." 
 
 " I had confidence in your good faith, Montellano, and I was 
 mistaken. How much must I pay for my blunder? " 
 
 " Let's fix it at 50,000 dollars even money." 
 
 " To me it's a question of honor, something that you don't 
 understand. I promised to pay Bellegarde to-day the value of 
 the shares that he gave me months ago, trusting in my word." 
 
 Alcon heard the door close violently, and shortly afterward 
 saw Alejandro, his cheeks flaming red and his eyes flashing, 
 cross the corridor that resounded with the anger of his footsteps 
 and stride toward the staircase. 
 
 " My dear Doctor Alcon," said Montellano, taking him by the 
 arm and leading him to a couch upon which the sunshine was 
 playing. " Who could ever have prophesied that you would be- 
 come one of our learned men, one of our most important political 
 figures! " 
 
 The pale bald pate of the learned man flushed crimson. 
 They sat down. Montellano lighted a cigar, stretched out his 
 feet and emitted voluminous puffs of smoke. 
 
 Silence. Into the room, through the balconies, comes the ring 
 of a bicycle bell, the bark of a dog, the buzz of conversations, 
 whistles, the footsteps of passers-by upon the flagging. 
 
 The piano lesson having been finished, the singing lesson fol- 
 lowed. Through the open door came the sounds of Dolores' 
 clear voice singing the well-known aria from Carmen: 
 
 L'amour est enfant de Boheme 
 
 II n'a jamais connu de loi; 
 
 Si tu ne m'aimes pas, je t'aime, 
 
 Si je t'aime prends garde a toi. . . . 
 
 The sentiment sounded strange in this temple of Mammon, in 
 which reigned only the brutal egotism of commercial combina- 
 tions, the lust for gain, for huge profits. 
 
no PAX 
 
 Montellano stood up, closed the door with the key and, after 
 sucking powerfully at the cigar, exclaimed : 
 
 "Dolores has turned the house into a school; ten lessons a 
 day: piano, singing, painting, deportment, grammar, French, 
 Italian, history . . . and it's all bosh ; if she only knew how to 
 cook, that would be plenty." 
 
 At the mention of Dolores, the ivory pate was bathed in a 
 purple glow. 
 
 " Friend Alcon, you are a wise man; the kind I like; you'll 
 make headway. You have chosen the career which in this coun- 
 try can lead you to the most elevated positions, the highest posts : 
 grammar, literature. You entered the government service and 
 got into the ministry by supporting General Ronderos in the 
 press, in El Sosten Oficial, and then, very naturally, and I 
 heartily applaud your course, in order to advance, you joined 
 the integro party, which confers a stamp of honesty, useful for 
 whatever operation you may engage in." 
 
 The learned man kept prudently silent and Montellano con- 
 tinued, drawing closer and closer and enveloping him in his 
 aquiline glance, which was now soft, caressing, fascinating. 
 
 " If they were to throw you out of the Ministry under such 
 circumstances, it would be said that it was through fear of your 
 legal knowledge, because you had discovered hidden manipu- 
 lations, speculation, indications of graft." 
 
 Then, lowering his voice, and assuming an even more confi- 
 dential tone: 
 
 "The government has this Sabanilla railroad; I know that 
 the canalization project is making headway and has the river 
 at Bocas de Ceniza all cleared; the moment ships begin sailing 
 up that way, the railroad will be left without any business; it 
 will produce nothing, it will be worth nothing. Nevertheless, 
 I would buy it for a small price, on terms. . . . Do you wonder 
 that I should care to purchase a fallen, ruined enterprise? 
 Well, my friend, I have had plenty of experience, I know the 
 country, and unforeseen contingencies may arise . . . and to- 
 gether with them would come the failure of the canalization 
 project, the depreciation of money. ..." And as if he could 
 already behold his profits, and already hear the torrent of bills 
 that was to fall upon his safe, Montellano involuntarily passed 
 
IN THE EAGLE'S TALONS 111 
 
 his hand nervously along his arm, along the back of the chair, 
 across the seat of the lounge. 
 
 Alcon, who, while his friend was speaking, had kept his eyes 
 fixed upon the design of the carpet, raised his glance and di- 
 rected it straight into Montellano's eyes, letting it fall again. 
 Montellano, now enthusiastic, continued: 
 
 "I'd like you also to help me in the matter of that govern- 
 ment loan that I have pending with Ronderos, so that he'll take 
 at least half of it in orders for payment. This is the most im- 
 portant thing for the present. . . . And another very important 
 matter: to suspend or withdraw the funds of the 1848 bonds. 
 . . . That's easy . . . that would be a saving." 
 
 Somebody knocked loudly at the door. Alcon, frightened, at 
 once arose, coughed, spoke gruffly and turned toward the door. 
 As he accompanied his visitor to the door, Montellano said: 
 
 " You won't be sorry for it, my dear Alcon . . . you won't 
 regret it. ..." 
 
 Polanco, the millionaire's agent, had arrived the previous 
 evening from la Costa. He was a pleasant young man, with 
 refined, bronze features and sparkling eyes. He informed his 
 chief that he had carried through the operation that had been 
 commanded, the purchase of the cultivated land bordering 
 upon the River Magdalena, for the purpose of selling them in 
 turn to the canalization commission, who had urgent need of 
 them. An enormous and immediate profit would thus be made. 
 
 On learning of the conditions of the purchase, Montellano 
 burst into protest ; he had been pledged to pay the high price in 
 cash. 
 
 " It's no use; whatever I don't do myself is simply botched. 
 There's no way of getting you fellows sufficiently interested to 
 put energy and intelligence into business affairs. . . . And how 
 about the canalization? " 
 
 " They're making excellent headway; plenty of people. . . ." 
 
 He continued to explain matters to Montellano, in a voice that 
 rose and fell frequently, offering complete details as to the point 
 reached by the enterprise. 
 
 " And how about la Costa? " 
 
 "There's plenty doing; there's business; but we've succeeded 
 in creating general dissatisfaction, and Landaburo, on his tour, 
 
112 PAX 
 
 has organized the Revaluation party, speaking a great deal about 
 the government's rashness and its speculations. If the integros 
 don't cause trouble, as they've done other times. . . ." 
 
 " Very well, you'll keep me informed. And if anything turns 
 up, we'll carry out a certain operation on the Sabanilla rail- 
 road." 
 
 A knock at the door; Socarraz crossed the salon noiselessly, 
 despite his corpulency, as if he were gliding along. 
 
 He took Montellano to the balcony and drew a manuscript 
 from his pocket. 
 
 " Read, Don Ramon." 
 
 And he read an article entitled : The avaricious wealthy man, 
 in which the populace was incited to tear Montellano to shreds, 
 to sack his place and take possession of his ill-gotten fortune. 
 
 " Have you finished it? " asked Socarraz, fixing his slanting 
 eyes upon the millionaire. " This and a monstrous caricature 
 was brought to me in the office of the Escorpion; they would 
 have sold widely; but I didn't care to publish them, despite my 
 opinions." 
 
 Montellano, who felt uneasy with the journalist's squinting 
 glance turned upon him, and was disgusted with the odor of 
 brandy that came from him, without further ado drew from his 
 pocket a roll of bills and offered it to him. 
 
 " No, no, what I wish is a place in your enterprises, in 
 your tobacco houses, your match monopoly, on one of your ha- 
 ciendas. . . . I'm adaptable to everything." 
 
 He was about to go on, when Neron Jaspe, the professor of 
 tailoring, with studios in Dublin and Naples, appeared with a 
 black bundle under his arm. Montellano gladly seized upon 
 this opportunity to cut off Socarraz, and turning eagerly to 
 Neron Jaspe, said: 
 
 " I was waiting for you, friend; fit on my frock coat." 
 
 He took off his coat and threw it upon the lounge. The tailor 
 took the frock, approached courteously and helped Montellano 
 put it on. He stood before his patron, straightened out the 
 shirt, pulled once or twice at the lapels and drew back to survey 
 the work. 
 
 " Looks fine," he said, with a satisfied smile. 
 
 A gentle couple of knocks at the door. 
 
 "Come in! " 
 
IN THE EAGLE'S TALONS 113 
 
 It was Bellegarde. Noticing that Montellano was busy with 
 his tailor, he was about to withdraw. 
 
 "Come right in, right in!" shouted Montellano. "I was 
 wishing to see you because I want a favor." 
 
 " A favor? If it's at all possible for me to render it, con- 
 sider it done." 
 
 " Not for me; for this young man " and he pointed to So- 
 carraz " who is anxious to get a position." 
 
 Bellegarde looked at Socarraz sharply, blinked, and hesitated 
 for a moment. Then, recovering his formal attitude: 
 
 " A position? " he asked. " Do you wish it, Seiior Montel- 
 lano? " 
 
 "I'll be ever so much obliged to you. It would be very good 
 for you, for him, for everybody. ..." 
 
 " Very well," he said. " Let him come to my office whenever 
 he pleases." 
 
 The tailor continued to mark wrinkles and stick in pins, 
 which he carried between his lips. He bent over and then arose 
 again. He took a sleeve, ripped it off and placed it to one side. 
 
 "What brings you here?" asked Montellano, turning to 
 Bellegarde and gesticulating with the arm on which his shirt- 
 sleeve could be seen. 
 
 " I came to speak about the lands that you have purchased 
 through Seiior Polanco " and he bowed to the latter as he 
 mentioned his name " on the banks of the river. You got 
 ahead of me there. Very good. You had faith in the enter- 
 prise, evidently. I must pay for being caught napping and for 
 your faith. I'm perfectly well satisfied that all the Colombians 
 should profit by it. Will you take double the price for these 
 lands? ... It would make a profit . . . pardon me a mo- 
 ment." He drew out a memorandum book, performed a rapid 
 calculation and continued : "A profit to you of two hundred 
 thousand francs." 
 
 Polanco, who heard the figures from where he stood, could not 
 repress a gesture of satisfaction and glanced at Montellano 
 covetously, yet triumphantly, as if in reply to the recrimina- 
 tions and the gibes of a moment before. 
 
 Montellano, now inflamed by the fever of gain, began to move 
 impulsively about, while the tailor continued to dance hither 
 and thither after him, tearing off the other sleeve, drawing lines 
 
114 PAX 
 
 with chalk and indicating the places for the buttonholes. 
 
 " These lands," vociferated the millionaire, waving both his 
 shirt-sleeves, " constitute the sole legacy of my children. . . ." 
 He had made such ruinous sacrifices to be able to purchase them. 
 . . . They had cost him far more than the Count imagined; 
 envious tongues had given him untrustworthy information. . . . 
 But he was in great need of money, in dire distress, pressed by 
 his creditors . . . and perhaps to please the Count he might 
 consider the sale, but not for the sum offered ; oh, no, far 
 more. . . . The success of the project was certain; the value of 
 these lands was therefore incalculable, for peace was firm, last- 
 ing. . . . 
 
 As he waved his arms the links of the cuffs struck together. 
 On the white linen of the cuffs could be seen figures, calcula- 
 tions, words, and notes written in pencil. 
 
 He paced to and fro, he tore at his hair, he assumed the 
 desolate attitudes of a man on the brink of bankruptcy and burst 
 into a torrent of lamentations. 
 
 " You know me," said Bellegarde drily. " You know that I 
 pay well, that I don't haggle, and that I finish my business at a 
 single sitting. Take it or leave it." And he turned as if to go. 
 
 With his rat-like step Karlonoff had slid into the room, 
 waving a paper and crying : 
 
 " Sefior, I've come to collect my little bill. This is the eighth 
 time that I'm presenting it." 
 
 And Senor Montellano turned so bruskly toward Karlonoff 
 that he would have thrown over the tailor-professor and his 
 studios in Dublin and Naples, had not the latter got out of the 
 way. 
 
 " You and your little bill? It's I who ought to collect from 
 you for all the damage you did me with your wretched plan; 
 you almost forced me out in the street." 
 
 Bellegarde advanced nearer to the door. 
 
 " Just a moment," shouted Montellano. " We'll come to an 
 understanding." 
 
 "No, senor," replied Karlonoff to Montellano's earlier re- 
 mark, pounding upon the plan. " It's true that there was a 
 collapse, but that did no harm." 
 
 The tailor-professor, Socarraz and Polanco had formed a 
 
THE HORRORS OF PEACE 115 
 
 group apart, and were whispering, maintaining a mysterious, 
 animated conversation. 
 
 "No harm?" exploded Montellano. "When the walls 
 bulged the entire roof was damaged, and the beams gave way. 
 Just a moment, Senor Bellegarde. . . . The ceiling of the hall 
 cracked; the fleuron fell to the ground ... a plaster fleuron. 
 . . . Please wait, Sefior Bellegarde, we'll easily come to an 
 understanding. . . . The floor was damaged, too. ... So the 
 collapse did no harm, did it? Come out into the street and let 
 me show you; you'll see with your own eyes the size of the 
 cracks; your plan is worthless. . . ." 
 
 The tailor, alarmed, seeing that his customer had forgotten 
 his coat, that frock coat which was only basted and lacked 
 sleeves ran after him. He tried to hold him back by the 
 coat-tails, which ripped and remained hanging. 
 
 Below, in the street, amid a circle of curious bystanders, 
 Karlonoff was imperturbably continuing a scientific lecture, 
 while Montellano, in his fragmentary frock-coat, with one hand 
 grasped the colonel of bridges and highways and with the other 
 pointed to the famous cracks. 
 
 At this moment Bellegarde happened to pass by, fleeing the 
 din; but the eagle's eyes ferreted him out; the hand that was 
 pointing at the wall slowly closed; fearing that his prey would 
 escape the millionaire cried out: 
 
 " Bellegarde . . . agreed ! But I want cash . . . American 
 gold. . . ." 
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE HORRORS OF PEACE 
 
 WITHOUT paying any attention to the commotion that was 
 going on in the street, nor to the strange figure of Montellano, 
 Roberto entered his former home. He had brought with him 
 the accounts of various establishments, and with this purpose 
 came to Don Ramon's office every day for one or two hours of 
 the morning. The millionaire never treated him with the asper- 
 ity or the recriminations that he used with his employees and 
 
ii6 PAX 
 
 agents; on the contrary, with general admiration and without 
 mumbling, he tolerated his jests and his lack of punctuality. 
 
 Don Ramon, who was a great connoisseur of men and of the 
 manner in which their talents and aptitudes might best be ex- 
 ploited, esteemed above all Roberto's reserve; he knew that his 
 dealings with that man would always remain a secret, and that 
 not a word which was spoken in the office would be repeated by 
 Roberto. Besides, his accountant furnished him with exact data 
 concerning persons and things, and had often given him useful 
 advice and valuable information, without ever having asked for 
 the slightest share or advantage. 
 
 Indeed, Montellano was at this very time developing a 
 scheme that had been suggested to him by his book-keeper. An 
 old woman, in need of money, had come and offered him some 
 bonds of public credit from the debt of 1848. Montellano 
 had dismissed the woman with the utmost harshness, and Ro- 
 berto, moved by compassion, had then convinced him that those 
 papers, the holders of which were in hard straits, would double 
 in value on the day on which they were gathered, for solid funds 
 of amortization were alloted to them. Montellano, after think- 
 ing it over and studying the matter thoroughly, resolved to carry 
 it out, but improving it in his own way. In order to gather all 
 the bonds at a low price he asked Alcon, Undersecretary of 
 Finance, to have the amortization fund suppressed, with the 
 understanding that it would be reestablished and increased when 
 the entire public debt was in his hands. 
 
 In order to effect the purchase he was careful not to make use 
 of the money changers or the commercial brokers, who would 
 have scented the business, and he entrusted the operation to the 
 selfsame old lady that had offered him the first bonds, as well as 
 to other persons in like circumstances, who could inspire no 
 suspicion whatever. 
 
 Above the portal of the house there had been preserved, half 
 hidden by the whitening, the escutcheon with the thirteen bezants 
 and the inscription Glory and Grief; Roberto could hardly re- 
 strain a movement of impatience at beholding the unsullied 
 shield of the Avilas in that lair of greed. He was mortified, 
 too, by the " euphonic green " and the " iniquitous yellow," as 
 Mata phrased it, with which the stone pilasters were besmeared, 
 the cornices of the arches, the basin of the fountain. . . . 
 
THE HORRORS OF PEACE 117 
 
 The water continued its strange speech and at times Roberto 
 imagined he heard the sounds of ironic laughter. 
 
 The brilliant green of the bush of Castilian roses competed 
 with the " euphonic green " of the balustrade, and its fragrance 
 mingled with the odor of the fresh paint. Roberto was pleased 
 to see that the rose-bush was cared for diligently and that a 
 veritable milky way of flowers descended from the balustrade to 
 the yard. 
 
 The young man, who had not forgotten that the best of 
 flowers is a maiden's smile, left the roses and approached the 
 staircase. He knew that this smile would be waiting for him at 
 the top stair. 
 
 According to Montellano's plans and to Karlonoff's as well, 
 the stone staircase, which invaded one wing of the house to no 
 purpose, had been replaced by a central staircase, a very high 
 one, which left room for two stores at a rental of a hundred 
 dollars each. 
 
 Roberto stopped to rest a moment from the fatigue of the 
 ascent; at the end of the hall a lesson was interrupted, a femi- 
 nine hand drew aside a little curtain and there appeared the 
 rosy, turbulent face of Lola, who, as she smiled, revealed the 
 shining white enamel of her teeth. Roberto replied with a 
 smile. The singing lesson was then resumed : " Love is a 
 child of Bohemia. ..." 
 
 He entered the office, crossed it and took his place before a 
 high desk upon which stood the books with the copper clasps. 
 
 Montellano returned from the street and behind him came 
 Landaburo, who was all decked out in boots; spurs, gauntlets 
 and carried his silver-handled whip. 
 
 Catching sight of him, Montellano made a gesture of annoy- 
 ance and maintained a hostile silence. 
 
 " General Polanco," cried Landaburo, embracing the million- 
 aire's agent, "you here? " Then, in a confidential tone: 
 " I'll expect you to-night at my house; I must talk with you on 
 a very important matter." 
 
 Then, turning to Montellano: 
 
 " I should like to have a few words with you." 
 
 And as he spoke, he struck his boot with his whip. 
 
 Montellano preserved his severe frown, his hostile silence. 
 
 Landaburo tried to take him amicably by the arm and lead 
 
1 18 PAX 
 
 him toward the window. At this Montellano's brick-like com- 
 plexion flamed up and he released his arm bruskly. 
 
 "What is the trouble, my dear friend? " exclaimed Landa- 
 buro. '" Are you angry? " 
 
 Montellano exploded. 
 
 " Didn't you say at that political banquet that all fortunes 
 must be returned to the people? That they should not be al- 
 lowed to be passed on to one's heirs, in other words, that we 
 persons who have saved something through our own efforts 
 should be despoiled of our possessions? ..." 
 
 He was about to go on when Landaburo interrupted. 
 
 " Ah, my dear Don Ramon, is that all? I give you my word 
 as a soldier, as a gentleman and as a friend, that I had no 
 intention of doing you any harm, that those sentences were 
 directed neither against you nor anybody else. You are too 
 intelligent not to understand that they were for exportation, for 
 the mob that had filled the doorways, and that a man in my 
 position, upon whom are fixed the glances of all, rich and poor, 
 and from whom the people expect relief and prosperity, must 
 utter sentiments such as those, just as bones are thrown to dogs, 
 so that they may not continue to be called by their enemies 
 monarchists and aristocrats. But it doesn't mean anything, has 
 no importance, and no results. ..." 
 
 " No results? " interrupted Montellano. " Do you know that 
 I have received anonymous letters in which I am asked not for 
 alms, but for that part of my fortune which I am withholding 
 from the people, and that some have tried to suppress me, so 
 that they may inherit my wealth according to your theories and 
 your incitation? " 
 
 " Well, then, to erase this bad impression and to produce in 
 the people a feeling of sympathy toward you, I'll write this 
 very moment for the Revaluation an article in which I'll praise 
 you to the skies . . . and this very moment the title occurs to 
 me: * Make way for labor! ' " 
 
 Although Montellano was not entirely pacified by Landaburo, 
 and did not accept his protestations, feeling a certain instinctive 
 aversion to the fellow, he acted as if he were quite content, fore- 
 seeing the possibility of a war in which Landaburo might ruin 
 him by developing his socialistic program. 
 
 They retired to the balcony window. 
 
THE HORRORS OF PEACE 119 
 
 " You must know," pursued Landaburo, " that I represent 
 the house of MacGregor, which for the past twenty years has 
 owned certain maritime salt mines. You, Sefior Montellano, 
 have offered the Government proof that my clients have no valid 
 title to the exploitation of these mines, and in exchange for this 
 service you ask to have the mines rented to you. Isn't that so? " 
 
 Montellano nodded in confirmation. 
 
 " Very well, then, I come," continued the General, " to pro- 
 pose that you withdraw your offer and join with us." 
 
 " Which proves to me," replied Montellano cunningly, " that 
 I've won out. I refuse to yield. I have offered four hundred 
 thousand pesos per year for the salt mines that you exploit for 
 forty thousand. If I were to accept the proposal that you make, 
 the Government would lose three hundred and sixty thousand 
 pesos." 
 
 " That's the best part of the deal, Seiior Don Ramon, for 
 everything that deprives the Government of resources is a patri- 
 otic act. Furthermore, if you sincerely desire the welfare of the 
 country, you can accomplish that more effectively by preventing 
 the diplomatic clash that I'll bring about if we two don't come 
 to terms, and which will undoubtedly result in the bombardment 
 of Cartagena and Buenventura, or the payments of a few mil- 
 lions in gold. These Government robbers must be given a 
 lesson." 
 
 " So that you count upon the English cannon, and will resort 
 to them ? " asked Montellano in surprise. 
 
 Landaburo, gesticulating wildly, then explained himself in a 
 low voice, trying to win over the millionaire. The latter was on 
 the point of leaving for his office anew, but Landaburo seized 
 his arm. 
 
 " I'd like to solicit something for the poor Poles; I'm raising 
 a subscription throughout the Republic to give them aid." 
 
 "Nothing, nothing; I give nothing to foreigners; we have 
 plenty of poor Poles here, too." 
 
 " It's for the Polish insurrection, I tell you," insisted Landa- 
 buro, insinuatingly. 
 
 " Very well, very well," replied Montellano, after a moment's 
 reflection in which he saw what was really afoot. " Come back 
 some other time. I know now who your poor Poles are and 
 where this uprising will take place. . . . And if you should 
 
120 PAX 
 
 happen to be forced to leave, tell your family that they may 
 count on me." 
 
 " And you, friend Montellano, may be sure that I will be in- 
 finitely obliged. I give you my word of honor as a soldier, as a 
 gentleman and as a friend. You already know how loyal I am. 
 In short, I'll write to MacGregor. Now I must leave you, for I 
 must finish my editorial for La Revaluation; you'll see what a 
 drubbing I give Ronderos. The editorial is called * Klepto- 
 mania.' ' : 
 
 Montellano, who did not know what the word meant, shrugged 
 his shoulders as usual. 
 
 Mincing footsteps were heard from the gallery. The curtain 
 stirred with an unexpected gust; then came a loud guffaw, and 
 in walked Gacharnah, panting, with his white vest, a gardenia 
 in his button-hole, with gloves the color of raw meat, lavishing 
 smiles on all sides and waving his fat hands, which seemed to 
 multiply a hundred fold for the purpose of distributing effusive 
 handclasps. 
 
 "Roberto! " he cried, "and how is Alejandro? Strange to 
 find you alone, for you always go together; you're like Castor 
 and Pollux." 
 
 "And who might Castor and Pollux be?" asked Montel- 
 lano. 
 
 " That's the firm name of a couple of Greek commission mer- 
 chants," shouted Roberto, as he transferred an item from the 
 day-book to the ledger. 
 
 Landaburo turned to his friends Polanco and Socarraz, with 
 whom he established an animated and mysterious conversation. 
 In the meantime Gacharnah, at the balcony window, was ex- 
 hibiting to Montellano strips of blue and red cloth. 
 
 " As you have so many relations with the Government, I have 
 come to propose a big deal together. . . . See what a good imi- 
 tation this is, what a good appearance it presents. . . . This 
 other cloth looks like the best goods turned out by Manchester. 
 . . . We can send the order by cable. . . . Three words, and 
 we'll thus effect the rapid shipment of twenty thousand yards 
 of blue cloth and five thousand of red, for uniforms. Here's 
 the code: Gacharnah Brothers Birmingham Big Giant, 
 bearded, judaizing." 
 
THE HORRORS OF PEACE 121 
 
 Then, to throw the others off the track, and raising his voice: 
 
 "Have you received the wine, Don Ramon? It's the same 
 as we took this afternoon at home. I have the label right here: 
 OLD CHERRY Shipped expressly for Don Ramon Montel- 
 lano Colombia Bogota." 
 
 And in a low voice : 
 
 " There's another item even better than the cloth. . . ." And 
 almost in Montellano's ear: "The armaments, the warships. 
 I've got all that ready, too. A very cheap vessel, but of good 
 appearance. . . . All you need do is send another cable: persi- 
 fication, and Gacharnah Brothers will send it to us at once. . . . 
 Then, in case of war, there's the matter of foreign claims, in 
 which some great deals can be made. For now, during peace, 
 my dear Don Ramon, it's awful hard to make money; it takes 
 long and hard work; while during war certain industries make 
 huge profits, business is lucrative and easy, masterly strokes can 
 be made and a fortune accumulated in no time. ..." 
 
 " You're as wise as Solomon; but I'm really not interested in 
 your proposals, my dear Gacharnah," replied Montellano. " I 
 won't go into them, but those gentlemen over there," he added, 
 with a laugh, pointing to the group formed by Landaburo, So- 
 carraz and Polanco, " may be able to furnish you the war that 
 you need in a short space of time, at once, in fact, if they 
 are properly induced. Talk it over with them." 
 
 " I know, I know, Sefior Montellano," exploded the stranger, 
 " that for you, the revaluation party and the integridad party, 
 peace and war, are all the same, for you are clever enough to 
 turn any party and any man and any situation to your profit." 
 
 " My dear Mata," cried Landaburo, noticing the poet enter 
 the room with his usual wearied, emaciated expression. 
 
 To-day the poet's eyes were moister than ever, his complex- 
 ion unusually yellow and his gait less firm than ordinarily. 
 
 " I have come, Don Ramon, to propose a deal that will net 
 you both honor and profit, more honor than profit." 
 
 And noticing Montellano's annoyance and impatience, the 
 poet continued languidly : 
 
 "I'd like to have you lend me a certain sum in order to bring 
 out, in the United States, an edition of the first three volumes 
 of my second series of poems : Eternal Orient, The Song of my 
 
122 PAX 
 
 Songs and Red Lines. I permit myself to trouble you in this 
 regard because I have such firm faith in your philanthropic 
 nature and despite the fact that you know neither me nor my 
 verses." 
 
 " And how do you expect me," asked Montellano, " to ad- 
 vance you money without knowing either you or your verses? " 
 
 " For that very reason," said Roberto, in a low voice. 
 
 " I have still another idea," continued Mata, unruffled. 
 " That you sign this petition to the Government." 
 
 And Montellano read: 
 
 The undersigned, knowing and admiring the merit and the transcend- 
 ent worth of the literary productions of Senor S. C. Mata, the most 
 inspired among the poets of Spanish America, who breaking the old 
 urns and the classic fetters has winged aloft to the Blue and beheld 
 face to face the Sun of the eternal Harmony; a pure glory of the 
 Latin race; an authentic genius, who is a hundred cubits above all 
 living writers and comparable only to one or two of the dead; the only 
 one who has been successful in gathering into a single sheaf the 
 " jessamines of the Orient, the fragrance of the North, of the West, 
 the dahlias and roses of the South " ; the only one to whom " Pindar 
 gave his famous rhythms and Anacreon his wines and honies," 
 impelled by patriotic duty, manifest to the Government the necessity of 
 publishing the works of this Colombian Homer, in order thus to honor 
 letters, and place aloft the gold, the purple and the sapphire of our 
 banner. 
 
 Landaburo, moved, not by patriotic impulse, but by his rest- 
 less, susceptible vanity, stepped forward to be the first to sign. 
 
 " My name is known throughout America," he said. " It 
 will serve you as a passport." 
 
 There followed the signatures of Montellano, Socarraz (Chief 
 director of The Scorpion) and Polanco. 
 
 " I, too, will sign," uttered a stentorian, asthmatic voice that 
 buzzed like a bumble-bee. "I, too, wish to help out this young 
 man. I must get him to write a few verses for the inauguration 
 of the Teaching Hospital." 
 
 Upon becoming aware of Gonzalez Mogollon's presence, all 
 fled, and the philanthropist, with his crane-like bald head, was 
 left alone with the millionaire. 
 
 " I have brought you the statutes of the Teaching Hospital, 
 as I offered to do. We already have a place and I hope you'll 
 come to pay us a visit some afternoon. There are, so far, eight 
 
THE HORRORS OF PEACE 123 
 
 inmates. . . . Just imagine: formerly they left the hospital 
 without knowing how to earn a living. Our plan is that, when 
 they are convalescing, they may begin to do something. In 
 order to make the best use of their time during their illness, the 
 members are teaching them. They study, particularly musical 
 instruments, and hope to form a band. We have two chronic 
 dyspeptics that play four-hand arrangements upon the piano, 
 eight hours per day. Another convalescent who suffers from 
 insomnia makes use of his time by learning the clarinet during 
 the night. . . . We'll have a fine band. ... Do you wish to 
 read the list of contributors? " 
 
 Montellano, without replying to Gonzales Mogollon's ques- 
 tion, offered him construction materials for his work, on the con- 
 dition that they would be paid for at once, in cash. Very soon 
 they had concluded an arrangement by which Don Ramon real- 
 ized a handsome profit. A very small part of this profit he 
 donated as charity to the Teaching Hospital. 
 
 The rumbling, monotonous voice ceased to resound in Mon- 
 tellano's office, for Gonzalez had withdrawn, but he soon came 
 back from the staircase landing. 
 
 " My friend, I forgot to show you the plans." And unrolling 
 a packet of papers upon the desk, he continued : " Here you 
 have the lower floor. The great central corridor, with twenty- 
 eight doors to the right and twenty-eight doors to the left. 
 Here are the reception rooms. And here's the janitor's place. 
 Opposite, the medical consulting-room." 
 
 Montellano yawned; he was hungry and bored; but the voice 
 continued, inexorable, monotonous, like the soughing of the 
 wind, like the beating of the waves, the dripping of water. 
 
 " On the other side, a waiting room for the patients, a library 
 for the professors, and then a library for the inmates." 
 
 " Very good, fine, friend Gonzalez; now I know all about it. 
 We'll fix everything ship shape; I'm helping you out with con- 
 struction material; what more do you wish? " 
 
 But the fatiguing voice went on: 
 
 " Here, where you see these blue lines, are the refectories, 
 until you reach this green circle, which represents the central 
 rotunda. These colored dots stand for the toilets, near the re- 
 fectories, as in the Beaujon hospital. And here, these black 
 squares, are the kitchens. . . ." 
 
124 PAX 
 
 All at once Montellano's countenance, which up to this mo- 
 ment had worn a harsh, dissatisfied expression, was bathed in a 
 placid smile; the millionaire advanced joyously to the door. 
 An odor of perfume invaded the room and the swish* of silk was 
 heard upon the carpet. 
 
 The newcomer was a tall, lively woman; full-faced, with just 
 a trace of down upon her upper lip. Her eyes were large and 
 sparkling, and she wore glasses from which hung a thin golden 
 chain. Upon her bosom rested a brooch holding a miniature 
 portrait of the great deceased, the international revolutionist, 
 Tubalcain Cardoso. The woman was dressed in deep mourn- 
 ing, and the crape of her mantilla caused the whiteness of her 
 skin to stand out by force of contrast. 
 
 " Only a moment," said Dona Aura as she entered. " I hope 
 I am not disturbing you, Senor de Montellano. Feminism has 
 made long strides in the nineteenth century, and woman has the 
 privilege of presenting herself at any hour. Besides, since the 
 death of Tubalcain " and here she heaved a very deep sigh, 
 " I must shift for myself. Not without reason have some of 
 my friends been pleased to call me a man of letters." 
 
 " Ah, seiiora, you don't know, you don't know how glad I 
 am to see you in this house. . . . Unfortunately you come so 
 infrequently! ..." 
 
 " I would come much oftener; but my duties do not permit it. 
 The Independent Woman absorbs the greater part of my time. 
 There are moments when I fear this head will burst." 
 
 The floor trembled anew and the bumble-bee buzzing sounded 
 again. It was Gonzalez returning hurriedly. 
 
 " I forgot," he gasped, " to explain to you where the kitchens 
 with their Kneip mechanism would be placed. And I didn't 
 show you the upper floor of the structure. ..." 
 
 He stopped suddenly, bowed to Dona Aura, and went on : 
 
 " The upper story of the . . ." 
 
 "No more! " shouted Montellano. " Come back this after- 
 noon, to-morrow, whenever you please." 
 
 " Good, then. This afternoon I'll expect you at the place 
 without fail." 
 
 ,, And he left. 
 
 In the meantime Dona Aura had extracted from her mesh- 
 bag some galley proofs, and was preparing to read them aloud. 
 
THE HORRORS OF PEACE 125 
 
 Montellano, whose face had flamed with anger because of Gon- 
 zalez Mogollon's impertinent intrusion, turned to his visitor with 
 a countenance that had regained its gentleness and its smile, 
 and glanced in surprise at the strange slip of printed paper. 
 
 " This is a biography of you, Senor de Montellano, which will 
 appear as an editorial in The Independent Woman, with the 
 picture that you gave me a week ago. Just listen to the begin- 
 ning: 
 
 " The Independent Woman to-day adorns its columns with the 
 photograph of the distinguished gentleman, Doctor don Ramon de 
 Montellano y Canasto, an honor and a distinction to the Republic, 
 an eminent personage in high finance, and a noted patron of Colombian 
 letters. The place of his birth and the date of that felicitous occasion 
 have nothing to do with the case: great men have neither age nor 
 country. . . ." 
 
 Montellano breathed in delightedly, together with the waves 
 of perfume that came from his visitor, the fumes of this incense, 
 to which he was not accustomed, and he admired more and more 
 the talent and the attractions of this woman who was arousing in 
 him such deep emotion. She ceased her reading, looked into his 
 eyes as if to surprise in them the effect of her flattery, and she 
 divined the inner satisfaction that flooded Montellano's soul. 
 Fearing that this so pleasant sensation might be dispelled, she 
 did not care to continue, and said: 
 
 " This was only an impromptu, written down in a moment of 
 inspiration. The Muses are very coy with me ; but here are the 
 proofs; I'll leave them with you to cut out or add whatever you 
 please. I hope that you yourself will bring them back to me, 
 so that I may have the pleasure of seeing you again. I'll read 
 you some chapters from my new novel, not yet published, entitled 
 The King's Musketeer, or The Unmasked Virgins. Do you like 
 the name? I'll show you another, too, although I haven't yet 
 hit upon a denouement. We'll invent one together, won't we? 
 It's called The Palm of the Oasis, or A Drama in the Antarctic 
 Pole. . . . But you're so bashful ..." she said, casting a 
 glance which she commented upon with a sigh. . . . "I'll await 
 you without fail; I am sure that at your side I will be visited 
 by the inspiration. ... I shall be like the ivy protected by the 
 elm. What a beautiful name for a novel: The Elm and the 
 Ivy. . . 
 
126 PAX 
 
 Montellano accompanied Dona Aura to the foot of the stair- 
 case; she leaned trustfully upon his arm. Roberto, who at this 
 moment happened to come in from the street, noticed the con- 
 trast presented by the soft white hand of the poetess and the 
 man's hard, rough, darkened hand, deformed by the ax, and 
 which now, too, as Dona Aura left, closely slowly, like a claw, 
 in an unconscious movement of possession. 
 
 Montellano was about to ask for lunch when he was inter- 
 cepted by a person wrapped in a greenish cloak whence issued 
 a wax-like face; the sides of the cloak bulged with the bundles 
 that he carried under his arms. 
 
 " Sefior Montellano, I am Caspar Sanchez de Peiianegra, the 
 inventor of several contrivances which will make the fortune of 
 any one who helps me to exploit them. . . . But don't get im- 
 patient. . . . Permit me to place these books upon the table, 
 and these plans. . . . Here is what is called the automatic 
 heifer; see: this is the sucker . . ." (at this point he was seized 
 with a fit of coughing). " Pardon me; now I can go on ... it 
 will be very short, so don't leave. . . . But you'll object to me 
 that in order to give milk the cow needs the calf's sucking. . . . 
 Well, that's just where this invention comes in: you hang this 
 little clapper to the udder, and it tickles the cow, whereupon the 
 cow kicks, the clapper strikes the udder, the sucker sucks and 
 the milk spurts out in streams : you can see how cheap and how 
 easy" (another fit of coughing). " Jesus, Mary! . . . 
 
 " There, there, I'm over with it. I have another invention, 
 too, beet-root salt, but I don't wish to detain you any longer at 
 present; allow me: I'll show you the great invention, which will 
 enable you to duplicate your present fortune . . . let's get down 
 to brass tacks ... no talk before actual results . . . you are 
 about to witness light extracted from darkness. . . . You laugh, 
 don't you ? . . . They laughed at Columbus, too at Stephen- 
 son, the inventor of steam; yes, sefior, light from darkness. . . . 
 I'll take the apparatus out of this valise. . . . Ah! Very sim- 
 ple. . . . This cough will kill me. . . . I've been bothered with 
 it for ten years, and only saltwort leaves afford me any relief; 
 thank heaven it has passed. . . . Now I can go on. ... Here 
 you have these black spectacles. ... I can go on, now. . . . 
 Here you have this pair of black spectacles. . . . But don't 
 move, let me put them on for you. The ribbon's a little dirty ? 
 
THE HORRORS OF PEACE 127 
 
 . . . No matter. ... So you don't believe in my theory? . . . 
 You think it's impossible? ... I have no time for explana- 
 tions; I can see from your yawning that you must lunch pretty 
 soon. . . . I'll simply say that I've discovered the origin of 
 light : the luminous energy is nothing but falling, vibrating mat- 
 ter. ... I have discovered A rays. In these spectacles, al- 
 though you may not understand it at this moment, is found uni- 
 versal radio-activity; it is the bombardment of imponderable 
 matter, yet ponderable none the less. All of this is clearer than 
 the light you are going to behold if you allow me to put on these 
 spectacles. . . . Do you agree? . . . Very well, and many 
 thanks. . . . Lower your head just a trifle more. . . . You're so 
 tall! . . . Your boil? ... on your neck? . . . Don't worry. 
 . . . I'll be very careful with it. ... Do you see the importance 
 of my invention? With a pair of spectacles like this in your 
 pocket you can see three leagues away on the darkest night, just 
 like with the searchlight of a battleship. As rich as you are, 
 Seiior Montellano, you haven't enough money to pay for this in- 
 vention of mine. Allow me, now, to shut these windows. . . . 
 Good! Can you see anything? . . . There goes that cough 
 again. ... A moment, please : there are some gratings that pre- 
 vent complete darkness. . . . What was that that fell to the 
 ground? ... Ah! ... It's an inkholder. . . . Now we are 
 in complete darkness, in scientific obscurity, the obscurity of 
 Papin, or Turquin and of Melin. . . . You don't see anything ? 
 . . . Let me adjust the glasses better. . . . But where are you ? 
 . . . There goes another inkholder. There, now I've found you; 
 let me tighten the ribbon. . . . Stars? ... Do you see stars? 
 Now I'll tighen it more and the bombardment of light will be 
 complete. . . . Pardon me, I've put my fingers into your 
 mouth." 
 
 Montellano, who had lent himself to the experiment in hopes 
 of issuing shares and starting a corporation, tore off the glasses 
 and opened the window violently. A wave of light inundated 
 the room and showed the millionaire in fury, staggering about, 
 his face dotted with black stains and his tongue stuck out as far 
 as it could reach, spitting out the astringent ink that filled his 
 mouth. 
 
128 PAX 
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 A MONUMENT TO THE LIVING 
 
 " PERUCHO, is Alejandro up yet? " asked Roberto of a boy 
 with eyes as black as two jet beads, while, followed by his dog, 
 he crossed the patio and walked toward the interior of the house. 
 
 " No, senor, not yet," answered the servant, who walked be- 
 fore him and opened the door to the stable. 
 
 A wave of warm atmosphere and the odor of hay enveloped 
 them. Roberto, blinded by the light of the patio, could make 
 out nothing. The coach sorrels were solemnly chewing away at 
 their morning feed in the darkness. As the boy opened a cres- 
 cent-shaped window the light struck the cruppers of the animals 
 and under their lustrous hide could be made out the outlines of 
 their strong muscles. In another compartment was la Alondra 
 (the Lark), a black mare that Roberto was training for the 
 Sporting-Club's races. The mare quivered nervously, tugged at 
 the chain, and turned her head, upon which shone a white star. 
 
 Roberto stroked her neck and patted her back affectionately; 
 la Alondra seemed to recognize him: her sparkling eye, as it 
 turned, permitted a view of its cornea, which was streaked a 
 light red. 
 
 In the meantime, Alejandro had just arisen in his room, which 
 was hung with canvases. He had gone to bed late; all night 
 long he had been unpacking the sculptures that he had brought 
 from Europe, installing them in the salon, where he had his 
 easel, works of art and various souvenirs. He opened one of 
 the shutters of the window partly and a flood of light fell upon 
 the carpet, and brought out from the rear of the room the huge 
 old bed with the thick copper designs inlaid in the mahogany 
 columns. Alejandro crossed the room; he passed to the painting 
 salon and lay down upon a lounge. 
 
 In this state of lethargy there returned to him the images of 
 other days, and in his artist's imagination, so keen and power- 
 ful that it brought back scenes and faces in all their detail and 
 colors, as he passed his eyes over the sculpture and rested them 
 upon a low relief before him, there came to life again all the 
 scenes in which he had beheld Bertha. 
 
A MONUMENT TO THE LIVING 129 
 
 A large window cast the light upon the huge groups of sculp- 
 tures, which assumed flesh-colored tints because of the reflection 
 from the red damask curtains. 
 
 Alejandro for a long time lovingly contemplated The Monu- 
 ment to the Dead, which recalled to him the supreme instant of 
 his life that he had wished to retain: that first meeting, on a 
 Parisian spring morning, in the Palais de 1'Industrie. As he 
 arrived there innocently, with no other purpose than to pay the 
 ordinary artist's visit, he little suspected that he was approach- 
 ing a decisive moment in his life, and a place that he would 
 never think of thereafter without deep emotion. 
 
 . . . And he saw once again the bustle of the spectators be- 
 fore the marble and the canvases. He recollected, precisely, in 
 clear cut images, the series of salons which, when the curtains 
 of the doors were raised, permitted a view of rows of pictures, 
 immense historical scenes, spots of blood, landscapes, blue 
 patches, recently varnished portraits, shining amid the bright 
 gold of the frames, and bathed by that vernal light which, 
 sifted through the glass, fell from the crystal roof. Through 
 these galleries which he had visited a hundred times and which 
 he found almost deserted, since the day for the closing was fast 
 approaching, he had been wandering wearily. . . . He left the 
 portrait salon, before the pictures of which the visitors, planted 
 with the knobs of their canes in their mouths, stood in ecstasy, 
 uttered the names of some of the models and recognized the 
 singers of the Opera Comique. . . . Emma Calve, in the cos- 
 tume of Carmen. Under the wide staircase he proceeded to 
 the statuary salons, and there, once again, he felt a strange fas- 
 cination, an astonishing seduction, before the sculpture of Bar- 
 tolome called To the Dead. The work represented the colossal 
 facade of a sepulcher, a high, narrow door leading to the inte- 
 rior of a crypt ; at each side, two groups stirring upon the thresh- 
 old of Eternity, advance, on their knees, prostrated, or on foot, 
 in accordance with their agony, their resignation or their hope. 
 ... He was standing thus, oblivious to time, contemplating that 
 work, when of a sudden a gentle perfume caused him to turn 
 around; beside him he heard a voice of musical quality which 
 reached to the very depths of his soul ; he beheld two women of 
 most distinguished appearance who were commenting upon the 
 sculptures. One of them, the younger, with her eyes distended 
 
130 PAX 
 
 in admiration, was pointing to the lower part of the monument, 
 to a deep niche in the interior of the crypt, where lay a couple 
 with their hands clasped in the peace of death, while an angel 
 filled with tenderness and sadness descended and kneeled at 
 their side, her arms open like two protecting wings, veiling their 
 eternal sleep in the semi-gloom of the sepulcher. 
 
 "Ah! . . . Yes," exclaimed the younger, "this is where the 
 artist desired to crystallize his thought: this angel is the ex- 
 planation of the drama, the symbol of immortality and hope." 
 And in these words it seemed to Alejandro that he had discov- 
 ered a profound feeling. . . . For a long time the women re- 
 mained in silent contemplation of the monument, and he, in 
 the meantime, remained ecstatically contemplating that woman. 
 And he felt that a strange sensation, a new passion, the in- 
 finity of love, was penetrating forever into his heart. There 
 was an air of grandeur about her, of majesty, of noble breed- 
 ing, an ideal pallor, and a pair of blue eyes in which swam a 
 mysterious anxiety: the incurable homesickness of the exiled. 
 Her voice sounded like sad music, stirring the soul, which was 
 moved as by tears. 
 
 There then unrolled before Alejandro's eyes scenes and 
 landscapes in which he beheld her once again: the walk 
 . . . that reception at the French Embassy, the ball in the 
 Palace, where at last he was able to speak to her. . . . Always 
 the same melancholy, the passion for the unattainable, that 
 feeling which enabled them to understand each other. . . . 
 That night at the ball, although they had been conversing 
 for but a few moments, she gave him to understand the weari- 
 ness of a soul that seeks rest and infinite happiness in vain. 
 He recalled how he had then plumbed the depths of his own 
 soul and understood that he, too, was an insatiable spirit, 
 a seeker after happiness, ill with an indefinable nostalgia. . . . 
 
 Then, Jerusalem, the Holy Sepulcher, the entrance to the 
 sanctuary, and in the gloom, amid the odors and the clouds of 
 incense, a sigh. She . . . bowed before the Sepulcher, with 
 her lips pressed to the sacred stone. . . . Afterward? . . . 
 After a year, two, three, in which time she had disappeared 
 without leaving a trace, the unexpected meeting on board the 
 trans-Atlantic liner La Touraine. The Sister of Charity: 
 
A MONUMENT TO THE LIVING 131 
 
 Bertha among them! . . . She was already Sister San Ligorio. 
 The expression of mysterious anguish had already vanished, and 
 instead, her blue pupils shone with an ineffable serenity, a sad 
 gentleness. . . . Together again! . . . That woman, whom 
 Destiny had again brought to him, was to have a decisive in- 
 fluence upon his existence. 
 
 A knock on the door aroused Alejandro from his day- 
 dreams. The servant came in. 
 
 " Senor Bellegarde." 
 
 " Show him in." 
 
 Alejandro hurriedly arranged his clothes; he crossed several 
 rooms and reached the gallery. 
 
 " Ah ! Friend Bellegarde, you must excuse me. I got up 
 very late; was busy all night putting in order the sculptures 
 that I brought from France; I had not unpacked them until 
 now, through sheer laziness." 
 
 They crossed several salons filled with antiquities, in which 
 there floated the mingling odors of Cordovan leather and pun- 
 gent camphor, from the old brocade. From the faded velvet 
 cases arose vague essences that evoked recollections of colonial 
 loves and refinements. On the walls, side by side, were 
 strips from the banners of the Conquest, soft gorgets, wagtails, 
 dented helmets, iron gauntlets and coats of mail, dulled by 
 the centuries. 
 
 Clay idols with crossed legs smiled stupidly out of the shadow 
 of the corners. The gaunt saints, painted by Vasquez, grew 
 paler still amid the gold glints from the furniture and the 
 garnet of the damask curtains. Here and there darted a flash 
 from some lances and halberds. 
 
 The Count's expert glance fell upon the immense flowers of 
 the carpet and passed along the walls bedecked with paintings 
 and silk stuffs, the inlaid escritoires, the high-back chairs. 
 He observed the harmony of the ebony and the ivory, the tor- 
 toise-shell and the gold, the silver and the velvet, the refined 
 ensemble of rare, splendid, dark objects that time had passed 
 over with a caress. 
 
 A close friendship had sprung up between Alejandro and the 
 Count as Roberto .had foreseen, because of their artistic tastes, 
 the sympathy between their hildago-like characters and their 
 
132 -PAX 
 
 seigniorial instincts, their conception of life according to which 
 esthetic preoccupations held a higher place than mercantile 
 affairs. 
 
 " I received your letter yesterday, together with the value 
 of your shares," said Bellegarde, seating himself in an ample 
 armchair such as may be seen in a chancel, and resting his 
 hands upon the red arms. Then, adjusting his monocle and 
 taking out a telegram which he handed to Alejandro, he con- 
 tinued : 
 
 " The canalization shares, as you see, have doubled in value 
 on the Brussels Exchange. . . . The enterprise has roused en- 
 thusiasm. ... I must return to the Magdalena at once; two 
 steamers are coming up the river for us, and twenty dredgers. 
 . . . You'll come along with me, won't you? . . ." Then, 
 after a pause : " Yesterday I purchased from Montellano 
 all the cultivated land on the banks of the river; he got ahead 
 of us, but we simply had to acquire those lands, which the 
 Company must own for the purpose of colonization. I also 
 made an arrangement that I fear will displease you: I gave 
 Socarraz a position in the work." 
 
 Alejandro made a gesture of annoyance and astonishment. 
 Bellegarde went on: 
 
 " At bottom I'm not opposed to giving work and money to 
 anybody who is willing to do his share. Perhaps in this way 
 we may steer many clear of the wrong road and the revolu- 
 tionary ideas through which they seek prosperity and for- 
 tune by means of an overturn. We must, even at the cost 
 of many sacrifices and with whatever means we have at our 
 disposal, oppose war, which is the only serious enemy of the 
 enterprise." 
 
 And after another pause, he continued: 
 
 " I was to see that painting of the Magdalen that they at- 
 tribute to Guido; I'm rather inclined to believe that it's the 
 work of the Spanish painter, Carrefio. This picture has a 
 remarkable resemblance to another Magdalen by the same 
 artist, which I saw at the Museum of St. Petersburg." 
 
 He arose and walked to another salon, in which Alejandro 
 had his studio. 
 
 " How's the portrait of President Borja getting along? " 
 
 In the center of the salon was the easel, upon which rested 
 

 A MONUMENT TO THE LIVING 133 
 
 a canvas of generous dimensions, scarcely touched; opposite 
 was a suit of armor, of burnished steel. 
 
 " You know the theme," said Alejandro. " It's the moment 
 in which the Archbishop Arias de Ugarte hands over to Presi- 
 dent Borja the data and the plans of amelioration that he has 
 gathered on his pastoral visit." 
 
 " Magnificent ! I can just imagine how well you'll treat 
 the contrast between the cloth of the episcopal vestments and 
 the glint from the burnished steel; the ascetic pallor of the 
 prelate and the fiery, proud traits of his warrior predecessor. 
 But, wouldn't it be better to complete those sketches of yours 
 that I christened PAX? " And he turned to one of the num- 
 erous sketches that hung on the walls. " Here's the first 
 sketch," he said, pointing to two small canvases. " There are 
 many happy details and light effects." 
 
 Near the two small canvases was a slightly larger one, 
 representing an old country house, and in the fore ground, a 
 group of which only the heads were barely designed. 
 
 " This is done con amore," observed Bellegarde, turning an 
 inquiring glance upon Alejandro. 
 
 " I tried to copy," answered the latter, " an old family pho- 
 tograph. It's the house at Cebaderos which I sold to Montel- 
 lano." And he wrinkled his forehead in token of the unpleas- 
 ant thoughts his statement had summoned. " I tried to preserve 
 the old country house of the Borjas' on the canvas, at least. 
 . . . Can't you see? Here are the three: aunt Teresa, aunt 
 Ana, my father. ..." 
 
 The Count withdrew and Alejandro began to paint. 
 
 Shortly afterward, Roberto appeared, followed closely by 
 Perucho, who carried a stone slab. 
 
 " I have a surprise for you; a stupendous discovery." 
 
 Alejandro did not even turn to look at him, but sat back 
 to note the effect of a brush stroke. 
 
 "Did you meet Bellegarde? He just left." And leaning 
 over toward the palette: " He showed me a cablegram which 
 says that the shares have doubled in value." 
 
 Roberto stopped before the canvas, and after observing it 
 a moment, said: 
 
 " It's getting along finely, but I don't like those touches. 
 The armor, although it presents very elegant curves, affords 
 
134 PAX 
 
 you no opportunity for revealing the wealth of your palette, 
 your knowledge of color, which you manage so skilfully. In- 
 stead of this montonous armor, so cold and uniform, I would 
 attire our ancestor Borja in the trappings which the master 
 Velazquez put on the Marquis de Spinola in his canvas of 
 the Lances. Remember? . . . It's such a noble, brilliant, har- 
 monious piece of work. Black armor dotted with gold, a lace 
 collar, a pink sash, gauntlets, a black hat with a white plume. 
 . . . But, just look at my surprise: the stone which President 
 Borja placed on the bridge of San Francisco. I found it yes- 
 terday among a collection of antiquities which has just been 
 put on sale." 
 
 Alejandro laid his brushes aside and drew near to examine 
 the stone. 
 
 " You're fortune's pampered child," he exclaimed. " I've 
 been looking for this ten years. And where is this sale? 
 We must go there at once." 
 
 Alejandro placed the stone upon a table, brought some 
 water, and washed it so that he might reconstruct, letter by 
 letter, the inscription that had been corroded by the centuries. 
 Then he took Roberto by the arm and gently pushing him to- 
 ward the museum-salon, he said: 
 
 " Come along. Now let me show you my surprise." 
 
 They both paused before the statues; Roberto drew near, 
 while Alejandro, leaning against the door jamb, gave himself 
 up anew to his recollections and to his sorrows. 
 
 " So this is your great surprise! " exclaimed Roberto. " I 
 saw fragments of this group in Paris; the simplicity of the 
 style and the depth of the sentiment revealed a great artist, 
 and how anxious I was to see the work completed! " And he 
 returned to grasp the whole, to penetrate the artist's meaning, 
 the complete thought of the sculptor. 
 
 "Look, Roberto; what moves me most is this central group: 
 these two figures, the couple entering the sepulcher. Standing 
 out against the mysterious darkness, the young woman leans 
 her hands against the shoulder of her companion as if to give 
 him courage. Observe this movement of the arm, this atti- 
 tude so full of tenderness and resignation which imparts to 
 the couple on their entrance into eternity a sad, moving 
 solemnity," 
 
A MONUMENT TO THE LIVING 135 
 
 He returned to his easel and continued painting. He looked 
 at his model attentively, that he might wrest from the light 
 its secrets and its wonders. Soon he paused to study an 
 unforeseen effect. 
 
 "Just come over here; the sun, too, wished to bring me a 
 surprise; if I were to painf this, they'd say I had falsified na- 
 ture, that I had made light lie." 
 
 A bright sunbeam, breaking against the prism of a chandelier, 
 had stained the breastplate of the armor as with a spot of 
 blood. 
 
 " Which will prove to the critics," exclaimed Roberto, ad- 
 miring this strange light effect, "that reality surpasses fiction; 
 that the practical life is really the life of the dreamers and 
 poets. . . \ But I've found another surprise: the fiscal Avila, 
 who came from Guatemala to the Audience of Santa Fe." 
 
 The iridescent light had vanished; Alejandro continued to 
 study the reflections from the steel and tried the colors on his 
 palette. He seemed to be conversing with the suit of armor. 
 
 " This is very important to me," said Roberto. " For doubt- 
 less, as may be seen from the energy of the expression, the life 
 in the eyes, this picture was made from the living original and 
 not from the dead, as appears easily from the one I have at 
 home." 
 
 He bent over to read the inscription at the foot of the paint- 
 ing: 
 
 THE MOST EXCELLENT SENOR DON MELCHOR DE AVILA 
 Y CASTILLO, CABALLERO. GRAND CROSS OF THE ROYAL 
 AUDIENCIA OF SANTA FE DE BOGOTA, NEW KINGDOM 
 OF GRANADA, CAME TO THIS ROYAL AUDIENCIA FROM 
 GUATEMALA IN 1702 AND WAS ITS PRESIDENT. 
 
 " This ancestor of yours resembles you much more closely 
 than the one you have at home," replied Alejandro, turning 
 his head. " He has your eyes, and the same bulging forehead 
 as the Avilas." 
 
 "That's how I imagined Don Melchor when I wrote his 
 biography for the Santa Fe Illustration." 
 
 " Permit me to correct you ! . . . When you wrote the first 
 part, for the second still remains to be seen. Everybody asks 
 
136 PAX 
 
 me for the continuation of your historical articles, and the sec- 
 ond part of the famous biography." 
 
 " Second parts were never good; don't ask me to write any 
 more, for it isn't worth the trouble." 
 
 " I deny that! What a fresh, living picture you drew of 
 those times of love and blood, in which people really loved and 
 hated each other! How well you evoked those conquistadores, 
 who were half saint and half bandit, and those brave, romantic 
 judges; and as you progressed with your pictures of barricades 
 in the streets and serenades at the foot of the window-gratings, 
 you were doing a genuinely modern study, of deep yet pleasant 
 analysis! ..." 
 
 "Look!" interrupted Roberto, "if it should ever occur to 
 you to write my biography, I'll be satisfied to have you write 
 only the first part." 
 
 Alejandro laid his palette upon the floor, put aside the 
 brushes and arising precipitously, stopped before Roberto and 
 placed his hands upon his friend's shoulders. 
 
 "Agreed!" he exclaimed, revealing his animation in the 
 glow of his pupils, the color of his cheeks and the timbre of his 
 voice. " I will be your biographer, and I will write as follows: 
 ' He was a man of great genius, of delicate and artistic feel- 
 ings, of vast culture; but he lacked energy, will-power, the 
 ability to follow up things; he had initiative, but he lacked 
 constancy; he enjoyed life, but had no ambition; he studied 
 more than enough to graduate, yet never got his doctor's de- 
 gree; he was a valiant soldier, and with his advice helped 
 to win victory, yet he never advanced higher than a mummery 
 captain; he had a clear conception of things; he made the 
 best possible adviser, but never profited by his own learn- 
 ing. . . .' Now don't interrupt me. . . . * He began a trans- 
 lation of Faust, and interpreted several scenes in a masterly 
 fashion, yet never could get himself to complete an act; he 
 left unfinished historical studies for which he had gathered 
 full data at the cost of much labor. He wrote short biographies 
 as well as sonnets that Nunez de Arce would be proud to 
 sign ... if Nunez would sign sonnets lacking their final 
 tercets.' ' : 
 
 " Bravo! You're grooming yourself for the Senate." 
 
 "Allow me to finish! The best is yet to come! You've 
 
A MONUMENT TO THE LIVING 137 
 
 gone everywhere scattering your ideas and your inspirations and 
 your discoveries, which others have taken advantage of. You've 
 won battles for Ronderos and executed profitable transactions 
 for Montellano, without yourself becoming either a general or a 
 millionaire." 
 
 " Oui, ma vie ce jut d'etre celui qui souffle, et qu'on oublie." 
 
 "Ah! If you're starting those quotations from Cyrano de 
 Bergerac again, we'll never get through. I've already told you 
 that the best is yet to come." 
 
 He grasped Roberto's lapel tightly, with his habit of con- 
 vincing, hypnotizing, dominating by violent affection, and his 
 blue eyes lit up with flame. 
 
 " You simply must finish that translation of Faust, your 
 colonial studies, your sonnets and that idyll that you've be- 
 gun." 
 
 And now he pressed his friend's arm. "Don't deny it; 
 it's an idyll; continue with it, and none of your analyzing and 
 vacillating. Make up your mind once and for all, and let 
 me be your best man at your wedding with Dolores Montel- 
 lano." 
 
 " I, marry? . . . It's well, when God sends us a chronic 
 aliment, to endure it with resignation and patience. . . . But 
 to go looking for it? " 
 
 " Enough of your jests. Give up this habit of taking 
 nothing seriously." 
 
 " I forget what serious author wrote that habits must be 
 most considerately treated, especially if they are bad habits." 
 
 " You must settle down, raise a family, and know the joy of 
 a home. . . . Less fancies, less bohemianism . . . and more 
 positive, solid happiness. . . . Don't interrupt me. ... I know 
 that you're going to tell me that I have no right to preach, 
 that I myself have been unable to settle down; but that's just 
 why I can serve as teacher here. A master in hidden sadness, 
 in life's nullity, a master of loneliness." 
 
 " Ah! Yes. You are very, very fond of loneliness in good 
 company." 
 
 " You need more stability, an inner life." 
 
 " Inner? . . . Yes, I understand; what you want me to 
 do is to make a Teniers interior; to immortalize you, brush 
 in hand, by affording you an opportunity to copy my joyous 
 
138 PAX 
 
 scene: six drooling kids, a chubby-cheeked wife, a cart loaded 
 with hay, the fireplace, ten casks of beer, and plenty of quiet 
 with a pile of Holland cheese." 
 
 " Frankly," interrupted Alejandro in a serious tone, " you 
 have undertaken a kind of sport which I never taught you, 
 despite my bad reputation. For you have awakened in Dolores 
 certain refinements, literary tastes, and the desire to cultivate 
 her mind, to learn incessantly. . . . You know it, those eight 
 hours of daily study are all through you and for you; this un- 
 wearying effort, this devotion to study, the anticipation of 
 your desires, are proof of an affection which, in all frankness, 
 you don't deserve." 
 
 " But have you seen those hands, those short and wide 
 hands that recall the rapacious hands of Montellano? Have 
 you seen her hair? " 
 
 " Magnificent black tresses." 
 
 "There, now! You haven't learned how to see; you're like 
 that artist who said, ' To-day I look, to-morrow I'll see.' But 
 I have observed, looked and seen. Those magnificent black 
 tresses in the full light show the cinnamon glints of monkey 
 fur. With all her father's millions she still bears the in- 
 eradicable mark of the tropical suns, of the open-air life, of 
 the inclement weather, of the wild life among mountains and 
 pampas. With all these handicaps of ancestry will she ever 
 learn the usefulness of the useless? When will she be con- 
 vinced that the purpose of life is art, as Bellegarde puts it? 
 And even should she learn all this, her father's millions are 
 a heap of money; they'd weigh me down as if they were 
 coined upon my shoulders; I'd feel their molten metal pouring 
 down my throat." 
 
 " Well, then, Landaburo gave the key to your happiness 
 the other night. He's preparing a bill for the next legislature, 
 carrying his socialistic theories into practice. ' Reduction of 
 capital; abolition of inheritances.' . . . That'll make your 
 Lola a poor girl, which is what you seem to wish. ... Or 
 is it aristocratic desires you're cherishing; a matter of pedi- 
 gree, parchments and letters patent of nobility? "... And 
 with a loud laugh, bowing with mock ceremony, he added: 
 " The Count del Risco y de Cahahalso, lord of las Navas y 
 Villafranca, tes autres titres don Juan. , . , How well those 
 
A MONUMENT TO THE LIVING 139 
 
 pictures of Hernani would portray you." And pointing in 
 theatrical manner to one of the canvases upon the wall : " Celui 
 des Silva jut Fame. Ha! Ha! Ha! Why, see here: you 
 know very well that my rights to the dukeship of Gandia and 
 to the marquisate of Lombay are most genuine. Well, I yield, 
 convey, deliver and transfer them to Dolores. . . . Besides, you 
 forget that she is a marquess of intelligence and charm, duch- 
 ess of beauty, princess of love." 
 
 " That last title is enough for me. Parchments, nobiliary 
 titles, purity of ancestry, deeds of legitimacy, Christianity and 
 nobility, I require all these absolutely, but not from Dolores. 
 I ask these from Montellano's millions; I don't care to contract 
 a misalliance with them." 
 
 " The origin of that wealth? It lies in those very cinnamon 
 features that so horrify you. You have seen in them a stigma; 
 to me they are a wreath, not surely the wreath of laurel nor 
 the wreath of oak, but the wreath of gold that is bestowed 
 upon intelligent labor. I aspired to intertwine your some- 
 what withered count's wreath with this other one. I wished 
 to infuse new blood into our race and to return to the Avilas 
 their ambition, their audacity, their energy; I wished to erase 
 half of our motto, thus improving it, to take away the word 
 grief and leave only glory. . . . Marry for money, that's 
 bad! But to throw over a charming maiden who's in love 
 with you just because she's rich, that's worse! As for Mon- 
 tellano, the ocean wouldn't be wide enough to separate him 
 from you. I haven't told you the latest trick he played on 
 me, nor shall I tell you. ... In short, I don't insist. . . . 
 What's certain, if you don't intend to marry Dolores, is that 
 you should flee the house, keep away. Don't make mat- 
 ters worse. Dolores has been soft clay that you've modelled 
 with your artist's hands; you have instilled in her your refined 
 tastes, you've given her the desire to learn, to distinguish her- 
 self; you have opened infinite horizons to her mind, you have 
 given her wings, and now that you see her high up among her 
 ideals, are you going to let her fall and smash to bits against 
 her previous commonplace existence? Have you filled her 
 soul with delicacy and illusions only to give yourself the pleas- 
 ure of having her feel a void when you've gone, of having her 
 weep, of having her die for love of you? Have you lifted her 
 
HO PAX 
 
 to the heights only to let her fall and be destroyed like Simon 
 the Magus? . . . The deuce! " 
 
 " Be calm, Faust; you're exaggerating everything and making 
 a tragedy of it. You know how my nerves are on edge from that 
 wicked yellow that they've smeared all over my house; you 
 know how I suffer from the sight of this swarm of money- 
 grubbers, this den of vileness. But Montellano, he's such a 
 joke to me! . . . Flee this place, leave it forever, plan flight? 
 . . . No, don't ask of my will any more than you know it can 
 perform; since I can't measure, or calculate, or foresee conse- 
 quences, let me continue as at present; let me see some tithe of 
 nobility where so much strikes me as being ridiculous; let me 
 inhale the fragrance of this new rose in the former home of 
 my family; let me watch this chrysalis be transformed into a 
 butterfly." 
 
 " You paint yourself blacker than you are. You can't be so 
 callous to evil, you can't enjoy the writhings of your victim; 
 it would be a refinement of cruelty that would clash with your 
 other refinements. Fortunately, what is at the bottom of your 
 repugnance is your former affection of Ines; too bad that 
 you think of her only when you feel in danger of losing her. 
 You're too sure of the retreat. . . . Take care! Bellegarde 
 is teaching her how to care, for he knows how to love. He 
 may cut off your retreat." 
 
 "Ines?" said Roberto. "Why, she's a sphinx, and you 
 know my aversion for hieroglyphics . . . even for the most 
 beautiful of them. ... So prudent, so cold, and I need to be 
 loved with passion, with furore. . . . Even her smile is silent." 
 
 " Happy he "who shall decipher the enigma of that sphinx, 
 he who shall interpret these hieroglyphics, he who makes 
 that silence speak. . . . Unhappily, you will not be he." 
 
 Roberto had begun to fiddle with the various objects upon 
 one of the tables; he picked them up, changed their places; then 
 he drew closer to Alejandro, with a sinister air. 
 
 " Once for all, do you really wish to know why I don't take 
 the definitive, irrevocable step? . . . It's because I've lost 
 faith in the outcome. ... I'm afraid . . . afraid of life. It's 
 taught me so many things, me and mine. ... I feel certain 
 that everything that comes into my hands, prestige, for- 
 tune, wealth, will decline, evaporate." (He had become 
 
HORTICULTURE 141 
 
 grave, and was speaking in a low voice.) "Knowing me, 
 knowing that I am useless for struggle, that I shall allow my- 
 self to be conquered by fate, do you believe it would be loyal of 
 me, or generous, or gentlemanly, to make my companion share 
 my unhappy lot? I am man enough to receive fortune's blows 
 with a smile, but it would kill me not to be able to shield Dolores 
 or Ines from them." 
 
 Alejandro took his friend by the arm and placed him anew 
 before the statues, as, with a voice in which his emotion clearly 
 vibrated, he exclaimed: 
 
 " To die without having loved is to die without having lived. 
 This monument is not only to the dead; it is a monument, a 
 lesson, to the living. The sculptor tried to concentrate at- 
 tention upon this pair in the middle, advancing full of vigor 
 and determination toward eternity. Look at that marriage which 
 scares you: these two beings who found themselves amid the 
 vastness of existence, multiplied their joys a hundredfold and 
 lightened their burdens by their life together. She is part of 
 her husband's soul, his bravery, and he summons his strength 
 to protect his companion, seeking in love the secret and the 
 source of his energies. Leaning upon each other they enter the 
 sepulcher with firm step, just as they have walked through life, 
 hand in hand, smiling and happy. What you see here is truth, 
 power, the answer to your discouragement." 
 
 Then, with a stifled voice, as if speaking to himself, he con- 
 tinued: "All the rest is a lie, an irreparable mistake." He 
 sank into a chair and leaned his head against his hands. " De- 
 spair! " 
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 HORTICULTURE 
 
 " You promised the Sisters that you would visit them to- 
 day." 
 
 " Lets go, then, if you insist." 
 
 Roberto was accustomed to his friend's attacks of spleen, 
 of ill humor, which Alejandro called his black hours. But 
 these sudden impulses, which revealed griefs hidden deep in 
 
142 PAX 
 
 the recesses of Alejandro's soul, filled Roberto with pained sur- 
 prise. Knowing that the secret must be impenetrable, he held 
 aloof, silent. After a long pause, Roberto, wishing to rouse 
 his friend from his gloomy and bitter thoughts, had proposed 
 a little trip, anything to get out of the rut and bestir himself, 
 a visit to the recently installed establishment. 
 
 After passing through narrow lanes, climbing rough passes 
 and rocky places, skirting along the river, crossing plowed land 
 and little squares, they saw before them the white belfry be- 
 hind a clump of trees. 
 
 "Do you see it? ... We have arrived at last. Did that 
 hill tire you? You're getting very stout." 
 
 " It's not I that's tired. It's you," observed Alejandro as 
 he noticed Roberto pale and panting. 
 
 They had come to a precipice at the bottom of which the 
 river flowed, and they turned down a pass; soon they had 
 reached a place that seemed to belong to another district and to 
 another century: the solitary square, the shining bell-tower, 
 the whitened wall-fences, over which peered and swayed the 
 orchard foliage. 
 
 "How out of harmony all your correctness is! " commented 
 Roberto, stopping and barring Alejandro's way. " How all 
 this West End chicness of yours clashes with the surroundings, 
 your Fuchs shoes, this Greek medallion on your pendant, 
 this Poole suit, this shining hat, in this quite little square 
 that's as austere as a patio of the Carthusian monastery. . . . 
 How ill they harmonize with this silence, this solitude, this re- 
 mote corner that speaks of forgetfulness, of poverty, of with- 
 drawal and penitence! . . ." 
 
 Alejandro made no immediate reply to the jesting comment, 
 as he was absorbed in the tranquillity that surrounded him. 
 
 " Yes, indeed; this seems to bathe my soul." 
 
 They crossed the plazuela, knocked timidly at a door which 
 was situated at the foot of the bell-tower. At this juncture 
 the figure of Doctor Miranda appeared on the square; his long 
 black cape stood out against the shining whiteness of the 
 wall. 
 
 "Hello, Roberto! You here?" he exclaimed, with a cer- 
 tain surprise. "And you, Alejandro? . . . You?" 
 
 He knocked familiarly at the door; the face of the Sister 
 
HORTICULTURE 143 
 
 door-keeper appeared for a moment, then disappeared as she 
 went to lift the latch. They entered. The outer passageway 
 was dark, and there was a damp odor, which mingled with the 
 mystic perfume of a bunch of flowers that adorned the image 
 of the Virgin, before which burned the languid flame of a 
 lamp. At the end of the passageway shone a square patio with 
 a white arcade, half in light and half in the shade. 
 
 They were greeted by Mother Paulina, a woman of indefi- 
 nite age, but of virginal freshness, with an eternal smile be- 
 neath her linen hood. She smiled familiarly at Doctor Mi- 
 randa, then cast an inquiring glance at the visitors. 
 
 " Mother," spoke Alejandro, " don't you recall that we were 
 traveling companions? " 
 
 The nun's expression changed. 
 
 " Ah ! . . . Yes, yes, it's Monsieur Alejandro. ... I re- 
 member. Do you wish to visit our establishment? " asked 
 the nun with a French accent, lingering upon the final syllables. 
 " The girls aren't working now. . . . It's almost eleven o'clock." 
 
 In the center of the patio, in double file, with their backs 
 toward the visitors, stood the little girls; now and then they 
 would turn their restless heads in the direction of the new- 
 comers, and whisper with the hum of innocence and happiness. 
 
 " I am sorry that you didn't find them at work at their 
 distaffs. They're on their way to the refectory now; but they'll 
 soon return." 
 
 The bell sounded. The rows of children marched for- 
 ward, crossing the patio. Alejandro noticed that, as they 
 passed from the shadow to the sunlight the little black heads 
 cast blue reflections, while the blond tresses shone with a halo- 
 like glow. 
 
 All was silent. The visitors, preceded by the mother, en- 
 tered the printing-shop, a long, dark room the roof of which was 
 covered with paper strips of various colors; before the cases 
 and the presses they saw several robust, neat young girls wear- 
 ing large aprons of coarse fiber. The mother had them execute 
 certain tasks, explaining that the installation of the printery 
 had been due to the efforts of Gonzalez Mogollon, who came 
 to visit them every day and fill them with enthusiasm. The 
 bell sounded again; out came the girls, filling the patio and 
 the galleries with fresh childish laughter; the colors of their 
 
144 PAX 
 
 dresses, the silk of their hair and the pink of their cheeks 
 shone in the sun; and amid a whir as of bees returning to 
 their hive they ran to their posts under the arcade and began 
 the tric-trac of the looms, the humming of their distaffs. The 
 row of distaffs, turned by rhythmic movements of the chil- 
 dren's feet, revolve as one and the locks of wool grow thinner 
 and longer, into threads that the agile little fingers twine 
 around amid the rhythmic noises; there is a confusion of white- 
 ness, the brightness of the arcade, the soft tones of the wool, 
 the immaculate cloths of the loom, the embroidery frames 
 and the snow-white of the hoods that float, flutter, and go 
 hither and thither amid this hum of labor, youth and happi- 
 ness. 
 
 " Look, Faust," whispered Roberto, while the mother left 
 them for a moment to examine the design on one of the looms. 
 " Look at these distaffs, these Marguerites. . . . Do you re- 
 member? . . . Faust's dream as given by Irving at the Ly- 
 ceum! " 
 
 Alejandro frowned slightly and dismissed the irreverent no- 
 tion. 
 
 " None of that, my boy. Rather look at this detail : that 
 distaff, that neck, that extended arm. Some such model as 
 this inspired in Velazquez the admirable neck and the mag- 
 nificent arm of his Las Hilanderas." (The Spinners.) And 
 then, with a voice of mingled affection and severity he added: 
 
 " You know that at the Pole everything is the color of snow, 
 even the wolves and the bears. In Muzo everything is 
 green, from the emeralds to the butterflies. . . . Here, thought 
 should be colored by the predominating hue: white." 
 
 "Shall we look over the orchard?" asked the mother, re- 
 turning to them with an obliging air. 
 
 They ascended the stone staircase at the foot of which some 
 girls were embroidering; they passed by the dormitory and 
 entered the sewing room. Above the tables creaked the shears, 
 tearing into the cloths, which parted noisily; with their backs to 
 a window a group of maidens was at work, and behind them, 
 drenched in sunlight, could be seen the orchard; beyond this 
 lay the green distance of la Sabana. They crossed the cor- 
 ridors again and then descended a dark flight of stairs which 
 creaked at every step. 
 
HORTICULTURE 145 
 
 " Preneze garde: il y a dix marches"*- ..." 
 
 The nun returned and the visitors went into the orchard. 
 
 A sensation of coolness and peace, the scent of lilies and 
 sweet basil, the murmurs of an invisible spring that glided 
 along among the shrubbery, the melody of the wind that made 
 the treetops sway, the trilling of the birds, surrounded them, 
 penetrated them, touched their souls like a language of mys- 
 tery and tenderness, with the religious accents of a bygone 
 age. 
 
 The sun, causing the orange leaves to glitter, drenching the 
 banner of a curubo, and caressing the leaves of the fig-trees, 
 reached the ground and played about in meshes of light and 
 shade, making the white silhouettes stand out in relief against 
 the dark green of the foliage. Two Sisters were going back 
 and forth silently, and while one gathered flowers the other 
 let fall from the watering pot a curved stream which, in a 
 rainbow-colored cascade dropped gently upon the leaves and 
 the soil which it darkened. 
 
 Hearing the sound of trampled leaves in the path, the two 
 Sisters turned their heads. Sister Visitation, red as a poppy 
 from the heat and her efforts, put the watering pot to one side, 
 shook her black apron and dried her hand. Sister San Ligorio, 
 placing several bunches of flowers upon a stone bench advanced 
 several steps toward the visitors. Then, in the middle of the 
 path, covered by a shaded light, she stopped short. 
 
 The two friends, catching sight of her, removed their hats; 
 Alejandro stepped back, bowed his head reverently, in deep 
 respect; it was as if, although he had remained standing, he 
 had prostrated himself and in spirit was touching the dust 
 with his forehead. Roberto, as at El Consuelo, observed the 
 Sister with profound admiration. 
 
 The same ineradicable seal of nobility; the same solemn 
 sadness. Her fascinating pupils revealed an intense inner 
 life. Mystic devotion covered her wan face with alabastrine 
 whiteness and seeming transparency. 
 
 Bouquets of white roses, bunches of lilies, overflowing her 
 apron, covered her bosom, touched her neck, and kissed her 
 hands. 
 
 " Look, Alejandro, at this symphony in white." 
 
 1 French. " Take care ; there are ten steps." 
 
146 PAX 
 
 Alejandro, with an imperceptible frown, revealed the an- 
 noyance of one who hears a discordant note in the midst of a 
 beautiful chord, a note that intrudes upon the silence of 
 meditation. Roberto continued: 
 
 " A veritable vision; the dream of a Christian artist realized 
 in marble." 
 
 Alejandro mastered his emotions. He assumed a natural, 
 carefree air. 
 
 " It is not the first time," he said to Roberto, as they walked 
 along the path, " that I see her thus covered with flowers. 
 . . . Three ... no, four years ago, at Nice, in the battle 
 of flowers . . . her carriage was the best decorated; all white, 
 all lilies, as now." 
 
 The two friends bowed and Doctor Miranda advanced; the 
 Sister bowed likewise. 
 
 "Do you like so many flowers?" asked the Sister. "It's 
 the month of flowers, you know, the month of the Virgin." 
 
 " Sister," said Roberto, plucking a lily, " you recall to our 
 minds that landscape of your compatriot Montalembert. . . . 
 A relative of yours, I believe? ... in which Saint Isabel ap- 
 pears with the roses. ..." 
 
 " Man," interrupted Alejandro, " don't talk such nonsense 
 before the Sisters and Sebastian. It was not Saint Isabel. It 
 was . . . that converted Moorish princess . . . who was sur- 
 prised by her father in the act of carrying bread to the 
 Christians. And when the irate parent opened her apron 
 there fell to the ground a shower of roses." 
 
 "Not at all! It was Saint Isabel," replied Roberto, half 
 seriously and half in irony. "What do you know about it? 
 . . . You looked at the painting and made up the story your- 
 self. . . . You settle the question for us, Sebastian. Let Peter 
 speak!" 
 
 "Do you really wish to know the truth, gentlemen? Do 
 you wish me to settle the controversy? How delightful it 
 would be to give a verdict that would please both sides. Well, 
 it was Saint Isabel whose loaves of bread turned to roses." 
 And as he sniffed his snuff with each nostril, and rubbed his 
 fingers, he contemplated Roberto's satisfaction. 
 
 "I've won, Alejandro." 
 
 " And the same thing happened to a converted Mooress, ac- 
 
HORTICULTURE 147 
 
 cording to a pious tradition of Andalusia," added Doctor 
 Miranda, this time contemplating Alejandro's triumphant smile. 
 
 " The sale of these flowers at times produces enough for the 
 maintenance of our poor little children," observed Sister San 
 Ligorio in her melodious voice. " It's the opposite of the 
 miracle that happens here: the roses are transformed into 
 bread." And bowing, she crossed the path, reached the door 
 . . . and the white vision disappeared. 
 
 Sister Visitacion invited them to walk about the place and 
 see the little wonders she had worked. They skirted some let- 
 tuce beds, then proceeded to a strip of land cut by black fur- 
 rows that bristled with stakes bearing names inscribed upon 
 white cards. The doctor, attracted by the Latin, bent over to 
 decipher the writing. 
 
 " Septium . . . Trifolium frangiferum . . . Spercula arven- 
 cis . . . Panem germanicum. . . " 
 
 "Ah! " exclaimed Sister Visitacion as the Doctor read the 
 last name aloud, "that is my great conquest; it is the Moha 
 of Hungary . . . poor little thing ... its seed sprouts easily, 
 even where drought has dried up all other species." 
 
 Alejandro, who had remained taciturn, attempted to feign in- 
 terest in the Sister's explanation, and passed his hand over the 
 ear of the Moha. 
 
 " No, Monsieur Alejandro," exclaimed the Sister, arching 
 her brows in fright and joining her hands in supplication. 
 " Don't touch it, for you'll ruin everything." 
 
 They continued the rounds of the orchard; in one corner, 
 with its decoration of white roses stood a kiosk, whence came 
 noisy laughter. Roberto, hastening toward it, saw a nun 
 seated upon a stone bench. 
 
 She was a spectral figure, a white mummy; she seemed 
 hewn out of a block of ice; from her eyes, in which her entire 
 existence had taken refuge, flashed sparks that betrayed her 
 surprise, even horror, as if Roberto were brandishing a knife. 
 
 " This is Sister San Bernardo," murmured Doctor Miranda 
 in a low voice. " She never breaks the silence except with 
 these hysteric laughs, without a gesture, without a contraction 
 of her facial muscles. She dwelt in Agua de Dios, among 
 lepers, for ten years. . . . They brought her here ... like this 
 . . . crazy." 
 
148 PAX 
 
 They continued their walk in silence, deeply moved by their 
 encounter with the unexpected apparition; in the shadow of the 
 wall they noticed a patch of enclosed earth upon which might 
 he made out the imprint of an aristocratic foot, and here, 
 amid a veritable explosion of springtide there quivered in the 
 breeze a bed of lilies. 
 
 Doctor Miranda bent down again to read the inscriptions. 
 
 " Lirium paneracium . . . Amarillis farmensis . . . Amaril- 
 lis formosina. . . ." 
 
 Sister Visitacion thrust forth her under lip and her frank 
 features portrayed her supreme disdain. 
 
 " Ta, ta, ta. . . . These are merely whims of Sister San 
 Ligorio's. . . . What a deal of trouble for nothing! . . . Use- 
 less plants. ... Do you like them, Doctor? . . . Then let me 
 explain: this is the Guernsey lily, so-called. It comes orig- 
 inally from Japan, but so naturalized did it become upon the 
 island of Guernsey that it grows there in abundance. They 
 flourish only once, and that's why our Sister is so fond of 
 them. They give buds like this here, cerese color, filled 
 with venturin. . . . This other one is the ' Santiago lily,' the 
 cross of Calatrava. . . . See this bud that's about to open, 
 Sefior Alejandro. . . . What pains it has cost! ... It is cul- 
 tivated in earth because it can't bear manure; and its flower, 
 which is this ruby velvet streaked with gold dust, represents 
 the heraldic lily, the French fleur-de-lis. It lasts only five or 
 six days, and the cold kills it. ... The Sister adores it! ... 
 When they are about to blossom she takes them to her room. 
 . . . Just take a look yonder; that square window filled with 
 lilies." 
 
 And on the high stone wall they could see the flower pots 
 filled with lilies that peered through the iron bars and swayed 
 their white and red chalices to the afternoon breezes. 
 
 " You knew Sister San Ligorio in Europe, did you not, 
 Alejandro, before she entered this order? " asked Doctor Mi- 
 randa. 
 
 " It seems to me," said Roberto, " that I heard you say 
 you met her in your travels to the Orient." 
 
 They strolled along silently, enveloped by the odor of the 
 humid soil; their footsteps were heard upon the gravel of 
 the path and upon some dried leaves. Inquiring glances were 
 
HORTICULTURE 149 
 
 turned upon Alejandro, who, with an effort, began to speak 
 in that same muffled, melancholy tone with which he had 
 spoken to Roberto that very morning. 
 
 " In Jerusalem, in the temple of the Holy Sepulcher, un- 
 der the immense cupola shone the colored marbles in the light 
 of the candles and the silver lamps; the sanctuary, which is 
 set like a jewel in the midst of the temple, is divided into two 
 compartments. I waited in the first for my turn to enter. 
 . . . Whereupon somebody came out, stopping in the low 
 doorway, and I was able to penetrate into the very abode of 
 the Holy Sepulcher. The air was dense, and clouds of in- 
 cense floated in the mysterious light of the lamps; the yellow 
 marble walls were illuminated. A solemn silence reigned. I 
 beheld before me a prostrate body, a face pressed upon the 
 sacred marble. I heard a sigh. . . ." 
 
 He paused, unable to go on, dominated by a profound emo- 
 tion. 
 
 A bell sounded and they sauntered along silently, lulled 
 by the atmosphere of the afternoon, by the ambient of peace 
 and retirement in which the odor of incense and of the lilies, 
 the aroma of prayer and of the orchard balsam seemed to be 
 mingled. Soon there arose the song of youthful voices, a choir 
 of children singing the evening hymn. 
 
 " Salve, Regina Mater. . . ." 
 
 All lifted their glances to the wall, which was bathed in a 
 golden glow, fairly riddled with little holes into which the 
 sparrows flew with a joyous twitter. Near the ground, in the 
 moisture, the rocks were covered with moss that had the rich, 
 dark color of clotted blood; further up, amid festoons of ivy, the 
 weatherbeaten blocks of stone seemed sooted by the smoke of 
 of a conflagration and were here and there covered with a 
 greenish growth as soft as plush and as rich as magnificent 
 cloth; and yonder, amid this harmony of hues, shone the 
 white and red lilies which, against the somber shades of the 
 wall, symbolized those pure and ardent souls that bloom in 
 oblivion, that bring the gladness of their chaste love to the 
 solitary sadness of the retreat, smiling behind the gratings 
 and sweetening the gloom of the cloister with their prayer. 
 
\ 
 
 150 PAX 
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THE LAMP OF THE SANCTUARY 
 
 THEY left. The peach-tree branches cast shadows from 
 across the wall into the deserted plazuela. The belfry shone 
 in the dying light of the day. 
 
 " Now you see that I've made you pay a visit to la Car- 
 tuja or to the Desert of La Candelaria, without mounting a 
 mule or going by railroad." 
 
 "Yes. . . . That is to say. . . . What were you asking?" 
 said Alejandro, with a distant look in his eyes. 
 
 Opposite them, amid the banks of the river, arose a line of 
 roofs, and beyond, through the bluish mist, could be seen the 
 curve of the ridge. 
 
 Roberto managed to convey to Doctor Miranda with a wink 
 that Alejandro was lost in thought. The Doctor, closing his 
 eyes, answered with a smile. 
 
 " What do you think of this spot, Alejandro? " 
 
 "This spot? " he replied, with an evident desire to contra- 
 dict. "This spot? Do you mean to imply that it's poetic? 
 A suburb, a ruined belfry, a solitary orchard, and that's all. 
 . . . Couldn't modern Bogota have done away with all evidences 
 of colonial days? . . . What? ... Do you imagine that we 
 must leave this place with contrite, penitent spirits?" 
 
 A crow's shadow sped along the ground. In a little win- 
 dow of the fagade the breeze caused a withered palm branch, 
 which was entwined in the bars of the grating, to quiver. 
 
 " I can easily see," said Roberto, " that this is one of your 
 black hours." 
 
 Alejandro frowned, moved his lips as if about to reply, 
 but said nothing. 
 
 " As a matter of fact, we all have, or have had, such hours," 
 ventured the doctor, in a natural tone, fearing any suggestion 
 of preachiness. " But, my dear Roberto, they are not black 
 hours; on the contrary, they are white ones." 
 
 Slowly they reached the end of the plazuela. From be- 
 low came the noise of the river among the stones, the sound of 
 clothes being washed, the bleating of a goat as it climbed the 
 slope, the songs of the washerwomen. 
 
THE LAMP OF THE SANCTUARY 151 
 
 "And why white hours?" asked Alejandro, shrugging his 
 shoulders. " To me they are black. . . . Or, if you won't have 
 that color, at least they are gray." 
 
 " Those are the moments during which we all look within, 
 and retreat to the depths of our consciences." 
 
 Alejandro said nothing in reply. Doctor Miranda contin- 
 ued. 
 
 " This internal struggle, these hours of melancholy, of gloom 
 ... all this is grace, Alejandro." 
 
 Then, pulling out his watch and looking at it in the palm 
 of his hand, he exclaimed, " I've got something important 
 to do! " And he walked off with long strides. 
 
 As he hastened down the slope the priest's cloak swelled 
 and spread to the air; his tall, thin figure stood out against 
 the wall, then disappeared behind a bend. 
 
 Both friends remained silent; Alejandro was more taciturn 
 than ever. Roberto feared to provoke new contradictions. He 
 knew that character well, and knew, too, that in such moments 
 as these it was best to leave him with his thoughts. They 
 descended. It was their habit to observe, to seek details, that 
 they might discover in the least significant things an artistic 
 line, an attitude, a patch of color, which afterward would 
 appear in the shape of a vigorous page of writing or a striking 
 bit of painting. From their height could be seen the interiors 
 of houses, which seemed to fall upon the river, showing them- 
 selves with a certain air of familiarity, abandonment, confi- 
 dence; series of stories, flashing panes, tortuous flights, bal- 
 conies overlooking the abyss, adorned with shrubs, cages, bunches 
 of flowers. . . . They continued their descent; they reached an- 
 other level space, from which they could make out toward the 
 west, the uneven line of roofs which displayed such a variety 
 of red: the spires, the curve of a cupola, chimneys, clouds of 
 smoke, and beyond, la Sabana, greenish, and like a dead 
 lake. 
 
 They wished to converse, to exchange a few remarks, but 
 they could not find the opening word. Everything seemed fu- 
 tile to them, unworthy of breaking the silence, of disturbing 
 their deep and simple emotions. Roberto felt that both bore in 
 their souls the ideal impressions of the afternoon, the peace 
 of the orchard, the priest's discourse, the cloister's sense of 
 
152 PAX 
 
 withdrawal from the world, an aroma of sanctity, " the white 
 vision," the lilies . . . and it seemed to him that if a word 
 were uttered it would blot out everything, even as when a 
 stone is cast into the waters of a lake the reflected images dis- 
 appear: a marble statue, the facade of a temple, the pure blue, 
 the peace of the infinite sky. 
 
 They noticed, in the center of the little square, a fountain 
 with three silver spouts. Against the stone edge stood a maiden 
 in the attitude of a caryatid, her tresses curled about her head, 
 pitcher on her shoulder, held by an elegantly curved nude arm, 
 while the other arm fell against the wet skirt which brought 
 out her body in sculptural relief. 
 
 Not far away was a group of countryfolk, who, harnessing 
 an ox, were wearily watching the departing day and prepar- 
 ing to return to their mountains. 
 
 The two friends, as if coming back from a long voyage, be- 
 fore they took the path that would bring them again to the 
 city's tumult, turned with the sadness of farewell for a final 
 glimpse of the heights, the hill with its cluster of houses ranged 
 about like an amphitheater, and the belfry peering from above 
 the trees. 
 
 They continued their homeward way amid rural scenes : chil- 
 dren flying a kite, a hen with her brood, the murmuring of a 
 little stream that wound about a house built amid the brakes. 
 Further on the laborers were chatting at the doors of their 
 workshops. A row of children were climbing the slope with 
 pitchers of water. 
 
 After a protracted silence Alejandro suddenly spoke: 
 
 " Bellegarde maintains that the Magdalen we were speaking 
 about is the work of the Spaniard Carreno ; I believe that it's an 
 original or a copy of Guido Reni. I'd like to look at the 
 
 painting again and study it with greater leisure Do 
 
 you care to come along? " 
 
 Roberto excused himself. Alejandro walked off toward the 
 temple; a vague desire led him to some place where he could 
 prolong, in solitude, the impressions of the afternoon. 
 
 He hastened along, fearing that there would not be enough 
 light. A little while later he was in the church, before the 
 painting of the Magdalen. It was an excellent hour for view- 
 
THE LAMP OF THE SANCTUARY 153 
 
 ing it, for a stream of light from a lateral window bathed the 
 picture. 
 
 The saint was represented as reclining upon a rock; behind 
 was a landscape, an afternoon sky, a yellowish rim on the 
 horizon. Her head was thrust back, her eyes turned heaven- 
 ward, and she seemed to be conversing with the angels, who 
 were floating downward, bearing a wreath. A red garment, 
 with ample folds, fell from her girdle to the ground; from 
 out of this cloak issued her bosom, as delicate as a lily. 
 
 A ray of sunlight crossed the central nave and fell upon the 
 red cloak, as if to enhance the artist's effect, enlivening the gen- 
 eral tonality and brightening the cloak against the rocks. 
 
 Alejandro removed his attention from the lines and the 
 colors of the artist, thinking that he had penetrated into the 
 inner thought, the theme of the composition, the poem of the 
 cloak, of the hair and the hands; this mantle which amid the 
 rural landscape was like a relic of the former pomp that the 
 repentant courtesan had abandoned, those hands that bore 
 the aromas to the Sepulcher, and that abundant head of hair 
 whose silken tresses dried the feet of the Savior in the feast, 
 anointed with the spikenard from the alabastrine vase. Her 
 hand was stroking back her hair in an attitude that recalled, as 
 if in her despite, the former sinner. 
 
 In the movement of both hands, in the cloak and the hair 
 were symbolized the past and the present. . . . Time, the best 
 of colorists, had blended the hues, gilded the whiteness and 
 softened the outlines. 
 
 " There's no doubt about it," said Alejandro, stepping back. 
 " Original or copy, that's by Guido. " I can't see how Belle- 
 garde can deny it. That skill in the folds of the cloak, the 
 hair treated so distinctively, those half tints with the bluish 
 tones, betray without a doubt the hand of the master." 
 
 The twilight beam that fell obliquely through the transom 
 kept rising, trembled, cast a rainbow glitter upon the prism of 
 a chandelier and then was extinguished. Alejandro had to 
 draw closer; the colors of the canvas had grown dimmer, and 
 the outlines of the figure were blotted out. 
 
 From the transom falls a waning light; the solitary church 
 is invaded by shadows. 
 
154 PAX 
 
 The sparkle of the prisms, the glitter of the altar-pieces, 
 the glad color of the flowers, have paled and died. 
 
 From the cupola descends a livid light that scarcely illumines 
 the principal arch. The shadows continue to engulf the place, 
 effacing lights and colors, until only a penumbra is left in 
 the center of the cupola, and there at the end, in a corner bathed 
 in gloom, two transoms that seem to peer into the darkness 
 like two green eyes. The darkness, more and more dense, in- 
 vades the arches of the confessionaries, the corners of the al- 
 tars, the curves of the arcade. Only at the rear, in a lateral 
 chapel, is there a yellowish light, a ray of dying light that 
 quivers, glides along the wall, rises to the vaulted ceiling, turns 
 the final sunbeam of the cupola greener than ever, crosses the 
 roof diagonally, and is reflected upon the back of the pews, 
 finally being extinguished in the depths of the choir. 
 
 Alejandro advanced several paces toward the rear of the 
 church. To the right, in a nave, above a wooden candelabra, 
 the candle that had been left there like a prayer by some un- 
 fortunate, was flickering before a crucifix. At times the burn- 
 ing wick would flicker up and send the shadows dancing across 
 the pilaster; at other times the flame would seem to have gone 
 out, whereupon it would light up anew with another lease of 
 life. This agony of the candle illuminating the agony of the 
 crucifix filled Alejandro with indefinable sadness. Why? He 
 could not explain it. ... Perhaps it was his old faith, his 
 childhood piety, which was still struggling in the shadows, and 
 which was about to be extinguished forever? . . . The candle 
 went out. The nave was left in darkness. Only forward, in 
 the lateral chapel, was there a delicate ray of light. He ad- 
 vanced. The lamp suspended from three silver chains, swayed 
 and turned with scarcely perceptible rhythm, projecting upon the 
 whitish wall the moving shadow of a chain, a shadow which, 
 parting from the altar, glided along, crossed a stone statue in 
 its niche, floated over a pilaster, reached the edge of the 
 arch and was lost in the gloom; then, after a space of time, 
 it reached the edge of the arch again, returned to the stone 
 statue, thence to the altar, gliding with a spectral motion. 
 
 A vague fear took hold of Alejandro, the fear of the super- 
 natural: the shadow that swung along the walls was about to 
 come to life, to rise before him, to address mysterious words 
 
THE LAMP OF THE SANCTUARY 155 
 
 to him, in menacing accents. From the obscure corners issued 
 sounds that reverberated hauntingly from vault to vault. He 
 recalled that fugitive ray that had alighted that morning upon 
 the steel coat of mail, and that had returned that afternoon 
 with mysterious persistence to illuminate the canvas of the 
 repentant sinner. He wished to flee that place, free himself 
 from these childish terrors; but soon there rose before him with 
 extraordinary vividness the vision of the orchard with her 
 sunken cheeks, with her blue eyes that were so strangely fasci- 
 nating, and he was rooted to the spot, confused and ashamed. 
 Such a recollection, so pure and so sacred, could not have re- 
 mained in a defiled conscience. All the recollections of the 
 morning passed before him anew, clear as day and sorrowful in 
 his feverish imagination. He was overwhelmed by an inex- 
 plicable moodiness, a dense shadow enveloped him, and all hope 
 of happiness was dead. 
 
 From afar came muffled voices, an ample rhythm filled with 
 tenderness and mystery. They came from an invisible place, 
 echoed from arch to arch, and, like the light, died languidly 
 in the corners of the sanctuary. 
 
 From a distant chapel came the voice of the officiant. " Salve 
 Regina Mater," and there resounded in the temple a cata- 
 comb-like murmur. Then came the perfume of incense, and 
 with it, the remembrance of something long past, the aroma 
 of childhood, of spontaneous piety. The chorus of children's 
 voices arose, a simple, tender music, something familiar 
 that he had himself sung when a boy, the melody of inno- 
 cence, submission and purity. 
 
 The music came to him engulfed in waves of incense, in the 
 delicate odor of flowers, and then, thanks to the mysterious 
 power of the rhythm, as if all at once his years of storm and 
 stress had been blotted out, he beheld a picture of former, 
 better years: the chapel of the hacienda, the Virgin's cele- 
 brated nightly in the family circle. ... A whole dead gen- 
 eration, of which only he was left floating on the surface like 
 a stray spar from a shipwreck. 
 
 Before Alejandro's eyes the shadow of the lamp crossed 
 anew, passing the arch and sinking slowly into the gloom. . . . 
 
 In the meantime the chant grew sweeter and more appealing, 
 the musical phrase that seemed so friendly to Alejandro was 
 
156 PAX 
 
 repeated, and he let himself be drawn along by it, his soul being 
 swung in rhythms of hope and tenderness. There came an- 
 other picture before his eyes, and his heart pulsed with the 
 free, steady flow of his earliest years : the altar, the candles, the 
 little wreaths of orange-blossoms, the snow-white cloth, the 
 large cup that quivered in the priest's hands, and then ecstasy, 
 the promises of the first communion, the offering of his 
 life to an existence of self-denial and purity. . . . 
 
 On the wall, like a specter, the shadow of the chain silently 
 crossed and was lost in the darkness. 
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 THE ELM AND THE IVY 
 
 UNDER the sun of that cheerful morning, amid the buzz of 
 conversation and laughter, the whir of wheels and the snapping 
 of whips, the carriages keep arriving at the Capilla del Sa- 
 grario; the horses are spirited, the harnesses shine, the coach- 
 men are well-shaved. "The bridal pair!" murmur the in- 
 quisitive bystanders. And a crowd encircles the closed coupes 
 that halt before the steps, while the gray horses proudly shake 
 the white ribbons floating from their ears. Orange-blossoms 
 hang from the whips of the coachmen and adorn their coats, 
 and through the window may be seen, in a dark corner, the pro- 
 file of a woman. 
 
 A door opened and there appeared a huge foot, the leg of a 
 colossus, a bulging shirt-front upon which sparkled three large 
 diamonds; the top of a silk hat hit against the roof of the 
 carriage and out came Montellano, who walked toward the 
 entrance of the church with his hat still askew. From the 
 other carriage issued Dona Aura, dressed in black silk, and she 
 followed Montellano with a courtly gait, upon the arm of 
 Landaburo, who was the best man; the latter swept the crowd 
 with his glance, but was aware only of his own presence. 
 
 As they entered the choir burst into a triumphal march which, 
 filling the entire edifice, awoke in Dona Aura emotions that she 
 could scarcely repress. While the bride crossed the temple, 
 amid the flashing attire and the intoxicating perfumes of the 
 
THE ELM AND THE IVY 157 
 
 guests, she recalled her first marriage to Tubalcain Cardoso, 
 in a humble village, while now she advanced erect, her eyes 
 aglow with victory. She thought, too, of all the guile and cun- 
 ning she had employed to win the millionaire . 
 
 Montellano and Dona Aura kneeled down upon the prayer- 
 mats of red velvet, and the bulk of their persons seemed to 
 fill the entire front of the chancel. . . . "At last . . . there \s 
 no doubt of it," Dona Aura was thinking. Montellano was 
 there at her side; he shook the prayer-mat with his weight and 
 she could hear his bullock-like breathing. . . . Within half an 
 hour her union with the millionaire would be an eternal one, and 
 that happy phrase which had come to her during one of her in- 
 terviews would be realized. 
 
 What a great chapter this scene would make; what a splen- 
 did denouement! She would have to change that title Angel 
 or Demon, for something more suggestive, more poetic: The 
 Elm and the Ivy. She tried hard to retain the emotions that 
 were coursing through her, that she might represent them later 
 in the heroine of the novel, Aurora; and she gazed closely at 
 all about her that she might paint the scene in her book in all 
 the color of reality, just as the brothers de Goncourt did. Al- 
 though the ceremony had already begun, she paid little atten- 
 tion, given over as she was to her literary preoccupations : above 
 the chancel arose four tall candles adorned with orange blos- 
 soms, lighting up the dark background of the altar; they were 
 dimmed by the spirals of incense ; an oblique sunbeam scattered 
 luminous shafts amid the bluish haze, was mirrored in the 
 tabernacle plaques, and landed upon the edge of the white page 
 of the missal that was crossed by a red ribbon. She discovered 
 a new detail, with which she promised herself to achieve a 
 grandiose effect: in the two gloomy corners, at either side, ap- 
 peared the head of the Baptist and that of Saint Paul in two 
 silver platters, a bloody circle about their neck, their lips livid, 
 bathed by a tragic pallor in which might be divined the final 
 agonized tremor. 
 
 The music ceased; the choir ended its triumphal march. 
 There appeared in the middle of the chancel Doctor Miranda, 
 wearing the pluvial and holding a book in his hand. There he 
 stood, erect upon the st;ps of the altar, wrapped in the cloak, 
 which fell in perpendicular folds, illuminated by a stream of 
 
158 PAX 
 
 light from above, in all the glory of his virginal vigor, his 
 ascetic beauty, imposing love and respect upon the multitudes. 
 Amid a hush he turned toward the bridal pair, and his full, 
 vibrant voice resounded in the vaults of the temple. 
 
 " You are about to celebrate the holy sacrament of matri- 
 mony. ..." 
 
 From the square outside came the noise of wheels. A car- 
 riage stopped. All eyes are turned: the flowers, the ribbons, 
 the hats, stir; heads get close together and whisper. Ines 
 advances with a graceful gait, smiling to all without resting her 
 gaze upon any. She reaches the center of the church, seeks a 
 place with her eyes, returns ; Roberto arises, offers her his chair 
 and remains at her side. The heads turn back to the altar; 
 from behind can only be seen the row of backs, the dark patches 
 of hair amid the bright colors of the clothes and the hats. 
 
 From his place Roberto notes that in the first row, near the 
 chancel, there flutter from a hat two poppy buds; and he feels 
 that Dolores will experience a nervous uneasiness on seeing him 
 at Ines' side. 
 
 From the chorus, meanwhile, rises la Rondinelli's voice. She 
 sings a slow melody with a simple rhythm which breaks into a 
 sonorous, powerful, freely soaring phrase like an improviza- 
 tion sustained by harmonies in its flight; at first it is like an 
 ardent breath, then it becomes slower and finally languishes 
 and dies in a sigh. 
 
 And Dona Aura, inspired by this melody, by the splendor 
 that surrounds her, elaborates the plot of her novel: a large 
 Oriental city on the banks of the Caspian Sea . . . besieged by 
 the tyrant Ronderil with the aid of the Nabab Montelino. The 
 leader of the beleaguered forces, Tubal-kin, dies . . . the be- 
 sieged are already discussing surrender when the wife of the 
 dead chief, the inspired poetess Aurora, a new Judith, re- 
 solves to visit the enemy camp. Before the great Nabab she 
 is seized with trembling, and falls in love with the new 
 Holofernes and, instead of slashing his throat, marries him. 
 This novel will be called ... she has already found the 
 title . . . The Elm and the Ivy, or, The New Judith of 
 Negroponto. 
 
 " Sefiora Aura del Campo, do you take Senor Ramon Montel- 
 lano for your lawfully wedded husband? ..." 
 
THE ELM AND THE IVY 159 
 
 Dona Aura was silent, engrossed in her exciting plot. There 
 was a surprised, painful hush. Had Dona Aura changed her 
 mind ? But Montellano, in his thundering voice, exclaimed : 
 
 " Sefiora, did you hear? " 
 
 "Yes, I do! Yes, yes, I do!" 
 
 The ceremony came to an end. 
 
 To the strains of a joyous waltz the gathering began to 
 leave, headed by Don Ramon and her who was now Dona Aura 
 del Campo de Montellano. Behind came a long row of couples ; 
 Roberto with Ines, Alcon with Dolores. 
 
 When the guests arrived at the Montellano mansion they 
 found a crowd of curious onlookers being held back by two 
 policemen of stupid appearance, garbed in long coats and 
 wearing Prussian helmets with white metal designs. They 
 trod upon the carpets that had lately been spread out across 
 the zaguan and the staircase; they made their way amid pines, 
 palms, Abyssinian plane trees that filled the atmosphere with 
 a moist, forest-like odor. The exotic fronds quivered from 
 contact with the people, heightening the bright colors of the 
 dresses that swished on the staircase and afterward glided off 
 over the thick carpets. 
 
 "A pencil! Paper!" cried Dona Aura. My inspiration's 
 evaporating. . . ." Crossing the salons she reached the writ- 
 ing-room that had been prepared for her in her new home, 
 and with feverish hand scribbled several sentences, a few 
 words that would later form part of her great concluding 
 chapter. 
 
 In the meantime Montellano had been eagerly seeking Doctor 
 Alcon; he took him from Dolores' arm and carried him off 
 to his office. The sunlight was playing upon the safe, upon 
 the letter-press, and was glittering cheerily upon the brandy 
 bottles. 
 
 " Doctor Alcon, I was thinking of you at church . . . and 
 I have gathered in the entire debt of 1848; now we need that 
 decree reestablishing the amortization fund. Reestablish? 
 No! ... It must be doubled. ... I can count on you, can't I? 
 Here, have a glass of whiskey? . . . You don't like it? It 
 cost ten shillings sixpence per flask. Well, here's some Otard 
 Dupay . . . this costs twenty-five francs. . . . Not this, 
 either? Off then, and hunt up your partner. . . . Wait a mo- 
 
160 PAX 
 
 ment. . . . Pay me to-morrow the amount of that last loan 
 . . . that's what we agreed upon. ... I count on you. ..." 
 
 " Not to-morrow, because it's Corpus ... the day after to- 
 morrow, for sure. . . . I'll do my best. I have a very scrupul- 
 ous chief." 
 
 Alcon, finding himself thus indirectly supported by Lola's 
 father, encouraged in his hopes, crossed the gallery in high 
 feather, elbowed his way through the crowd and sought her in 
 the main salon, the former hall of portraits. Not finding her, 
 he waited till she should come. 
 
 Dolores, who was in the dressing-room to which the women 
 were coming to leave their hats and arrange their hair, awaited 
 uneasily, and almost in fear, the moment when Ines should 
 come in; she would then see her at close range, would em- 
 brace the widely applauded beauty who was standing in the 
 way of her happiness. And from behind a screen she spied her 
 arrival with a palpitating heart. She saw her approach arm 
 in arm with Roberto, who left her at the staircase landing ; then 
 she saw her cross the gallery. As they met in the doorway, 
 Dolores for a moment held back, but Ines stepped forward, 
 smiled, held out her hand; they kissed, left the room and 
 crossed the salons; upon catching sight of them, all observed 
 the contrast between these two types of beauty. 
 
 The beauty of the one was of a turbulent sort; the other's, 
 of regal serenity. Here was Dolores, with her rounded curves, 
 her thick, black hair, her ardent eyes, her rosy cheeks, her 
 large hands. There was Ines, with her erect carriage, her grace- 
 ful step, her silken tresses, her dreamy eyes, her jessamine-like 
 pallor, and her long, slender hands, as perfectly modelled as a 
 jewel. 
 
 Dolores was dressed in conservative fashion ; she wore a 
 gown of red velvet, and in her ears, two huge diamonds; Rob- 
 erto's cousin was garbed in Alenc.on lace which enwrapped her 
 like a wave of foam; she wore no jewels, and in her whole at- 
 tire there was noticeable a certain personal touch that dis- 
 tinguished it from the dress in vogue. 
 
 Alcon drew near to offer his arm to Dolores; Ines crossed the 
 gallery, between two rows of admirers who bowed as she went 
 by. She bowed to right and to left, with a word here, a glance 
 and a smile there. 
 
THE ELM AND THE IVY 161 
 
 Alcon had resolved firmly to conquer his timidity on that day 
 and declare his love to Dolores, asking her to marry him. 
 He walked through the rooms admiring the velvet furniture, the 
 taste with which Montellano had replaced the faded old pieces 
 of the house with brand new ones. But the declaration refused 
 to come to his lips, and his ivory pate was bathed in purple 
 flushes that betrayed his pleasure or his discomfort. Dolores 
 listened to him uneasily and with her thoughts somewhere else. 
 This marriage of her father had been very painful to her, and 
 that morning she had wept at the vivid recollection of her 
 mother; besides, she could not look without intense displeas- 
 ure upon this new authority that was to be enthroned in Montel- 
 lano's heart and in the house wherein she herself had dwelt as 
 sovereign queen. These gloomy notions vanished at thought 
 of Roberto, who vaguely represented to her requited love, ruler- 
 ship, authority. 
 
 All at once there was heard the unmelodious scraping of a 
 violin, the runs of a clarinet, the grumbling of a bass fiddle; 
 three raps from the conductor's baton; and then, stirring all 
 nerves, warming all hearts, there burst forth the intoxicating 
 strains of a waltz that submerged everything beneath a flood 
 of warmth and enthusiasm; before the myopic eyes of Alcon and 
 the restless eyes of Dolores whirled dancing couples, mingling 
 the bright hues of lace and velvet with the monotonous color 
 of the dress suits. 
 
 Soon Dolores caught sight of Roberto seated upon a divan be- 
 side Ines; she could not conceal her emotions and paused; 
 her arm was shaken by a slight tremor; she grew pale, then 
 exceedingly red. Alcon felt his partner's shock by a sort of re- 
 bound; lifting his eyes he saw Roberto, and it occurred to him 
 that the psychological moment had arrived, the longed-for mo- 
 ment in which he could broach the subject of marriage to 
 Dolores. Taking her to one side, away from the sight of her 
 rival, he murmured: 
 
 " Seiiorita Dolores, you with the big, dark eyes, now filled 
 with passion, now roguish, now tenderness itself; endowed with 
 the most winsome mouth that ever a brunette was blessed with, 
 and a most piquant brunette at that, the kind that makes every 
 eye turn for a second look when she passes by; with wavy, 
 abundant hair that falls over your temples in rebellious locks, 
 
162 PAX 
 
 such a one as you, allow me to say, should not tolerate the 
 antics of a rascal like Roberto who abuses the gifts he posses- 
 ses ... a sharp wit, a certain smatter of literature, facility 
 and vehemence in expressing himself, such education as may be 
 procured here . . . using them to deceive you." 
 
 " No, doctor; nothing of the sort." 
 
 " No? Why, I have this business of love at my finger 
 tips . . . chimeras, trifles, bagatelles. After three terrible fits 
 of temper, and after quarreling with the ingrate and not speak- 
 ing with him for a few days that seem as many weeks, and 
 trying to make him jealous by flirting with one of your many 
 admirers, among whom I reckon myself, you will always par- 
 don him in the end, after he swears the vow that he has made 
 and broken a hundred times, not to repeat his tricks. But 
 the rascally ingrate, noting the falsity of the indifference with 
 which you treat him, for you are not skilled in deceit, 
 will permit himself to be deceived neither by your assumption 
 of courteous indifference nor by your fits of fury, for this wily 
 Roberto knows the whys and wherefores of all this affected in- 
 difference. ..." 
 
 In Montellano's room, clouded with cigar smoke, there were 
 tables for players; the place was filled with gossip, and plenty 
 of ten-shilling-sixpence whiskey as well as twenty-five-franc 
 brandy was gulped down. 
 
 In one corner Landaburo, Doctor Agiieros, Polanco and 
 Mata were chatting. The merry din of the orchestra drowned 
 out conversations and made it impossible to overhear confiden- 
 tial exchanges. 
 
 " Things are going badly," the doctor was saying, as he 
 rolled a cigarette. " Ronderos is making himself solid; his 
 prestige, despite the attacks made by La Revaluation, is spread- 
 ing, and the peace of Warsaw is being made firm." 
 
 " This cursed canalization business has saved him," ob- 
 served Landaburo. " Many of our friends are deserting. So- 
 carraz himself, who seemed absolutely unshakable, has ac- 
 cepted a position from Bellegarde." 
 
 " And to tell the truth, they've done wonders in a few 
 months," added Polanco. " When I first heard talk of the 
 enterprise, I really didn't think it was so important a thing. 
 They've started work all along the river; there are thousands of 
 
THE ELM AND THE IVY 163 
 
 laborers and they're scattering their money right and left." 
 
 " The enterprise has caught the public fancy. Roberto's 
 articles have been highly effective, there's no denying that," 
 said Agueros. " If we don't buckle down to something definite, 
 old Ronderos will become President. On the canalized river 
 he'll float before our very eyes into the Palace of San Car- 
 los." 
 
 The orchestra stopped playing. To the office came the buzz 
 of conversations from the other rooms. The men of the group 
 thought it wiser to change the subject. Mata invited them to a 
 drink; they approached the table, drained the glasses and 
 lighted cigarettes. Then the air was filled anew with the 
 strains of a polka. 
 
 " We need no better organization, my friend," said Landa- 
 buro, as the group drew together again. " What we need ab- 
 solutely is the unified direction of the party, blind obedience 
 to a single chief. It's utterly necessary for you to proclaim 
 my candidacy as the sole leader of the Revaluation party; I 
 propose this to you with the soldierly frankness that charac- 
 terizes me, and as the only possible means of saving our great 
 party. Once I am recognized as leader, I would have to be 
 handed the big sums that our fellow partisans have contributed 
 throughout the republic for the wounded soldiers of Poland." 
 
 " That's a difficult matter," said Agueros, who was in charge 
 of the funds. " Unless you were proclaimed Director, as you 
 wish." 
 
 " I will be, ... I'll see to that, my dear Agueros. . . . 
 I've been hunting a long time, like Diogenes and his lantern, 
 for the man who could exercise a unified direction, supreme com- 
 mand, and I have found him, my friends ... I am that 
 man." 
 
 "Hush! " said Mata. "Here's another glass. Let's rather 
 go into the dining-room. . . . Come along! " 
 
 From the gallery the orchestra filled the house with loud 
 sounds; the brass instruments flashed, and the bows of the 
 violins rose and fell; the men of the group made their way 
 through the crowd to the door of the salon. In the center, 
 Dona Aura, with affected gestures in which she tried to conceal 
 her forty years, was dividing the wedding-cake. Landaburo, 
 who could not consent to play a secondary role in anything, had 
 
164 PAX 
 
 no sooner caught sight of her than he elbowed his way amid 
 the couples to the side of the poetess. 
 
 " Allow me to help you in this poetic ceremony." 
 
 And Landaburo officiating, the poetic ceremony continued; 
 none of the guests knew what to do with these hard, black 
 slices, covered with silvered balls that rolled from between their 
 teeth. 
 
 Noticing Mata in the doorway, Dona Aura raised her voice. 
 
 "Let the ever-inspired poet recite something for us! " 
 
 "Yes! ... Yes! .. ." cried several. " Let him speak! " 
 
 " I beg you, friend bard." 
 
 " The Black Song." 
 
 " The Ballad of Despair! " 
 
 " Metamorphosis." 
 
 " Symphony in gray major" 
 
 " Egyptian Nostalgia" 
 
 "Yes! Yes! That's it! Egyptian Nostalgia" They led 
 the poet to a corner of the salon, the partners were seated, and 
 Mata began to recite. The huge mirrors reflected the scene; 
 the women concealing their boredom behind their fans, the young 
 ladies whispering with their sweethearts, and others, with liter- 
 ary pretensions, stretching out their necks, paying eager at- 
 tention. The men, standing around the poet in a compact cir- 
 cle, with little flags or white ribbons in their buttonholes, 
 showed their ennui plainly on their faces. Meanwhile the 
 poet, beside the balcony, with the light full upon him, the red 
 of a bloodshot eye showing from under his lowered eyelid, waved 
 his arms up and down and staggered to and fro like a man 
 swaying in a boat. At last he came to the end : 
 
 May the song of my lyre, when comes the end, 
 
 Break at the side of the eternal Sphinx, which gazes, gazes, gazes. 
 
 And in the Nubian sand, which stretch like a white dream, 
 
 I fain would be the eternal sweetheart of the unviolated Sphinx ! 
 
 The salon resounded with applause that was deadened by 
 gloves; the merry noise of footsteps animated conversations and 
 happy laughter was heard anew, and the orchestra soon burst 
 into another tune. 
 
 Landaburo and his friends continued their interrupted pro- 
 gress toward the dining-room. At last they reached the door 
 
THE ELM AND THE IVY 165 
 
 from where, behind a dense crowd of guests, they could make 
 out the huge banquet table laden with food and wines. The 
 waiters were bustling about, raising their arms and distributing 
 plates that were seized from them by the guests. 
 
 Ladies and gentlemen, elbow to elbow, were carving and 
 drinking with great difficulty; behind them stood a second 
 row, awaiting the moment to fill the vacated chairs, and in the 
 meantime intercepting bits of pastry, raisins, a cup of bouillon, 
 which were tremblingly passed over the heads of the diners 
 amid cries of terror, at times falling in the shape of dew 
 upon the clothes of the guests. Behind was yet a third row, 
 which entertained itself by seeing and hearing from afar 
 the crunching of food, the stir of the waiters, the popping of 
 champagne corks, the clatter of plates and glasses. 
 
 Landaburo and his friends made their way to the third row, 
 the row of aspirants. After a long wait they finally got an 
 obliging fellow to bring them some plates, after which they 
 received a few slices of cold meat; a half hour later came a 
 knife, somewhat later a fork. Provided now with these, they 
 remained standing, gazing at one another helplessly, unable to 
 cut the food with the plates in their hands. Enviously they 
 observed Sanchez Mendez at the other end, pressed tightly 
 against the table, eating the various foods in leisurely fashion, 
 sipping down his wine, smacking his lips, putting down the 
 glass, raising the menu close to his eyes, that he might dis- 
 cover what it was he had been so conscientiously swallow- 
 ing. 
 
 Into the dining-room came the unwearying measures of the 
 waltz, and the dense, heated atmosphere was filled with shouts : 
 
 " Jacinto, more of that turkey." 
 
 " Champagne here! " 
 
 "Pedro! What's become of my cold meat?" 
 
 " Some more tarts ! " 
 
 "Let's see; let's see. A little red wine . . . but Chateau 
 Lafitte. . . . None of that Catalonian stuff for me." 
 
 "Sandwiches! " 
 
 " A cup of bouillon." 
 
 "Ow! My frock coat! " 
 
 In the corridor there had formed two opposing currents, 
 those who were on their way to the dining-room, famished, and 
 
166 PAX 
 
 those who were returning to the salons with sated appetites and 
 in high spirits. At last Landaburo and his friends were able 
 to advance to the second row, then to the first, close to the 
 table, among a group of merchants. 
 
 " I prefer red wine," said a thin fellow with a watery look 
 and a sickly voice. " My dyspepsia allows me no other kind. 
 . . . Bordeaux costs three hundred francs per cask. ..." 
 
 Another merchant with bulging cheeks and a paunch that 
 prevented his close approach to the table, replied: 
 
 " Then you, with your dyspepsia, ought to be happy to see 
 that the duties on red wine have come down." 
 
 " No, because the rest have gone up. Manchester articles 
 have risen; you can't import them any more. . . . Business is 
 ruined, dead." 
 
 " Not so bad at all that," answered the heavy-paunched 
 capitalist. " If this canalization project goes through, this na- 
 tion will be saved just like Argentina; river freight costs have 
 gone down a great deal already, with the gradual acceleration 
 of navigation. . . . Just reckon for yourselves what will hap- 
 pen when Bellegarde succeeds in making the river navigable for 
 vessels of great draught. . . .. Let's wait. ... I myself at first 
 thought that this enterprise, like so many others, was a farce. 
 . . . No, sir, it means business and it'll prove a universal bene- 
 fit. ... Give us four years of peace and the river will be 
 canalized." 
 
 General Ronderos, who through pressure of affairs had 
 not been able to attend the ceremony or the early part of the 
 banquet, now appeared in the dining-room in company of 
 Montellano and a few friends. He was surrounded and re- 
 ceived with all honors; glasses were raised to his health. 
 
 Karlonoff, who had made peace with Montellano (who be- 
 lieved that Ronderos' stock was rising and that his prestige 
 was secure), cried out: 
 
 " Here's to our next president! " 
 
 From one end of the table to the other the toast was re- 
 ceived with great applause and all glasses were raised. 
 
 " To our next president! " 
 
 Landaburo and Sanchez Mendez exchanged glances, replaced 
 their glasses upon the table and made a face as if they had 
 swallowed vinegar. 
 
THE ELM AND THE IVY 167 
 
 General Ronderos, after thanking the guests heartily, utter- 
 ing a few compliments to the women and exchanging a few jests 
 with his friends, withdrew. 
 
 Landaburo, turning to the group of merchants, which was 
 momentarily growing larger, now raised his glass in a toast: 
 
 " Here's to the men of toil who live from and for industry. 
 I, too, am a working man. My greatest ambition would have 
 been to be an obscure farm-hand. . . . You must have seen my 
 famous editorial called ' Make Way For Labor,' in favor of the 
 ruling classes. ... If I have been a journalist, a tribune and 
 a fighter, I owe it more to certain persecution " and with the 
 tip of his mustache he pointed to the door by which Ronderos 
 had left " than to any innate gift for politics. . . . Like 
 Moliere's ' Doctor Despite Himself,' I have become a political 
 celebrity against my will. ..." 
 
 But little attention was paid to Landaburo. He sat down, 
 and then, getting up again he continued, facing the merchants' 
 group: 
 
 " I have been called a Jacobin, an anarchist, in the papers. 
 . . . But am I really of that type? . . . The ambitious seeker 
 must lie, pretend, vacillate, fawn upon the powerful and adulate 
 everybody. . . . Can you not see that I am a man of some 
 literary taste, who is acquainted moreover with commerce and 
 agriculture? " 
 
 " I agree, I agree," answered the dyspeptic merchant quickly, 
 as if fearing an enforced loan. 
 
 The hours scurried happily by. In the salons the curtains 
 allowed some of the afternoon light to filter into the room; this 
 light, however, was from time to time extinguished when the 
 rainstorm, blown by the wind, came down from Monserrate in 
 powerful gusts, slapping against the window-panes. Then the 
 sun would reappear and, breaking in the prisms of the chande- 
 lier, would lavish rainbow hues upon the polished doors. 
 
 The crowd, in a kaleidoscopic whirl of colors, was strolling 
 about the gallery, through the corridors, across the spacious 
 salons, amid the swish of silk; all cheeks were glowing, all 
 eyes sparkled. The dancing continued without let-up, qua- 
 drilles, polkas, waltzes. . . . The orchestra's notes sounded in- 
 citing, turbulent; when for a moment it was silent, there would 
 arise the loud din of footsteps, conversations, laughter, brim- 
 
168 PAX 
 
 ming with joy. A warm wave of perfume seemed to intoxi- 
 cate everybody. 
 
 In Montellano's office, which was clouded with cigar smoke, 
 there was much drinking; flasks of brandy and whiskey were 
 quickly drained; boxes of Havana cigars had been emptied 
 and re-filled several times. Intimacy, confidence, a desire to 
 talk, were getting the better of the merchants and the capital- 
 ists, in whose midst thundered Montellano's voice. 
 
 " You may have been surprised at the fact that this wed- 
 ding is celebrated in my house, which is not the custom . . . 
 according to what I'm told. . . . But Aura's house is so 
 small . . . and we wanted to have a big time ... a feast 
 that costs three thousand dollars in American gold, my 
 friends." 
 
 The capitalists and the rich merchants, generally self-guarded, 
 were gradually opening their souls with great precaution, just 
 as they opened their safes, and permitted a glimpse of their 
 projects, their hopes, their ambitions. Amid the strains of the 
 distant music, guffaws, slaps upon the shoulder or the stomach, 
 amid the champagne, the -brandy and the clinking of the 
 glasses, there burst in the air, like fireworks, phrases that 
 possessed for these men a sonority, a fascination and a poesy 
 that were simply ineffable. 
 
 " A rise in coffee." 
 
 " Weak market." 
 
 " Have you heard that Martin Brothers have gone into 
 bankruptcy? " 
 
 " Quotations from Costa Rica and Guatemala." 
 
 " Ground coffee for exportation." 
 
 " Twenty per cent, discount." 
 
 " One hundred-count baize." 
 
 " Canalization shares." 
 
 Dona Aura, assuming her role as lady of the house, did the 
 honors most ostentatiously, scurried everywhere hunting up 
 partners for the young ladies, saying a word here, dropping 
 a literary phrase there, seeking gallants to take elderly ma- 
 trons to the dining-room. Her face lit up every time she came 
 across Bellegarde, and she would raise her voice so as to be 
 heard by all: 
 
THE ELM AND THE IVY 169 
 
 " My dear Count, you've taken nothing." 
 
 " My dear Count, what are you telling there? " 
 
 " My dear Count, won't you give me your arm? " 
 
 "Would you believe it, Count? I'm stifling in this coun- 
 try. . . . I'm so anxious to set foot upon the soil of your na- 
 tive land, the country that gave the world George Sand, Anais 
 de Segalais, Madame de Stael, Madame Craven. . . . Those 
 virile women lived by their pen. . . . That's possible over yon- 
 der. . . . Over there a woman may be a man of letters." 
 
 Ines, in a corner, surrounded by her admirers, was main- 
 taining a rapid-fire conversation with them. Roberto domin- 
 ated the group, held it under the spell of his versatile tongue, 
 now concise, now sparkling, and at times mordant, bitter. Bel- 
 legarde, falling more and more in love every moment, had im- 
 posed the most rigorous reserve upon himself; he did not care 
 to break the friendship of the two families, to put himself 
 in the way of Roberto's happiness, to add to the burden of Dona 
 Ana's worries. But, despite his great will-power, he would 
 weaken now and then, and, as in the theater, on the night that 
 they gave Werther, he would drop into Ines's ear a phrase, an 
 allusion that revealed his hidden passion. Nevertheless, he did 
 not think that he was obliged to deprive himself of the pleasure 
 of conversing with Ines, of admiring her thoughtful, caressing 
 eyes, her proud features, which were ennobled by a glow of 
 kindness and illuminated by a look of intelligence. 
 
 Landaburo drew near. 
 
 " Roberto, let's have a recitation. . . . May I lead you to 
 the piano, Sefiorita Ines? " 
 
 They excused themselves. 
 
 " Sefior Bellegarde, they tell me that you're a fine musician, 
 a great pianist. ... I know a bit of music myself ; I un- 
 derstand harmony and counterpoint, although I can't play any 
 instrument at all. I can hardly blow a few notes on the 
 bugle, the most important calls. . . . Won't you favor us, 
 Sefior Count? ... I come as ambassador of the lady of the 
 house, Dona Aura del Campo de Montellano." 
 
 " As ambassador? " said Roberto. " In 1815 Canova came to 
 Paris to claim the paintings that Napoleon had taken off with 
 him from the Vatican. * I come as ambassador from the Holy 
 
170 PAX 
 
 See.' ' As a packer, you mean,' was Talleyrand's reply." 1 
 
 Landaburo withdrew in disgust, to fulfil another mission. 
 
 Alcon, who had left Dolores free to dance with some of the 
 young men, was filled with new courage and made up his mind 
 that he would- see the matter through this time. He took her 
 arm again and they resumed their endless strolling. She did 
 her best to hide her displeasure, her disappointment, the down- 
 fall of her hopes, and pretended animation, joy, an explosion 
 of contentment. Alcon, seeing her in this mood, believed him- 
 self already the victor; doubtless Dolores was so happy because 
 she was with him. With his classic phrases and his exposure 
 of Roberto he had succeeded in softening the flint of that heart, 
 in bending her will toward him. 
 
 But when they passed the room in which Roberto was, he 
 could detect Dolores' bitterness from the tone of her voice, 
 the tightening of her fingers about a ribbon, the feverish glint 
 of her eyes. 
 
 What irritated her most was to see Alcon's face so near, 
 flushed with the pleasant anticipation of triumph, that false 
 smile, that curved nose, those eyes that were like the eyes of 
 a bird of prey about to take her into its talons and crush 
 her. 
 
 " Seiiorita," said Landaburo, " as the ambassador of your 
 new mother, I come to beg you to enchant us with your 
 voice." 
 
 She hesitated, but so anxious was she to get rid of Alcon, 
 to free herself from his clutches, that she took the ambassador's 
 arm. 
 
 " Carmen. ... I am charged with begging you to sing that 
 aria from Carmen." 
 
 For a moment she was on the verge of refusing; she felt a 
 strange oppression, a repugnance for that song so full of pas- 
 sion, of such sparkling joy, which she had been practicing 
 for so many mornings, while from the patio came the murmur 
 of the fountain and from the nearby office the voice of Roberto. 
 . . . Sing? . . . Yes, she would sing, she would master her- 
 self, she would flaunt a bold happiness before all, the joy of a 
 carefree heart. As she drew near to the piano she feared lest 
 
 1 The pun, in the original, is upon the Spanish words " embajador " 
 (ambassador), and "empacador" (packer). 
 
THE ELM AND THE IVY 171 
 
 her strength abandon her, lest she collapse. Her temples 
 pounded so, and there was a buzzing in her ears; her blood 
 was so hot that it burned her cheeks. . . . She forgot the 
 words and the music. But another access of determination 
 brought back her control, and with a supreme effort she gave 
 the signal to the orchestra. Sustained by the opening chords, 
 she began in an uncertain voice: 
 
 Quand je vous aimerai, ma foi je ne sais pas. 
 Peut-etre jamais, peut-etre demain. 
 Mais pas aujourd'hui, c'est certain. 
 
 Roberto was astonished to note that this playful melody 
 in which the clicking of the castanets could be divined, and 
 which Dolores used to repeat every morning without any life 
 or significance, was now being filled with a personal feeling, 
 with life, with fiery spirit, and he was overcome by a deep 
 emotion, the contagion of powerful feelings, of irrepressible 
 impulses. 
 
 Dolores sang on: 
 
 L'amour est un oiseau rebelle 
 Que nul ne peut apprivoiser; 
 S'il lui convient de refuser 
 Rien n'y fait menace ou priere. 
 
 L'un parle bien, 1'autre se tait, 
 Est c'est 1'autre que je prefere, 
 II n'a rien dit, mais il me plait. 
 
 The hearers were electrified; the song penetrated their hearts 
 as if by some mysterious wave, and stirred them deeply. 
 
 Roberto, motionless, pale, listened to her in a sort of stupor. 
 Dolores' voice, which still needed much training, with its 
 rough accent and its harsh timbre managed despite all to im 
 part to the melody an element of ineffable sincerity. This 
 wanton music was dominated by notes of dejection, inflexions 
 of bitterness, the tear stifled behind the loud laugh, the sin- 
 ister threat of jealousy. It was a love that explodes, that 
 throbs, that infects, fascinating, dominating passion. 
 
 L'amour est enfant de Boheme 
 II n'a jamais connu de loi; 
 Si tu ne m'aimes pas, je t'aime, 
 Si je t'aime, prends garde a toi. 
 
172 PAX 
 
 Despite the intense admiration aroused by the song, the 
 crowd of hearers remained silent ; it was overpowered, paralyzed 
 by surprise, stupefaction, the shudder of enthusiasm. 
 
 Bellegarde watched Roberto closely, saw how his eyes grew 
 clear and flamed up with extraordinary light, and in the intui- 
 tion of such supreme moments he understood that his friend's 
 heart was bounding with passion for Dolores, that Roberto 
 was conquered. Now he would be free; he would hesitate no 
 longer, would feel the need of delicacy no more; the obstacle to 
 his happiness had vanished. Ines cast a furtive glance at her 
 cousin; across her jessamine forehead passed a shadow, but al- 
 most at once she regained her attitude of gentle pride. 
 
 Alcon, with a red pate and flashing eyes, turned to Dolores; 
 without a doubt it was he who had inspired this sincere passion; 
 this impassioned song, this penetrating voice, this eloquent 
 music, all spelled his triumph. Dolores was his, and with 
 her came the invincible prestige of millions. 
 
 Her black, ardent eyes fell upon Roberto, who was also at 
 her side; Lola's face lit up with an expression of happiness too 
 deep for words; unhesitatingly she leaned upon the young 
 man's arm and amid the thunderous applause of the specta- 
 tors, who had at last awakened from their stupor, they crossed 
 the salons and went off together. Dolores felt that the long- 
 waited- for moment had come, that her fate was to be decided. 
 
 "Dolores! . . ." 
 
 Radiant with happiness she turned her head; the afternoon 
 sun fell full upon her face. 
 
 The ardent, passionate word was there; it bourgeoned in Ro- 
 berto's bosom like a flame, rose in his throat, trembled upon his 
 lips; but he noticed her large diamonds, the loud colors of her 
 dress, her noisy manner, her air of triumph, not untainted by a 
 certain vulgarity . . . the cinnamon luster of her jet black hair, 
 those large, stubby hands, the rapacious hands of Montel- 
 lano. . . . And the sentence died on his lips; he slipped his 
 arm out of hers and bowed coldly; she entered her room. 
 
 L'amour est enfant de Boheme, 
 II n'a jamais connu de loi. 
 
 Love is a child of Bohemia 
 
 That has known neither God nor law. 7 
 
SLEEPLESSNESS 173 
 
 The orchestra continued to play; it repeated the snappy, wan- 
 ton rhythm in which could be divined the click of the castanets. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 SLEEPLESSNESS 
 
 DOLORES, on leaving the arms of Roberto, crossed the dress- 
 ing-room, passed through two drawing-rooms, came to her own 
 room, and locked the door, meaning to be by herself in her 
 indignation, her sadness. She felt exhausted, and with closed 
 eyes, without gazing, without thinking, she let her arms drop 
 listlessly down her sides. All her vital forces, all her blood 
 coursed stormily in her breast, in her heart. 
 
 Through the walls and the curtains there came to her the 
 notes of the flutes, the sobbing of the violins, the solemn tones 
 of the bass viols, and these were mingled with the flappings of 
 the breeze, the whistling of the wind through crevices. How 
 clear and distinct had this music been in the bracing atmosphere 
 of the morning, during those hours of hope, announcing a day of 
 rejoicing! But now it was already a tiresome tune, one which 
 the musicians performed upon worn-out strings; one which 
 dragged itself along with accents of weariness, with languor, 
 sounding in these rooms where the last guests were still whirling 
 amid dead flowers and withered wreaths. At last all these 
 noises which hurt her head ceased, noises which hammered upon 
 her nerves precisely as the strings of the piano had been ham- 
 mered upon for hours. In the drawing-rooms the murmur of 
 voices and the din of footsteps ceased at last. In the street 
 could be heard the slamming of house-doors, the rattle of 
 coaches and the clatter of horses' hoofs that was lost finally in 
 the distance. Thereupon might still be dimly distinguished 
 footsteps of some solitary passers-by, the shouts of a servant 
 or two, the closing of one gate after another, and then nothing 
 but a general silence, pierced now and again by one of those 
 nocturnal noises that seem a part of the night itself, and the 
 melancholy of which entered her very soul. And in the midst 
 of this lull, immersed in the freshness of the night air, there 
 
174 PAX 
 
 arose before the eyes of Dolores, as though to console her in her 
 solitude, the image of her mother. 
 
 And with this thought the fictitious value of her pride, the 
 assumed indifference that had sustained her, disappeared like a 
 flash. There came the crisis; she burst into tears, and she 
 spread out her arms into the void in search of her mother. 
 With how much confidence, her head hidden in her mother's 
 lap, would her grief have been assuaged! How much she 
 lacked those passionate kisses, those words of endearment, those 
 caresses. Never before had she understood so keenly as at this 
 very instant her orphaned condition; never before had she felt 
 herself so abandoned. What horror, what repugnance did she 
 feel just then for Dona Aura, who only that morning had 
 usurped the place of her own mother. . . . And in her fevered 
 brain she saw two abhorred faces: Dona Aura and Ines. The 
 same Ines who had crossed her path, who snatched at her hap- 
 piness. Ah ! But at least she would humiliate her, would pay 
 her score off with interest, insult for insult, shame for shame. 
 
 Excitedly she moved about the room, wringing her hands, 
 while obscure instincts awoke in her, until then hidden away in 
 remote corners of her soul, instincts which now in these throes 
 of pain rose to the surface, causing her to throb with confused 
 sentiments of rage, wrath, sadness. 
 
 And to rid herself of these odious images she raised her hands 
 to her eyes and let the scenes of that day pass before them: the 
 departure for the church, the altar, the huge wax tapers, the rays 
 of the sun falling athwart the clouds of incense, the rolling of a 
 coach on the square outside, a presentiment which made her 
 shudder, the rustling of silk, . . . Ines, and, at her side, Ro- 
 berto. . . . Afterwards, the house, the drawing-rooms, the whirl 
 of the waltz, ... the dressing-room, . . . again Ines, arriving 
 in the midst of a murmur of homage. The kiss . . . those 
 cool lips, soft as rose petals which one scarcely feels on the 
 cheek. . . . Alcon, his bald head, his false smile, his rapacious 
 look. . . . And then, with even greater intensity, causing her a 
 feeling of oppression, a stab of exquisite pain in the heart, the 
 song from Carmen. Roberto, transfigured, his eyes shining with 
 intense passion, with trembling lips about to stammer: "Do- 
 lores! "... Again, his coldness, the change, the glance which 
 dies out, the disillusion reflected in the pupils of his eyes. . . . 
 
SLEEPLESSNESS 175 
 
 "Heavens, why? What have I about me to make him alter 
 like that?" 
 
 A flash of lightning flooded the apartment, and forming an 
 echo to her grief, a thunderclap reverberated through the chain 
 of mountains. 
 
 In that hour of disillusionment, of her first great sorrow, 
 when the tears issued out of her burning eyelids, without at- 
 tempting to pierce the future she only thought of the past. She 
 remembered her childhood and, mingled with that, as always, 
 was the memory of her mother. . . . She saw the estate of La 
 Danta, her existence amidst the scenes of rude Nature, the sugar- 
 mill. She thought of her constant longing to see the capital, and 
 of her departure, on a day of hope, of the journey. . . . She 
 recalled the ascent of the steep rocks of El Consuelo, ... the 
 blue butterfly. . . . How the unknown had approached her, and 
 the conversation that morning which enwrapped them in the 
 warm vapors in the ravine in front of that immensity filled with 
 light, like a new horizon displaying an infinitude of happiness. 
 . . . Of the rosebush, too, she thought musingly, and of the rain 
 of white petals that covered them like a shower of orange blos- 
 soms, her bridal veil. 
 
 A tense darkness invaded the bedchamber of Dolores, who 
 rose and went to place her forehead against the window panes, 
 through which she looked down into the empty street and up to 
 the sky where no star gleamed. Thick drops began to fall, 
 beating against the glass and trickling down like tears. Anew 
 a flash of lightning, blinding her, illuminated the whole row of 
 house fronts with a tremendous reverberation, and once more 
 everything was buried in inky blackness. Another flash, and 
 with eyes dilated with fright she saw again sharply outlined 
 against a horizon all afire the shapes of the houses, the tower 
 of a church, while the thunder made the panes tremble. 
 
 The storm retreated more and more in the distance; far away 
 the rumblings of thunder were now wandering through the ridge 
 of the mountains, until at last the night became once again still. 
 
 She then felt fatigue overwhelming her, an acute pain in the 
 eyes and forehead, as though her head would burst. She had a 
 feeling of oppression, and a vehement desire to destroy, to dis- 
 appear, to die even seized her, and again the tears fell down her 
 cheeks, crept around the curve of her chin. 
 
176 PAX 
 
 Fatigue and sorrow finally exhausted her, and she began to 
 slumber. But the coolness of early morning awoke her. She 
 wrapped herself in the darkness, full of fear, without remem- 
 bering where she was, shivering with the cold and with the dim 
 consciousness of nursing a confused and vague grief. From 
 time to time falling objects outside horrified her, and she drew 
 near the window to peep out. It had cleared, and the silence of 
 the grave reigned in the city, interrupted only by the monoto- 
 nous gurgling of the gutters. In the varying shadows stood out 
 the row of house fronts, lit up at intervals by the pale rays of 
 the electric lamps. In the background, against an atmosphere 
 of perfect stillness in which the lethargy of many thousands 
 might be felt, there rose heavily the backs of the Guadalupe and 
 Monserrate; but farther away, through the opening between the 
 two mountains, the first broad bands of dawn could be traced in 
 the sky. A cat walked furtively upon a roof, arrived in front, 
 made sure of its ground, and stood with its outlines clearly and 
 sharply defined on the sky-line. Dolores once more sought the 
 shelter of her bed and fell asleep anew. 
 
 The solemn voice of the large bell in the cathedral roused her. 
 She opened her eyes amidst waves of brilliant light that streamed 
 in through the curtains and the blue bed hangings. She tried to 
 smile as usual in the face of such a glad splendor. But again 
 she was assailed by a vague remembrance, and she felt the keen 
 pangs of overhanging pain. The smile died on her lips. 
 
 " Ah, if only . . ." she muttered. 
 
 But she collected herself. Her thought, as if illuminated by 
 that fresh and serene light, as if rested by repose, brought before 
 her in perfect order, one by one, the impressions of the preceding 
 evening. 
 
 The far clamor of the pealing bells continued, the shrill 
 sounds of vows uttered, the noises of merriment. She glimpsed 
 on the house in front, bathed already in sunlight, the festoons 
 which danced in the gusts of the breeze. 
 
 " Corpus Christi Day," she mumbled, "the great holiday! " 
 
 The light, the booming from the old tower close by, the bustle 
 coming up from the street, spoke to her of rejoicing, of new life, 
 and all this infused her with new courage, woke in her heredi- 
 tary energy, the battling instinct, the desire to conquer and to 
 triumph. 
 
CORPUS CHRISTI DAY 177 
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 CORPUS CHRISTI DAY 
 
 A DELIGHTFUL wind sweeping down from the mountains and 
 taking part in the city's holiday, bore on its wings the deafening 
 clamor of a hundred church bells, the crackling of the sky- 
 rockets, the uproar of the big crowd all dressed in gala attire, 
 scattered the odors of laurel and fresh mosses and formed a 
 symphony of colors, shook smartly the streamers and banderoles, 
 fluttered the ribbons of the altars, agitated the festoons, dandled 
 the thousands of small baskets of flowers, and rustled the rich 
 damask stuffs everywhere displayed. 
 
 Dolores, who wanted to move about and shake off her troubles, 
 to see the city in its gala mood, went out in company with Dona 
 Aura, and the two soon lost themselves in the multitude which, 
 overflowing with joy, was streaming to and fro in the streets 
 adorned for the feast day of Corpus Christi. The throng de- 
 nied along and around the corners, avoiding the middle of the 
 road where for the whole length and breadth of each thorough- 
 fare were hung aloft garlands of moss, similar in their vivid 
 green to a meadow in England, and bordered with fern palms. 
 The green ground was beautified with stars and arabesques of 
 purple hue. Up and down the road and joined by chains of 
 festoons, had been erected mastheads crowned by banderoles 
 and garlands that likewise swung, rippled and tossed in the air. 
 
 Before the altars in the streets, already covered with veils, but 
 behind which the last hammer blows still sounded, were grouped 
 people in their Sunday clothes. On the scaffolds some workman 
 lifted the veil to have a candelabra, a crown handed him. Then 
 the crowd would break out in an ah ! of astonishment in catching 
 a half glimpse of the artificial temple adorned with plush, vel- 
 vet, candelabras, bunches of daisies. 
 
 Above the crest of heads, arms are raised holding crowns, 
 pillars, or linen strips belonging to altars not yet completed, and 
 baskets filled with oranges, candy, cakes, sugar-coated apples. 
 Rich farmers from the country in coats of a past fashion, pushed 
 on by the human wave, are raising their tanned faces and are 
 admiring everything, while they never fail to decipher with care 
 
178 PAX 
 
 the inscriptions on the stores and walls, which here and there 
 announce behind curtains: " Extractions without pain," " No- 
 tary public," "Swiss Watchmaker," "Notice!", " Vidaurre & 
 Villafane, Commission merchants," and similar things. They 
 listen with attention to the street vendors at the corners, and 
 watch carefully the distribution of shrubs taken from near-by 
 hills that are to be used in embellishing the festival by contrib- 
 uting the latest splendor of their buds and branches. 
 
 And now there is a resumption of chimes and peals, but more 
 solemn and sonorous, and the immense crowd pours through the 
 three great portals into the cathedral. Within a few moments 
 only the naves are filled, and clusters of men and women are 
 formed all around the pilasters, while even the lateral chapels 
 are invaded. So are the nooks in the whole spacious edifice, 
 and when checked the overflow is squeezed into the entrance hall 
 and thence floats out once more into the streets where new 
 throngs are formed at the corners. 
 
 In the sacristy were stumbling about the priests, crossing 
 themselves with great zeal, wearing embroidered capes, the aco- 
 lytes clad in red, the vergers in robes of white satin. Several 
 servants held armfuls of wax tapers; a canon tied hurriedly 
 his golden stole, and an immense group of gentlemen in full 
 dress were taking these candles, while others clutched the staff 
 of the standards. In the semi-obscurity of the sacristy the 
 flames of the tapers began to shine. The archbishop, sur- 
 rounded by his cortege, was waiting in the presbytery beneath 
 his throne, and was girt with surplice, pallium, and miter. 
 
 And now the church standards began to wave heavily above 
 all these heads. Groups were forming of those who were to 
 bear these or to hold the cords. Montellano started to move 
 away with one of the standards. At his right Gonzalez Mogol- 
 lon was to march, and the latter had already loosened the tassel 
 and was rushing about the whole sacristy and getting red in 
 the face shouting orders. Behind him were Alejandro and 
 Roberto; the latter was pale on that day, with a peculiar pallor, 
 so that his black beard and the dark circles under his eyes were 
 quite prominent. 
 
 They had been waiting in vain for General Ronderos and 
 Doctor Alcon, and their absence had been noticed. 
 
CORPUS CHRISTI DAY 179 
 
 Montellano was disturbed, shook his head, and asked in a low 
 voice : 
 
 " Roberto, how is it that the Minister has not come? " 
 
 " He's occupied and preoccupied," was the answer. 
 
 " Do you know anything about it, my dear Roberto? " Mon- 
 tellano, his lips dry with anxiety, wanted to know, adding: 
 " And Doctor Alcon? Was he not to come? Can he be ill? " 
 
 " Something more than that," said Roberto, glad to worry 
 Montellano. " He has resigned or they will make him resign." 
 
 Montellano, who saw his influence at the ministry threatened, 
 the probability of immediate payment of his loan looming, the 
 resolution on the bonds of '48 involved, felt a shock of alarm. 
 He opened his eyes wide, shuddered, staggered like a bull re- 
 ceiving the thrust of the sword between the shoulder blades, 
 snorted then and brandishing his standard began to trample 
 upon the bystanders. He knocked down a number of acolytes 
 on the stairs of the sacristy, entangled himself first in a dal- 
 matic, and next in the chains of the censer, and amid a muttered 
 chorus of maledictions he descended to the nave of the cathedral. 
 There he penetrated the dense crowd and pierced his path 
 through it like the ram of a battleship, the human wave all about 
 him moving stormily during this charge. Then he issued into 
 the square, took breath, found out where he was precisely, and 
 then launched forward towards Alcon's house to get full infor- 
 mation regarding the sinister news. He tried to make his 
 escape, panting, through the Calle Real, in the opposite direc- 
 tion from the current, through the very center of the road, be- 
 neath the awning of greenery, treading upon the soft carpet of 
 moss that extended intact, destroying labor, arabesques, leaving 
 behind him imprints of his footsteps as huge as the tracks of an 
 elephant, dragging along on the inside of his dress-coat bits of 
 wire and lichen from the arches, shavings, scraps of paper, 
 while all around him people cried out in protest, in wrath, in 
 dudgeon, mingled with laughter, from sidewalk to sidewalk, 
 from windows to balconies: 
 
 "Make room! " 
 
 " He comes from the bull-pen! " 
 
 "That arch over there has tumbled down! Be careful 
 there!" 
 
i8o PAX 
 
 "Fire in the cathedral! " 
 
 "The Pope is dead! " 
 
 In this way he proceeded two blocks, then turned to the left, 
 towards the house of the assistant secretary. 
 
 The rockets hurtled about in the air, and the people choking 
 up the outer hall of the cathedral began to leave it, forming a 
 slowly moving", living cascade. There were descending the road 
 two currents of color, separated by two threads of light. The 
 cross of the episcopal chapter began to appear in the distance, 
 and behind it, in interminable file, came the colleges in their 
 uniforms, then gentlemen attired formally for the occasion, the 
 pupils of the seminaries who, seen from afar, with their peculiar 
 garments traced two large white fringes upon the moss. After 
 them, the plumes on their hats fluttering in the breeze, followed 
 the generals who were in the train of the chief of state. In the 
 very center there was to be seen a gorgeous mass of dalmatics, 
 stoles, surplices, priests' hats, gleaming cloth of gold, all these 
 brilliant hues and rich tissues issuing from the twilight of the 
 cathedral naves into the intense light of full day, where they 
 glittered and shone wondrously. The snowy rockets fairly daz- 
 zled in the sun. The buckles on the priestly hats of one group 
 of processionists flared out, and their steps died away upon the 
 rug of moss. Again they turn in the long line, huge censers are 
 swung ceaselessly, and at intervals light cloudlets of fragrant 
 incense are wafted upwards. Below a shower of flowers, amidst 
 perfumed smoke and the murmurings of psalms, advances slowly 
 and solemnly the canopy. Under its shade is the prelate who 
 offers in his trembling hands, between a circle of diamonds, the 
 white host to the adoration of the populace. 
 
 In a perfect satiety of colors which by the noon sun was 
 turned into brilliant rays like those of diamonds, in the midst 
 of harsh grinding sounds made by the wheels, the clashing of 
 martial music, a clamorous enthusiasm, appeared the heavy carts 
 bearing living illustrations from Bible passages. There came 
 spans of oxen with gilt horns, their drivers in flaming turbans. 
 On high, amidst groups of shaking bushes and vivid foliage, 
 boys were to be seen with rosy faces, masked to show fierce 
 beards of ancient warriors. Scores of pretty girls adorned with 
 the splendor of the Orient, their bare arms and necks hung with 
 precious jewels whose sparkle was reflected by the delicate skin. 
 
CORPUS CHRISTI DAY 181 
 
 These carts passed on, tottering under their burden, sheaves of 
 wheat, lions' and bears' hides decking the chief actors; linens 
 and cloths in stripes of blue, red and yellow everywhere, lavish 
 gold foil, fringes of brocade. All this gleamed in the bright 
 sunshine. And there they were: Ruth with her ears of corn; 
 David with his harp under a cloak of ermine, the high priest 
 with his miter of silver and a display of emeralds and rubies, 
 the messengers sent .into the Promised Land bending under their 
 burden of giant bunches of grape. Then there were Judith, 
 the scimitar, the sumptuous couch of Holofernes; Mordecai, 
 with his white horse; Esther, Herodias, Rebecca, in short, the 
 whole Orient, its whole poetry, the grand majesty of the Bible. 
 
 The balconies were crowded with people, faces reddened by 
 the heat, a wealth of dark hair, silvery velvet, parasols which 
 were waved industriously. 
 
 During the procession Gonzalez, who had supervised all to 
 the slightest detail, while the music sent its waves of sound to 
 the extreme end of the line of march, was moving about gesticu- 
 lating, making signs with his head, with his arms, his bald head 
 burned by the sun. He was showing the various features of it 
 all to sight-seers, using his burning candle to demonstrate with, 
 drops of wax falling unawares upon smooth dress-coats. 
 
 " You see," he was saying, " though a simple recruit of the 
 good cause, I always feel that I have to assist in everything, and 
 so I managed to place this cross at the mouth of this street. . . . 
 Only look here at this bed of daisies! And here, notice how 
 I've gathered the Book of the Seven Seals. . . . The letters 
 there stand for the capital sins, and these I have put where they 
 are myself. . . . You see here B. C. P. C. E. O. N. . . . Have 
 you never read the Book of Revelations? " 
 
 The balconies at Montellano's, too, were jammed with people: 
 wraps, parasols, all sorts of faces met the eye; groups placed in 
 a motley manner, servants who shouted and stood on tiptoe to see 
 better, babies that were crying or babbling, and all this hurly- 
 burly, this multitude that was suffocating and moving about in 
 a humming like that of a bee-hive, seemed to belong to the mil- 
 lionaire, at least according to an inscription visible on the cen- 
 ter balcony and which, in letters of bronzed iron that clung to 
 the iron bars proclaimed: " I belong to Ramon Montellano." 
 
 Not far from this, on an ancient balcony, where a coverlet of 
 
182 PAX 
 
 damask was bellying in the keen air, were Dona Ana and Dona 
 Teresa, and seated right in front of them, Ines and Bellegarde. 
 The evening preceding, on observing that Roberto had decided 
 in favor of Dolores, the Count had believed himself free. And 
 now he was breaking the severe silence which he had imposed 
 on himself. Thus he was able to show Ines, without any fur- 
 ther reserve, the depths of his heart. Not a word of love came 
 over his lips, but he conversed with her familiarly, in a deli- 
 cious intimacy, asking her for details respecting national cus- 
 toms, national festivals, and listening with close attention to 
 Ines' answers. She evidently showed herself complaisant, and 
 indeed seemed to have awakened from her dreams. But with- 
 out parting a jot from her amiable pride, with that habit of 
 silence which Roberto had noticed and remarked upon, she sud- 
 denly began to stammer. In taking in the view from the front 
 balconies, her eyes met constantly those of Dolores, and the 
 latter looked fixedly at her, passionately, ardently. And Do- 
 lores, seeing the couple, was visited by ideas which filled her 
 with hope and relief. "If these two only would marry," she 
 thought. 
 
 At the office of Vidaurre & Villafane, doors ajar, were con- 
 versing Doctor Agtieros, Landaburo, Polanco, and Gacharnah. 
 
 " The upright people are joining us," said Polanco. " The 
 peace of Warsaw will last." 
 
 " I don't believe it," answered Gacharnah mysteriously. " I 
 do know that Alcon is writing in La Integridad against Ron- 
 deros." 
 
 " It is irritating, this spectacle of a worthy doctrine," said 
 Landaburo, " like that of the distinguished philosopher of Pales- 
 tine, rendered ridiculous by such a masquerade. It is humili- 
 ating that the Colombian Guard, contrary to the military spirit, 
 must go to form a chorus to these Catholic farces. Doctor 
 Agueros, it will be necessary to suspend such orgies of ultra- 
 montane fanaticism when the day of Revaluation dawns, and 
 may I be on the throne by that time." 
 
 " Take care, my dear General," replied the physician, " for 
 the clergy are an enemy to be feared. In the evolution of so- 
 ciety it takes long till the religious microbe will disappear from 
 the ! brain of the masses, a microbe which produces a lymph, a 
 ferment that is full of . , ." 
 
CORPUS CHRISTI DAY 183 
 
 " He is dying, he is dying," shouted voices outside. " Quick, 
 a doctor," and Doctor Agiieros plunged into the street below. 
 
 Roberto, as he passed with his standard facing the balconies 
 of Montellano's house stopped suddenly, became pale as death, 
 and the expression of his painfully drawn mouth revealed an 
 intense agony. He stretched out his hands, and before Ale- 
 jandro was able to support him, he fell senseless. 
 
 Dolores had allowed a cry to escape her, and heads were 
 raised in her direction. She wanted to go towards the uncon- 
 scious man. Ines approached Dona Ana and betrayed her 
 anxiety only by the trembling of the hand which she had 
 reached out to the cold hand of the old lady, who, on her own 
 part, pierced by grief, without taking a step, without one ges- 
 ture, allowed her tears to run, turned her gaze towards the host, 
 and with blanched lips whispered: 
 
 "Oh, Lord, . . . Thou, Thou who once didst recall to life 
 the son of the widow ... ! " 
 
 Roberto opened his eyes and with a supreme effort gained his 
 feet once more. Staggering, and clutching Alejandro's arm, he 
 seized the cord of the standard anew, and then said with a 
 broken voice: 
 
 " It is nothing. Let us go on! " 
 
 Doctor Agiieros shook his head doubtfully, pursed his lips, 
 and vouchsafed one of his smiles of self-sufficiency and mys- 
 tery. Then he said a few words in Frenchified Latin to Ale- 
 jandro. 
 
 But Roberto answered: " No, let us continue. We are tak- 
 ing part in a public function. Let us go on! " 
 
 And he himself began to arrange the filing-off, to reorganize 
 the route of the carts. Moving off in full view of Dona Ana, 
 and perceiving her face to show a deathly pallor, he tried to say 
 to her with his gaze and his smile : 
 
 " I already am feeling well, dearest mother! " 
 
 In front of the Church of St. Francis, against its tower, con- 
 spicuous on the huge blocks of stone, was raised a high throne 
 clothed in fine scarlet, with ermine to its back. Beneath its 
 baldaquin the light sparkled prismatically in its chandeliers, in 
 the glass pendants of its candelabra. The wind inflated the 
 pavilion, shook the cloth and the cords that held it, and fretted 
 about the veiling and the loose objects. 
 
184 PAX 
 
 The canopy arrived at this spot, the procession halted, and 
 the fanfares ceased. Doctor Miranda drew near the prelate, 
 mounted next the velvet-covered steps, and upon a pillar, in the 
 rear of the tabernacle, he deposited the reliquary. All knees 
 bent, every head bowed in reverence, and the smoke rose from 
 the censers. In the silence of a whole city prostrated on the 
 ground, the voice of the prelate rose, and next a hymn was 
 intoned with infinite sweetness by a chorus of childish voices. 
 The hymn ascended and was finally lost in the blue of the vault 
 resplendent with light and sunshine. 
 
 Above the sea of curved backs plainly to be marked were the 
 canopy, the neck of a bass viol, the written scores of the musi- 
 cians, and the soft plumes on the Generals' hats. 
 
 The immense concourse of people now retraced their steps 
 through the streets on their way back to the Plaza of Bolivar. 
 The prelate ascended the steps of the cathedral's forecourt, and 
 with his back turned to the church, he gazed towards the west. 
 The committee of canons, of priests, of gentlemen, grouped 
 themselves around him. The symbolical carts arrived, and the 
 military drew up in line. The different strains of music 
 blended. The enormous throng grew black on the plaza. The 
 sun was sinking. With its last splendors it caressed the bronze 
 statue of the Liberator, flashed across the groves of bayonets, 
 illuminated the gaily colored group of the picturesque carts 
 massed in the center of it, and over an ocean of heads it set afire 
 an aureole of glory, the golden haze of early evening. 
 
 The prelate takes one step, and offers the reliquary heaven- 
 wards. A tremendous rattle of drums runs along the whole line. 
 The French horns pierce the air with their strident note which 
 fills the whole circumference. The military presents arms. 
 The multitude prostrates itself. A silence of expectation and 
 astonishment reigns, only interrupted by the flapping of some 
 streamers aloft, far up on top of the tower. The sun now 
 slowly disappears below the horizon, launches a last ray which 
 kisses the foot of the reliquary. The host, amidst all this splen- 
 dor, is being lifted up, and traces slowly a cross in the air. 
 
SACRIFICE 185 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 SACRIFICE 
 
 BELLEGARDE lived in a villa on the road to Chapinero. One 
 morning he went very early to Bogota and took the street car to 
 return immediately to his dwelling, where he meant to write an 
 important letter in the silence of the country. The groves and 
 flower beds, a light mist, the rolling of coaches and carts, the 
 invigorating cool air, all recalled to him his own country, and 
 the spring there. He was reminded of some of those mornings 
 in early April when the trees, bare but the night before, are 
 suddenly covered with young shoots, with plump burgeons, and 
 when a new sap seems to run through the blood, when every- 
 thing seems reborn: leaves and hopes. 
 
 Bellegarde had, after long vacillation, taken a resolution that 
 filled him with hope and gaiety, namely, to ask Dona Teresa 
 for the hand of Ines. And he who was accustomed to conquer 
 gigantic obstacles, who had in Europe raised millions in order 
 to launch them upon America afterwards, who had left behind 
 him in the United States and Argentina unprecedented monu- 
 ments to his audacity, was now timorous and undecided, almost 
 overcome by an insuperable timidity. He did not dare to pre- 
 sent himself before Dona Teresa to voice his request to her, word 
 for word, and much less did he find the courage to put to Ines 
 direct a question the answer to which meant either his happiness 
 or the reverse. And thus wrestling on the one hand with his 
 strong passion and on the other with his fear of a refusal, he 
 had concluded finally to write to Dona Teresa. He pondered 
 over it, searching out the best terms for this difficult letter, and 
 thus meanwhile he meditated deeply as he rode on the car, 
 glancing to one side and the other of the landscape through 
 which he was being carried. The first rays of the sun threw 
 the shadows of the trees upon the house fronts. He noticed a 
 park, beds of blooming flowers, rows of budding trees, small sec- 
 tions of unimproved land, of the wild prairie. Like a remnant 
 of colonial days, he saw an ancient church with a tall brown 
 tower, and this in the midst of the general bustle and noise 
 invited thoughts of tranquillity, of peace, of silence. The city 
 
i86 PAX 
 
 now began to dwindle. There were humble low buildings, as 
 though surprised in their poverty and humility by the tramway 
 line, but now again, on higher ground, there became visible high 
 chimneys, dun smoke, smoke that darkened the horizon, floated 
 off in a westerly direction, and vanished. 
 
 Bellegarde collected himself, concentrated his thoughts, began 
 to think once more of the wording of his letter: " Dona Te- 
 resa Borja. Highly respected lady "... or should he say : 
 "Friend"? 
 
 To the left the horizon opened up to his view. On the oppo- 
 site side white and red garments hung up on cords were drying 
 in the wind. The mudwalls of the road shut out the perspec- 
 tive. In the distance, above the brushwood and straw on top 
 of the fences, in a wavy line the slopes enwrapped in purple 
 haze rose into view. On the right hand the ridge of the hills 
 became visible, with their yellow excavations and their dark 
 glens. 
 
 " I take the liberty," continued Bellegarde in his musings 
 regarding the contemplated letter, " to submit to you a matter 
 on which depends the fate of my whole life. If my pretensions 
 are excessive, may the fact be pleaded as my excuse that both 
 yourself and Dona Ines have treated me with exquisite kind- 
 ness and that I entertain great affection for her." 
 
 The prairie opened anew before his eyes, spacious and shin- 
 ing, and before his troubled sight unfolded scenery rich in lux- 
 urious vegetation and verdure, with groups of stately trees, with 
 its carpet of flowers, with its white small houses upon which the 
 sun poured its flaming rays. Below everywhere again mud- 
 walls lining the road, and these concealed the whole spectacle, 
 much as the drop curtain conceals the decorations on the stage. 
 Then, toward the east, Bellegarde noticed the arms of a wind- 
 mill, with white and red roses clambering over the walls, smoke 
 rising in the clear air, caper bushes which detached themselves 
 with their flowers from the somber background of the moun- 
 tains. 
 
 And Bellegarde in his mind went on editing his letter: 
 " Perhaps I ought to have informed Senorita Ines of my 
 thoughts before taking a decisive step. ..." 
 
 And while he was carefully searching for the proper words, 
 his glance once more wandered over the scene outside. The 
 
SACRIFICE 187 
 
 panorama of the savanna presented itself now dotted with build- 
 ings: red country houses, also blue ones; in the distance, above 
 the violet line of the mountains, a cloud touched the dazzling 
 white and the gleaming reflection of the snowy pinnacle. And 
 before continuing his letter in his thoughts, Bellegarde recon- 
 sidered in his memory the exact phraseology he meant to employ, 
 finding the terms improper, cold, inadequate. 
 
 And in the same measure in which the car advanced farther 
 and farther, amidst a rattling of its wheels and the noises from 
 outside, he altered again and yet again the language of it. The 
 sun beats down on the plain, enamels with liquid gold the turf, 
 plays upon the glass of the windows, loses itself in the leaves 
 of the sycamores, rising above the grated gates. 
 
 Bellegarde was approaching the villa in which he dwelt, and 
 he thought of leaving the car. But suddenly he resolved to go 
 on as far as the church of Chapinero which he did not yet 
 know, although he lived close by. This impulse was fortified 
 by a vague desire to ask the aid of the Virgin of Lourdes at 
 this, the most important hour of his life. Soon he came near, 
 and a moment later saw the church with its incompleted towers, 
 and with its round windows half darkened by the trees. 
 
 He crossed the little square, and went towards the huge gate 
 of the edifice. The vivid light from outside was gathered and 
 quenched in the naves of the church where a mystical shadow 
 dwelt. As he stepped in he scarcely paid attention to the de- 
 tails of the structure, to the very high roof, to the fretted col- 
 umns upholding it. In the front part, upon the cupola of the 
 main altar, a ray of sunlight pierced its path between the lumi- 
 nous painted windows, darting straight for the beautiful tiles in 
 somber hues; in the center of the church four large paintings, 
 full of red, blue and yellow, were remarkable. In this mysteri- 
 ous half-light the expert glance of Bellegarde was gradually dis- 
 covering the outlines, the profiles, the measurements of the edi- 
 fice, the pulpit, the arches of the main body, the gallery, and, 
 besides, the series of compartments in its windows, the taber- 
 nacle which covered almost the entire front, decorated in white 
 and gold upon a blue ground. 
 
 Most of the bright color effects were lost in the semi -obscurity, 
 but after a while this half-shadow turned into clearness, a soft 
 clearness which filtered through the high lateral windows. 
 
i88 PAX 
 
 Again the sun penetrated to the middle of the church, and again 
 the vast tabernacle became sharply denned. There, as in the 
 style of the whole edifice, the acute angle dominated. It was its 
 triumphal note, its apotheosis. But the eternal twilight killed 
 the effect of the gold of the canopies and their splendor, that of 
 the moldings and the arches. The tabernacle glowed like a 
 precious jewel; it was a filagree of tiny pillars, of rosettes, of 
 cupolas, of round painted windows, and of groins. In the cen- 
 ter of it all, in a huge niche, was enthroned the Virgin of 
 Lourdes. 
 
 From the main altar came the sonorous voice of Doctor Mi- 
 randa. Adjoining the grating of the communion altar the red 
 ribbons of a clerical order were sharply relieved .by the black 
 mantillas of the ladies. A clock slowly and solemnly struck 
 the hour. The noise of steps became audible. The seats re- 
 main vacant for a moment ; then they are once more filled. The 
 crimson ribbons detach themselves again plainly from the som- 
 ber black of the ladies' apparel. A shock. The whistle, the 
 bell of a locomotive are heard. The whole neighborhood is 
 filled with terrific noise, until at last it is lost in the highest 
 vaults. 
 
 Doctor Miranda, with his back to the altar, now began the 
 communion service, and Bellegarde saw Dona Ana coming out 
 of one of the chapels. She crossed the church towards the 
 communion altar, and her feeble frame seemed more slender than 
 ordinarily. She raised her hands, and the habitual expression 
 of pain, of sadness, had become more accentuated. Her lips 
 scarcely moved, then with a gesture, with a movement of abne- 
 gation, of hope, she knelt down. And Bellegarde divined the 
 cause of this anxiety, of this acerbity, of this prayer. This 
 mass which a nephew of Dona Ana had come to say in the 
 church of Chapinero, this sharing of the holy communion serv- 
 ice, were for the benefit of Roberto, for his happiness. The old 
 lady remained prostrated for a long time. At last she rose, and 
 knelt down once more in the middle of the church, there where 
 all the marvelous colors blended and shone. She lifted her 
 face bedewed with tears to the Virgin, and it seemed as though 
 this light which bathed her, these gay colors which impregnated 
 her mantle, were the answer of the Virgin, the signal and token 
 of comfort and support, the pledge of celestial protection. 
 
SACRIFICE 189 
 
 On leaving the church Bellegarde approached Doctor Mi- 
 randa and Dona Ana to invite them to partake of luncheon in 
 his villa. They accepted and followed him on foot, athwart the 
 flower beds where the shadow of the trees painted fantastic 
 shapes. 
 
 After luncheon Doctor Miranda was called to the bed of an 
 invalid to receive his confession, and Dona Ana and the Count 
 remained alone in the dining-room. 
 
 In the full light of day Dona Ana's feebleness was even more 
 noticeable. An unquiet suffering could be read on her counte- 
 nance, and she frequently passed her trembling hands through 
 her hair. Bellegarde felt his affection and respect for the old 
 lady growing. He had divined this soul filled with delicacy 
 and tenderness, possessed of an intense sensitiveness which 
 doubled her suffering, a soul capable of every sacrifice and of 
 self-forgetfulness, and endowed with a prodigious strength to 
 contend against anguish and misfortune. 
 
 At last she broke the silence. 
 
 " Sefior Bellegarde," she said in a low voice, " I have for 
 some time been anxious to speak to you alone. But I was 
 afraid I might encroach on your time, and it is with pleasure 
 that I now profit by the occasion offered me." 
 
 Bellegarde listened to her with a profound expression of kind- 
 ness and veneration. The steel-like keenness of his eyes was 
 quenched, and his penetrating gaze softened and became full of 
 compassion and tenderness. 
 
 " Pardon me for molesting you," she continued, " but I feel 
 so much confidence in you." 
 
 And with a firm voice, emboldened by Bellegarde's evident 
 sympathy, she went on: 
 
 " You are not aware of the series of misfortunes and calami- 
 ties that have at last destroyed our wealth which formerly was 
 so considerable. But it is generally known that in order to 
 take shares in your enterprise we had to dispose of our most 
 cherished estates. My own fate does not awe me. I need very 
 little to live. But, Roberto . . ." 
 
 And in the tone in which she pronounced these last three 
 syllables there lay all the love, all the affection, all the anxiety 
 of the old lady. 
 
 " As I told you, he is already recovered. The accident of 
 
190 PAX 
 
 day before yesterday seems to have passed without leaving per- 
 manent traces. . . . The Holy Virgin has heard my prayer. 
 . . . To-day he has gone to the country ... as he must not 
 attend to business matters or forego the rest which the doctors 
 have prescribed for him. ... I trust you will make allowances 
 for me if I take part in a matter of this kind, and that I turn 
 to you in search of information and advice." 
 
 Bellegarde bowed in token of his great pleasure to be of 
 service to her. 
 
 " They are buying up shares of the canalization scheme . . . 
 for treble their cost, as I believe. . . . For us, after such con- 
 stant misfortunes, it is an unhoped-for profit, one we owe to 
 you. ... I shall not endeavor to hide from you the fact that 
 Roberto is strongly disposed to keep those shares, but I live full 
 of anxieties and distrusts ; bad luck has made me suspicious and 
 pessimistic. ... If this capital should be lost . . ." 
 
 And the features of Dona Ana reflected a sudden dread and 
 trepidation; she passed her hands through her gray locks. 
 
 " I am going to open my heart to you, Sefior Bellegarde," 
 she murmured; " thus you will be able to counsel me better. 
 You will forgive my frankness, will you not? " 
 
 Bellegarde could not help a movement of misgiving, or pre- 
 sentiment that perturbed him and which made him contract his 
 eyebrows. 
 
 " Should this fortune be lost," continued Dona Ana, in a 
 trembling voice, " I should have to abandon all hope of a mar- 
 riage between Roberto and Ines. . . . He, as you doubtless 
 know, will not marry if poor. . . . And this connection has 
 been the dearest wish of both families ... the last dream of 
 my life. ... I should die contented." 
 
 Dona Ana became silent and fixed her glance upon him. She 
 observed with surprise that he had lost color. Bellegarde 
 opened his eyes first very wide, and then closed them. His face 
 flushed painfully, and a moment later turned deathly pale, while 
 dense drops of sweat stood out on his forehead. He tried to 
 speak, but his voice died in his throat. At last, after a dis- 
 tressing silence during which he resolved anew to sacrifice him- 
 self, and to conceal forever his love, he succeeded in controlling 
 his thoughts and in remembering Dona Ana's question. 
 
 " To reply properly to your inquiry, to give advice worth 
 
SACRIFICE 191 
 
 while, Sefiora," he managed at last to say in a voice strangely 
 disturbed, " it will be necessary for me to consult figures and 
 calculations, for they alone do not allow of error." 
 
 He did not permit his agitation to become manifest, but his 
 voice was still unsteady and his cheeks remained pale. 
 
 " The nominal capital of the company amounts to ten mil- 
 lion dollars up to the present," he went on. 
 
 And while he kept on talking about calculations and figures, 
 and was very precise about amounts, he felt successive blows in- 
 side of him which darkened his thoughts, made him conscious 
 that his hopes had been destroyed, his existence broken, his love 
 dream buried. 
 
 " Roberto took eight founder's shares at ten thousand dollars," 
 he nevertheless proceeded in his argument, " of which he has had 
 to pay for merely the fourth part, the first instalment. It 
 might have been very risky, his having invested his entire capi- 
 tal in order to pay this first instalment, since he remained with- 
 out funds to cover the others. But it so happened that this 
 daring investment turned out fortunate for him, because when 
 the enterprise had been listed on the stock market and quoted 
 there, the Bourse at once doubled the value of the shares of the 
 founders, so that Roberto has to-day 32,000 shares in sterling 
 valuation, and owes upon them but 60,000 gold pesos." 
 
 And as Bellegarde still read incertitude and dread painted on 
 the face of the old lady, he went on furnishing her more data 
 on the matter. 
 
 " The thousand shares of ten thousand dollars each with 
 which the company was founded, were converted into four mil- 
 lion shares on a sterling basis," he explained. ... " Don't 
 they weary you, Dona Ana, these stock market details? " And 
 since he saw that the maternal instinct had made her busy her- 
 self with matters else foreign to her, he made a new effort, in 
 order to divert her sad reflections, to hold her attention to these 
 prosaic details. He continued, therefore: 
 
 " These shares which are now on a sterling basis have been 
 acquired with very little capital, and I should not be surprised 
 if when the whole enterprise becomes sufficiently known on the 
 bourses of Europe these shares should go still higher, so many 
 times four pounds sterling, you understand. . . . The sole pos- 
 sible obstacle to such a rise might arise if peace were threat- 
 
192 PAX 
 
 ened. . . . But it must not be forgotten that my enterprise ought 
 to help conserve the peace. It is also certain that this enter- 
 prise of ours will bring out others of great promise. Roberto 
 may win a great fortune in this way that might make him for- 
 ever secure against any whims of chance. ... In order to avoid 
 your anxieties and bring instead tranquillity, it would be an easy 
 matter to sell Roberto's shares, invest the capital thus secured 
 in a safe way, for which purpose I should gladly cede to him 
 when he is ready to do so, an equal number of shares to mine, 
 at the initial price, so that he would be enabled to speed up his 
 wedding, since you are so anxious for it." 
 
 " Ah, no, sefior, not this," said Dona Ana with a movement 
 which was half gratitude, half haughtiness, " you have done 
 enough for us. To cede to us shares at a low price in order to 
 render the value of ours secure, such a thing we could not 
 accept." 
 
 A smile passed and died away on the face of the old lady. 
 
 At the door Doctor Miranda appeared now, thus interrupting 
 the confidential conversation. 
 
 " I start to-morrow for the Magdalena," said Bellegarde, 
 while he conducted Dona Ana to her coach, " where I intend to 
 remain for quite a while. Let me therefore bid you farewell. 
 All I can do for Roberto's happiness and for your own peace of 
 mind, I will do with pleasure, just as though it concerned my 
 own mother, my own brother." 
 
 Dona Ana having taken him by both hands, pressed them 
 with effusion, and felt that in those strong and willing hands, 
 though to-day they were trembling with emotion, were all the 
 sincerity of the words the Count had just spoken. She was 
 convinced that her son had henceforth a loyal friend, a powerful 
 protector. 
 
 " And now," added the Count, " I have a favor to ask, a re- 
 quest to make, since I shall have no leisure to bid adieu, to 
 return to Bogota. It is that you, dear lady, will present my 
 remembrances, my attachment, my sincere wishes to Dona Te- 
 resa, ... to Ines." 
 
" CHISPAS " 193 
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 ROBERTO opened the door of his room, went out into the cor- 
 ridor, and threw a glance towards the large corral of the 
 hacienda. The crisp wind of early morning blew into his face, 
 and through the fine drizzle there came to him the desperate 
 bellowing of a cow, and the sweet scent of crocus and violet 
 from the garden. In the stable could be heard the tramping of 
 saddle horses and mules, and the jingle of stirrups, while at the 
 same time the dry, hard hoof beats of la Alondra against the 
 flinty soil of the stalls became audible. Before looking at the 
 latter, he paid a moment's attention to Maraton, who put his 
 paws against the breast of his master and, with an affectionate 
 whining, laid his head upon his shoulder. Roberto put the 
 dog's head to his cheeks, and felt the heat in the dog's ears, 
 while the latter nozzled him lovingly. The man put his arm 
 around his dumb friend's neck and passed his hand caress- 
 ingly along his strong, full back. 
 
 When the stable boy brought Alondra, the majordomo of El 
 Sanfal, Casanova, first looked after the girths to see that they 
 were moderately tightened, and then Roberto mounted, seized 
 the bridle, and sat firmly in the saddle, while the horse took a 
 few short elastic bounds. And then, followed by Casanova, he 
 was lost in the depths of the fog. 
 
 They came down the rise, arrived at the plains, and while the 
 mare broke into an easy canter, Roberto descried, through the 
 dense mist, very dimly, as though moving in a dream, the con- 
 tours of neighboring objects: the stone fences, the edges of the 
 field close by with its thorny weeds, and all these objects at once 
 vanished in the floating blanket of white, a large grayish rock, 
 briars which in the wrapper of fog seemed to have been caught 
 in snowy fleeces of sheep. The cows scenting the horses near, 
 got up, snorted disgustedly and lazily arched their backs. 
 From among the reeds and from the pasture, which was clipped 
 quite short, there came intense odors. 
 
 Roberto and Casanova galloped along the plain, and in this 
 solitude the sounds made by the hollow hoof beats of Roberto's 
 
194 PAX 
 
 mare, those of the majordomo's colt, reverberated distinctly in 
 the air, while the tracks of the horses were crossed and recrossed 
 by those of the big dog, the latter losing himself for a moment 
 in the haze, reappearing and then diving into the same veil 
 again that enveloped the whole landscape. 
 
 The prairie was only dimly to be perceived in this semi- 
 darkness. The masses of trees showed no definite outlines, 
 but surged forth like phantasmagoria, and were swallowed up 
 at a few yards' distance. Roberto felt his spirits rise, neverthe- 
 less, under the influence of the fresh, moist air breathed forth by 
 all this vegetation. His will power revived, and just as these 
 nebulous strata began to be subjected to the influence of the 
 ascending sun, his thoughts, too, became clearer and more 
 tinged with hope. 
 
 They reached a small gate leading into the pastures. Casa- 
 nova, spurring on his colt, rode ahead to undo the catch, and the 
 gate opened with a grating, complaining noise. 
 
 In one spot of the vast pasture-ground the men had already 
 driven the cattle into one big herd, and one by one they now 
 yoked them to the horns broken, cut down or corroded and 
 burnished by the straps with which they were tied. 
 
 The trousers of the men were twined up the middle of the leg, 
 and showed their robust limbs, while the moisture had con- 
 gealed the frieze garments, fashioned of coarse natural wool, 
 and glistened on the beards of the laborers and the backs of the 
 oxen. The spans of oxen crossed the fresh plowing ground, 
 making headway with great trouble and sinking deep in the 
 tracks left overnight between the stacks of corn that had been 
 removed. They were yoked; they started to pull with great ef- 
 fort, while the hands of the men guiding the plow somewhat 
 timidly, were shaking under the strain. But the plowshare 
 sticks in the resisting soil; the straps of the oxen grind against 
 the yoke, and the headpiece creaks. And at last, with a great 
 noise of tearing and rending, the tough roots in the ground are 
 torn out, and great slices of turf fall on both sides of the plow- 
 man. 
 
 A great uproar of rough voices, of shrill boys' voices, inter- 
 spersed with whistling, with imprecations, breaks the silence of 
 the vast plain, awakens the echoes of the huge rocks. It re- 
 sounds syllable by syllable, accent for accent, and it appears 
 
" CHISPAS " 195 
 
 almost like a grotesque dialogue between this horde of day la- 
 borers as they, with shouts of encouragement, with reproaches, 
 with terms of endearment, incite the oxen along the new fields, 
 jerk and quiver with the shaking of the plow handle and the 
 burnished horns of their faithful beasts of burden. 
 
 Roberto followed the plowmen in order to breathe from near 
 by and with relish the reek of the oxen and the odor of the 
 newly turned earth. Walking thus along and inhaling this 
 acrid and healthful scent, he noticed with interest the surprise 
 of the many thousands of insects which, full of fright, were 
 waggling on the edges of the pieces of turf that had been turned 
 up by the sharp plowshares, how they wriggled and tried to 
 hide at the bottom of the furrow on feeling the cataclysm of 
 their little world, exposed to the pitiless rays of a light hitherto 
 unknown to them. 
 
 After giving his detailed instructions for the labors to be per- 
 formed by the men, reprimanding some of the careless farm- 
 hands, and adjusting the plows themselves, Casanova on his 
 colt followed Roberto, with whom he returned to the hacienda 
 and the house. 
 
 The ladies, wrapped up in big square shawls, and their cheeks 
 rosy from the nipping air, came out to the veranda to welcome 
 him. 
 
 " But, my son," remarked Dona Ana, with an air of appre- 
 hension and reproach, " so early! And then on such a spirited 
 animal! " 
 
 Roberto dismounted, and kissed her. 
 
 " No, dear mother," he said, " it is Alondra, and she knows 
 me. Early? This cool air has done me much good." 
 
 Dona Ana shook her head to indicate insistence on her warn- 
 ing, but Dona Teresa, always cheerful, remarked that she had 
 never seen Roberto looking better. And Ines, pointing with her 
 hand, exclaimed: 
 
 " Look, Roberto, at the effect produced by the mist! " 
 
 Only the hillock on which stood the house was clearly visible 
 in the floating whiteness. But a few steps away the view was 
 shut off by the curtain of fog which began to shine with a dim 
 light, and this was becoming more and more intense. The sun, 
 still invisible, was, however, announcing its returning splendors 
 by a curious glow above the hills, and at the very first rays of 
 
196 PAX 
 
 light, the great bank of the thick haze started to move away, to 
 undulate lazily, and to pierce this mass of white that spread out 
 over the whole length and width of the savanna. It was now 
 slowly falling back, as though gently pushed out of the way, 
 toward the west. And then there stood revealed a mass of black 
 trees, in distinct shape, as if engraved, against a background of 
 milky hue, the latter fleeing swiftly. And next there appeared, 
 with the vagueness of a dream, lagoons the color of molten steel, 
 tongues of islands, marshes and wide-spreading meadows of a 
 pale delicate green, while all the time the mist flew off further 
 and further, but rolling upwards, each time forming an immense 
 mass denser and denser, more luminous, with rosy reflections, 
 with changing phantoms of a pale purple hue. As it gathered 
 into a giant mass towards the mountains to the west, the meadow 
 lands and pastures sprang out clearly, and up on the heights, in 
 the zenith, there were forming openings, through which peeped 
 the pure azure of the sky, waxing larger and deeper and bluer. 
 The sun had triumphed. It now shone brilliantly over the en- 
 tire savanna, and the pools on its surface, imitating the blue of 
 the cloudless heaven, mirrored its beauties. Only over the river 
 there was still a layer of mist, following the curves of its course, 
 but it was of a thin, delicate texture. The whole enormous 
 bank of moisture, like an inundation retreating and leaving the 
 fields fresh and humid, was fleeing in the direction of the hori- 
 zon, and was being dashed to spray against the chain of moun- 
 tains in the west. 
 
 " See, Roberto," said Ines, " over there on the horizon, 
 those grand fringes: the horizontal penciling of the mist, and 
 on top of it the gilt fringe of the summits! " 
 
 The sun outlined the objects, and the shadows were becom- 
 ing more defined. In the far distance the mists, still pursued 
 by the sun, were now climbing the mountain range, where they 
 rose, attained the summit, afterward disentangled themselves, 
 and then broke in pieces, forming thick, glittering clusters. 
 There, too, the condensed clouds rested, and next, with an 
 ascending movement, painting violet shadows upon the moun- 
 tain chain, they floated off into the azure ether. 
 
 " Ines," Roberto remarked with his weak convalescent's voice, 
 in which there was a broken accent, a remnant of melancholy, 
 
" CHISPAS " 197 
 
 " there goes the mist, over there, slowly, as though taking leave 
 of this earth much against its will." 
 
 " My son," asked Dona Ana, " shall we not take our milk 
 now? " She did not for a moment forget the doctor's instruc- 
 tions and the regimen prescribed by him. 
 
 Roberto took the arm of his mother like a lover, and together 
 they went down to the farmyard, where they were enveloped by 
 the pleasant smell of cattle, by the tumult of bellowing cows, 
 the deafening lowing of the calves, and the clattering of milk 
 pails amidst the rattle of the huge earthenware pans now cov- 
 ered with the rich foam that rose to the top. The sun gilt the 
 backs of the cows that in breathing blew the air vehemently 
 through their nostrils. The calves pushed against the udders, 
 and bedabbled themselves with rich milk, and after letting go 
 for an instant, would with a grunt of pleasure begin to suck 
 again, would drink, and lose brilliant drops which glittered in 
 the clear light. 
 
 " It would be profitable to teach the automatic calf of the 
 inventor Sanchez de Penanegra, and to see whether it could do 
 as well as these yearling calves," said Roberto, with a burst of 
 laughter, as he lifted his glass of milk. 
 
 In the immense curve of the heights the clear crystal of the 
 sky enveloped all, without a trace of vapor, without a blot. The 
 blue ether lay like a benediction over the earth, seemed to ad- 
 here to the hills, tinted the cliffs, floated on the waves of the 
 river, mirrored itself in the quiet waters of pools, and this sap- 
 phire splendor enwrapped all, submerged all, inundated all. 
 Far away in the depths of the westerly firmament, in the diapha- 
 nous atmosphere, at an immeasurable distance, the snow-capped 
 Tolima reared its crest. 
 
 Maraton ran to and fro, frightening the calves, but rather 
 liked by the cows. 
 
 They went back. Nearing the house the dog raised a flight 
 of pigeons which, with a flapping noise almost resembling a 
 burst of applause, rose in the air, flew towards the pasture 
 grounds, following the course of the river in sweeping turns, 
 let the breeze bear them on for a spell, floated with the currents 
 of air, seemed to be about to settle on a meadow, and then with 
 a balanced, rhythmic motion during which the sunlight glit- 
 
198 PAX 
 
 tered on the white of their wings and vanished again l they 
 turned in the direction of the house, described a wide spiral and 
 came down in a flock on the roof. But the voice of Ines, who 
 scattered a handful of kitchen refuse for them, brought them 
 down again in the inner courtyard. 
 
 " Like the souls," said Roberto, " who in the Divine Comedy 
 come at the compassionate call of Dante." 
 
 " I will now ring the bells for the first time for mass," he 
 continued after a while. " There I see Milan and Bibiana al- 
 ready coming." 
 
 The bell sounded, scattering its cheerful notes through the 
 wide plain On the brow of the nearest hill could be descried 
 far off a group of rustics who were lost to view a moment after 
 in the ravine, only to reappear again, and who, hearing the bell, 
 quickened their pace. 
 
 On that day the wedding of Milan Gil, the majordomo of 
 General Ronderos, was to be celebrated, his bride being Bibiana, 
 she of El Consuelo, who with her mother dwelt anew at El Sau- 
 zal. As Socarraz had made an effort to disturb the love affairs 
 of Milan and Bibiana by having posed as a wooer of the latter, 
 and as the quarrels of the two rivals had been of requent occur- 
 rence, Socarraz was never seen either at the estate or by his 
 former masters, because he strongly disliked meeting the latter. 
 The disputes between Socarraz and Milan Gil whom people 
 usually nicknamed Chispas, happened mostly on the roads, 
 at the market and sometimes on mountain paths where they 
 encountered each other. Milan had been victorious in his woo- 
 ing, to the satisfaction of everybody, and especially of Bibiana's 
 mother, who lived in constant dread caused by the rivalry of 
 the two lads, forever fearing a calamity growing out of it, as 
 she had stated while still at El Consuelo. 
 
 This group of persons now presented themselves in the house. 
 The two lovers came holding each other's hands. Their slender 
 figures contrasted singularly in the smiling cheerfulness of that 
 forenoon with the dark costumes of their surrounding friends. 
 Milan, tall, graceful, with his hooked nose, his black and closely 
 trimmed beard looked like an Arab. From his face, browned 
 by the sun, shone happiness. The bride was a piquant bru- 
 nette, with a fresh mouth and two rows of magnificent teeth that 
 gave vivid expression to her smile and her words. Her wealth 
 
" CHISPAS " 199 
 
 of hair, black and wavy, was gathered quite simply on the back 
 of her head into a white ribbon, and fell with exquisite grace 
 down over her shoulders. 
 
 Ines, who was to act as Bibiana's bridesmaid at the wedding 
 ceremony, took her off to a room to help her don her bridal cos- 
 tume, the same which she herself had made. Meanwhile Gen- 
 eral Ronderos, Chispas's best man, came out to the veranda, 
 hugged the groom and presented him with thirteen ounces of 
 gold, which were to be the marriage pledge of Chispas at the 
 ceremony. The General felt a real affection for Chispas. The 
 latter had served him since childhood and had accompanied him 
 on his last campaign. First, as his ordnance officer, and later, 
 after repeated heroic feats, as chief of a company. Through- 
 out Chispas had demonstrated his loyalty and his valor. Dur- 
 ing the mass the assembled throng of country people filled the 
 chapel to overflowing, so that they crowded even into the adjoin- 
 ing vestibule. Groups of perspiring farmers, panting from the 
 haste they had made in order to arrive in time, were still com- 
 ing until the outer hall was likewise filled. Roberto, who had 
 remained in the rear, took notice of the brown linen dresses, of 
 the new frieze garments, of the starched collars, the well- 
 groomed heads. And with approval he saw that these country 
 people reflected in their carriage, in their clothes, the well- 
 being and the ease, sheltered from penury and far away from 
 the dangers of war, which these better times made possible. 
 
 General Ronderos and Ines were assisted by Casanova and 
 Dona Teresa, godparents during the nuptial benediction. Ines 
 sat down at the piano, placed expressly at the farthest end of 
 the corridor, and played during mass. 
 
 When the ceremony had been concluded, the newly married 
 couple passed into the dining-hall where Ines had a meal served 
 to them, and then Milan and Bibiana mounted their horses to 
 go to La Laguna, General Ronderos' estate, where Chispas had 
 his house all ready. 
 
 All went into the outer hall in order to watch the happy 
 couple depart, and they did not leave before they had seen 
 Chispas and his young wife turn the first bend in the highroad, 
 where they were lost to view. 
 
 Suddenly there came the sound of a shot in the far distance, 
 and then another and still another. 
 
200 PAX 
 
 " Socarraz," shrieked Bibiana's mother, seized by mortal fear. 
 
 " It cannot be, since Socarraz is on the Magdalena, with the 
 canalization enterprise," replied Roberto, who thereupon 
 mounted Alondra and went off like lightning, followed by 
 Casanova. They rushed down the slope, could again be seen 
 on the level ground, jumped over the enclosure, and took the 
 road at a gallop. 
 
 Those assembled in the outer hall waited in deep anxiety. 
 For another time they made out Roberto from afar, stretched 
 almost at full length upon the black mare, and behind him, 
 quite a distance in the rear, they descried Casanova. Moment:: 
 of anxiety, of solicitude, of horrible suspense. No one spoke 
 or moved. Dona Ana, quite faint from all this -excitement, 
 overcome by this new perplexity, full of apprehension because 
 of Roberto, sought refuge in the chapel. 
 
 Now the black mare reappeared in the distance, galloping 
 swiftly. Dofia Ana, guessing that Roberto was coming back, 
 came out of the house, and stopped amidst the flower beds. 
 
 " Yes, it was Socarraz, after all," said Roberto, as he drew 
 near. " He opened fire upon Chispas, but did not hit him. We 
 were, however, unable to overtake him, since the scoundrel was 
 very well 'mounted. I instructed Casanova to accompany the 
 bridal couple." 
 
 As soon as he had heard those shots and the name of Socar- 
 raz had been mentioned, there separated from the group of ex- 
 pectant rustics a very straight and robust, cleanly shaven, elderly 
 man. During the wait, putting his trembling hand to his fore- 
 head, to see better, he had been able to observe the road, had 
 seen Roberto come back, and had then heard about the latest 
 doings of Socarraz. Then he lifted his shaking hands to heaven 
 and gave vent to his feelings with words that came from his 
 dry throat: 
 
 " Accursed son ! " 
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 THE BETTER CROSSING 
 
 RAISING a cloud of dust in the road, another horseman could 
 be seen in the distance. A new surprise for Dona Ana. A boy 
 
THE BETTER CROSSING 201 
 
 finally arrived, dismounted, and handed a paper to Roberto. 
 
 " What is it, my son? " asked Dona Ana, with fresh anxiety 
 in her eyes. 
 
 " A short note, a very pretty one, from Dona Aura, begging 
 me to see her at once, saying that she needs me urgently." 
 
 And turning to the boy he said, " Tell Dona Aura that I will 
 go to see her this afternoon." 
 
 Some hours later Roberto was striding through the flower 
 beds that led to the house of Cebaderos. The old alder trees 
 which on either side had formed an umbrageous path, were gone. 
 Their trunks, cut down near the ground, showed the strokes of 
 the ax. Some roots had begun to send out shoots, but their 
 efforts had led to nothing. 
 
 Dona Aura conducted Roberto to her study, perfectly over- 
 burdened with books and papers, 
 
 " Dolores suffers from headache and has locked herself in," 
 she told him, " and Ramon keeps his siesta. But all the better! 
 We can talk all by ourselves. I have to consult you on a point 
 of the highest importance to myself. It concerns the climax of 
 the novel which I am writing at present : The Elm and the Ivy. 
 It abounds with the choicest sentiment, and is full of original 
 observations. It may prove my master work." 
 
 From the next room Montellano could be heard snoring, 
 flute-like voices, thunderous ones, breathings through the nose, 
 cut short by words uttered evidently in a nightmare. Dona 
 Aura, after putting on her spectacles, steered for a table where 
 there was an abundance of memorandum books, as well as small 
 bundles of sheets tied together with pink or blue ribbons, and 
 on which grand titles such as: " Plan," " Entanglement," " Cli- 
 max," appeared in huge letters. 
 
 " Outch, . . . oh, oh, . . . outch! " she piercingly shrieked. 
 
 "What ails you? " asked Roberto, with polite solicitude. 
 
 " This hand. See here, it is a cramp. The fingers contract 
 painfully. Doctor Agueros has explained it to me. I have 
 what they call Writer's Cramp. But I am getting over it al- 
 ready. . . . Now, listen." 
 
 And she started out with a shrill, strident voice: 
 
 " Epilogue. . . . When they entered, Aurora was kneeling in 
 a corner of the room. She raised her hands toward heaven, piti- 
 ful, imploring." 
 
202 PAX 
 
 But the lady was interrupted. A broken moan was heard 
 from Montellano, as if from a man being strangled. 
 
 As it died on the air, the lady continued: 
 
 " Aurora, beloved Aurora," exclaimed her father, " rise, be 
 happy, here I have brought you a husband, Manfredo." 
 
 Again, from the adjoining room: " Help, help, they're mur- 
 dering me," cried the stammering, raucous voice of the million- 
 aire. 
 
 Roberto got up from his seat, suddenly affrighted. But Dona 
 Aura calmed him. 
 
 " It is nothing. Ramon has dyspepsia. ... A nightmare." 
 And she went on reading in an even voice: 
 
 " The young girl arose and ran towards Manfredo with open 
 arms." 
 
 " The safe, the safe, let go the safe! " bellowed Montellano in 
 the next chamber. 
 
 And Dona Aura pursued her reading undisturbed: 
 
 " Catalina, the poor widow, dwelt in the grange of the 
 castle. Manfredo and Aurora are protecting her. Juana is 
 the wife of the gardener attached to the castle. She lives in the 
 midst of flowers. Only the wicked man suffers. He is in 
 jail." 
 
 A shout, a roar, a bouncing noise on the floor of the other 
 room, and with hair disheveled, yawning and stretching his 
 limbs Montellano bursts in the study of his spouse. 
 
 " I was dreaming that they had broken my iron safe open," 
 he said in a sleepy drawl, " and that they were just getting 
 ready to throttle me. . . . All right. . . . When you two have 
 finished, I shall be waiting for you outside, Roberto." 
 
 So Dona Aura kept on: 
 
 " In this other scene they kill the heroine, Aurora." 
 
 She took up another booklet of notes, and pursued her 
 reading : 
 
 "Epilogue: The pale moon, like a small vessel, was row- 
 ing in the extreme altitude of the firmament. . . . Sleeping Na- 
 ture appeared to take a peaceful rest like a child. . . . The 
 night owl, just .like a sentinel, at the dawn of day reposed in 
 a niche of the tower. The tired wind was asleep in the chalice 
 of the flowers. . , ." 
 
THE BETTER CROSSING 203 
 
 The gruff, big voice of Montellano was again heard rum- 
 bling outside: 
 
 " Here I shall have to change everything. The rent you 
 people have been paying Alejandro was a mere pittance." 
 
 The muttering of the amazed farmers could be heard. 
 
 " Is asleep in the chalices of the flowers. And before an 
 iron tomb on which the name of Aurora was to be seen, 
 Manfredo was kneeling, and ..." 
 
 But Montellano's deep bass broke in: "I shall treble the 
 rents, and if you don't like it, pack up and get out." 
 
 And now again Dona Aura: "Manfredo was kneeling, 
 and with a look as sad as the bleating of a stricken deer. ..." 
 
 " I am going to turn these haciendas into pasture ground, 
 and all these vagabonds may go to the devil." 
 
 Then Montellano, impatient because Roberto did not show 
 up, once more came into his wife's study. 
 
 " My dear woman," he said, " don't bore Roberto with your 
 nonsense." 
 
 As they left the room together, Roberto with a heavy heart 
 came across the group of saddened farmers, their heads hang- 
 ing down, and heard them humbly protesting. Some women 
 amongst them were imploring Montellano with tears in their 
 eyes. 
 
 " Roberto," said Montellano when they went out, paying no 
 attention to the reiterated complaints of these country people, 
 " you must show me the spot where the old channel of the 
 water drain used to be. Alejandro had the hacienda for his 
 pleasure, whereas with me it is a matter of business. He left 
 two strips of arable land for these wood ducks. That means 
 good land wasted, not utilized." 
 
 " That is because Alejandro knows that the useless may be 
 useful." 
 
 " I am going to drain those pieces of land," Montellano 
 went on. 
 
 They proceeded along the garden paths bordering on the 
 pond where new vegetation had sprung up. 
 
 " How much land is lost here, how many useless animals," 
 shouted Montellano. 
 
 Some of the ducks were sleeping with their heads on their 
 backs, while others, in the attitude of the self-sacrificing pelican, 
 
204 PAX 
 
 were picking vermin from their breasts, or else waddling along 
 on the ground as though painfully reflecting on their lot, 
 then plunging into the water and cleaving its still surface, 
 leaving a wake. They would flutter and rise just above the 
 water, while from their glistening and burnished plumage 
 pearls of moisture would run. One jealous duck, full of 
 anger, launched itself in a queer run over the surface of the 
 pond, raising a swell, then attacked a rival and tore in its 
 furor feathers out its body, and the feathers floated on the dis- 
 turbed water. 
 
 " I know how to make a profit out of all this," argued 
 Montellano. " By draining this pool, I shall have a good 
 place for the calves that are now kept near the house. The 
 ducks I'll sell in the market. The same as to the trees in this 
 garden. I have already stripped it of more than fifteen thou- 
 sand pesos' worth of lumber." 
 
 Roberto looked anew with sadness and anger at the grove 
 of ancient trees that led to the house, now laid waste and 
 destroyed. How many times he had played with Alejandro in 
 the old days under the shade of those alder trees! 
 
 A boy came up. 
 
 "Would you sell me some fruit out of your garden?" he 
 asked. 
 
 " Everything is for sale," exclaimed Montellano, " plums, 
 pears, all. . . . Just look, Roberto," he spoke, counting care- 
 fully the paper money the boy had given him. "'You people 
 never sold as much as the fourth part of an arroba of this fruit. 
 The orchard now brings me in a matter of a thousand to a 
 thousand and fifty pesos a month, if not more, while I stay here. 
 You never did anything with it except spend money. I bet 
 that such a thing never entered your mind while you were 
 here, and that you did not think it was ever possible to draw 
 money out of it, did you ? " 
 
 " Never," replied Roberto, " never." 
 
 " Same thing with the chapel. I am also going to make 
 something out of that. What is the good of it now? The 
 little oratory is quite enough for the purpose." 
 
 " What are you going to do with the chapel ? " interrupted 
 Roberto, filled with alarm to think that this man was on the 
 point of destroying the building which rose beside the manor 
 
THE BETTER CROSSING 205 
 
 house, and where in times gone by masters, servants and farm- 
 ers had met to celebrate Christmas eve. His mind reverted 
 to that sacred and mysterious spot which inspired respect with 
 its moss-grown roof, its venerable front, its nail-studded heavy 
 gate, its clock tower, whence the sonorous bell every Sunday 
 had scattered throughout the neighboring countryside its clear 
 notes, for many years, for centuries even, summoning so many 
 generations. 
 
 "What I mean to do with the chapel, you say? Well, a 
 mill probably. The taking off of water is here no longer 
 permitted. And it is a magnificent site." 
 
 Roberto, who felt uneasy, full of anxiety, wished to take his 
 leave. He desired to get away from all this, not silently to 
 acquiesce in such spectacles of destruction, of barbarism, which 
 to him seemed almost a kind of murder. 
 
 " I shall accompany you," said Montellano. " I shall take 
 you as far as the boundary line of El Sauzal, over there, as 
 far as that stone fence." 
 
 Suddenly the noise of a distant train began to be audible. 
 Montellano, to Roberto's surprise started to run, leaped over 
 an enclosure, and took a short turn through the intervening 
 territory. There were two high fissures in the rocks, both 
 crowned by low stone walls; in the background the railroad. 
 The gleaming rails between the gravel beds which were ex- 
 posed to the powerful sunlight, stretched far away, and were 
 lost at last to view at a bend of the blue-tinted savanna. 
 Right in the midst of the track a full-blooded Durham bull 
 was standing. Montellano tried hard to frighten the bull away 
 and save him from the approaching train. But the beast fol- 
 lowed the track steadily, and turned around now and then, 
 shaking his head and ready to attack. Now a dull, rumbling 
 noise could plainly be heard, decreasing, augmenting, losing 
 itself for an instant, again increasing, and announcing alarm- 
 ingly the invisible train. And Montellano, jumping with diffi- 
 culty over the railway sleepers, crushing rudely the cinders on 
 his path, slipping between the rails, tottering on the gravel, 
 followed still the bull in his desperate attempts to frighten 
 him away, to scare him over to the safe side, to drive him to- 
 wards the bank below. But the animal, without perceiving its 
 danger, by turns prepared for an attack and again ran be- 
 
206 PAX 
 
 tween the track. And already the train was nearing the curve 
 of the embankment. 
 
 But now Montellano saw his own danger, quickly slid down 
 the declivity and got on his feet again. Then, in safety, he 
 exclaimed cheerfully and tranquilly: 
 
 " All right, let them kill him if they will. I await the out- 
 come gladly." 
 
 Second after second the snorting and concussion grew with 
 a ferocious insistence, with menacing power. At the bend, with 
 a still increasing volume of noises and in a huge cloud of 
 smoke, the threatening train became at last visible. Now 
 it came down the incline. The steel rails were trembling and 
 vibrating, clanking like an anvil under the strokes of the ham- 
 mer. The engine shrieked with alarm, with desperation. 
 The whistling was repeated a hundred fold by the echoes 
 of the mountains. And in the midst of a catastrophic 
 clamor, vomiting steam, flinging fragments of live coal about, 
 in the midst of the fiery sheen of polished copper and steel, 
 the locomotive resistlessly advances, reaches the crossing. The 
 earth is shaking, ... a terrific shock ... a fiendish bellow 
 ... a crunching of bones ... a breath of heat . . . the odor 
 of singed flesh . . . another wave of steam . . . drops of blood 
 . . . and with a last outburst of shrill lamentations the train 
 is past, is fleeing towards the distant landscape, disappears in 
 smoke, leaving in the silence of the prairie the violent vibrations 
 of the rails, like the tune of two ropes of steel. 
 
 " They will certainly pay me well for this," shouted Montel- 
 lano, with loud laughter. "Thousand dollars? No, indeed, 
 sir, but four, five thousand ; just as in the case of the other bull 
 whom they killed on me last month ... at the same spot pre- 
 cisely ... in this pasture. ... I shall collect my five thou- 
 sand, and with that commission added, four bulls instead of 
 one. Suits me. It's all business." 
 
 They soon arrived at the boundary line of El Sauzal. 
 
 Roberto said good-by to Montellano, but the latter de- 
 tained him still another instant. 
 
 " Tell me, Roberto," he said, " as you know this kind of 
 land well and as I intend to put in a claim for those bulls, 
 which is the best type of crossing in your opinion? " 
 
 " The best crossing," replied Roberto, while he opened a 
 
TWILIGHT 207 
 
 gate leading to his estate, " for your purpose, the best type of 
 crossing, the most productive one? Bulls with locomotives." 
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 TWILIGHT 
 
 AFTER passing the confines of his estate, Roberto met his 
 mother and Ines, Dona Teresa and Doctor Miranda, who were 
 taking an evening stroll, and went with them to the brow of 
 the hill whence a very picturesque view was to be had. 
 
 At a bend a wall of granite rose abruptly. The edges of 
 the rock formed in the face of the stone oval openings, rows of 
 columns, and seemed fantastic creatures, winged dragons. 
 
 Separated from the wall, isolated, rose a gigantic tower. One 
 seemed to see here marked by the layers in the rock, the suc- 
 cessive and ascending impact of the waves during the flood, and 
 from top to bottom, the tremendous shocks of those tempests, 
 those scorchings by the sun, those erosions made by the cen- 
 turies. Out of the age-worn rock the howling wind is forever 
 roaring, and scatters about the valley eagle-feathers, blood- 
 stained bones. And in the sides of the huge tower alternate 
 red and whitish stains with blackish stripes. The bushes drive 
 their roots into the small fissures and shake and tremble above 
 the abyss. Twining plants, their leaves spotted with purple, 
 clutch the cracks of the rock, and float above them in trailing 
 festoons. Delineated clearly against the light rise tall leaves 
 of the quiches and motuas that affect this place, similar in 
 shape to bundles of swords. On the summit, where the wind 
 never sleeps, there undulate, bend and rise, the long hairy tops 
 of the pajonales. 
 
 They went back. Doctor Miranda, Dona Ana formed the 
 rear. In front, keeping silent, were Ines and Roberto, scan- 
 ning the western heavens, put into a pleasant frame by this 
 friendly and caressing landscape, by the odors of pennyroyal 
 and rue, by this soft light. The crouching cows, full-fed, went 
 peaceably grazing, nibbling and chewing the cud by turns. Up 
 on the hill, their silhouettes dimly defined on the horizon, 
 the mares are pasturing. 
 
208 PAX 
 
 At the opposite side the prairie shines in all the richness of 
 its coloring. A fringe of clouds is veiling the sun for a mo- 
 ment, and the colors mingle. A dun haze, quite uniform, covers 
 the wide plain from end to end. But the cloud passes, and 
 all the original tints reappear clearly, greens and reds and 
 blues and yellows of vegetation, the herds of cattle, the gold 
 of the sunflowers, the brown or red roofs and towers of distant 
 villages, the river with its tranquil waters, smooth and glaring. 
 
 In a lengthy piece of ground, in full sunlight, between two 
 broad shadows, Roberto made out El Risco, the ancient hacienda 
 now lost, its groves, its large rocks, its old house, the monu- 
 mental portal far away, forming a white point. And in the 
 placidity of this late afternoon there passed through his recol- 
 lection visions of years seeming already remote, years in which 
 he and Ines, looking at the same panorama, towards the sink- 
 ing sun, caressed by the well-known landscape, by the penetrat- 
 ing scent of mint and rue, surveyed the slopes and the plain, 
 crossed the savanna together, made the gravel on the hills crunch 
 under their feet, the meadows of El Sauzal and El Risco echo 
 the hoof beats of their swift horses. And by a movement that 
 was almost mechanical, as though pushed on by his own remem- 
 brances, by the romance which emanated from all the sur- 
 rounding objects, he approached Ines and offered her his arm. 
 
 The wind carried to him the vibrant voice of Doctor Miranda, 
 the gay laughter of Dona Teresa. There arose in the peace of 
 twilight harmonious murmurs like echoes of well-being, of lively 
 movement, of wealth. The flock of sheep came down to the 
 plain, bleating, the snow of their fleece passing through the 
 ravine. On the footpaths of the slope the workmen who re- 
 turned from their labor sang lustily. There resounded from 
 the newly plowed fields the shouts of the men. From the high- 
 road rose the whistling of the muleteers, the heavy rumble of 
 their carts. The humming of the threshers could be distin- 
 guished far away. The wind carried the clamor of the trains 
 in the distance through the still air, and but a white cloudlet 
 of dissolving steam was left in the azure of the sky. Nearer, 
 immense masses of cattle on the plains advanced at the sound 
 of the horn. 
 
 The sun set the floating clouds aflame in the west and spread 
 a rosy mantle over the whole prairie. 
 
TWILIGHT 209 
 
 Roberto's pessimism and the anxiety of his mother vanished 
 in this sea of peace, cheerfulness and repose. 
 
 Doctor Miranda approached Roberto. 
 
 " You remember," he said, " the depressing circumstances 
 which we took as a text last New Year's Day at Aunt Teresa's 
 house? Well, now, in the midst of this hymn of peace, an- 
 other text of Zachary occurs to me to counterbalance that: 
 Semen pads erit; vinea dabit fructum suum, et terra dabit 
 germen suum, et coeli dabunt rorem suum," he exclaimed with 
 his arms spread out. " He will water the seed of peace, and 
 then the vine will yield its grapes, the earth its fruits, and 
 Heaven its dew." 
 
 When they arrived at the house, they were met with letters 
 from Alejandro bearing the Canalization stamp: two C's in- 
 terlaced. 
 
 The letter said: 
 
 " I am writing you from Puerto Borja, a place recently born 
 on the margin of the Magdalena as an affectionate distinction 
 conferred by Bellegarde, who wished to baptize with the name of 
 one of our ancestors this spot of which some day it may be said 
 * A settlement founded but yesterday, and to-day a powerful 
 city.' The photographs which I sent you will convey to 
 your mind a rather exact idea of Puerto Borja. It is an im- 
 mense esplanade which in the background is closed by a moun- 
 tain, on the coast line with the canalization buildings and on 
 the front the river. The houses, which arrive here numbered 
 from the United States, go up as though by magic. The 
 structure where the management is housed, and in which Bel- 
 legarde and I dwell, is a magnificent residence in which noth- 
 ing is lacking. We have electric light, fans which purify the 
 air, and even a piano. It is incredible how all this has been 
 done. I have seen the movable docks at work. The constricted 
 water precipitates itself at the center of the river and itself, 
 too, excavates the bed of the river, sweeps up the sand and 
 gravel in a twinkling, dies in the bottom of the drain, and 
 conveys the mud towards the ocean. And when the current 
 is unable to do so, we have the dredgers that stretch forth their 
 iron arms, carry them through the air, sink them in the river, 
 dig at the bottom, and next, with the measured movement of 
 giants, remove the mud, take it up, and deposit it on the shore. 
 
210 PAX 
 
 All this goes on in the midst of the bustle of the steam launches, 
 that are shooting up and down, whistle, waken the echoes of 
 the forest and impart life to these solitudes. In a word, it 
 means the resurrection of a dead world. In parenthesis, while 
 I am writing you in haste, with all this noise of the launches 
 and the infernal clamor of the chains on the dredgers going 
 on incessantly, I forgot to tell you that we had a holiday yes- 
 terday. We christened by the names of The Ines and The 
 Bellegarde the two most important vessels of the company. We 
 also broke a bottle of champagne against the prow of the ships. 
 Tell her this when you see her next, provided you are not 
 actually at her side when this letter reaches you. 
 
 " How much I like this work ! At times I think I obey a 
 law of heredity (be it said between us and without meaning to 
 brag), and I recall the fact that it was our ancestor, Don 
 Juan Borja, who as President of this viceroy alty, busied him- 
 self regulating the navigation of this river and establishing 
 ports for commerce. Sometimes I say to myself as I pace these 
 shores: Here it was where, centuries ago, he was working for 
 civilization, and here it is where I am continuing his work. 
 
 " I have spoken to you of the canalization labors, but not 
 of the colonization. And yet the latter is the prettiest part. 
 Imagine four thousand toilers: Antioquians, Jamaicans, Chi- 
 nese, handling the ax, the machete, not in order to cut off 
 heads, but to thin the forest, to fell cedars, the most precious 
 of timbers, which they throw into the current that is intended 
 to carry them to Europe. Forest groves of rubber trees, bleed- 
 ing at all hours, are the most productive branch of the whole 
 enterprise. We have besides, thousands of fanegadas of soil 
 clear of the mountains, rendered healthful, cultivated, covered 
 with plane trees, and the exportation of bananas in the launches 
 is enormous. All this, at which Karlonoff was laughing so 
 much in his dissertations chockful of scientific statistics and 
 unscientific Gallicisms, is already a fact, and inside of five 
 years it will be a miracle, realized by science and money. En- 
 closed you will find some clippings from the Economiste Beige 
 and some other periodicals, so that you can see that they al- 
 ready have confidence in this enterprise in Europe. The quo- 
 tations are marked with red pencil. You will see that the 
 shares at one pound sterling each are quoted at three pounds 
 
TWILIGHT 211 
 
 at the Stock Exchange of London. This confidence, this en- 
 thusiasm, which in foreign parts awakens interest in our enter- 
 prise, are a tremendous force, and in this way, with other en- 
 terprises and in other fields of endeavor, we can to-day lift this 
 country to new levels. 
 
 " In my whole life I have never spent a time that was as 
 pleasant as this one, endeavoring to make this river service- 
 able and navigable, dominating Nature, eradicating mountains 
 and dense forests. 
 
 " I suspended my letter here, since I had to inspect the work 
 at several points. You cannot possibly imagine what the clear- 
 ing of a forest really means, what a scene of grandeur, how 
 tragic, even, it is. Who could describe it worthily? 
 
 " Between the shadows of impenetrable glades one hears the 
 blows of the ax. The woodcutters by turns attack a giant cedar, 
 the king of the forest. From its higher branches up, full of 
 wind and sonorities, the tree seems to look down with dis- 
 dain upon the creatures busy at its roots, creatures tiny as 
 pigmies. But they, persistent, untiring, go on delivering blow 
 upon blow. The grateful aroma of rosin embalms the air. 
 The gleaming edges of the axes glitter when raised on high 
 towards the light. The chips are flying. The axes rise and 
 fall. They bite, whirr, and keep on coming deeper and deeper 
 in the trunk. They already are beyond the bark, where they 
 have marked a white circle. They are nearing the heart of 
 the tree. The cedar, undaunted, haughty, erect, still dominates 
 the forest, without quaking, without trembling. It ignores 
 or scorns death. And the men with their axes, panting, emit- 
 ting whistles of fatigue, but nevertheless tenacious, go on deal- 
 ing blow after blow, while the chips fly about and their axes 
 are flashing. They have now passed beyond the white layer, 
 they are attacking the reddish core. The cedar bows blandly, 
 daintily, coquettishly, as though rocked by the wind. But there 
 is a frightful booming, a crashing salute, and the gigantic 
 tree lies on the ground, with its foliage crushed, its mighty 
 branches broken. 
 
 " Impossible to paint either with brush or pencil these 
 scenes, these landscapes which are constantly before my eyes. 
 Impossible to copy this Nature in which vegetation, almost as 
 if maddened by the heat, twists the trunks, cracks the branches, 
 
212 PAX 
 
 weaves and reweaves in close union curtains of clinging plants, 
 crowds the knots on the bindweed, strangles the trees, ex- 
 tends on the soil new shoots seeking the light, pushes the 
 foliage towards the top. In a very fever of life, in an over- 
 abundance of sap, in an impetus of expansion vegetation 
 there covers not alone the earth, but even pierces space and 
 attempts to conquer it. 
 
 " I cannot close this letter without speaking to you of Belle- 
 garde. What a man! He maintains an even balance between 
 the heart and the head. He knows the enterprise with all 
 its mechanism, as he knows a sonata with all its notes. At 
 five in the morning he has already washed and shaved, and is 
 attending to his correspondence with Europe, the Mississippi, 
 Argentina. He toils the whole day long, attends to every de- 
 tail, passes from his vessel to the felling of trees in the woods, 
 from the woods to the dredges, to the gasoline launches. He 
 orders all, keeps this complicated piece of machinery always 
 oiled, and after thirteen hours of hard labor, never having 
 breathed a word of complaint, without any disharmony, he sits 
 down in the little cabin of The Ines to eat his meal, correct, 
 in a Tuxedo, monocle adjusted, a flower in his buttonhole, a 
 smile on his lips. 
 
 " I have seen Bellegarde only once excited, and that was 
 on account of an incident which I am going to relate to 
 you. 
 
 " In spite of the great heat here, Socarraz has given us a 
 lot of trouble. Since his arrival, Bellegarde, without men- 
 tioning the occurrence on board the Bicontinental, had treated 
 him with his cold and measured courtesy, and Socarraz had 
 supposed that Bellegarde with his exquisite manners desired 
 to confer a special distinction on him, a decided proof of 
 friendship, and did not spare his familiarities. Soon there 
 came his fits of drunkenness, his noisy quarrels, even attempts 
 at fomenting rebellion among the squads of laborers placed 
 under his care. Fortunately he found the work too hard, the 
 sun too hot, the food not to his taste, and asked, therefore, that 
 he be placed somewhere else where he might be enjoying the 
 shade. Bellegarde, who had hitherto overlooked all the short- 
 comings of the publisher of El Escorpion, agreed to let him 
 have the post he desired, and so to please him he gave him, what 
 
TWILIGHT 213 
 
 do you think? A job with the cashier. He meant by giving 
 him this proof of his confidence, to sharpen his sense of honor 
 and of delicacy. Nevertheless, very soon there began mistakes, 
 irregularities, shortages in the cash, until, one day, after having 
 had enough of all this, Bellegarde discovered a defalcation 
 in the accounts much larger than the preceding ones. He 
 summoned the guilty one, demonstrated his culpability, warned 
 him, required of him to make up the deficiency or else to quit. 
 But the other protested, denied, tried to pass on the guilt to 
 his fellow- workers, treated Bellegarde as a slanderer, until 
 the latter, unable to bear any more of this, dismissed him. 
 Thereupon Escipion, vomiting atrocious threats, blind with 
 anger, launched himself upon Bellegarde. I saw the knife 
 flash in his hand, very near the neck of the Count, but he, re- 
 maining quite cool, disdainful, like lightning seized that arm, 
 took hold of the wrist, and twisted it with Herculean strength, 
 until the knife slipped out of it, and Socarraz fell to the 
 ground begging for pity. Bellegarde merely turned his back 
 on him, and Escipion went away menacing the Count with his 
 fist." 
 
 At Puerto Borja, a month later, Bellegarde and Alejandro, 
 in the dining-room of The Ines were seated at the table, after 
 having gone through a very hot day, refreshed by a bath, and 
 with the pleasure of great thoughts, with the satisfaction that 
 comes from a victorious fight, were breathing the cool air 
 that came from the forest, the fresh breeze that ascended from 
 the river, and their musings were just as rosy and vast as the 
 horizon before their eyes. 
 
 The sun was going down, and after so much bustle during 
 the day everything became calm. The clatter and noise of the 
 colony seemed to vanish in the distance. There reigned around 
 the vessel a silence only interrupted by the clucking of the 
 water that came lapping against the sides of the ship. The tints 
 of twilight floated in the air, gathered over the waters of the 
 Magdalena, with fleeting opalescent glints. 
 
 Over the river were cruising serenely some flocks of herons, 
 which afterwards flew off to near-by pools, where they went 
 to mirror themselves in the still water. 
 
 Suddenly the surrounding space became aflame, and every- 
 thing wrapped in a pink vapor. The rocks seemed of red 
 
214 PAX 
 
 marble. The chains flashed like molten iroru The river 
 rolled waves of flame. The fronds of the palms became 
 plumes of scarlet. The foliage all about began to resemble 
 flags of crimson, and the dripping cables were distilling drops 
 of fire. The stay-ropes on the dredgers, still wet, stretched 
 skywards like giant arms dipped in blood. 
 
 A whistle was heard, and its echo was lost in the depths 
 of the forest. Then, the clamor of wheels working against 
 the current of the river, the snorting of a steamer. It is 
 The Bellegarde. And in a bend of the river, behind a veri- 
 table grove of parasite plants, begin to loom two smoke-stacks, 
 and big clouds of smoke. A turn of the wheel, again sharp 
 whistling, and the ship is nearing The Ines. The commander 
 of the vessel takes a leap, and respectfully touching his cap 
 where a double C is shining, hands to Bellegarde a package 
 of letters. 
 
 " One is for you, Alejandro," says the Count. 
 
 "Ah!" says Alejandro, "it is from Roberto, news from 
 Bogota ... let us see! " 
 
 "Dear Fausto: I am kept here in Santafe for the last 
 two weeks, after four weeks of rest in El Sauzal, in a peace 
 which I cannot call Octavian, but rather Ronderinerian. But 
 there arrive the two periodicals, Let Revaluation and La 
 Integridad, with their phrases like ' the night of Nineveh,' 
 and something about * those of the mystery,' etc., in short, at- 
 tacks on Ronderos, on the canalization project, on the govern- 
 ment, on Bellegarde, on us. So I came. I found hostile at- 
 mosphere here. There are people who have been impressed 
 with the article by Sanchez Mendez, ' An Abyss without Bot- 
 tom ' (as if he knew any abysses with bottom). Gonzalez 
 Mogollon, the unwitting propagandist, went through all the 
 stores, with a flushed face, gesticulating, and repeated in his 
 shrieking manner the sensational phrase of the article : ' We 
 will not omit saying that there is in this contract a stinger, 
 and lying in ambush beyond a field full of brambles there are 
 the articles and the ticklish matter of the commas. . . . And 
 then, in a voice rougher than ever he shouts, without under- 
 standing in the least the Latin saying: Abisus abisum. . . . 
 
 " I thought it proper to have a talk with General Ronderos. 
 I found him at the ministry, nervous, not communicative, and 
 
TWILIGHT 215 
 
 I saw his good faith, his love for his country thus repaid. 
 He fingered his mustache, silently. Then he had Dr. Alcon 
 called in, who entered livid. * Doctor Alcon,' he asked him, 
 showing him a copy of La Integridad, ' are these your articles ? ' 
 ' No, General, they are not mine,' replied the other drily. 
 * They're not yours ? ' And here Ronderos drew from the 
 pocket of his coat a roll of manuscript. ' They're not yours ? 
 See here the original of your letter.' (Gacharnah had sent 
 them.) Alcon, caught, backs out, glances behind him, and 
 leans back against a table. And Ronderos, slapping his face 
 with the papers, upbraids him for his falsehoods and his treach- 
 ery. He points out that Alcon belongs at the same time to 
 the Government and to the opposition . . . ' but I leave that 
 to the reader's consideration,' as Dona Aura would say under 
 similar circumstances. The thoughts and the words struck 
 against the bald head of Alcon like hail. It was a tempest 
 above a cranium. ' You,' he continued with that military 
 bruskness we know of, ' you, who were of the opposition, I 
 bring here, name you my assistant so that you should see for 
 yourself, hour for hour, that nothing underhanded or un- 
 worthy is going on here. You yourself formulated, altered, one 
 by one, the paragraphs of this contract, . . . and now, with- 
 out your signature, you speak of hidden tricks and of the 
 intricate points of the commas. ... I have looked for the 
 enemies in front, in the encampments. ... I prefer frank and 
 outspoken adversaries, like Polanco, like Cardoso, whom I have 
 fought in open battle. . . . But this, . . . but this . . . you 
 are an enemy in the rear, who fights from ambush, a con- 
 temptible slanderer ... a hawk ... a treacherous bird of 
 prey. From anybody else I should demand resignation, but 
 you I simply remove because of an indignity.' Alcon left the 
 room as green as an erotic poem by S. C. Mata. 
 
 " That night, according to what Gonzalez Mogollon re- 
 ported, he who reports everything there was held a great 
 meeting at the office of La Integridad. The General Staff of 
 the Integrist party congratulated Alcon and told him that this 
 occurrence had made him the man of the hour. Indeed they 
 wired everywhere detailing the facts. Alcon became in articles 
 and telegrams ' the immolated victim,' the ' man of the day,' 
 and one meeting, containing an * integrista ' majority, elected 
 
216 PAX 
 
 him senator. On the other hand, a second meeting has nom- 
 inated you for pater conscriptus. You will have Alcon in the 
 curulean chair adjoining, and myself on the other side. 
 
 " To come: the benefit of Signora Rondinelli will take place 
 soon, with Aida. Inside of two weeks there will be races. 
 You are nominated judge at the race-tracks. Mata, the divine 
 singer, has just published a volume of verses. By the next 
 post, or by a reliable person, I'll ' not ' send you this volume, 
 which is entitled * Alder Trees and Stones.' 
 
 " Greetings for Bellegarde. Tell him that I shall soon be 
 with him. I believe that sea level agrees better with me than 
 the climate in these high altitudes. Sebastian charges me to 
 write you a text of good augury which might serve as a coun- 
 terweight, now that peace seems certain, in lieu of the one 
 that was cited in the midst of anxieties caused by political 
 agitation, on the first of January at the house of Aunt Teresa: 
 ' I shall water the seed of peace, and then the earth will give 
 its fruits, the vine its grapes, and Heaven its dew.' >: 
 
 Alejandro and Bellegarde thus read, seated in the cabin of 
 the steamer, this interesting letter, by the light of the lamp 
 around which the wings of insects, butterflies, beetles of pe- 
 culiar form, produced a continual buzzing and humming. 
 
 The night was serene. Bellegarde wanted to go down sev- 
 eral leagues in order to prepare early in the morning some par- 
 ticular pieces of labor along the dam. They lighted the ship's 
 lantern, which threw shafts of brilliant light upon the river, and 
 the steamer began to slip away, brushing some groups of trees 
 between whose leaves were dancing innumerable fireflies. On 
 the shores bunches of alligators were forming which, at the ap- 
 proach of the vessel, avoided it, grunting and plunging into 
 the water. 
 
 Suddenly the steamer turned. It stopped a moment; the 
 wheel moved quite slowly. A negro sprang into the water, 
 swam with the rope between his teeth; arrived at the shore, 
 and climbing briskly up the bank, he tied the rope around 
 a tree trunk. The vessel brushed against the side of a high 
 rock which dominated the opening of the spit of land. Then 
 she emitted dense clouds of steam, and the engine stopped its 
 labor. The crew were on deck, and were trying to sleep lulled 
 
S. C. MAT A 217 
 
 by the rushing water of the current and the murmuring of 
 the immense tropical wilds. 
 
 The two friends, harassed by the excessive heat, were unable 
 to find rest, and continued conversing and reading their period- 
 icals until the middle of the night. 
 
 A noise on the roof of their cabin, above the deck, made them 
 interrupt their reading. A body which struck with great force, 
 and soft pads of feet stopping now and then, but always re- 
 newed, though with great caution, just like the steps of a thief 
 who deadens his footfalls; and then, tumult, clamor, scratch- 
 ings, something which clung to the metal edge of the sky- 
 light, caused them disquiet. Bellegarde, in dismay, hurriedly 
 seized the deck lamp, and both gently went up the stairs 
 leading to the deck. The light of the lamp was thrown in 
 spots on the trees, and painted dancing shadows on their foliage. 
 They crossed the deck in the direction of the poop, and 
 held their lantern high. And then only they espied a big 
 bulk, eyes which glowed like red-hot coal, a hide which re- 
 flected a yellowish sheen, ... it was a tiger, growling and 
 holding on to a big chunk of meat; that moment it had 
 reached the edge of the deck, measured for an instant the in- 
 tervening distance, crouched and then with a mighty leap 
 reached the bank of the river, disappearing in the darkness. 
 
 " Ah, my dear Count," said Alejandro, while the big out- 
 lines of the beast became visible again at the border of the 
 forest, " that is our mission: put the tigers to flight . . . frighten 
 barbarism away, encouraged by"~the words of a text which 
 Sebastian sent us : 'I shall scatter the seed of peace, . . . 
 and then the earth will yield her fruits.' " 
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 S. C. MATA 
 
 ENTERING her box Dolores, disengaging herself from her silk 
 mantle, blinked, her eyes dazzled by the wave of brilliant 
 light that poured from the ceiling and inundated the whole 
 theater, reflected from the pillars and caryatids. 
 
2i8 PAX 
 
 It was the benefit night of la Rondinelli, and A'ida was be- 
 ing performed. 
 
 Montellano, who had been accustomed to retire at eight 
 sharp, had never taken Dolores to the theater before his mar- 
 riage with Dona Aura. But now, urged on by the poetess, he 
 went from time to time in order to accompany with his yawns 
 the terrific rumblings of the bass viol, and the passionate notes 
 of the tenor and the primadonna. 
 
 Installed in her seat Dolores, somewhat confused and feel- 
 ing her heart beat with a mixture of happiness and anxiety, 
 picked up her opera glass and passed in review the body of 
 the house where the shining baldheads were in the majority. 
 Then she directed her attention towards the row of boxes and 
 saw filing past her lenses those erect busts, those heads which 
 bowed, those meaningless motions and gestures, mouths which 
 smiled to neighbors that did not come within the radius of 
 the glasses, the movement, the agitation of this assemblage of 
 people, amidst the gleam of mother of pearl, the flashings of 
 diamonds, the scintillating of bracelets. 
 
 Suddenly she perceived Ines, with her jessamine pallor, with 
 her statuesque neck that supported a head like a Greek model. 
 That face became animated for a moment, and the eyes lost 
 their sleepy languor. Dolores sought with eagerness, with mis- 
 givings, the companion of Ines, and with unspeakable bliss 
 saw appear in the lens the steely eyes and virile physiognomy 
 of Bellegarde. And Roberto? She scanned carefully the boxes 
 in the front rows, which were still unoccupied, let the glass 
 travel along them, and a sweet emotion swept over her when 
 there at last she discovered the pallid face of Dona Ana, and 
 with her, Roberto. Then she turned her head in the direc- 
 tion of the stage. 
 
 She saw the royal palace at Memphis. To right and left im- 
 mense colonnades, and the statues of the gods: Keth, the 
 divine cat; Ra, the great god of the kingdom; Patch, with 
 her lion's head; Apis, the bull -god, the most sacred of all 
 brutes. In the background, behind huge Egyptian porticos, 
 the desert, the pyramids, the Sphinx. 
 
 Amneris and Rhadames have begun the duet of apprehen- 
 sion, of palpitating ardor; Aida advances and the duet be- 
 comes a trio. The orchestra continues the same theme, but 
 
S. C. MATA 219 
 
 interlacing with it are the notes of Aida, notes which are pro- 
 longed like heavy sighs that yet reveal ardor, and her pro- 
 found yet resigned love. And Dolores, without wanting to, 
 felt these notes painfully reverberate in her breast, treasuring 
 the knowledge that she herself, who knew this love, should be 
 able to give to the melody the accent, the intention that Verdi 
 had put into it. 
 
 There came the aria of the first act, which la Rondinelli 
 interpreted superbly, enthusing the audience: 'the tremendous 
 struggle, the frightful conflict decided in the breast of Aida 
 between love and patriotism, that aria in which the musical 
 phrase follows and shows the successive grades of thought, a 
 perfect expression of the musical drama in which the first of 
 the modern masters has contrived to wed word and melody. 
 The electric button sounded shrilly, and there entered Mata, 
 with hair disheveled and with eyes glittering hotly. 
 
 " Have you seen, Senorita? " he exclaimed with his asthmatic 
 voice, and rolling his bloodshot eyes. " This is my crea- 
 tion, my dream, my homesickness. Only the souls of high- 
 est flight can understand us. Perhaps you do not fathom me; 
 I will explain to you. But Verdi and I, we understand each 
 other. Here are my verses: 
 
 " I want my lyre to give forth my song, 
 In unison with the mute sphinx which gazes, 
 And in the hot desert which mirrors a white dream, 
 I would be the eternal bridegroom of the sphinx. 
 
 " Senorita, see you not the desert, the Sphinx, the gods ? Ah, 
 genius! Oh, Verdi! My brother, . . . brother of my soul! " 
 
 Mata was the prey of an extraordinary exaltation. His at- 
 tenuated limbs trembled with a feverish convulsion. In his 
 eyes, where the frenzy of madness raved, there were tears. 
 
 " No, there is nobody here to understand me," he continued 
 in a cavernous voice, and he went on declaiming: 
 
 " In lieu of Cross and Latin phrases I want grand 
 Emblems on my tombstone, with letters hieroglyphic; 
 
 " In lieu of a requiescat in Gothic characters, 
 I want those suggestive demotic signs." 
 
 And as though oppressed by a paroxysm of enthusiasm. 
 
220 PAX 
 
 by the exuberance of genius, he fainted, let his head drop 
 on his breast. 
 
 Alcon, with his light overcoat over his arm, dressed elegantly, 
 went out to the vestibule, climbed the flight of stairs, and 
 noted with satisfaction in passing, that several groups were 
 whispering, speaking of his resignation, of his grand char- 
 acter, exchanging smiles, greetings, handshakes. He was lost 
 in one of the corridors. He went over to where the locked doors 
 of the boxes were, looking for the number 18, and while he 
 thus went on past the numbers 10, 12, 14, 16, he felt a touch 
 of gratification upon appearing again before Dolores, not as 
 the unknown assistant secretary, but as the audacious man of 
 the opposition who is admired by coteries, whom the enemies 
 of Ronderos applaud, whom all the newspapers are babbling 
 about. Ah, and besides: senator, senator for the Department 
 of Aguirre, where the Assembly with its opposition major- 
 ity has at last recognized his name, the name of an " im- 
 molated victim," of a martyrized patriot, to launch it anew, 
 like a challenge, in the face of the Government. And thus, 
 surrounded as he was by that aureole of a martyr, a patriot, 
 of a looming man of the opposition, doubtless Dolores 
 would . . . 
 
 " Number 18 ... here it is." He pressed the button, driven 
 to this by a habit acquired during his period of servitude, when 
 he opened the door of the ministry with apprehension on hear- 
 ing the little bell of Ronderos, and he was, in fact, on the point 
 of saying " Senor Minister," as he put his head in the box. 
 
 " Ah, my dear Alcon," thundered Montellano inside. " Come 
 in. We shall somehow manage to find a seat for you. I am 
 somewhat upset by the state of mind in which Mata has just 
 now left us." 
 
 He had really taken Mata by the arm, had made him rise, 
 and he now made room for Alcon. His bald head shone like 
 an aureole, for it was like a flame. His false smile suffused 
 his face, his hawk-like eyes were opened wide, and flashed from 
 under their lids. He saw that from below in the theater sev- 
 eral opera glasses were raised to contemplate him, and he there- 
 fore moved his seat quite in front. He no longer sought the 
 shade, as he had on the night of Werther, but rather the 
 
S. C. MAT A 221 
 
 full light, the apotheosis. He bent down to the ear of Do- 
 lores. 
 
 " For you always the same," he murmured. " Hm. Hm," 
 he grunted. " The same for me is a matter which another. 
 . . . Always your devoted." 
 
 In the foyer had been prepared a theatrical coup. Landa- 
 buro with several other friends was whispering in a corner, ob- 
 serving his entrance. Alcon presented himself with his over- 
 coat on his arm, directed his vacillating, shortsighted glance 
 to every part of the house, and at last met the eye of Landa- 
 buro. Then he came forward. Mutual exclamations of pleas- 
 ure, of surprise. "Doctor!" "General!" The two poli- 
 ticians met in the very middle of the parlor adjoining the 
 foyer, and rushed towards each other, with open arms, where- 
 upon they embraced with a show of frenzy. 
 
 " Doctor Alcon, in the name of the Revaluation Party I 
 congratulate you that you do not follow the politics of the 
 closed door." 
 
 " General Landaburo, in the name of the group of Im- 
 maculates I salute in you the champion of Liberty." 
 
 Thus these two. 
 
 Those standing near became strangely affected. At first 
 a mute agitation set in. Then voices were heard. These were 
 dominated by the gruff organ of Gonzalez Mogollon, who went 
 from group to group, shouting: 
 
 " Fine. This is very touching. It is a league of men who 
 count. We have peace for twenty years. . . . With the con- 
 cessions and kisses there is, there must be an end of the old 
 injustice. . . . Look at my tears. ... I am moved. . . ." 
 
 And in the foyer, attracted by all this hubbub, there came con- 
 stantly from elsewhere a stream of people: men of the opposi- 
 tion, neutral persons, curious persons merely, and all of them, 
 exciting each other more and more each instant, infecting each 
 other under the influence of this enthusiasm, of this hatred; 
 and there began first a murmur which grew and grew, grew 
 like an avalanche, then turned into cries and shouts of ap- 
 plause, into ebullitions of indignation, of banter, of men- 
 ace: 
 
 "Bravo! . . Three cheers for Alcon! . . Three cheers 
 
222 PAX 
 
 for Landaburo! . . . Down with Ronderos! . . . Death to 
 him! " 
 
 Landaburo whispered within the hearing of his friends: 
 
 " Day after to-morrow, let every one, without fail, appear 
 at the bar of the senate . . . afterwards a great meeting . . . 
 let us get busy! " 
 
 On the stage it is the triumph of Rhadames. One sees the 
 royal throne. The great crowd is running about like ants. In 
 the rear is visible the street, in gala attire, ready to receive the 
 hero. The orchestra strikes up the tune of a march, wherein 
 the flutes and the other soft instruments are stilled, and strident 
 fanfares are heard. Trumpets and horns blare a tune, simple 
 and almost monotonous, with three notes dominating in the 
 rhythm full of Oriental fire, like a battle cry of implacable 
 furor, and the victorious army advances in broad defile. 
 
 The trumpets pass into a new stirring tune, in which the 
 stamping and martial confusion of heralds are mingled, slaves 
 in groups, Nubians and Ethiopians come on, their ebony arms 
 weighed down by chains. A throng of Egyptian servants, their 
 arms dyed red, girt with wreaths, are there. New trumpets, 
 and the three clamorous notes still piercing the air like an 
 implacable shout of combat. Filing across the scene are hosts 
 of warriors, laden with warlike booty, trophies, heaps of naked 
 swords and burnished shields which glitter in the glaring sun 
 of the Orient. High up the mystical standards, papyrus scrolls 
 covered with hieroglyphics. More trumpets, with the march 
 tune of three notes again urging the folk with their rude rhythm. 
 There come processions of priests, of scribes, with long beard, 
 erect head, majestic in their carriage, in their emblematic and 
 ceremonious gestures. And yet the pitiless three notes are cry- 
 ing out for war, for bloodshed, each time one note higher. 
 
 Rocking above the enormous throng appear, escorted by war- 
 riors, the idols, upon the shoulders of priests, carried on biers 
 covered with silk. 
 
 Roberto had, after much persistence, been induced to ac- 
 company his mother to the theater. Her pallor, her gray hair, 
 contrasted strongly with the red background. To see Roberto 
 recovered, cheerful, and happy; to think that their fortune was 
 no longer in danger, and to recall those evening strolls in El 
 
S. C. MATA 223 
 
 Sauzal when the future of Roberto and Ines seemed definitely 
 fixed, had diminished the expression of sadness and pain which 
 had impressed itself so strongly upon the old lady's features. 
 Sometimes even a flash of cheerfulness, a smile spread a tint 
 of pink over the pallid forehead. And on this particular night, 
 enlivened by the music, by those currents of pleasure and en- 
 thusiasm which ran through the numerous audience, she had 
 broken her habitual silence, had become talkative, and some- 
 what animated. 
 
 " I understand no other music than- the Italian," she was 
 saying to Bellegarde. " When I saw my first opera, on coming 
 to Bogota, nothing else was sung but Norma, Lucia, II Tro- 
 vatore, La Traviata, and my admiration, my affection have 
 remained attached to that music. It recalls to me the only 
 happy period of my life, and whenever I hear those selections, 
 those melodies, I seem to be living once more in the past, 
 which brings to life a dead world, and I feel young, I see 
 everything rose color, and I think that, after all, life is a 
 story which ends well." 
 
 " But, mother," rejoined Roberto, enchanted and relieved to 
 see her thus, her troubles forgotten, taking up these subjects 
 of art and music, contemplating that smile on his mother's lips 
 which a short while ago seemed to have forever fled. " But, 
 mother, you do not know Wagner, nor that suggestive orchestral 
 music which is the decoration, that landscape which unrolls 
 the scenes, those passions which sing in the human voice." 
 
 " My son, I am already too old to understand these mat- 
 ters. I do not comprehend how one can possibly translate 
 rocks, plains, the day, the night, solitude into chords, symphon- 
 ies." 
 
 "Why not? Listen now*, for instance, dearest mother, do 
 you hear this embalmed silence which floats above the dreams 
 of Aida, this tremolo of the flutes that makes you think of soli- 
 tude and peace ? " 
 
 " But since I do not see it, neither do I feel it. And since 
 this is so I do not believe that Wagner has invented anything 
 which Verdi has not equally expressed. Verdi I do under- 
 stand. If you only knew," she went on, casting a glance at both 
 Alejandro and Belegarde who were listening to her, "if you 
 
224 
 
 only knew how much in my time we used to weep with Traviata. 
 . . . How is it that Wagner has never made anybody weep 
 like that?" 
 
 The door was opened and Mata appeared. 
 
 " My lady, Roberto, dear Count," he said. " Did you see 
 that triumphal scene? And the gods? And Egypt? Did you 
 hear, did you understand this moonlight scene in C major? 
 That grandiose sentiment, the impetus of death, the repose in 
 the reunion of these ancient Egyptian gods, . . . that was 
 what inflamed my genius, it was that which grand old Verdi 
 has represented in his opera. . . . Oh, the Egyptian home- 
 sickness! Break the lyre, die jointly with the Sphinx! 
 
 " Ra veils there my dream, Ra the great god of the dominion, 
 That sleep of the mummy, of which Pliny tells us. 
 
 " And Keth, the divine cat, accompanies me also, 
 With her eyes of phosphorus and her demure smile. 
 
 " And cover me with shadow and the imperial idea 
 Of Patch, who with her leonine head grins, 
 And with the ox-like Apis, the most sacred of biutes. . . ." 
 
 " Thou art," said Roberto, " he who has eyes of phosphorus, 
 and who grins, the most sacred of brutes." 
 
 "Nobody understands me! Nobody understands me! " ex- 
 claimed Mata, and like a breath, with extravagant gestures, he 
 left the box. 
 
 The act was over. 
 
 In the midst of scenery, surrounded by a great tumult, 
 priests, soldiers, slaves were gathering in a corner the heathen 
 gods that had done duty at the triumph of Rhadames. There 
 remained the ox, Apis, right below the goddess Osiris. Patch 
 and Ra had been sunk to the regions below, together with 
 stacks of lotus flowers and ears of corn. Keth, the divine 
 cat, could be discovered amongst monoliths inscribed with 
 demotic characters. As the last of all there advanced across 
 the wooden floor the Sphinx, which then was placed together 
 with the gods in the dark nook where nobody cared about 
 them. 
 
 The high priests were smoking. The Ethiopian slaves were 
 emptying glasses of beer. The prisoners of war, with paste- 
 
S. C. MATA 225 
 
 board chains, were using improper language in Italian. In 
 the half-light, among a combination of noises, hammer blows, 
 thumping, chatter, commanding voices and the distant uproar 
 of the spectators, the stage hands, sweating, are coming, going, 
 shouting, hoisting with ropes pieces of linen or gauze, and 
 Egyptian columns. 
 
 The last act begins. The bell sounds. The first notes of 
 the orchestra are heard. Everybody returns to his seat. They 
 are awaiting with eagerness the moment when la Rondinelli will 
 appear again. The change of scenery takes place. The tem- 
 ple is shown enwrapped in a light which, coming down from a 
 mysterious height, falls upon the idol in the rear, bathes its head 
 and shoulders, and diminishes at last, being finally extinguished 
 in a bluish semi-obscurity, at the foot of the columns which 
 hide between the shadows of the crypt. Choruses of high 
 priests and of priestesses, moving in union intone before the 
 idol a primitive and monotonous chant, resembling a lullaby 
 before a cradle. 
 
 Then Rhadames appears. He is going to die, already sen- 
 tenced, entombed in the crypt. The warrior descends to the 
 cavern. He moves the stone. Rhadames remains buried. A 
 tragic clash with the cymbals, which falls and loses itself in 
 the profundities of the orchestra, as though it descended into 
 the darkness of the crypt. Then, a silence of fear, and one 
 feels Death passing. 
 
 During an intermission, like an echo of profound pain, like 
 an accent of irrevocable mourning, the violins in the middle 
 range played the prelude to the theme: 
 
 O, terra, addio! (Oh Earth, farewell!) 
 
 The lament spreads, rises to the temple, and dies at the 
 feet of the indifferent gods. 
 
 Up on high, in the light, the assembly chants the religious 
 lullaby. Down in the depths, in the shadows, Rhadames is 
 sobbing: "Addio, o voile di pianto" . . . (Farewell, O vale 
 of tears.) 
 
 Mata had applied another injection to himself. Those 
 mummy arms of his, " of which Pliny has told us," showed sev- 
 eral ulcers already. But he required at this moment all his cour- 
 age, for he meant to confess his passion to la Rondinelli. As 
 the act had already finished, she was in her tiny dressing- 
 
226 PAX 
 
 room, awaiting her call for the stage. She was alone, seated 
 near the bell. Her massive golden braids hung that night 
 over face and shoulders touched up with black and brown, and 
 her arms, too, were of a dusky hue, as well as neck, and face, 
 so that the whites of her eyes contrasted strangely. Her ordi- 
 narily expressionless glance, the humid and vague glance of 
 a cow, had at this instant, thanks to this contrast, an expres- 
 sion, a brilliancy which were quite startling. She was try- 
 ing before her looking-glass that gaze full of intense affection 
 which she meant to bestow on her lover as she entered the 
 crypt. Mata, in his madness, thought that this glance was 
 meant for him, clutched the soles of her feet, and seized her 
 hand, 
 
 " Pearl of Italy," he exclaimed in heart-rending accents, " I 
 love you ! " 
 
 " But / do not love you" said la Rondinelli, with a burst of 
 laughter. And then, seeing he did not let go of her hand, but 
 on the contrary covered it with kisses, she rose with a supercili- 
 ous look, her expression changed to veritable rage, and with 
 accent and gesture in which the ideal woman had entirely dis- 
 appeared, and the daughter of kings had become an ordinary 
 woman of the gutter, the woman from the purlieus of Venice, 
 she exclaimed: 
 
 " Via di qua! Get out of here! " 
 
 And just then the call boy appeared to warn her that the 
 time had come to make her entrance on the stage. 
 
 Rhadames, buried alive, awaited her in the crypt. She, 
 again with composed features, had assumed an expression of 
 sweetness, of resignation, of infinite affection, as she made her 
 way through the wings. 
 
 Just one moment later, at the same point where Aida had 
 entered, an arm began to show, and then a sharp detonation 
 was heard. 
 
 "What has broken? . . . What instrument has burst? . . . 
 What fell on the scenery? "... 
 
 Such were the questions asked by the audience. Some turned 
 their heads or searched the stage with their eyes. Nothing. . . . 
 And they turned once more absorbed to the final picture, to 
 the entrancing music. 
 
 The opera finished serenely, in full peace. Up above; in 
 
S. C. MATA 227 
 
 the full light of the temple, the religious ceremonies went on 
 imperturbably. Below, in the asphyxiating crypt, two human 
 beings were dying. 
 
 " My dear mother," said Roberto, addressing Dona Ana, 
 who was entranced by the music, " that duet is not a dialogue, 
 but an exchange of souls. . . . What economy and yet what 
 wealth ! Wagner never accomplished similar effects with means 
 so simple. Here the orchestra is neither the slave nor the 
 tyrant of the singer. It is what ought to be: his ally, his 
 friend, his sister." 
 
 There swept overhead through the wide space, like wounded 
 birds, reminiscences of the ancient songs of love and glory. 
 In the temple there continued those monotonous chants, a 
 somnolent monorhythm. In the depths the two lovers per- 
 ished slowly from lack of air. The music keeps on in its 
 quaking, trembling measure, full of dolorous effect, and those 
 two tunes, the religious cradle song up above, and the death 
 hymn in the sepulcher, are floating on and mingling, are 
 dying away in the profundities of the crypt. 
 
 Addio, oh terra; 
 
 Addio, oh valle di pianto. 
 
 Mata had believed that by committing suicide on the stage, 
 by this last addio, he would reach the sublime, the paroxysm of 
 the tragic. He thought that all the spectators would throw 
 themselves at his feet, pleading, sorrowing, waving their hats, 
 calling for help, offering him the tribute of their tears. He 
 had fancied that Ines would feel dismay in her box, while 
 Dolores would be sobbing aloud, and that la Rondinelli, 
 Rhadames, the high priests, the by-standers, forming a medley 
 of different epochs and garments, would crowd around those 
 bleeding remains of his, exclaiming, with amazement, anxiety, 
 and admiration, " Yes, it is Mata, ... it is Mata the Divine 
 ... his genius has been his death. . . ." 
 
 But instead of falling towards the right, towards the light, 
 in full view of the audience, he fell towards the left, in the semi- 
 obscurity of a narrow, unlighted passage, amid the scenery. 
 A scene shifter, being on the point of removing some piece, 
 thought that he had stumbled against some drunken fellow, 
 seized him by the feet, and without paying attention to the 
 
228 PAX 
 
 scarlet drops he left behind in his track, shoved him into a 
 dark corner, between the trumpets, the tinsel and the gods of the 
 show. The opera over, he left the theater vacant. A darkish 
 streamlet which filtered through the wings, the thin rays of 
 light that illuminated but dimly the pieces of scenery showing 
 the Nile, the desert, the Sphinx, was all that was left. The 
 Ox-God, Apis, the goddess Keth tricked out in corn spikes, 
 Patch with her catlike smile, they had between them a rigid 
 body, clutching hands, a still, pale face, a thin line of blood 
 which dripped from the shattered skull to the breast, a mouth 
 that was twisted into a grin of silent reproach, and an eye that 
 had been torn by the bullet from its socket and hung down 
 the greenish cheeks. . . . 
 
 Mata, the godlike, the incomprehensible and misunderstood 
 genius, thus concluded his longing for things Egyptian, and 
 slept his last sleep closa to the mute Sphinx. 
 
 They shall not put me within four rectangular boards, 
 Such as they put Christians in in their straight tombs; 
 
 Ra watches here over my sleep; Ra, the great god of dominion, 
 That long mummy sleep whereof Pliny tells us. 
 
 And me also accompanies Keth, divinest of cats 
 With her lambent eyes and demure smile. 
 
 I want my song to break my lyre, 
 
 Joined to the mute Sphinx that gazes . . . gazes . . . gazes. . . . 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 ALONDRA 
 
 CARRIAGE after carriage, their doors shining, fur skins spread 
 over their boxes, were rolling along the highroad that led to the 
 race-track. The ribbons of the ladies fluttered and shone, 
 and their pretty dresses hung over the open doors of the 
 vehicles. In the rays of the cheerful July sun the satins and 
 silks were resplendent, steeped in colors that looked as though 
 set aflame with brightness. Parties of horsemen having made 
 
ALONDRA 229 
 
 the pavement lively with the hoofbeats of their steeds, now 
 turned into the wide avenue. The tramways were crowded with 
 people of every walk of life. Wrapped in clouds of dust gilt by 
 the sunlight, amidst a perfect shower of ringing bells, the 
 rattle of harness, the creaking of thin boards, gay, noisy, 
 with bursts of laughter, there came advancing afoot a mighty 
 wave of people which seemed like an ant heap, which pushed 
 and spread in an overabundance of life and merriment. 
 
 Amongst a group of horsemen came Landaburo, erect, solemn, 
 magnificent, certain that the multitude kept their glances fast- 
 ened upon him, and approaching one of his intimates, he 
 said: 
 
 " We have made a mistake. We ought not to lose an op- 
 portunity to stir the imagination of the masses. One must 
 keep the throng under the charm of admiration. It is absolutely 
 necessary that one of us run a race to-day, that some one of our 
 party win the race of honor. I have been looking for one 
 who would better be able to score that success and triumph. 
 But I think I can do it. Let the multitude become convinced 
 that I can with equal facility, with equal dash, wield the 
 sword, the pen, the jockey whip. The Greeks and the Romans 
 did not disdain these games. . . . Yes, it is necessary that I 
 at all risks try my luck with El Condor, the horse which lately 
 has won nearly all races. And if I only can win with him, 
 our success is certain. It will be well to take proper steps 
 that there is afterwards, among the friends of the people, an 
 ovation, a great ovation." 
 
 And lowering his voice, he added in a tone of mystery: 
 
 " Friends, some day we shall show ourselves in different 
 guise, below triumphal arches, with the people at our feet, 
 and holding the hearts and the admiring looks of fair ladies." 
 
 The clatter of wheels and the roar of men and horses dead- 
 ened his words, and they reached only the ears of his intimate 
 friends. 
 
 In front there extended, as far as eye could reach, a file of 
 coaches and light carriages, on which the whips and hats of 
 the drivers were clearly perceptible. The drivers were decked 
 out in sashes of gay colors, amidst a big veil of dust that the 
 sun rendered luminous. There, in a handsome victoria, with 
 their peculiar mark of distinction, were Dona Ana and Dona 
 
230 PAX 
 
 Teresa, quite in black. And at their side, Ines, who wore a 
 dress of purple cloth, entirely without adornment of any kind, 
 but which in its extreme simplicity served to emphasize the 
 elegance of her figure. Before them, Roberto and Alejandro, 
 in a coach to which a team of spirited sorrel horses was 
 harnessed. 
 
 " Mon cher," said Alejandro to Roberto, while shortening 
 the reins, " I rejoice in my soul that you have presented 
 Alondra to Bellegarde, so that you could not be tempted to 
 drive her yourself." 
 
 " My mother was so worried by the idea that a race might 
 harm me, and she is so overjoyed that my health is mend- 
 ing. . . . 
 
 " And besides," rejoined Alejandro, with a roguish smile, 
 " it would not seem proper that a senator of the Republic 
 should occupy the curulean chair and the striped jacket of the 
 jockey at the same time." 
 
 " True, I am entered neither for those trotting matches nor 
 for the races." 
 
 Near them just then passed Bellegarde at a short gallop on 
 Alondra. To see the handsome mare so full of fire, so slender, 
 with her eye so bright, her ears quivering, with her haunches 
 so strong and those legs of steel, gave him a momentary shock. 
 
 " I have not made much of a sacrifice," remarked Roberto, 
 however, " in keeping myself quiet to-day, and Alondra will 
 probably suffer more than I! " 
 
 Suddenly there was a tumult. The coaches halted. The 
 dog-cart in which Gacharnah sat, trying to pass, was jamming 
 into other vehicles; the wheels were violently flung against other 
 wheels, and the cart upset. The horse became entangled in the 
 reins, broke the pole, and rushed on, pulling along the traces. 
 And in the confusion that followed the dandy arose, pale and 
 covered with dust, and accepted a seat in Alejandro's vehicle. 
 
 "Nothing!" 
 
 The multitude on foot, the coaches, the horses, all now in- 
 vaded the race grounds. The carriages began to form an im- 
 mense half-circle. The huge stand and the boxes became bril- 
 liant with the display of dresses and sunshades in bright colors. 
 Laughter, shouts of the bettors, clatter of stirrups, neighing of 
 horses, and, over all this, the deafening voice of Gonzalez 
 
ALONDRA 231 
 
 Mogollon, who ordered, directed, went up and went down, ap- 
 plauded, all in his capacity of manager of the fiesta, accord- 
 ing to the laconic statement on the ribbon which had been 
 fastened in the lapel of his walking coat, and which read: 
 
 " President of the Organization Committee of the Races 
 for the Benefit of the Teaching Hospital." 
 
 As he crossed the huge crowd, on his black mare Bellegarde 
 occasioned a murmur of approval. The people with their un- 
 failing instinct greeted in him the man full of audacity and 
 generosity who devoted his millions to the benefit of the coun- 
 try, to advance the progress of Colombia. Before his acts 
 suspicions had fled, the echoes of slander had been stilled, 
 and all at this moment retained in their memory only the 
 marvels of his energy, the blessings which everybody, rich and 
 poor, had begun to enjoy, and which, when his great work was 
 concluded, they would enjoy still more. 
 
 " For my taste," said Alejandro to Roberto, " the best about 
 a holiday like to-day is the rejoicing going on all about, the 
 total lack of cares and worry which I read in the faces that 
 surround us. In them one may read the contentment of yes- 
 terday, the security of to-morrow. It is the joie de vivre. 
 People who have to lie awake nights thinking of the means 
 wherewith to satisfy their necessities or their luxuries do not 
 wear such a look. This is the cheerfulness of peace. . . . How 
 is Sebastian getting along with his Latin jargon ? " 
 
 " I shall sow peace," replied Roberto, while he climbed 
 up to their box and kept his gaze fixed on the track, " and 
 later, the earth will give its fruits, the vine its grapes, and 
 heaven its dew.* 
 
 A trumpet call. The horses are led into the field, range 
 themselves, and start on a run. The field is alive with clamor. 
 Shouts of the betting crowd, protests, applause for the jockeys 
 proving themselves the most clever and expert. The horses 
 dwindle away, are now lost to view in the distance. They run 
 on, they grow in size, and again the field resounds with excited 
 shouts. Presently the anxious gestures of the lads are to be 
 seen, and towards the finish Petronio forges ahead, arrives 
 at the stake, runs on as far as the grand stand, and cries of 
 triumph or of displeasure are heard. 
 
 The jockey who has won, a little fellow of but fourteen, 
 
232 PAX 
 
 sitting bareback on Petronio, owned by Alejandro, allows the 
 horse to run a little ahead, then checks him gradually, and re- 
 turns at a trot to calm him down in front of the stand. Landa- 
 buro, having lost $500, threatens one of the losing jockeys, raises 
 his arms, gabbles nonsense, declaims against one of the judges, 
 says that his jockey has been bought, and then ascends to the 
 box where Alejandro is, amidst a flutter of ladies. 
 
 " Alejandro," he says, and his voice trembles with the wrath 
 of defeat, " here you have your five hundred pesos that you've 
 won of me. I hope they will do you good." 
 
 Without either answering or looking at Landaburo, Alejandro 
 called to the little fellow who came to the foot of the stand, 
 his cap shoved back and his black eyes rolling in his head 
 like balls of jet, thoroughly affrighted. 
 
 " Look here Perucho, General Landaburo makes you a pres- 
 ent of these reales." 
 
 Montellano's victoria appeared. Roberto hastened to wel- 
 come Dolores. He felt secret remorse, and he sought to ef- 
 face his guilt by an effusion of civilities and attentions. But 
 Dolores was reserved and cold. Roberto smiled slyly, observing 
 the effort on Lola's part to hide the joy which flashed from her 
 glance. 
 
 She had had a white dress made for herself like that which 
 Ines wore the day of the wedding, and Roberto, throwing a 
 glance at both the garment and the frown, said in a low voice, 
 while he took her to a seat near Ines : 
 
 " To-day you are all brightness in your costume, and all 
 darkness in hair and eyes." 
 
 Montellano's daughter at once became more cheerful. She 
 laughed frankly and heartily, so much so that Roberto's cousin, 
 usually indifferent, saluted her affectionately. 
 
 The elegant sporting men who passed continually up and 
 down before the grand stand, exchanging smiles with occupants 
 of the seats, were always wondering at the contrast between 
 these two styles of beauty: the dreamy eyes and the vagrant, 
 roguish eyes, the thoughtful forehead of the jessamine-hued 
 lady and the pinkish and playful brunette. But while Roberto, 
 with perfect equity, with a balanced fitness, was dividing his 
 gallantry and his coquetry alike between those two, the sound 
 
ALONDRA 233 
 
 of the trumpet was heard, announcing the start of the second 
 race: a silver cup was the prize. The horses came up to form 
 in line, snorting and neighing, and were placed in front. 
 
 Gacharnah, in the center of the track, seized the white flag, 
 had the horses form a straight line, cheered up the jockeys, ob- 
 served closely, bent down examining, advanced, retraced his 
 steps, with the demeanor of one who directs a serious com- 
 bat: 
 
 "One! Two! Three!" 
 
 He stood up straight, and the white flag dropped. The 
 horses shot ahead. 
 
 And again the earth shook. The multitude of those on 
 foot who took up the center of the circle, spread, scattered, 
 lengthened out, following with enthusiasm the turns of the race. 
 Some of them climbed up to the empty seats on the carriages. 
 Betting phrases were bandied about. One sorrel horse shot 
 ahead. The silence of nervous expectation reigned. Suddenly 
 the cry: 
 
 " Rayo wins." 
 
 During this space of time, in front of the stand, vendors 
 with baskets of apples and oranges passed up and down. 
 
 " The earth will give its fruits," said Roberto jestingly to 
 Ines. " Do you remember that afternoon? " 
 
 Dona Aura had them buy some apples for her. But biting 
 into one she felt with dismay one of her teeth break. 
 
 " It is not ripe," she exclaimed with displeasure, and threw 
 the apple away. 
 
 " But what surely is ripe is the tooth," murmured Roberto, 
 who was beside Ines and Dolores. 
 
 A dense mist that came pouring down from the foot of the 
 range of mountains, suddenly, with a puff of wind, enwrapped 
 the scene, spread over the whole field, made the parasols bob 
 up and down, whipped the faces, moistened the roofs of the 
 coaches, and obscured the white of the ladies' cloaks, of the 
 gowns, of the gloves, and darkened all those brilliant colors 
 with the gray gusts of wind which crossed each other like hand- 
 fuls of ashes. The squall broke the black clouds in spots, and 
 the blue of the sky smiled down between the light apertures on 
 the horizon, while within a few moments the heat of the 
 
234 PAX 
 
 sun removed the wet from the harness of the horses, from the 
 dancing leaves that had been torn from the trees and were 
 whirling around in a circle. 
 
 " The sky will give its dew," said Roberto humorously to 
 Alejandro, when the rain came. 
 
 But the shower passed quickly. All these juvenile faces 
 which had begun to purse their lips in a frown of fitful peevish- 
 ness, now smiled again. The whole landscape once more 
 shone with moist freshness. 
 
 Cheerfulness increases. It is reflected from all the faces. 
 The sun of late afternoon gilds the grass. It mirrors itself in 
 the polished coach doors. It glitters from the burnished metal 
 of the harness. It shines from the plumes and feathers 
 of the ladies' hats in the boxes, from the lenses of the 
 field glasses, from the branches and bouquets of flowers, from 
 the ribbons of the bonnets, even from the roses in the cheeks 
 made brilliant by recent emotions and by libations of cham- 
 pagne that when raised reflect the bubbling and effervescing 
 fluid with opalescent fire. 
 
 "What are we going to wager, Dolores? The next race is 
 due." 
 
 " Roberto, let us bet something," comes the voice of Dona 
 Aura. 
 
 " A gold pen which you will give me, against The Elm Tree 
 and the Ivy which is about to see the light." 
 
 " Done." 
 
 Dolores was unable to hide her pleasure when Roberto ap- 
 proached her, and as she smiled frankly she showed a row of 
 magnificent teeth. 
 
 " That which you yourself may indicate, Roberto. Pro- 
 pose something." 
 
 " Flowers against perfumes." 
 
 " Good, flowers against perfumes. And you, what do you 
 give, perfumes or flowers ? " 
 
 " Perfumes : against that red camellia which you have 
 there." 
 
 "This camellia? . . . No, . . . you yourself gave me that. 
 I will not risk it." 
 
 " Well, then, that rose." 
 
 " And it is from Castile, you know." 
 
ALONDRA 235 
 
 " Agreed. . . . But which is your horse? " 
 
 " Tell me yours first. . . . Wait." 
 
 And she let her glance wander along the row of horses in 
 order to choose amongst those that were trotting on the track, 
 near the point of starting. 
 
 " Mine," said Dolores, " is that white horse over there, 
 with the jockey in a red-and-blue striped jacket." 
 
 " And mine is Hamlet, that black horse yonder," rejoined 
 Roberto, and he turned towards Ines. 
 
 " Already picked your horse, Ines? I come about that bet." 
 
 With a slight smile of mystery, the dark meaning of which 
 an initiated person like Roberto might divine, she answered: 
 
 " I like that brown and rather insignificant looking horse, 
 with the jockey in gray." 
 
 " It is a poor horse, let me advise you." 
 
 " I don't care; I am fond of those colors." 
 
 " You always prefer the indefinable, the colors between, 
 don't you?" 
 
 " Do you think so? " said she, with a discreet smile. " That 
 explains to me why you envy me this white camellia." 
 
 " For you, then, white camellia, German sonatas, verses by 
 Sully-Prudhomme, jockeys in gray, misty landscapes by Corot, 
 and dresses in plain purple, such as you wear to-day." 
 
 " Look, Roberto, the horses are on the point of starting. 
 Which is the one you choose ? I want to see your taste. Some 
 caprice, I presume." 
 
 "Which do you think?" 
 
 "That black one?" 
 
 "Exactly. Anything queer about that?" 
 
 " But see, Roberto, they are already starting, and we have 
 not yet settled our bet. ..." 
 
 " Very well, that white camellia, then? " 
 
 " No, not the white camellia. . . ." 
 
 "Well, then?" . . . 
 
 " All right, the camellia, but painted in oil. ..." 
 
 " Splendid, but beside the painting, that branch of Alpine 
 violets. . . . And I will bet. . . . Perhaps the score of Aida? " 
 
 Without moving her lips she said " yes " with her eyes, 
 half-closing her eyelids with that languor peculiar to her. 
 
 " And in your case, mother dear," said Roberto, taking Dona 
 
236 PAX 
 
 Ana's hand, " I bet a kiss, and I'll pay you in advance." 
 And he imprinted a kiss on her black glove. 
 
 The three horses, the white one, the black and the brown, 
 which had disappeared in a dust cloud, now reappeared, speeded 
 along, followed the bend in the track. Then they were lost 
 for a brief while amongst the brambly fields, began to ap- 
 pear again, and were keeping the same line, without any one 
 of them being able to gain the slightest advantage over the 
 others. 
 
 There arose a great shout from all those throats: 
 
 " The white one ! ... he is gaining ! " 
 
 " They're already on the return trip ! " 
 
 Dolores blushed with emotion, and laughed with pleasure. 
 
 There was another shout: 
 
 " The brown horse! ... El Tordo is winning! "... 
 
 Ines took her glass to look. 
 
 Now they are coming. And the multitude suddenly ex- 
 claims : 
 
 "The black one! The black one! ... Fine! Well done! 
 . . . He has passed. . . . Three cheers for Hamlet! " 
 
 Then followed two races in which Gonzalez Mogollon awarded 
 a jockey in bronze and a harness trimmed with gold, " the Gon- 
 zalez Mogollon harness," as it was termed in the program, to 
 the winners. 
 
 Everybody was impatiently awaiting the Honor Race, in 
 which gentlemen were to participate. 
 
 The sun, now declining, threw wide shadows over the vast 
 plain, anointed with brushfuls of old gold the tops of the trees, 
 the upper rows of the grand stand. In the glass of the coach 
 lamps the light of the sun was thrown back like living flame. 
 
 A new roll of the drum. This was followed by the gay 
 strains of the military bands, and after a short silence a bell 
 was heard announcing the race: a trumpet call. 
 
 The Honor Race! 
 
 All hearts are beating with emotion. Among the gentle- 
 men there is much excitement, and plenty of movement up 
 on the stand and in the coaches. The ladies are assuming 
 more attentive attitudes so as to see better. Several put their 
 field glasses ready for use. 
 
 The horses that are to figure in this race begin to appear 
 
ALONDRA 237 
 
 on the track, with short leaps, animated by the music. The 
 grooms have no light task in leading them by the bridle. The 
 gentlemen riders are mounting amidst handclapping, cheers 
 and voices of encouragement that are heard from the stand. 
 
 There is now El Buitre on the track, a chestnut Arab, ca- 
 pricious, imperious, hard to control. He wishes to start, shak- 
 ing his head, lifting his neck with impatience on being checked 
 with the bridle, and in the struggle that follows between 
 rider and horse the arms of the latter are violently jerked. 
 
 Next comes El Huascar, a light silver gray, with sunken 
 flanks, shoulder bones protruding. In hisxexcitement he moves 
 the stump of his tail convulsively. 
 
 Now enters El Inca at a short trot, throwing his feet high. 
 He is hard to hold, but continually bites his bridle sidewise, 
 steps obliquely, and shows a great mind to throw himself against 
 the posts on the track. 
 
 "El Condor! El Condor!" a number are shouting when 
 they see enter with admirable grace, with muscles of steel, with 
 well-defined marks on his gray hide, a trotting-horse that 
 paws the ground and is full of vigor. A man on foot is 
 leading him slowly, while this swift, swan-like steed, fiery, 
 presses onward, turning restlessly around the arm which sub- 
 dues him with some trouble. 
 
 But the superb animal is without a rider, although the pre- 
 ceding horses are already trotting ahead fully equipped for 
 the track. 
 
 "Who is going to race the Condor?" all are asking with 
 curiosity. 
 
 This horse which had won so many races was certainly a 
 formidable adversary: to run against him, bet against him 
 without large odds, was almost worse than temerity. Until 
 this day no horse had been able to tear victory away from him. 
 
 And of a sudden, to everybody's surprise, Landaburo, at- 
 tired as jockey, presented himself, with his lustrous patent 
 leather boots, his white breeches smartly adjusted, a crimson 
 blouse and a red cap, probably to remind him of the raw 
 meat of the bivouac. 
 
 El Condor, on feeling the weight of his mount, rose on his 
 hind legs, attempted to run away, but Landaburo, affecting 
 the movements and gestures of an expert jockey, with the palm 
 
238 PAX 
 
 of his hand caressed the satin neck of the horse, and succeeded 
 in calming him in front of the grand stand. 
 
 " I know something about this," said Landaburo in his 
 sonorous voice that echoed with military glory. " I am rather 
 strong in athletic games and exercise. . . . Nero and many 
 other emperors of the Roman days enhanced their reputation 
 by taking part in sports like this. ... I shall win. I shall 
 triumph. I am going to ride the condor of the Andes. I have 
 formerly raced much." 
 
 " True, very true, general," remarked Roberto. 
 
 " Landaburo," said Dona Aura, " I have here ready for 
 you a crown of laurel and another of the sacred mistle- 
 toe." 
 
 In a burst of passion, taking Alejandro by surprise, as 
 well as the two girls, Roberto left the grand stand, went down 
 the stairs, and vanished in the crowd below. 
 
 Landaburo, already believing himself the victor, cast a 
 triumphant glance along the whole row of seats, over to the 
 track, upon the turf, on which the multitude was swarming, 
 and from among these there rose already sundry acclamations 
 proclaiming in advance the triumph of the Condor's bold rider. 
 
 "Three cheers for General Landaburo! " was heard. 
 
 His friends began to surround him, they shook hands with 
 him, and he, stooping down, whispered to them: 
 
 " All these people here are ready to applaud me as the 
 victor in this race, which I have no doubt I can win. Let 
 there be a few that will raise the cry: 'Long life to the in- 
 corruptible chief of the Revaluation cause.' >! 
 
 Suddenly Roberto, without any other distinctive mark but 
 his white cap, appeared on his black mare. 
 
 " It is Alondra! " exclaimed Dolores, filled with joy. 
 
 " Alejandro, for Heaven's sake," tremblingly cried Dona Ana, 
 " does Roberto mean to run in this race? " 
 
 " Yes, auntie, he is going to contest it with Landaburo. 
 He could not resist the temptation. We cannot stop him. 
 But it is a good thing, for the race will set him up." 
 
 Bellegarde having noticed Dona Ana's uneasiness came up to 
 her now, and said in his kind voice : 
 
 " Have no fear, Seriora, for Roberto is now in very good 
 
ALONDRA 239 
 
 health. It seemed a pity to me that the mare he presented 
 to me as a gift should not run in this race to-day." 
 
 Then he approached Ines, and Dolores remarked that, just 
 as on the night before at the theater, the bosom of her com- 
 panion heaved gently. 
 
 The mare which seemed to recognize her rider, gave signs of 
 affection and pleasure, held her head up high, where the 
 white star showed, and threw intelligent glances at the vast 
 crowd. 
 
 Dolores and Ines, interrupting a painful silence, spoke to 
 each other. 
 
 "Aren't you betting?" asked Dolores. 
 
 " We are." 
 
 "Which is your horse?" 
 
 " Tell me yours first." 
 
 And then both at the same time: 
 
 " I shall bet on Alondra." 
 
 The places were assigned and after enormous difficulties, the 
 horses, untameable and champing their bits, jerking up their 
 heads, swerving hither and thither, eager to start off too early, 
 were at last standing in file. Eyes full of fire, ears restless, they 
 danced nervously in their places, turning about the same point, 
 and waiting every instant for the order to start. 
 
 Alondra, accustomed to the circus, kept her post, and showed 
 with pride the elegance of her feminine slenderness, letting 
 her impatience be seen only by the inflation of her nostrils, 
 the trembling of her flanks, and the flash of her eyes. 
 
 Alejandro approached, and with his handkerchief he rubbed 
 rapidly the feet, the forelocks, and the chest of the handsome 
 beast. 
 
 " One! " counted Gacharnah. 
 
 And the horses gathered their strength for the event. 
 
 "Two!" 
 
 With an irresistible impulse El Condor made a false start, 
 and with great trouble was brought back again to his place. 
 
 The file of horses had to be rearranged. 
 
 New motions of impatience. 
 
 "One! . . . Two! . . ." 
 
 Gacharnah, fronting the horses, humps his shoulder, espies 
 
240 PAX 
 
 the instant in which^the heads of the horses are in line, and 
 watching closely his opportunity, he turns out of the way, drops 
 the flag, and says: 
 
 "Three!" 
 
 They are off like lightning. Again the earth trembles and 
 thunders. It is a hurricane in which every particle moves, 
 turns, and is swallowed up in the whole. 
 
 The horses fly, belly near the ground. The riders, standing 
 solely in their stirrups, stretch themselves at full length along 
 the neck of their mounts. The wind swells their blouses and 
 roars in their ears. 
 
 El Buitre, in four jumps, takes the lead. Roberto on his 
 Alondra remains behind. The whole group runs like demons, 
 devouring distance, following the line of the red stakes. Sud- 
 denly the Arab chestnut leaves the track, runs on in a straight 
 line, and in a giddy course arrives at a ditch, far away from 
 the circle, recovers herself, and makes a tremendous leap, her 
 rider being flung on the plain. 
 
 Those behind already begin to turn in on the home stretch. 
 The spectators follow the events with exclamations: 
 
 " Sol is getting ahead." 
 
 " Rifle is gaining." 
 
 " No, . . . Inca has passed him." 
 
 "Now it is Huascar! Thousand pesos on Huascar! Raise 
 the gavel! " 
 
 "Thousand pesos on Condor! He is running very fresh! " 
 
 " Alondra remains behind. She won't get there till day 
 after to-morrow." 
 
 The black mare, slipping along easily near the stakes marking 
 the limits of the track, at a mechanical and regular gallop, held 
 back by Roberto, does not seem to worry at all, despite being 
 in the rear. 
 
 Dolores and Ines feel discouraged in the midst of all this 
 enthusiasm and shouting. 
 
 Montellano, afoot, wildly gesticulating, completely engrossed 
 with a spectacle that is new to him, and profiting by the mo- 
 ment that seems to be safe for a bet, screams, looking at 
 Alejandro: 
 
 " Fifty pounds on Condor against Alondra! " 
 
ALONDRA 241 
 
 " I take you! " says Bellegarde quietly, without moving his 
 glass away from the track. 
 
 The attention and the interest paid the race was now con- 
 centrated upon Condor and Alondra, and upon their two 
 riders, Roberto and Landaburo. The multitude was divided 
 quite capriciously into two great parties, split up into smaller or 
 larger groups, and was cheering one or the other of its favorites. 
 They were heated to boiling point, and identified themselves 
 entirely with the triumph of one or the other. 
 
 And now, getting tremendous odds in wagers, the swan- 
 like horse, with Landaburo astride of it, was forging ahead 
 like a shot. 
 
 "The Condor!" was the cry from the throats of an im- 
 mense throng that already began to cluster around towards 
 the goal. 
 
 Dolores and Ines, hiding their emotions, felt neverthless, 
 greatly annoyed, as though these tokens of encouragement for 
 Landaburo were intended to offend them personally. In their 
 minds they made unexampled efforts for their hero's horse, 
 kept their eyes glued to the glass with which they eagerly con- 
 tinued scanning the distance, wishing to infuse new strength 
 into the limbs of the lagging mare. Dona Ana moved her 
 lips, with her gaze into space. 
 
 " El Condor! El Condor! " was the universal cry. 
 
 Landaburo has triumphed. Half the spectators are palpi- 
 tating with the intoxication of victory, while the other half have 
 become silent under the discouragement of defeat. 
 
 " Long life to Landaburo, the invincible, the matchless 
 chief! " some of the crowd are now vociferating. 
 
 Alejandro to Montellano: 
 
 " Five hundred dollars more on Alondra! " 
 
 " Done ! " says Montellano. 
 
 Meanwhile Alondra, feeling the bridle less strained, is 
 stretching her neck, lengthens her stride, thumps the ground 
 with greater vigor, shows more power in her thighs of steel. 
 
 "La Alondra!" all are now roaring. "She outdistances 
 Huascar! . . . She is passing Rifle! . . . She is gaining on 
 Inca! . . . She has passed him! . . . She is gaining on Con- 
 dor! ., ." 
 

 242 PAX 
 
 Now anxious silence everywhere. The black mare and the 
 swanlike horse are thundering ahead foot by foot, ear by ear. 
 All are holding their breath. It is a blissful anxiety, a pleas- 
 ure full of agony. It would almost seem as if these people, sur- 
 prised, are waiting for a catastrophe. There is now no out- 
 cry, no applause. Far away the field is resounding with the 
 noise of the struggle. The dull thunder of hoofbeats is grow- 
 ing apace in volume as it approaches more and more. The 
 eager breath of lungs pumping with a supreme effort can be 
 heard from a distance. Now and then the quick snap of the 
 whip may be noticed. The spectators grow pale. Their eyes 
 open wide, hands become crisp. Foreheads contract with ex- 
 treme tension. And more and more is to be distinguished the 
 powerful thumping of the speeding horses coming ever nearer. 
 Now they are coming.. . . Now they are already there . . . 
 and Condor and the black mare always neck and neck . . . 
 ear by ear, hoof by hoof. 
 
 Both groups of partizans have grown mute, and in the silence 
 of this multitude, electrified for the time, are plainly heard 
 the outcries of Landaburo, the lashing of his whip, with which 
 he desperately urges on the Condor of the Andes. 
 
 Roberto is coming on silently, quietly, extended along the 
 slender neck of the mare. 
 
 Ines and Dolores are bent over the railing in front of their 
 seats, holding back their breath. 
 
 " Alondra " cheers on Dolores, "Alondrita! . . . one more 
 leap . . . just one more effort, one more spurt! " 
 
 Bellegarde is cleaning off the dust from his monocle, and 
 with an air of perfect nonchalance he adjusts it anew in a 
 corner of his eye. 
 
 Alexander, serene, is adding up the figures in his note- 
 book. 
 
 Montellano, quite in a frenzy, is holding aloft his athletic 
 fists, and breaks out : 
 
 " Cursed Condor, get on, get on ! Make haste ! " 
 
 El Buitre, with a " tortoise in his belly," without a horseman 
 on top of him, is running up and down in front of the grand 
 stand. 
 
 Now they have almost made the goal. Condor has gained 
 
ALONDRA 243 
 
 the length of a head. Roberto rises in his stirrups, stretches 
 himself more flatly along the neck of his mare, taps her with 
 the palms of his hands, loosens the bridle, gives a little cry 
 of encouragement to her, and Alondra, in a new burst, in three 
 vigorous jumps, with a supreme effort, gains the lost space, 
 passes her rival, and amidst thunderous applause, arrives at 
 the goal, pursues her course for another short spell, displays her- 
 self to the delighted spectators on the grand stand, lifts her 
 head proudly, and seems to understand the glory of the strug- 
 gle she has made, and the pride of triumph. 
 
 There is a burst of music. Handkerchiefs are being waved 
 by the ladies. Thousands of arms are flourishing hats in the 
 air. Little gloved hands are applauding. The multitude on 
 the wide meadow are shrieking themselves hoarse. There rises 
 to the firmament one enormous shout of enthusiasm, one roar of 
 triumph and of joy. 
 
 "Viva La Alondra! . . . Viva Roberto Avila! " These 
 shouts sweep along the whole landscape, like an endless wave 
 of applause. 
 
 He climbs up the steps of the grand stand, amidst handclap- 
 ping, hugs, admiring glances. He smiles at them all, with 
 his colorless lips, still trembling, without air in his lungs. 
 
 " Roberto," exclaims Dona Aura, " I shall have you figure 
 in my fourth chapter." 
 
 Dolores and Ines both turn to him, rising. Gonzalez Mogol- 
 lon hands him the crown and the medal. All are making 
 room for the victor to pass. 
 
 Dolores, blushing with pleasure and pride, offers him the 
 crown. 
 
 And he, in an almost inaudible voice, says to her: 
 
 " Thanks, . . . and the rose ... the rose of Castile? " 
 
 Ines affixes the medal to his breast; a tricolored ribbon hangs 
 down from it. 
 
 " Merci bien, . . . and my violets ? " he asks. 
 
 Bellegarde offers him his hand with profound affection. 
 
 The march from Aida is being intoned with its triumphal 
 ring. 
 
 Dona Ana says to him, in a low voice: 
 
 " Are you not feeling well, my son? " 
 
244 PAX 
 
 " Yes, dear mother better than ever," he replies. 
 
 Then Bellegarde gives his arms to the old lady, and gets into 
 the coach with her. 
 
 The multitude hastens back to the city. The coaches, after 
 filing silently along the meadow, turn into the highroad and 
 roll on noisily. In the rear, amongst a throng of a thou- 
 sand horsemen, is Roberto, acclaimed by all. The horses, in- 
 fected by the general enthusiasm, describe elegant figures, 
 prance, champ their bits, snort and cover their harness with 
 flakes of froth. The ball of the sinking sun goes down amidst 
 plumes of scarlet. The atmosphere is bathed in rosy vapor. 
 The defile of the horsemen is wrapped in the splendors of an 
 apotheosis. 
 
 Landaburo, eaten up with envy, is nevertheless walking with 
 his accustomed pose. Hearing the merry clamor around Rob- 
 erto, he grins with a gesture of displeasure. He twists his beard 
 with fingers that are shaking with rage. And he attempts to 
 explain the reason of his defeat: 
 
 " The race was mine, but it happened that . . ." 
 
 And he added: 
 
 " Friends, Bogota is amusing herself. . . . But will these 
 rejoicings last? " 
 
 And again was heard the mysterious date of the revolution 
 which the chief was preparing: 
 
 " On the first of January . . . to-morrow at the bar of the 
 Senate . . . and afterwards the meeting." 
 
 The mass of horsemen, enveloped by clouds of dust, which the 
 last rays of the sun were gilding, went on at a gallop, entered 
 the streets, their glittering trappings emitting sparks, and the 
 clamor, the champing of bits, the neighing and snorting of all 
 these horses, the crack of the whips, the shock of the headgear, 
 mingled together until it became one sole thunder of noise that 
 resounded within the walls of the neighboring houses and ar- 
 rived like an alarm at the sleeping and distant suburbs. 
 
 The invited guests of the Sport Club sat down at the ban- 
 quet prepared in honor of the victor. Roberto was at the head 
 of the long table, and on either side of him Bellegarde, Ale- 
 jandro and General Ronderos. All around the table there is 
 merriment and shouting. 
 
 From the chandelier in the center of the hall, like triumphal 
 
ALONDRA 245 
 
 spoils, are hanging, tied with the whiplash of a jockey, the 
 white cap and the spurs of Roberto. 
 
 Towards the close of the banquet a servant takes up the 
 branch in the center, with the escutcheons of all those present, 
 and offers it to Roberto. The victor adds his own to it. The 
 servant is awaiting orders, and as he does so commentaries, 
 rumors, guesses are floating in the air, all made in a very low 
 voice, as for instance: 
 
 "For whom? For whom! I think I know." 
 
 " Yes, yes, we understand. . . . Does he send it to Ines? " 
 
 " Do you think so? Is it for Dolores? " 
 
 Somebody else exclaimed: 
 
 " Roberto, let us know. ... Is it for la Rondinelli ? " 
 
 " Yes, yes, for la Rondinelli! " somebody suggests. 
 
 But Roberto, turning towards the servant, says in a low and 
 tender voice: 
 
 " For my mother." 
 
 Ronderos seized a goblet of champagne, smiled with pleasure 
 out of his big gray mustaches, and rose. 
 
 " This is to my best friend, to Senator Avila, to you, Roberto, 
 my former companion in the war, my defender ever, my future 
 colleague in the cabinet! " 
 
 And all the guests after him: 
 
 "To Roberto, the victor! " 
 
 Montellano, animated by champagne, remarked: 
 
 " I am happy, and I no longer even remember my six hun- 
 dred dollars . . . ! That accursed Condor! " 
 
 Alejandro, moved to the depths of his soul, gazed at his 
 friend with the air of a brother, shook him vigorously by the 
 arm, and murmured: 
 
 " Roberto, this goblet must be drained to the last drop. I 
 feel that this triumph of yours is no ephemeral one. Let your 
 life from now on, until this hour an unsteady one, become 
 one of settled purpose. Go on to final happiness with a firm 
 tread. Spirit, will power, energy ! You have a political future 
 before you, together with wealth, general esteem, the affection- 
 ate regard of society, therefore laurels, the palm, the sword, 
 and youth. ... Ah, and that which is worth more still: the 
 love of two women! " 
 
246 PAX 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 EQUALITY 
 
 THE president of the Senate mounted the steps, sat down be- 
 low the baldachin of yellow silk, token of his dignity, took a 
 good look at the persons in the hall, at the steps in the front, 
 which were crowded with a restless multitude, threw a glance at 
 the clock, arranged some papers on his table, then bent down, 
 stretched out his hand, and seized the bell. In the session hall, 
 where the senators were about to occupy their seats, and in the 
 barred-off space where a great throng were swarming about, the 
 murmuring ceased. And in the midst of general expectation 
 the President said: 
 
 " Mr. Secretary, please call the roll ! " 
 
 " The honorable senators will please answer as their names 
 are called. . . . Alba, Avila, Benavides, Borja . . ." 
 
 The secretary, in the center of the hall, was calling off in a 
 sing-song voice, the alphabetical list of the senators, and these, 
 rising at their desks, or hurrying from the doors leading into the 
 hall, as soldiers would run where danger threatened, hastening 
 to meet the enemy, in this heated atmosphere, presaging a tem- 
 pest, would reply in accents sharp and aggressive, " Here ! 
 Present! " Just as though they hurled a challenge at the foe. 
 
 "There is a quorum present, Mr. President! " declared the 
 secretary then, getting on his legs for the purpose. 
 
 " The session is now opened," said Sanchez Mendez solemnly, 
 buttoning his coat, which was somewhat of a tight fit. 
 
 The secretary next, in a monotonous voice, read sundry docu- 
 ments of no importance, and this wearied the public, anxious 
 to get soon to the debate on the canalization contract. Sanchez 
 Mendez had at the first session of the Congress introduced a bill, 
 disapproving of the whole project, in order to oust Ronderos and 
 undermine the Government. 
 
 Then the journal of the last session was approved, the unfin- 
 ished business left for the presiding officers to attend to was 
 reported on, telegrams received were read. . . . Suddenly there 
 was a burst of applause from amongst the lobby. Alcon, in a 
 fearful perspiration, and wiping his bald head, had just come in. 
 
EQUALITY 247 
 
 " To-day's session is going to be decisive," observed Sanchez. 
 " If we have a majority, Ronderos is a dead man." 
 
 " Up to now," rejoined Alcon, " we are short. The Govern- 
 ment have eleven votes, and we have only ten." 
 
 " And Benavides? " said Sanchez anxiously, but without rais- 
 ing his voice. "Were you at his house? ... Is he not com- 
 ing? . . . We need him urgently." 
 
 " Things are bad. That is where I come from. I left to 
 Gonzalez Mogollon the task of making him get up from bed, and 
 dressing him. He will drag him here, living or dead." 
 
 Sanchez, in perplexity, was rubbing his beard with a dis- 
 turbed air. 
 
 Having cleared his forehead of its frown while gazing at the 
 senators, and raising a horse-laugh in the lobby by a jest, the 
 secretary next with a roguish accent began to read a long petition 
 from the inventor, Sanchez de Pefianegra, wherein that gentle- 
 man prayed for subventions in behalf of his contrivances, which 
 he claimed were poorly recompensed by the Government. 
 
 " With the sole object," this genius said, " of aiding the peo- 
 ple, the military men and the philosophers, I have invented, 
 planned and described things of undoubted utility, such as a 
 machine which I have named the Pefia Negra, and which is far 
 superior to the present steam, water, electric motors, etc. With 
 this machine modern locomotion can be entirely modified. . . . 
 Then, a machine for weighing the heavenly bodies. . . . An- 
 other to manufacture tablets of paste or pancakes, as well as a 
 palatable food out of the fruit of the guava tree, and greatly to 
 be preferred to those of Velez. . . . Next, a new process to 
 compress salt, and another to extract the by-products of hemp. 
 Again, a complete set of apparatus for the cultivation and the 
 rendering marketable of coffee and sugar cane, much better than 
 all those now in use. . . . One machine to extract the salt out of 
 the beet root. . . . Another to make guns without repercus- 
 sion. . . ." 
 
 " In charge of Senator Sandoval y Sabogal," said the Presi- 
 dent. 
 
 But now the secretary took a sheet of stamped paper, on which 
 there was writing in large characters, and in a solemn and vi- 
 brating voice he read, amidst complete silence and the breathless 
 attention of the public: 
 
248 PAX 
 
 "Order of the Day: 
 
 " For a second reading : 
 
 " Bill by which the contract of canalization and colonization, 
 with the assistance of the Minister of Finance, is disapproved." 
 
 There was a murmur of excitement amongst the public. 
 Some senators, who had been walking r,bout the passages, came 
 quickly in. Others, who up to now had seemed asleep in their 
 chairs, sat up suddenly. Alcon, who had stood beneath the bal- 
 dachin of the President, went back to his desk with a grave air, 
 and noticing that all eyes were upon him, drew out his key, lifted 
 the walnut lid, put his head in, seemed to be looking for some- 
 thing, took out a paper, and then, like a man who has made up 
 his mind and is in search of a victim, asked: 
 
 " Will the secretary please inform me whether the Minister 
 has yet put in an appearance? " 
 
 Alcon, seeing that his party could not win that day, intended 
 to have the debate postponed, and was going to have the order of 
 the day altered, because of the absence of the Minister, when 
 General Ronderos, opening a passage for himself through the 
 groups of men that greeted him respectfully, appeared under the 
 arches of the passage, reached the session hall, crossed the hall 
 with a firm step, and took a seat at a vacant desk, with his back 
 to a window. The light which, coming down from behind, 
 shone upon his gray hair and gave it a silvery halo, brought out 
 the lines of his face very strongly, deepened the corners of his 
 eyes, and made his martial features stand out clearly in lights 
 and shades. 
 
 The President ordered that the report of the commission ap- 
 pointed by him, and consisting of Alcon and Karlonoff , be read. 
 Alcon went up to the center of the hall, where he spoke in a low 
 voice with one of the senators. He inquired where he could 
 have some pages of the report copied. One of the clerks went 
 out hastily towards the office of the copying clerks, and Alcon 
 followed him. He passed quickly through the glass-covered 
 corridors, where a long row of overcoats was seen hanging along 
 the wall. He made his way through a dense crowd of lobby- 
 ists, and came to the empty hall which was adorned only by por- 
 traits of former presidents wearing the tricolored sash across the 
 chest. Passing through he threw stealthily a glance at these 
 tricolored sashes that had for him an irresistible attraction, and 
 
EQUALITY 249 
 
 then slipping through additional groups, with a mien of intense 
 preoccupation with most important business, and knitting his 
 brow, he crossed some more offices until he at last arrived at the 
 one reserved for the copying clerks. There he saw a dozen of 
 them writing away in haste, bent over their desks, engaged in 
 drawing up copies of the bill, of the report of the commission, in 
 letters traced beautifully in firm and careful lines. Alcon gath- 
 ered here hurriedly two sheets, returned the same way, and with 
 a certain affectation, feeling always the looks of the public fixed 
 on himself and his doings, handed these papers up to the sec- 
 retary's table. Then he passed near the shorthand reporters, 
 made a sign, as if to say, "Now, pay attention! " and thus 
 reached his seat once more, sat down comfortably, thrust his 
 beard into the hollow of his hand, and then seemed to be at his 
 ease, with the assurance of a man who is ready now to listen to 
 his own work, to relish his own phrases. There was a moment 
 of expectancy, and the whole of the audience, in the lobby, in 
 the different halls, in the passages, meanwhile were already dis- 
 cussing, whispering, gesticulating, winking to each other, with 
 signs of mystery, telling each other of astounding news, of terri- 
 ble revelations, which were contained i'n that voluminous report. 
 
 The secretary read it. It was a document in which there was 
 combined all the technical knowledge of the " chief of bridges 
 and highroads " with the astute legal lore of the former under- 
 secretary. And the phrases of ancient parliamentary usage, the 
 antiquated words of the one were mingled with the gallicisms 
 and the scientific barbarisms of the other. 
 
 " In conclusion, honorable senators, your commission has be- 
 come convinced, if it may be permitted to say so, in view of the 
 short time at its disposal, that the contract for the work of 
 canalization is a monstrosity, since notwithstanding that the 
 Government was authorized by Law No. 137, so many times 
 cited before, and there is mention made of dams and dykes, it 
 does not say that these are to be moveable dams, because of the 
 steep cuts in the mountain chain; and this fact being superim- 
 posed, and as by reason of that the whole contract is rendered 
 null and void, . . . ." 
 
 The report wound up with the following proposal: 
 
 " Dating from this second reading, the Senate disapproves of 
 the proposed contract of canalization and colonization." 
 
250 PAX 
 
 In the lobby one group that was led by Landaburo broke out 
 in applause at this juncture. But another group objected to 
 that. There were mutterings, confusion, and the President 
 seized the bell. But nobody paid any attention, and the uproar 
 was terrific. In the whole gallery, and upon the steps, the spec- 
 tators kept on stamping in a regular, rhythmic beat, and it was 
 just like a dull thunder in a storm. The voices, some hoarse 
 and rude, like the tones of an overworked organ, others shrill 
 and high, like those of flageolets, contended against each other 
 in that hatred-charged atmosphere of battle. 
 
 " Death to Ronderos! . . . Long life to him! ... Be still! 
 . . . Death to him! " 
 
 The president of the Senate, placid, allowed this scene to con- 
 tinue, but when the noise decreased, a violent ringing of his bell 
 was heard. And Sanchez, smiling hypocritically, remarked : 
 
 " The presiding officer begs the gentlemen in the lobby re- 
 spectfully to have the kindness to moderate their manifesta- 
 tions." 
 
 An applause of agreement greeted these words. 
 
 The secretary then read, in order to begin the combat: 
 
 " Article I. The contrast of canalization and colonization- is 
 disapproved in all its parts." 
 
 At this all looks turned to Ronderos, who remained serene, as 
 became a veteran in these struggles. For all those present the 
 disapproval bill was a political stroke, which was aimed at the 
 Cabinet, and which would mean its fall, if successful. Landa- 
 buro in the lobby directed the tumult, and waited only for the 
 end of the session, with the contract already defeated, in order to 
 receive Ronderos in the big plaza with a hostile demonstration. 
 And this projected demonstration, the first in a series to come, 
 was to be the first blow of the revolution, the first spark of the 
 fire. Alcon already saw disaster overtaking Roberto, his ab- 
 horred rival. With the whole enterprise dead, he and his would 
 be sacrificed. . . . Ah, and he rejoiced in advance, hoping that 
 the hour would come when he might be able to read to him that 
 paragraph which he himself had added to the outlined project: 
 " The deposit of one million francs which has been made in 
 behalf of the treasury, remains there in favor of the state, as also 
 do all the machinery and other property of the canalization 
 enterprise." 
 
EQUALITY 251 
 
 Karlonoff, who had affiliated anew with the opposition, since 
 he believed the cabinet tottering, obtained the floor to support 
 the report, and with his air of disdain and compassion toward 
 his ignorant adversaries and his smile of satisfaction with his 
 own wisdom, glad to feel that here need be no waste of statis- 
 tics, supported his motion by a speech in which there returned 
 all the old arguments already used in the ministry (under the 
 word " Canal," from the cyclopaedia) and in the columns of La 
 Integridad. 
 
 " But there is something more serious than all this, Mr. Presi- 
 dent," he said in conclusion, " we must also consider this ques- 
 tion from the point of view of national security." 
 
 And he halted for an instant, enamored of this phrase, know- 
 ing well that this feature would stir the lobby. 
 
 " Yes, yes, it is a national question! " shouted Landaburo. 
 
 " It is," continued Karlonoff with animation, turning his eyes 
 away from the rostrum of the presiding officer and towards the 
 lobby, " it is, as I have just remarked, a question of national 
 security. It is even more. The whole Latin race in America, 
 yes, the whole Latin race, gentlemen, is seriously menaced. 
 With this canalization project realized, we shall be invaded, 
 just as the Normans once invaded Gaul. In place of proposing 
 those pacts with companies from other continents, I should pro- 
 pose that, if canalization is really needed, if it be indispensable, 
 it be done by South Americans alone. I, as former editor of 
 the Military Album, and in consequence ex-officio member of 
 the whole American military press, address myself with these 
 present words not only to those who at this moment are within 
 reach of my voice, but to all the heads and officials of the Latin 
 republics, in order that we may unite and work to strengthen 
 the relations between the soldiers of sister nations, who have 
 identical origin, who in the future will have an equal destiny, 
 and who in fratricidal strife have been sheltered by the tents of 
 the same or of opposite camps, all of them nevertheless children 
 of the great Latin family. I propose, gentlemen, an idea which 
 occurs to this moment : if this canalization of the Magdalena is 
 absolutely necessary, then I propose that it be done by a com- 
 pany made up from Paraguay, Ecuador and Nicaragua, in such 
 a manner that these nations may come to know each other better, 
 and that this be the beginning of bonds of mutual esteem. It is 
 
252 PAX 
 
 not desirable that these nations should disagree and harm each 
 other, but on the contrary they should grow and consolidate 
 themselves for the benefit of all Latin America, and this, gen- 
 tlemen, stretches from the wastes of northern Mexico to the 
 desert table lands of Patagonia. To resume, gentlemen, no 
 canalization of the Magdalena! Let us be ready to support, 
 cost what may, this motto: ' South America for South Amer- 
 ica.' ' 
 
 Alcon did not want to speak. He did not desire to lose him- 
 self in discussions. The important point was the voting, and in 
 silence, from his seat, he let his glance travel all over the hall, 
 and with slight movements of his head he went on counting the 
 senators present and their stand on the question. He went up to 
 the baldachin under which Sanchez Mendez sat in high state. 
 
 " Write two lines to Benavides," he murmured. " He must 
 come, even if he should die of it." 
 
 Sanchez sent a new emissary to the house of the invalid, tell- 
 ing him that the fate of the Integros depended on him. 
 
 " How is Pinillos going to vote? " asked Sanchez then. 
 
 " You know that he is lame. But I have him at KarlonofP s 
 side and Karlonoff is going to make him rise for his vote in 
 time. . . . His vote is decisive." 
 
 Alcon nodded his head, but took over his eyeglasses a peep 
 at the senator whom they held ready in front. It was a little 
 man with an enormous bald head, with trembling limbs, of weak 
 constitution, his head sunk between his shoulders, an inane smile 
 on his lips, with a jaw like a goat, turbid eyes, eyes of an idiot 
 that were forever seeking the ceiling. This imbecile, victim of 
 a cerebral disease, had been elected without himself knowing 
 why, perhaps because of some transaction between two political 
 circles. He had himself taken to the sessions led by the hand. 
 When he entered the hall he did so tottering, and once in his 
 chair fell always back into his usual state of lethargy. When 
 he slept he would sob and sigh like a child who falls asleep 
 after crying a spell, and when the hour of voting arrived he 
 grew bewildered, smiled to right and left, stammered unintelli- 
 gible words, made signs to a neighbor to have him write his vote 
 down on the ballot, and finally, with a despairing effort, picked 
 up the slip of paper and voted without being aware of how and 
 on what. On other occasions he would mimic his colleague, 
 
EQUALITY 253 
 
 without understanding and without a will of his own, when he 
 saw that they rose from their seats, he would succeed in gaining 
 his feet, manage to keep standing an instant, while the secretary 
 counted the ballots, and then would let his shoulders drop again, 
 sink into his seat, like an idiot, looking dully into empty space. 
 
 Karlonoff concluded his speech, and satisfied with himself, 
 nodding his head and wearing his malicious smile, he went into 
 the corridors to continue there his arguments, to sum up his 
 invectives, and to utilize phrases which in the heat of his own 
 eloquence he had momentarily forgotten, being meanwhile the 
 recipient of congratulations and handshakes. 
 
 General Ronderos then had the floor, and in the midst of an 
 intense silence he rose with perfect calmness. In the lobby new 
 anxiety was noticeable, and a strong movement was made among 
 the curious to force an entrance into the hall. Those who by 
 hundreds had remained in the corridor, eager to listen, and to 
 gather in haste some of those telling and picturesque phrases 
 that had been cheered, pushed and crowded those that stood in 
 their way. On the flight of steps fronting the session hall necks 
 were craned, a large throng managed to gain an entrance, shov- 
 ing, closely packed, finding fault with those in front, so that the 
 uproar went on increasing for a time and a number of senators 
 raised their heads in alarm, as though afraid that suddenly they 
 might be swept along by the wave of half crazed people. In the 
 diplomatic box and in that of the reporters a whispering of curi- 
 osity began, so much so that the four stenographers in the middle 
 of the hall, pencil in hand, gaze fixed sidewise, and ready to 
 listen, were waiting. 
 
 Ronderos spoke in a natural tone of voice, and in simple and 
 clear terms explained the whole question with familiar knowl- 
 edge, keeping his exposition of it on territory where he stood 
 firm. Then he drew from his own statement of the case power- 
 ful arguments to destroy those of his adversaries, and without 
 losing his serenity and his impressiveness for a moment, he 
 showed clearly the legality and the rectitude that the Govern- 
 ment had observed throughout in conducting the business, con- 
 cluding by demonstrating the palpable advantages which the 
 nation was now enjoying from it all. 
 
 He enlivened his speech with fitting quotations, with perti- 
 nent illustrations, and with some rather crude soldier's phrases. 
 
254 PAX 
 
 " Nothing of what is now happening is a surprise to me," he 
 next continued, " and there come to my mind the words of a 
 great Spaniard, Mendizabal, to whom Spain owes a great deal of 
 her progress. * Amongst politicians the downfall of the great 
 tickles the small fry. The masses do not grow enthusiastic over 
 success, if it is represented by a single man. Collective vulgar- 
 ity tends always to maintain a level.' Having sprung from the 
 general level by merit alone, my importance, my distinction have 
 procured me only the hatred of my enemies. Those, my merits, 
 have raised me to a splendid position: Aliena invidia, esplen- 
 dentem. I shine by reason of the envy of others, as Titus 
 Livius says." 
 
 Towards the end of his speech, raising his voice and putting 
 more warmth both into his delivery and his glance, he turned 
 upon Alcon and Karlonoff, whom he had hitherto not men- 
 tioned. He began to sum up his arguments and his rejoinder, 
 and to disqualify the campaign made against himself and to 
 rob it of all its assumed aspect of patriotism and justice, he 
 launched into a tremendous attack on Sanchez Mendez. He 
 discharged the whole force of his bitter, cutting words upon the 
 head of the president of the Senate. 
 
 These two, he said, Karlonoff and Alcon, knew as eye wit- 
 nesses about the facts, with what scrupulous care this question 
 had been studied by his department. But he would not waste 
 time in disproving their arguments. These had been analyzed, 
 aye, pulverized already, during the first reading and debate on 
 the bill. He preferred this time to face the leader, the real 
 person responsible for these present attacks (and at these words 
 he turned toward the spot where was seated Sanchez Mendez, 
 who cowered at this, folded his hands on the table in front of 
 him, and pretended to read some papers on it), the chief of the 
 Integros, who under pretext of an administrative question had 
 stirred up this political campaign in which the whole govern- 
 ment was being assailed, and in doing so was furnishing 
 strength and arms to the revolution, thus occasioning the first 
 alarms and the inspiration to a disastrous war. But he himself, 
 he went on in his terrific arraignment, while still at the head of 
 the government, would steadily pursue the same course, would 
 try to prevent such a national calamity, would conjure all, would 
 take upon himself all hatred, defying the wrath of his open 
 
EQUALITY 255 
 
 enemies, such as Cardoso, as well as of those who fought from 
 ambush like Karlonoff and Alcon, of the deserters, such as the 
 president of the Senate. 
 
 " If I am unable to find more moderate words," the General 
 exclaimed, striking his hand heavily upon the desk, " it is be- 
 cause I am conscious of the great responsibility resting with me 
 at the present time. Was he not of those who, ten years prior, 
 had helped construct that constitution which had given peace to 
 the Republic during the past decade? Was not he who now is 
 my adversary my colleague in the cabinet, he who since has 
 become a partizan of the so-called Revaluation? I shall not 
 detain you recalling to your memory the causes of his political 
 ruin. But it will be remembered that since that time, without 
 better advice than to cause destruction, without other incentive 
 than his unholy ambition, he has turned against his own 
 achievements, his own ideals, and has made an alliance with 
 his enemies of yesterday, with my enemies of forever. ... Ah, 
 once he had lost his place in the cabinet, he did not resign him- 
 self to obscurity, and has always, out of the most odious mo- 
 tives, by means of the most improper alliances, attempted to 
 become again a prominent figure. ..." 
 
 Sanchez Mendez had withdrawn towards the rear, seeking 
 the darkness which the ample folds of the curtains on the bal- 
 dachin afforded him. But his excitement could be noticed from 
 the nervous trembling of his hands, when, to affect indifference 
 and preoccupation, he took off his eyeglasses, played with them, 
 twirled them in his fingers. But on hearing these last phrases, 
 he changed color, and croaked : 
 
 " Mr. Minister, I must call your highness to order." 
 
 "To order! . . . Yes, to order! " scornfully retorted General 
 Ronderos, livid with indignation, while in the lobby harsh voices 
 were bawling: "To order! To order!" . . . Landaburo's 
 rude organ could be easily distinguished amongst these. 
 
 A redoublement of these interjections in the lobby went on 
 like rolling thunder. Arms were up in the air. The spectators 
 pushed and crowded each other. Challenges were heard. The 
 flight of wooden stairs where hundreds were in a solid mass, 
 creaked ominously as though about to give way. 
 
 The orator on his part, when these interruptions hailed on 
 him, turned his face towards the front, in a line with the Presi- 
 
256 PAX 
 
 dent's seat. The light streaming in from the window, striking 
 him from afar, brought out clearly the features of his energetic 
 face, the large, bony forehead, the thick eyebrows, the curve of 
 his nose, the bristling mustache, cut short at the lips, the salient 
 jaw, the whole of that countenance which revealed a dominating 
 soul, predestined for command and strife. Even the manner of 
 raising his head, which became erect and leaned towards the 
 back, had an imperious air, a martial one, a gesture of challeng- 
 ing the world, as if in that heated atmosphere, before that hostile 
 lobby, he felt himself to be on a battlefield, facing the enemy. 
 
 " And you are pleased to call me to order? " he exclaimed. 
 " On the contrary, it is I really who ought to call your excel- 
 lency to order, because in imposing silence on me you are going 
 beyond the limits of your functions. If you wish to defend 
 yourself, you have but to call upon the vice-president of the 
 Senate, invest him temporarily with your authority, come down 
 from your platform, and reply as simple senator to the charges 
 I am bringing against you. Now is the time for me to speak, 
 and I shall speak, in spite of you. For months and months, 
 I have been attacked in twenty periodicals, I have been assailed 
 in every tone and by every means, and I have kept silent. Al- 
 though I might have suspended those libelous sheets, I have 
 refrained from doing so. Therefore I have waited impatiently 
 for this hour, this hour when, face to face, before the whole na- 
 tion, we should have a decisive duel. And now that the day has 
 come, instead of replying to me, to oppose reason with reason, 
 all that Sefior Sanchez Mendez can find to do is to profit by his 
 ephemeral authority and to attempt to impose silence on me. In 
 this decisive moment one of us two must conquer. , . . He or 
 I! ... The nation will judge. . . ." 
 
 And he looked about him, along the hall itself, then turned to 
 the right and threw a comprehensive glance at the lobby, which 
 now listened to him with attention, and continued: 
 
 " The chief of the Integros could not resign himself to live in 
 -the shade. His qualities and his defects explain at the same 
 time his defeats and his ambitions. Capricious Nature has 
 fashioned the clay of this temperament in such a manner as to 
 include more than a mere noble name. But she has not finished 
 any one of all her sketches, but left everything in an incomplete 
 state. Several features, several touches more, and he would 
 
EQUALITY 257 
 
 have been what he desired to be, a complete, extraordinary man. 
 But as it is, unfinished, he is only an extravagant and perni- 
 cious figure. At one and the same time fickle and obstinate, 
 self-willed and weak, impassioned to the point of frenzy in pur- 
 suing objects which by turn he idolizes and destroys, adoring 
 to-day the gods whom to-morrow he curses, he has spent his life 
 in retracing all paths and betraying all ambitions, stirring all 
 kinds of conflagrations, and pursuing the inconstancy of his 
 fixed ideas through every camp. . . . 
 
 " And this former believer in authority, the passionate cham- 
 pion of constitutional liberty, who in days gone by strongly op- 
 posed mere agitators, is to-day a powerful auxiliary for the 
 revolutionaries, all the more useful as he still hides under the 
 appearance and the name of his former doctrines. The accusa- 
 tions of the agitators acquire thereby a semblance of truth, 
 something like the impartial verdict of history, when they receive 
 unction at the hands of this false high priest. After the treble 
 melancholy bred by disaster, age, and abandonment by others, he 
 has lived to see popularity turning once more towards him, 
 prodigally lavishing those endearments on him which the par- 
 tizans of the opposition have in store for renegades. And all 
 the Volscians impatient to assail Rome lift up in triumph this 
 ruined Coriolanus. . . ." 
 
 In the lobby, on the row of the journalists, among the swarm- 
 ing multitude filling the passages, invading the hall itself up to 
 the desks of the senators, while Ronderos himself now sat down, 
 broke out a thunder of applause, and following that the roar of 
 rage from the enemies hoarse, broken voices, voices that 
 issued from dry throats. From amongst this multitude of men 
 in the grip of political passion, there came threats, insults, 
 charges, vociferations, all aimed at the minister who had just 
 resumed his place against Bellegarde, against Avila and 
 Borja, a storm of angry recriminations which the president of 
 the Senate permitted to rage on at the risk of a bloody conflict 
 in the lobby. At last, seizing the bell with an apparent rush of 
 fear, and giving the act the appearance of impartiality and fair- 
 ness, he called the lobby to order, and, recognizing in him their 
 real leader, they became at once mute. A number of senators 
 approached the Minister to shake hands with him, and General 
 Ronderos then went out into the corridor to take the air, and 
 
258 PAX 
 
 while some there cheered him loudly, he strolled up and down, 
 perspiration rolling down his forehead, in a state of agitation, 
 breathing hard. 
 
 Alcon went up to the president's seat, standing on the steps 
 leading up, leaning against the table, and conferring with San- 
 chez, profiting from the prevailing confusion that brought a 
 temporary truce. 
 
 " This is not a question of speeches but of votes," said San- 
 chez in a dull voice, his features decomposed and his hands 
 trembling. 
 
 " True, but they have the majority." 
 
 "And Benavides?" 
 
 " Benavides is not coming. He is dying." 
 
 " They will beat us by two votes." 
 
 A new emissary was sent to ascertain whether the dying man 
 would come. 
 
 " I am going to adjourn the session," said Sanchez Mendez. 
 " Let us postpone the vote till to-morrow." 
 
 " That will not do," observed Alcon. " To-morrow General 
 Torralba is going to arrive. He is to support Ronderos, and 
 Karlonoff will have to withdraw, for he is his substitute. Let 
 us not defer the vote." 
 
 And in his perplexity the president of the Senate, interrupt- 
 ing the general conversation that had ensued, announced : 
 
 " The session will be continued." 
 
 Silence returned. Alejandro obtained the floor. After his 
 speeches on the occasion of the first debate, and after the one 
 Ronderos had just made, he did not choose to enter into any 
 discussion involving the basis of the whole matter, but his pres- 
 ent object was merely to make a statement of a personal charac- 
 ter, in the name of himself and Senator Avila. 
 
 Everybody was listening with close attention, because it was 
 known that he as well as Roberto Avila had invested in the 
 canalization scheme the bulk of their funds and risked a great 
 fortune. 
 
 " We are soon going to put this matter to a vote," added Ale- 
 jandro, " according to all appearances. The friends of General 
 Ronderos are in the majority. ..." 
 
 " It is certain," exclaimed Karlonoff, " that you beat us in 
 numbers." 
 
EQUALITY 259 
 
 "Very well," Alejandro went on; "let us state that in this 
 decisive debate Sefior Avila and myself declare ourselves spon- 
 taneously disqualified. We have a voice, but no vote. By our 
 own choice, we declare the minority. The vote therefore will be 
 lost to General Ronderos, but he requires here only votes of full 
 value. Our adversaries only count votes, while we weigh 
 them." 
 
 And after a brief eulogy pronounced by him in behalf of 
 Ronderos, and his patriotism, he went over to the side of Ro- 
 berto, and jointly they turned to go. Ronderos stretched out his 
 hand to Alejandro: 
 
 " Yes, this will be a defeat that honors us," he said. 
 
 Karlonoff slipped over between the desks, and whispered to 
 Sanchez : 
 
 " Then we have the majority. . . . We shall crush them by 
 the tactics employed at Waterloo, that consisted in . . ." 
 
 But before a technical explanation could unfold itself, the 
 president of the Senate remarked drily, without making a pause 
 between the two sentences: 
 
 " The debate will now be closed. It is closed." 
 
 The secretary read anew the paragraph in the bill by which 
 the contract was declared disavowed: those words, read in a 
 raised voice, vibrant, and having a sinister sonority, sounded 
 like a court sentence. 
 
 Sanchez Mendez was recovering his vigor, seeing now tri- 
 umph secure, and asked: 
 
 " Does the Senate approve of the paragraph just read? " 
 
 There was a rising in the rows of desks. 
 
 " Yes, there is approval." 
 
 " Let the vote be verified," said Karlonoff, who wished to 
 relish the victory just scored. 
 
 " Those in the affirmative will please rise on their feet." 
 
 Alcon gave the signal, rose, and behind him all the enemies 
 of Ronderos followed his example. The secretary counted the 
 vote. 
 
 " One . . . two . . . three . . . six . . . eight . . . nine . . . 
 and . . ." 
 
 Pinillos, on being elbowed by Karlonoff, stupidly looked on 
 both sides, smiled, grunted, and got up all a-tremble. 
 
 " Ten," added the secretary. 
 
260 PAX 
 
 In the lobby, on the galleries, some applause was heard, and 
 Landaburo, rising in the tumult, shouted: 
 
 " Bravo! Death to the Minister! " 
 
 Following a touch on the bell the President, in a voice trem- 
 bling with excitement, and full of joy, said: 
 
 " Those who are in favor of the negative." 
 
 The other side had risen slowly, keeping a calm look in face 
 of their defeat. The secretary began to count them : 
 
 " One! . . . Two! . . . Four! . . . Seven . . . eight . . . 
 nine . . ." 
 
 Pinillos turned in his seat and opened his eyes, and in the 
 belief that another test had been made, and always smiling with 
 his imbecile beatitude, rose once more. The secretary halted 
 a moment, but then declared again: 
 
 "Ten!" 
 
 " Even vote. . . ." 
 
 " No, no, . . ." 
 
 After the feverish tension of the spirits, seeing that the irre- 
 sponsible paralytic had equalized the vote, defeated it, held up 
 the final decision and added a comic note to the drama, the 
 public burst out in roars of laughter, laughter that shook the 
 ceiling. 
 
 With this grotesque incident that Pinillos had furnished, after 
 a tension lasting for hours, cheerfulness suddenly was reestab- 
 lished in the minds of- those present. From the lobby, from the 
 press seats, there rained cat calls, witty sayings, jokes, all of 
 which Pinillos did not understand, although they made him 
 smile again, perfectly happy, feeling himself the center of all 
 the looks, the goal of all the smiles of the others. Only Alcon 
 and Karlonoff did not smile. They on the contrary threw him 
 black looks, and made signs to him that he had acted very 
 foolishly. The imbecile on his part, glancing around and see- 
 ing on the one hand the lobby which was still laughing and on 
 the other the senators who were recovering from the fit, from 
 being happy became a most bewildered creature, bursting first 
 into another volley of hysterical laughter, and then broke out 
 in a flood of tears, just like a child that settles down to a good 
 cry. 
 
 Sanchez Mendez, knitting his brow into a frown, and with 
 that air of an Asiatic despot assumed by him since the first mo- 
 
EQUALITY 261 
 
 ment they had made him president of the Senate, threw upon 
 the tumultuous crowd a glance of penetrating anger, then 
 grasped the bell in a rage, and as soon as the whispering had 
 ceased, the boisterous laughter had been stilled, he said in a 
 tone of command: 
 
 " The presiding officers have resolved to take steps for the 
 rectification of the vote just taken." 
 
 Alcon and Karlonoff understood his maneuver at once. They 
 placed themselves in the seats next to the paralytic, and glued 
 their eyes to his. The latter instantly began to tremble, without 
 knowing what he was to do. But then he vaguely remembered 
 that he had gotten up from his seat at the wrong time. When 
 the members adverse to the contract stood up, Pinillos remained 
 seated. When, on the other hand, the friends of Ronderos rose, 
 Pinillos acted in the like manner. He was huddled in his chair 
 and did not budge. The voting, therefore, again resulted in 
 both sides being of equal strength, and this was announced 
 amidst a violent ringing of the bell, Sanchez being still in a 
 towering rage. Bursts of laughter broke out anew on every 
 side. But the President could not make up his mind to admit 
 the battle lost. Seeing, therefore, that Pinillos had two watch- 
 ers by his seat, he resolved to make the secretary interrogate the 
 imbecile, as to whether his " vote had been negative or affirma- 
 tive," and when thus asked Karlonoff and Alcon bent over him 
 and murmured to him, both at the same time : 
 
 " Affirmative." 
 
 Pinillos appeared to have an instant of lucidity, smiled, made 
 a gesture as if asking pardon of the President, evidently mean- 
 ing to inquire of Sanchez if he should comply with the request. 
 Then all became silent. And Pinillos, with a supreme effort, 
 bathed in perspiration, with contracted lips, so that his teeth 
 became visible, managed to unfetter his goat-like jaws, and with 
 a guttural bellow succeeded in saying, while he shook from head 
 to foot: 
 
 ". . . ative!" 
 
 Not laughter merely, but thunders of applause greeted this 
 manifestation, and Pinillos, smiling with joy, satisfied with his 
 achievement, thought he had at last done the proper thing, and 
 so, seeing that many of his colleagues now rose from their seats, 
 and that they went out to chat or smoke, and to be at their ease, 
 
262 PAX 
 
 concluded he would do the same. So he also, supported by the 
 arm of one of the employees of the Senate, made his way to the 
 outside, found himself in the corridors, where he took quite seri- 
 ously the felicitations that were heaped on him in passing. 
 And believing that the session was now adjourned, he arrived 
 in the vestibule, where his eyes met the long file of overcoats and 
 umbrellas against the wall, took at random a hat from the nail, 
 and crossing the different halls, came at last to the inner court 
 which had been invaded by new crowds of people. 
 
 General Ronderos was strolling about, enjoying a smoke, in 
 one of the halls where the politicians, in groups, under the scru- 
 tinizing eyes of a number of portraits, were discussing and com- 
 menting on the events of the day, especially the problem pre- 
 sented by the unexpected equality of votes, the probability of 
 triumph for the one or the other party, and how to break this 
 unstable equilibrium. 
 
 At that minute there arrived a post office employee, and 
 handed a telegram to Ronderos, which read as follows: " Very 
 urgent. ... I follow immediately by express train', to occupy 
 my seat in the Senate. Very cordially, Torralba." And the 
 friends of Ronderos on being apprised of the near arrival of 
 Torralba, began at once to calculate: Will he be here this 
 afternoon? Will he succeed in deciding the balloting? . . . 
 
 Eight days before, Torralba, a nonagenarian, had acceded to 
 the requests of his friends who, seeing the struggle bound to 
 come, had asked him to leave his retirement to rush to the 
 defense of Ronderos, not alone with his vote, but also with the 
 prestige of his name, with the authority imposed by virtue of a 
 life without stain, consecrated in former days to the service of 
 the republic. His name had been signed to three successive 
 constitutions; during his long life he had exercised a powerful 
 influence on national politics, and he had furthermore the 
 weight of his extreme age. It seemed as though his white hair 
 shone with the glow of the sun lighting Colombia herself. 
 
 Sanchez Mendez, Alcon, Karlonoff and others conferred to- 
 gether in the adjoining hall, in a nook of the window. Should 
 they adjourn or suspend the session? What turn would this 
 affair now take ? What did parliamentary strategy counsel in a 
 case like the present? Should they not send anew to Bena- 
 vides? This situation, this equality of votes could not last. 
 
EQUALITY 263 
 
 But there arrived just that instant a messenger from Gonzalez 
 Mogollon, quite out of breath, because he had been obliged to 
 carve by force a way for himself through the multitude that 
 filled the anterooms and corridors, the stairs, the passageways 
 of the capitol. He announced that Benavides was going to be 
 there almost immediately. There had been a regular combat. 
 The sick man had refused, declaring that he was too weak to 
 come, and the family, too, had with tears and outcries protested 
 against his being torn from a sickbed. But Gonzalez Mogollon 
 had proved too obstinate for them, had employed force in dress- 
 ing the invalid, in spite of two failures during which the dying 
 man had once more taken to his bed, and he had finally suc- 
 ceeded in conveying him in a sedan chair. . . . 
 
 " Here he comes! . . . We are saved! . . . We are going to 
 prolong the session; it is only a question of time! . . . Let 
 some one talk! . . . Let that ignoramus Sordo make a long 
 speech! " 
 
 And upon instructions from Sanchez Mendez, Alcon ap- 
 proached Sordo, a wealthy estate owner who was in politics for 
 the first time. A few years before he had been living in a 
 poor way, owner of an unproductive wood, when a peon of his 
 had discovered, quite by accident, China bark in that forest of 
 his. Sordo then, without in the least understanding the whole 
 business, had become rich, had acquired the reputation of an 
 able man, of a consummate financier, likewise become corre- 
 spondent of all the banks in the country, and was now consid- 
 ered a personage of unquestionable competence in all fiscal mat- 
 ters. Senator Sordo, whose name fitted him exactly, for he was 
 horribly deaf, understood how to utilize his defective sense of 
 hearing, for when he gave incoherent answers people would at- 
 tribute it to his cunning so as not to be caught by captious 
 questions. Alcon approached him, while Sanchez Mendez 
 again occupied his post upon the raised platform, rang the bell, 
 and announced that the discussion of the bill would be at once 
 resumed, since the last vote had not resulted in a legitimate 
 issue. 
 
 " You do the talking," Alcon contrived to let Sordo know by 
 signs. 
 
 And the latter, who believed himself to be indispensable and 
 who really fancied that his criticisms were listened to, his rea- 
 
264 PAX 
 
 sonings appreciated, rose and obtained the floor. In a color- 
 less voice, in a hoarse bawling, thumping his desk so sonor- 
 ously that only he himself could not hear the echoes of it, he 
 started a speech in which he scarcely ever touched as much as 
 the rim of the subject matter he pretended to discuss. He 
 spoke of his childhood spent in a village, of his former poverty, 
 of quinine, of his honor, his credit, his fortune, a thing very 
 far removed from politics, and then, infuriated by these reminis- 
 cences, he let loose on all governments in the world, on the poets 
 (whom he particularly abominated), on learned men, on elec- 
 tions, announced that he would reject his salary as senator; 
 then he maintained the impurity of all elections, and of suf- 
 frage in general, observed that for the first time in the whole 
 world an honorable man (he himself) had been chosen, and that 
 this meant a new era, because now politics and governments 
 would be directed by practical men, men used to work, men 
 without books, without education, but with money and with good 
 intentions. 
 
 His fellow-members in the senate, feeling themselves attacked, 
 nevertheless did not mind him, he being a plain, rough man. 
 So they let him talk while they looked with misgivings at the 
 clock. The people in the lobby, knowing that Sordo was inor- 
 dinately fond of applause, made the gesture of applause, opened 
 their mouths in silence, and opened and joined their hands, but 
 without clapping them, and he, Sordo, with his deafness, imag- 
 ining that words of loud acclaim were filling the hall, and that 
 handclappings and cheers were thundering in it, never suspect- 
 ing that not a sound was in reality emitted, would smile with 
 satisfaction, would salute the public with great pleasure, just 
 like rope-dancers do after executing a perilous feat, and would 
 conclude with his favorite phrase: "This country is being 
 ruined by wiseacres and priests. . . . We need above all prac- 
 tical men, so that ..." 
 
 But the finale to his address was this time throttled by the 
 big, rough voice of Gonzalez, who, across the adjoining halls, 
 was announcing himself, in tones of increasing volume : 
 
 " Here I am bringing him. . . . Although the man is dying ! 
 . . . We shall win! ... I am attending to everything ... I 
 surmount every difficulty! " 
 
 The enemies of Ronderos were almost out of their senses with 
 
EQUALITY 265 
 
 joy that reenforcements were arriving for the definitive assault. 
 Amidst general excitement they saw the sedan chair being car- 
 ried almost as far as the desks, saw the small door of the vehicle 
 being opened, and a livid face appear at the opening, with two 
 eyes that glowed with fever, saw Benavides being carried out, 
 wrapped in mufflers, coughing, grumbling, and at last being 
 buried in a chair near the President's platform. 
 
 Landaburo in the lobby took care that the people whom he led 
 should salute him with a storm of greetings. 
 
 " Three cheers for the Integra! . . . Longjife for the patriot 
 who would rather die at the foot of his flag! " 
 
 It was now four o'clock. The sun of the hot afternoon en- 
 tered the hall with a reddish splendor, and its rays added to the 
 breathless atmosphere new waves of heat. The air was oppres- 
 sive, charged with passions, and in the whole precinct of the 
 Senate there reigned a sultry closeness presaging a tempest. 
 
 Alcon seeing victory assured, although it was the usual hour 
 of adjournment, moved up to the table in the center, bent over 
 the green cloth covering the table, hurriedly made a communica- 
 tion, which when the secretary came to read it a moment later 
 sounded like a challenge : 
 
 " The Senate constitutes itself in permanent session." 
 
 Rapidly the President put the matter to discussion, and or- 
 dered that it be voted upon. 
 
 Again Alejandro and Roberto abstained from voting, and the 
 result, including the votes of Benavides, gave victory to the band 
 hostile to Ronderos. The battle was won for the Integros, lost 
 for the cabinet. 
 
 Seeing victory insured, and afraid that Benavides might faint 
 before the final vote, Karlonoff made his way to the central table, 
 and amidst a silence in which only the hurried breathing of the 
 sick man could be heard, handed up another motion, namely: 
 
 " The Senate considers itself sufficiently informed, and pro- 
 ceeds to disapprove the contract on canalization." 
 
 There spoke next several senators, both for and against the 
 matter, and in their speeches allowed their patriotism, their rec- 
 titude, the elevation of their views clearly to be perceived. They 
 treated the matter from every point of view, from all its aspects, 
 with a torrent of erudition, of law, and of talent. 
 
 These eminent orators, these distinguished senators, concluded 
 
266 PAX 
 
 by making it plain that under no circumstances could they 
 agree to haste in a business of such gravity, nor to disturb the 
 calm of the Senate. 
 
 But Sanchez Mendez and his men, without listening to these 
 reasons, resolved to profit from the favorable circumstances ob- 
 taining, and to administer the deadly blow by proceeding with 
 the act invalidating the contract. Thus Sanchez M,endez, while 
 the last speech was still being delivered, exclaimed in a solemn 
 and decisive voice: 
 
 " The discussion is going to be closed. . . . There re- 
 mains . . ." 
 
 " I demand the floor," interrupted Roberto, speaking from the 
 arches which gave entrance to the hall, quickly flinging away a 
 cigarette, and passing up towards his seat. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 OBSTRUCTION 
 
 WHEN it became known that General Torralba would arrive 
 that evening, the friends of Ronderos determined to gain time, 
 even if a desperate effort should be required. Karlonoff, who 
 was his substitute, would then have to absent himself from the 
 Senate, and the majority be shifted in favor of Ronderos. It 
 was no longer a mere question of defending or saving the con- 
 tract, but of sparing the upright old general, the noble patriot, 
 the disgrace of a censure and depriving his antagonists of the 
 pleasure of vanquishing him. It was, above all, a political 
 question now, victory or ruin for a cabinet which had done its 
 utmost to avoid war and internal troubles. 
 
 " What is being done now, Mr. Secretary? " asked Alcon, who 
 was perfectly aware of the state of affairs, but wished to see 
 business in the Senate resumed so as to have the matter in hand 
 done with. 
 
 The secretary, although fatigued from so many hours of con- 
 tinuous work, replied nevertheless in his customary sonorous 
 voice, reading the text of the written motion: 
 
 " The Senate considers itself sufficiently enlightened and pro- 
 ceeds . . etc. , . ." 
 
OBSTRUCTION 267 
 
 Sanchez Mendez, with a gesture of annoyance, looked to the 
 right and left of him, seeking a means of preventing Roberto 
 from speaking; but not discovering any feasible method of help- 
 ing him out of his predicament, bent his head, and then, out of 
 humor, threw himself back in his chair. 
 
 " You have the floor," he then said to Roberto, curtly, " but I 
 must request the honorable Senator to be brief." 
 
 Roberto then began his speech. He spoke slowly, gravely, 
 but in his eyes, on his lips, there was playing a spark of irony, a 
 jocular smile, while he indulged at length in an exordium. He 
 started out with the declaration, that in accord with his friend 
 Alejandro, he would abstain from casting a vote, but that he 
 believed it would be expedient and proper to elucidate a number 
 of points on the subject of canalization of rivers, points which 
 ^perhaps had not been taken sufficiently into account. It had 
 been claimed that the Senate had been sufficiently enlightened. 
 But he scarcely thought so. Alcon, Karlonoff, all the enemies 
 of Ronderos changed their position on hearing this, and moved 
 in their seats, impatiently, protesting in low voices against this 
 statement. What? They were on the point of closing the de- 
 bate. Evening was approaching, and they had had four solid 
 hours of continuous session in this stifling atmosphere. And 
 now, when they were about to take the decisive vote on the mat- 
 ter, a new discussion was being announced, a long speech, 
 merely for the purpose of delay, solely in order to wear them out, 
 to exasperate them, now that the other side was unable to defeat 
 them. . . But Roberto, for one hour, for two hours, with an 
 even voice, with a secret pleasure on noticing the impatience of 
 his adversaries, went on with his elaborate dissertation in which 
 he touched on nearly all the big rivers in the world, the gener- 
 ators of civilization, the parents of industry, and with perfect 
 calm spoke of the mysterious Ganges, then passed on to the 
 Nile and its fecund delta, and next to the Rhone River, which 
 furnished him with a bright example of progress as developed 
 by a river. 
 
 " To the question! " exclaimed the President, and in his re- 
 mark could be distinctly felt his ill dissimulated rage, the wrath 
 of disappointed hopes. 
 
 " I am illustrating the question," retorted Roberto with equa- 
 nimity. " The President will admit that I am touching on new 
 
268 PAX 
 
 points which are wrapped up in the motion that we are discuss- 
 ing now." And then he continued: 
 
 " Yes, honorable senators, on this review of facts connected 
 with all the canalized rivers, and those which may be canalized 
 hereafter, we must not forget the Rhone River, which has been 
 a forerunner and exemplar of the history of civilization of 
 western Europe. In order to throw new light on this discus- 
 sion, I trust you will agree with me that it is not only useful 
 and to the purpose, but absolutely indispensable to outline the 
 biography of this water highway, one that carries such vast 
 masses of water and serves so many important aims. And when 
 I employ the word biography, I consider the term one that may 
 fitly be applied. For it is easily demonstrable that a river is an 
 organism, a living being, which considered both from the view- 
 point of space and time, from the geographical reach of its 
 course, and in fulfilling its historical task, with an apparent 
 expenditure of will power and intelligence, reproduces all the 
 vicissitudes of human life. The Rhone, so infused with the im- 
 portance of its mission, as tireless as the Nile itself, and like the 
 latter a builder of fertile land, a propagator of ideas and a 
 cradle of various races, gathers up the heritage of the Greco- 
 Egyptian river, and when the Nile ends its existence, the Gallo- 
 Roman river still continues its life in the service of Progress." 
 
 " No more rivers! " . . . " We want the vote! " now shouted 
 Landaburo from the lobby. 
 
 " The Rhone is the child of its works and the creator of its 
 own subject territory," Roberto went on undisturbed. " When 
 I, a few years ago, strolled through those regions, the thought 
 occurred to me that the whole of the immense valley which it 
 waters cities, meadows, vineyards all, all, is the fruit of 
 those fecundating waters. The grand monuments of architec- 
 ture which mirror themselves in its surface, the ampitheaters of 
 Orange, the tombs of Aries, and the palaces of Avignon, were 
 made out of rock fragments that the river many centuries ago tore 
 from the mountains it came from, boulders and rock which the 
 Rhone next rolled along towards regions in the south which 
 afterwards it bound up with the life of humanity, in order that 
 in the end these very rocks should be converted into huge build- 
 ing stones which in their turn would breath history and would 
 guard the soul of the nations and the record of the centuries." 
 
OBSTRUCTION 269 
 
 In clearly and soberly enunciating these sentences Roberto 
 scanned with a humorous smile the faces of his opponents who, 
 buried in their seats, let their eyes wander over the outlines of 
 the cornices, the blue arched ceiling, the nude walls, bare as 
 those in a Protestant house of worship. They accepted with a 
 mute anger all these literary tirades, tirades which in them- 
 selves were so innocent and harmless, and the placidity of 
 whose workmanship contrasted so strongly with the acerbity of 
 the moment, so that they almost seemed a personal affront, an 
 exasperating jest. 
 
 " Please confine yourself to the question under discussion," 
 said Sanchez, while his hand reached out with a certain threat- 
 ening movement, in the direction of his bell. " I request the 
 honorable Senator once again to be sparing in his remarks." 
 
 " Put the Jockey-Senator out! " howled Landaburo from the 
 lobby. 
 
 " We have so far considered this servant of mankind," con- 
 tinued Robert, losing not the smallest particle of his equanimity, 
 " under but one aspect. And now, for the purpose of analogy 
 with our own stupendous Magdalena River, and to elucidate 
 sufficiently this whole problem, we must look at it from another 
 point of view, from that of the actual course it pursues. All I 
 have said, and all I am going to add to make the matter plain, 
 connects in the most direct manner with the question of canaliza- 
 tion, and as this most important phase of the business has not 
 yet been considered at all, the Senate will thank me for treating 
 it extensively. . . . The President has already perceived that if 
 I enter into this aspect of the case it is because neither the 
 learned Doctor Alcon, nor any other authority so far heard 
 and I know that nobody will or can deny this statement has 
 at all paid any attention to it. Nor can the whole matter be 
 rendered sufficiently plain without going into it." And Roberto 
 smilingly proceeded: 
 
 " Thus it would appear that Nature herself foresaw the des- 
 tinies of those two great waterways, the Magdalena and the 
 Rhone. The Rhone is born high up among the eternal glaciers, 
 runs along through a triumphal avenue of tall obelisks of ice, 
 leaps and dallies all around the rocks, bounds forward in cas- 
 cades, is lulled to sleep in the quiet nooks of the valleys below, 
 and shows all the enthusiasm, the caprices, the cheerfulness and 
 
270 PAX 
 
 the enchanting uselessness of infancy. Then it advances a bit, 
 and arrives before the walls of Geneva, cuts through the lake, 
 encounters the pure waters of another river, and the volume of 
 both streams join and for some time follow the same course, in 
 the same bed, without mingling, the pellucid waves of the one 
 current not losing themselves by piercing the muddy waves of 
 the other. But in the end they do mix, become perturbed and 
 impregnated with ooze, in which fact may be seen a symbol of 
 the eternal combat and of the inevitable defeat in which the 
 virginal souls are worsted by the impure souls. ..." 
 
 " Benavides is fainting, about to die, . . . and there's no end 
 to this speech ! . . . Victory is escaping me ! ... The thing is 
 dragging on! " . . . This was what Sanchez Mendez was think- 
 ing to himself, while everybody else would have thought him 
 asleep, if it had not been for the shaking of his hunched shoul- 
 ders and the nervous clutch of his hands grasping the handle of 
 his bell, ready to ring it again in a frenzy of impatience. 
 
 " This is becoming unbearable! " muttered Karlonoff. 
 
 "This is never going to finish! " exclaimed Alcon, while he 
 was closely watching the almost lifeless Benavides, who had 
 dropped in a faint upon his desk. 
 
 But just then Landaburo got reenforcement in the person of 
 Socarraz, who at the head of a noisy band roughly made his 
 way into the lobby. 
 
 And in the midst of the hot breath of fierce hatreds the 
 brandy-flavored voice of Socarraz rose: 
 
 " Down with all the thieves of the canalization project! " 
 
 Roberto distinguished in the shadows of the lobby the face of 
 Socarraz, smiled to himself, and without being the least dis- 
 turbed by the incident continued in his speech. 
 
 " On its arrival at Lyon, this river, so abounding in its re- 
 sources, just as does our own Magdalena when it has reached 
 the Salto de Honda, changes completely its habits, its physiog- 
 nomy. The child becomes a man. The Rhone now under- 
 stands its real mission. It strikes out determinedly on its 
 straight path to the sea. A useful life begins now for this river 
 which enters upon a period of enjoyment and of labor. The 
 river begins to show on its bosom vessels of every size and kind, 
 and it shares in the industrial activity of the cities on its shores, 
 and devotes itself to the agricultural toil of those same fields 
 
OBSTRUCTION 271 
 
 which the river itself has formed with its fruitful fertilizing 
 mud, mingled with the sands it has hurled along for great dis- 
 tances in the course of centuries." 
 
 " Silence! Silence! " bellowed the menacing voices of Socar- 
 raz and his followers. 
 
 Roberto looked the brawling throng in the face, waited quietly 
 till the noise began to subside, and then went on again : 
 
 " And in thus developing its destiny into one of useful labor, 
 one adequate to its nature, the Rhone acquires and manifests 
 all its splendor, its majesty, and its beauty. Already its course 
 runs through shadows, winds around islands, embraces with 
 languid arms forests and meadows, and then flows in a straight 
 line through a clear canal, reflecting on its way the azure of the 
 sky, absorbing the serenity of the mornings, and in hiding at 
 last in the sea it gleams with the ardent sun of Provence. ..." 
 
 The irritation, the anxiety of the adversaries went on increas- 
 ing, and at intervals there arrived from afar the roar and shout- 
 ings of throngs somewhere within the legislative building, the 
 crackling of fireworks. 
 
 The shades of early evening began to invade the senatorial 
 hall. The walnut of the wainscoting and of the desks looked 
 already quite black. Everything took on blurred outlines. The 
 masses of spectators in the lobby formed a shapeless dark accu- 
 mulation. Beneath the heavy silk curtains of the platform 
 where the President sat enthroned, the obscurity became pal- 
 pable. And in the rear of them the eyeglasses worn by Sanchez 
 glittered like the pupils of a wild beast in its cave. Roberto's 
 voice sounded more and more feeble, and he asked for a glass 
 of water. He himself, feeling tired, began to wonder whether 
 his strength would last until the moment of General Torralba's 
 arrival. Would he come? . . . Would perhaps that last re- 
 source in which he himself was exhausting himself prove use- 
 less? During a short pause he asked Alejandro: 
 
 " Have you recognized Don Melchor? " 
 
 "De Avilay Castillo?" 
 
 " No, the other one." 
 
 "Alcon?" 
 
 " Neither." 
 
 And he continued, moistening his lips: 
 
 " The river, reflecting the most varied landscapes, . . ." 
 
272 PAX 
 
 "No more about landscapes! " came the chorus of protests 
 from the lobby. 
 
 " The most varied landscapes," broke out the orator again, 
 " mimicking the wonders of Nature . . ." 
 
 A redoublement of thumpings on the benches near the steps 
 of the flight of stairs leading out of the hall in front drowned 
 the speaker's voice. But Roberto did not interrupt his speech. 
 The storm of noises, however, gained in volume, until it re- 
 sembled the rumblings of thunder. Allowing the storm to spend 
 itself harmlessly, Roberto crossed his arms over his bosom, and 
 then went on exactly where he had stopped: 
 
 " Mimicking the wonders of Nature and of history : White 
 cities in the Dauphiny, darksome villages in the Cevennes, Ro- 
 man ruins, theaters, colossal remnants of former imperial edi- 
 fices devoted to gladitorial contests, ancient tombs; huge towers 
 of the Midele Ages that once were frowning from the brink of 
 mighty precipices, Gothic cathedrals that bless its waters as they 
 flow past. And this river that rushes from Geneva to Avignon, 
 from the glacial, Protestant Rome to the poetical papal Rome, 
 portraying with pleasure all the arts, conveying all ideas and 
 beliefs, and which dies majestically at Aries, the latter at one 
 time being the rival of Byzantium and almost the center of that 
 wide world where ruled the Caesars. ..." 
 
 " Vote! Vote! " shouted a number of hoarse voices from the 
 passages. Roberto drew out his handkerchief and wiped his 
 moist forehead. 
 
 "Let him follow the dying river!" howled some others, 
 laughing. "Let him also sail on! ... As far as the ocean! 
 . . . Hurry, hurry! " 
 
 " We want the vote! " the chorus in the gallery was howling 
 back. 
 
 " It is necessary to consider the nature of this river from other 
 points of view," said the speaker. . . . 
 
 "No! . . . No!" clamored others from out of the semi- 
 obscurity of the session chamber. 
 
 " Yes, . . . yes, ... let him continue," replied still other 
 voices from the lobby, who were amused by this ceaseless bel- 
 lowing. 
 
 " It is already night," exclaimed Alcon in a nervous flutter, 
 while he still held the pulse of Benavides in his hand. 
 
OBSTRUCTION 273 
 
 As though this remark had suggested new images to Roberto, 
 he went on afresh with his speech : 
 
 " I have, honorable Senators, I have seen the Rhone dying 
 where it nears its mouth, and it is there that I have observed it 
 resemble most closely our Magdalena when emptying into the 
 ocean most. That river which has nourished the splendid for- 
 ests of centuries' growth, is now in its death throes on a miser- 
 able bed of bitter marshes, of sterile and heated sandy soil. 
 Only the tamarisk, amidst all this poverty, that squalor and 
 heat, brings forth pallid flowers, so pallid that they appear like 
 a powder of sea salt deposited upon its trembling branches. 
 The heavy waters of those dead lagoons show gray reflections, 
 and towards sundown the yellow melancholy of the autumnal 
 evening. And in all that vast scene there is no living motion 
 to be seen save the fugitive shadows of the clouds, nor in that 
 immense silence any sound but the sea storms or else the dull 
 resonance of a village church bell which there, far away on the 
 horizon, seems to double itself, booming out the agony of the 
 Rhone, of that once powerful river which thus finds an inglori- 
 ous end of its existence. And one feels there the peace of 
 death, the death of an ancient toiler, who once again restores 
 to the elements those forces which Nature endowed him 
 with. . . ." 
 
 In the midst of the silence in which the hurried breathing of 
 Benavides alone was audible, for he like the Rhone seemed to be 
 dying, there was heard, far away, the whistling of a train. 
 "Ah! Torralba! . . ." "At last!" 
 
 Such exclamations ran along the benches and seats. A push- 
 ing and shoving could be noticed among the spectators. All 
 craned their necks to see better. Everybody looked at his neigh- 
 bor. The shadows were deepening, and all fell to whispering 
 their surmises, their impressions, interrogating each other. 
 
 Some were laughing, others were breathing hard, and the 
 whole hall finally resounded with the roar of the entire multi- 
 tude. Quite a number shrieked with anger. It was like a 
 tempest. 
 
 " We want a vote ! " Landaburo shouted over all the noise, 
 in a fearful rage, from the lobby. " No more insipid literature ! 
 Get to a vote! " 
 
 " No more chaff! To the harvest! " some others vociferated. 
 
274 PAX 
 
 " Straw and corn," said Roberto, making a pun, and glancing 
 at the lobby, " straw and grain, there is of both for the jockey- 
 generals who constantly interrupt me." 
 
 " Vote! " bawled the hundreds of rough fellows whom Socar- 
 raz had brought with him. "Vote!" And with their feet 
 they once more set up a tremendous drumming on the floor and 
 tables. 
 
 " I now intend to show, leaving other considerations, the in- 
 fluence this matter has on commerce," said Roberto, trying to 
 dominate his fatigue, which, nevertheless, was gaining on him. 
 " And I meet there with a coincidence which in itself might 
 seem puerile but which in my opinion is of the greatest impor- 
 tance," he went on. "I am now going to mention a name which 
 is linked to the future of Colombia, to the prosperity of her in- 
 dustry, and also attached to the life of the Rhone, and to the 
 industries which it unfolds and nourishes. Let it not be said 
 that I go outside the question which at present is under discus- 
 sion. I am swayed solely by the wish to enlighten the Senate 
 on this matter from every possible side, and to have the Senate 
 convinced that even slight coincidences and almost superfluities 
 serve to point out that Providence herself would lift up the torch 
 of enlightenment in order to influence the mind of the Senate. 
 One moment more of attention only, just a few additional 
 words, and I shall conclude my speech. From its birth to its 
 mouth of the Rhone produces in its course the most powerful 
 element of motive force existing in France. The industry of 
 Geneva takes from it in passing 600 horsepower, and it is 
 scarcely noticed by the river that it has been bled to that ex- 
 tent. A short distance farther it moves 8000 turbines in 
 Bellegarde. In Bellegarde, gentlemen! . . . I cannot help call- 
 ing this fact to your mind. This name is united to the Mag- 
 dalena, it is linked with the prosperity of our country, with 
 that of the city whose name I just had occasion to recall; 
 with the Rhone, with the future, the wealth of a happy nation. 
 And Bellegarde, that town which is lit up by electric light 
 through the energy of the waves, is the type of the city of 
 the future. The day is not far when the other cities rising 
 along the shores of the Rhone will imitate that example, as 
 also our Magdalena will be the master and at its own time 
 the servant of that whole district, the dispenser of the energy, 
 
OBSTRUCTION 275 
 
 of the life movement, in those regions which it will dominate. 
 And soon will come the hour when the workers, the humble peo- 
 ple, aided by that colossal force, electricity, will say to those 
 beneficent rivers the words which the Egyptian toiled addresses 
 to Father Nile: ' Thou driest the tears of our eyes.' ' 
 
 A great tumult in the passages was heard just then, a mur- 
 mur in the lobby, which drowned Roberto's voice. 
 
 " Torralba. . . . General Tor-ralba. ... He is already com- 
 ing! " 
 
 The noise went on increasing, until the mass of people 
 standing under the arches at the entrance parted in two wings, 
 and in the intervening free space, leaning on a strong staff, with 
 carriage erect, appeared the ancient military chief of the Grana- 
 dine Confederation. In the dusk of early evening were only 
 distinguishable a pale face, a white beard that flowed over his 
 chest. All, even his enemies, rose to their feet out of respect, 
 while the old man, thudding the carpet with his staff, found 
 his way towards a vacant seat. The secretary, likewise stand- 
 ing, formally announced the presence of General Torralba. 
 Roberto had concluded his speech, satisfied with his success. 
 Torralba came to occupy the place of Karlonoff, and Sanchez, 
 although boiling with rage, rose at the old warrior's approach, 
 seeing that now, with Karlonoff going out and Torralba com- 
 ing in, there was a majority for General Ronderos. All now 
 stood up. The oath was administered to Torralba, and the 
 voting was proceeded with. 
 
 The law which the enemies of Ronderos had framed to ruin 
 him, became inoperative by reason of an unexpected incident. 
 The group of the Integros and the partisans of Landaburo let 
 loose on their adversaries in loud abuse, and in the corridors, 
 on the stairs, wherever the crowd was pouring, like a stream 
 of burning and destructive lava, shouts were heard of voices 
 made hoarse by fervent hate: 
 
 " Death to Torralba! . . Death to General Ronderos 1 " 
 
276 PAX 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 A TELEGRAM IN CHIFFRE 
 
 THE sky rockets went on crackling and bursting; and 
 they were answered by others, going up at divers points of the 
 city. It was the signal agreed upon, the sinister campaign 
 spreading from suburb to suburb, calling the people to meet- 
 ings, to risings, to insurrection. The last sunbeams of the 
 late afternoon illuminated the great square, shed their dying 
 light upon the hostile multitude that were gathering in crowds, 
 demonstrating and humming like a beehive. 
 
 On the appearance of Ronderos and Torralba on the porch 
 of the Capitol, a tempest of whistles, of threatening roars burst 
 forth. 
 
 " Death to the thieves ! " 
 
 " Down with Ronderos! " 
 
 And this name of Ronderos which the agitators had taught 
 the populace to abhor, by the magical effects of this hatred, let 
 loose veritable hurricanes of abuse, of wrath, of inexplicable 
 rage, of savage furor. 
 
 Socarraz lurched forward, and raised his hand against the 
 object of all that outburst of feeling. Chispas, however, had 
 closely followed the aggressor, and gave him such a terrific blow 
 with his fist as to stretch out the other at full length on the 
 pavement. 
 
 Howling, menaces, insults. 
 
 Vast throngs of people, a mob that like waves in a storm 
 threaten to engulf their victims. The comrades of Socarraz, 
 quite frantic, once more launch themselves upon their adver- 
 saries. But they are promptly checked. For Chispas, Ale- 
 jandro, Roberto, now surround the two old gentlemen, make 
 a powerful wall out of their bodies for their protection, and 
 maintain themselves firmly against the hosts of their enemies, 
 resolved to be killed or to kill rather than give way, their 
 arms stiffened for the fight, finger on the trigger of their re- 
 volvers. 
 
 The multitude is surprised and dominated for an instant, 
 
A TELEGRAM IN CHIFFRE 277 
 
 and opens a way, and they thus advance between menacing 
 fists, amidst congested faces, and the mouths of all these half 
 demented partisans are wide open, showing a snarl, teeth ready 
 to crunch, full of froth, and vomiting curses, maledictions, 
 blasphemies, emitting grim laughter, which in their paroxysm of 
 ire seem to turn raucous, bestial. 
 
 And the group of valorous champions goes on steadily ad- 
 vancing, with a haughty and disdainful mien, with disparage- 
 ment of danger in eyes, in clenched hands, in their whole atti- 
 tude. 
 
 Thus they arrive at the Hotel Bicontinental, and there 
 Ronderos at once flies to the telephone. 
 
 Borrero is taking Landaburo and Socarraz to the barracks 
 of his men, he is told, and with his Granaderos is sweeping 
 free the square. 
 
 But the populace nevertheless was multiplying all the time. 
 The revolutionary wave was rising and ever rising. Masses 
 of people in working blouse or frock coat, of those who were 
 initiated into the real purpose of the movement, and of those 
 who were merely curious, men lacking work, crowds of the 
 criminally inclined or socially ostracised, or lost, all, all, in 
 this jumble emptied from the four corners of the immense 
 square into the inextricable hurly-burly, were swallowed up in 
 it. And all, too, swept on and on, choked and pushed each 
 other, seized by the political fever, infected by the microbe of 
 revolution. 
 
 And all the while the innumerable sky rockets, flashing 
 like lightning, crossing each other in midair, filling it with 
 hissing and spluttering noises, with detonations and explosions, 
 acting as messengers of the insurrection. They went up like 
 serpents of fire, cutting the obscurity overhead, showering clots 
 of blood-colored light upon the crowds below, and next there 
 came a rain of sparks pouring down which seemed to inflame 
 still further the envy of the envious, the heat of hatred, the 
 seed that had been scattered for months and months into the 
 soul of their readers by La Revaluation and La Integridad. 
 
 Black clouds of smoke rising in the sky were partially illum- 
 inated by fugitive flames kindled in the streets, by incendiary 
 fires, and the whole atmosphere became impregnated with the 
 odor of powder. From all these elements there was develop- 
 
278 PAX 
 
 ing the frightful medium whence grow great crimes, a scent 
 which enwraps, penetrates and searches out, an envenomed 
 fluid which creeps into the blood, runs at rapid pace through 
 the veins, beats in the heart and deadens the brain, brutalizes 
 and renders it furious. 
 
 The apostleship of the agitators had spread with a fearful 
 fecundity. They had infected the lower strata of society both 
 with their poisonous doctrines and their wickedness, had brought 
 to the surface their crop of rascality. Having taught the 
 populace that they had been outraged and that they would en- 
 joy abundance and leisure just as soon as they would make an 
 end of Ronderos and Bellegarde, Alejandro and Roberto, who, 
 they claimed, had by shameful tricks and dishonesty enriched 
 themselves to the tune of millions upon millions, and this at 
 the expense of public misery, devouring the very bread of the 
 toilers, they now were acting in a spell that possessed them. 
 Silently but tenaciously they had roused the brutal instincts, 
 the savage passions that sleep in the soul of the people, and 
 docile and easily yielding to temptation, swept along by the 
 arguments of these same agitators, possessed with a rabid and 
 dumb hatred, delirious, in a frenzy, it now launched itself into 
 insane passion, bellowing with rage, cursing its supposed 
 despoilers, in the throes of epileptic convulsions, smelling the 
 odor of blood, feeling the impulse to indulge in senseless noise 
 and riot, the magical call to assassination and deeds of rapine, 
 the voluptuous satisfaction of destruction, the desire for demoli- 
 tion, the pleasure of clamorous demonstrations. 
 
 Landaburo, standing upon a table, was haranguing the 
 multitude in his trumpet voice: 
 
 " These dark and secret institutions which we for twenty 
 years past have been fighting with patriotic fervor, are now 
 beginning to exercise their noxious influence in society, and 
 their fatal result is the immolation of the sons of the people, of 
 the humble and honest workmen." 
 
 And with a tragic gesture he pointed to Socarraz, scarcely 
 recovered from the knockout so lately administered, and who 
 still was lying half forgotten on the ground. 
 
 " In these present hours the blood-soaked history of liberty 
 is repeating itself," went on Landaburo, " the history of 
 martyrdom and of the extermination of democracy and we who 
 
A TELEGRAM IN CHIFFRE 279 
 
 have been the sufferers for many years are now dealing out 
 vigorous blows which will induce the people to choose the road 
 of Revaluation. For this purpose, too, I have all along con- 
 secrated my pen to the popular weal; for this I send forth 
 my words of fire, repeating in your ears the conviction that 
 nobody has the right to the superfluous while anybody else 
 may suffer for the want of the indispensable, and that the 
 history of the nobles is the martyrdom of the poor and needy. 
 . . . The people to-day want justice done. Public opinion, 
 the queen of the social world, the vox populi heard from the 
 days of the prophet Samuel to this day, suffices in lieu of 
 mere physical lynching. But why? Because public opinion 
 is the expression of the sovereign people. And when this 
 sovereign wants and commands something, this something, even 
 if it be the death of Socrates or the sacrilegious crucifixion of 
 the great reformer of Judea, must be accomplished." 
 
 Here Landaburo was rewarded by frantic applause. He 
 wiped his perspiring brow, smiled and then continued: 
 
 " There are members of the cabinet who are like jackals, who 
 live by devouring the corpse of this agonizing Republic. Yes, 
 Ronderos and his friends are vultures who stretch their bare 
 necks out and plunge their insatiable bill of steel into the 
 empty stomach of the country and gorge themselves by eating 
 up the entrails and the brain. 
 
 " But this government has been notified that public opin- 
 ion is aroused, and it is in vain that, in order to escape its 
 fall, it now offers us leagues." 
 
 He took a moment's respite, and then, raising his voice until 
 it acquired a more penetrating character, so that it echoed from 
 the galleries as far as the Cathedral, he exclaimed: 
 
 " Compatriots, leagues serve only the purpose of mending 
 torn stockings." 
 
 Borrero approached the spot where Landaburo was holding 
 forth, and said to him: 
 
 " Doctor Landaburo, you are my prisoner." 
 
 And the other, glad to see himself the object of a measure 
 which would surely cause his name to resound throughout the 
 whole Republic, and give him new claims on the consideration 
 of his party, lending him the halo of the martyr, allowed him- 
 self to be taken without a murmur, carrying his head high 
 
280 PAX 
 
 between the bayonets of a file of soldiers who were taking him 
 to their barracks. 
 
 "To the government palace!" a number of voices began 
 to shout now, and the multitude obediently rushed off in that 
 direction. 
 
 Gonzalez Mogollon, who was going from group to group, 
 counseling moderation and calm, succeeded in making his voice 
 heard above the clamor of the cheering and the denunciations. 
 
 " I am going to talk to the President," he said. " Just a 
 moment. Wait for me here, all of you. I am going to ar- 
 range this." 
 
 A hush fell on the blatant crowd. There was a time spent 
 in nervously awaiting the result, and at the end of it one of 
 the balconies of the palace was opened, and there could be 
 heard anew the humming of the bumble-bee: 
 
 "Friends! The President of the Republic is at this mo- 
 ment conferring with the president of the Senate. Every- 
 thing is being arranged." 
 
 " Long life to the President ! . . . Long life to Sanchez 
 Mendez! Death to Ronderos! " shouted the multiude. 
 
 After the calm, the populace returned to the task of amusing 
 itself; the sound of its own noise was intoxicating it, was 
 pushing it on to excesses, to destruction, and one group of 
 these demonstrants approached the gates of the government 
 palace with hostile intent, but Borrero, at the head of the guards, 
 ordered his men to use their bayonets, and actually proceeded 
 to clear the way. His attack on the crowd resulted in a 
 number of persons being wounded, and there was much noise 
 and disorder. The pavement of the back street was reddened 
 with blood, and for a second time the huge bald head of 
 Gonzalez Mogollon became visible on one of the balconies of 
 the palace. 
 
 " Friends! Comrades! " he called down, " I can settle every- 
 thing satisfactorily. Doctor Alcon has just been named minister 
 of finances, charged also with the interim conduct of the war 
 department." 
 
 Sanchez Mendez, Alcon, Karlonoff, one after the other, ap- 
 peared on the balconies, were acclaimed with great energy, 
 greeted as victors, and then the multitude dispersed and went 
 
A TELEGRAM IN CHIFFRE 281 
 
 on their way to the suburbs, where they wetted their patriotism 
 with numerous libations. Sanchez Mendez took his way to 
 the apartments of the President of the Republic. 
 
 "As I had before declared to your Excellency," he said, 
 
 " Ronderos is the sole obstacle in the way of a lasting peace. 
 
 His leaving the cabinet would bring about the most perfect 
 
 calm. The unfortunate personage, merely to render himself 
 
 , indispensable, has kept your Excellency and the country in a \ 
 
 perpetual state of alarm. But there is no cause for fear, no 
 
 reason for alarm. With a couple of hundred soldiers," he con- 
 
 i eluded, launching above his eyeglasses a smiling glance, " with 
 
 some two hundred brave soldiers the government is perfectly able 
 
 to maintain the public peace and order." 
 
 Thus Pedro Alcantara Ronderos fell from power and was 
 forced to retire to private life. 
 
 On the day following, leaving time to communicate to Ron- 
 deros his nomination to the post of ambassador in Vienna and 
 Stockholm (not accepted by him), Alcon took possession of the 
 same department whence he had been recently so ignominiously 
 ejected for his black treason. At last! . . . Here he was, in 
 this handsome room, where everything seemed still to resound 
 with the manly accents of Ronderos' voice. Now it was no 
 longer he, Alcon, who would have to wait humbly on the 
 yellow sofa watching the minister until he might raise his 
 head and stretch out his hand for a bundle of letters or papers. 
 Now he himself, modest Alcon, could seat himself, if he felt 
 disposed, in that wide and comfortable armchair upholstered 
 in Utrecht velvet, there, before the big table, between the elec- 
 tric button which made employees appear like a flash, panting 
 with eagerness, and the inkstand, which in being used by his 
 powerful hand could with a single stroke of the pen render 
 happy or unhappy so many poor dependents on his favor. At 
 last he had "arrived! " Voluptuously he stretched his limbs 
 in that same huge chair, sighed as though he had just climbed 
 to the top of a steep mountain, then got up again, and with 
 the stride of a conqueror began to cross and recross in every 
 direction this spacious office, as though the sound of his foot- 
 fall ought to be heard within the whole circumference of the 
 Republic, He wanted to have some palpable token of his new 
 
282 PAX 
 
 dignity, perform some act of immediate authority. He touched 
 the button and instantly there appeared on the threshold Don 
 Cosme Dramas. 
 
 " Tell them," he issued his order in a tone of voice that Don 
 Cosme had never heard before, " that I shall not be in for 
 anybody just now, ... for nobody, you understand! " 
 
 And with a haughty, slow, and unutterably dignified motion 
 he pointed Don Cosme to the door. 
 
 Yes, he was now the head of this great department. He had 
 just read it in those timid eyes, in the bow which just now- 
 had bent the spinal column of Don Cosme Oramas. Yes, he 
 was now minister, and in the future, bankers, proud owners of 
 haciendas, people of consequence, all the cream of society, 
 would have to wait his convenience in the passages outside, 
 only too glad if he should permit them to come here, if he 
 should let them sit down over there, in that yellow sofa in 
 the corner, greatly honored if he with a slight gesture, without 
 taking first the trouble to write, should allow them to come 
 within his presence; not too close, no, but just in that heavy 
 big Russia leather chair, which for over a year nobody who 
 was not at least a count had occupied, And with ministerial 
 unction, so hard to acquire, with the heightened feeling of his 
 new position, he could already see in his mind's eye the smiling 
 and obsequious look of those come to solicit favors, while he, 
 with a vague gaze, as though lost in the abyss of his own 
 thoughts, listened to their timid, stammering phrases: 
 
 " Mr. Minister . . . kindly excuse me . , . Senor Doctor, 
 will your honor please permit me to ... Sefior Don Melchor, 
 may I tell you that . . . Senor Minister, I am taking the 
 liberty to . . ." 
 
 And he, pen in hand raised ready for use, without turning 
 his head, his gaze in the distance, would answer with a smile 
 quite affably disdainful: 
 
 " All right ... we shall not delay the matter ... we shall 
 consult on it. ... Impossible. . . . This does not concern my 
 department. . . . Please come back some other day. ... I am 
 very sorry. ..." 
 
 Ah! and this Canalization contract which he had only the 
 i night before fought in the Senate, he would now be able by a ' 
 \ wise combination of ministerial resolutions to put the finishing 
 
A TELEGRAM IN CHIFFRE 283 
 
 strokes to it, enwrapping the concessionaires in a veritable 
 spider's web. And by throwing to the dust heap this very con- 
 tract, how much his own frame as a man of inflexible character, 
 of unassailable rectitude, would grow ! Ah, what supreme bliss, 
 to seize upon the deposit of a million francs, to break Roberto, 
 \ to ruin and humiliate him, this obstructionist dandy, who had 
 \been in his way on the path to triumph ... an obstruction- 
 ist in the Senate, an obstructionist in his own wooing of the 
 Saughter of Montellano. ..." No, now Montellano will force 
 er to marry me. . . . I'll have him here, trembling, under my 
 /feet, depending on a stroke of my pen." 
 
 , 
 
 Agitated, fatigued by this accumulation of thoughts, pursued 
 
 by the phantoms of his own ambition, he went to the window 
 and cast a compassionate glance down on the square below, and 
 there, way down, he saw men scarcely larger than ants, excitedly 
 running about, way below on the pavement, indulging in 
 pitiable anxieties, and he allowed his glance to roam the vast 
 horizon. He felt in himself an irrevocable mission to com- 
 mand, to lead and shepherd men, vaguely longing for some- 
 thing more and greater, thinking that many heads of states had 
 started on their road upwards from much farther down. To 
 his memory came the vision of that row of .portraits in the huge 
 antechamber of the Senate, those bosoms crossed by the broad 
 tricolored ribbons. He admired himself in his dress coat. 
 How well he would look with that striped silk ribbon across 
 $ie chest! And lost in his dream floating on the high sea of 
 ambition, he saw himself already installed in the palace of San 
 Carlos beneath the baldachin of yellow silk, with a malicious 
 smile such as he had noticed on those old portraits, receiving 
 the representatives of foreign sovereigns who greeted him as 
 their " great and good friend." ..." Most excellent Sefior." 
 ..." Permit me in the name of his most wise Majesty to 
 salute the Government and people of this Nation, and more 
 especially its worthy President, the most excellent Seiior Don 
 Melchor Alcon, known beyond the seas." ..." President 
 Melchor Alcon!" "The Alcon Administration." . . . How 
 well that sounded! 
 
 With a vibrant step he resumed his pacing up and down, 
 but suddenly he felt a struggle for the electric button at his 
 door, and from outside there came the sound of formidable 
 
284 PAX 
 
 blows, of imperative voices. Alcon shuddered as having al- 
 most been caught in flagrante, then rushed to the door, and 
 opened it with a ferocious aspect. And then there presented 
 himself, filling the whole entrance, Sanchez Mendez. 
 
 "Hello! Comrade! " he shouted, stepping into the office as 
 though it were his own. " I have vanquished every one of 
 your sentinels. I have come to give you a hug of welcome and 
 felicitation! " 
 
 Alcon remained passive, his arms hanging loose down the 
 length of his body. It was necessary that each and every one 
 should occupy his respective place. He at once put in prac- 
 tice what he had just been doing in imagination. He stretched 
 himself luxuriously in his huge armchair, put on the look 
 worn by those ancient portraits, and with a slight gesture he 
 indicated to Sanchez Mendez a position, over there, not too 
 close to himself, in the black Russia leather armchair. 
 
 " See here, Alcon ! " said Sanchez, and the chair creaked as 
 he took his seat. " See here, Doctor Alcon," he continued 
 with a certain air of embarrassment and pique, " I believe it 
 to be my duty to remind you of our principles, those of the 
 band of Integros, the confession of faith of our circle, for 
 the moment has come to put the concessions, the compromises 
 and the prospects into practice, and . . ." 
 
 But he halted. Alcon, with a vacant gaze into space, seemed 
 not to hear him at all. And, at last, with a smile full of 
 amiable disdain, he made reply: 
 
 " We shall consult about this. ... It does not concern my 
 department. ... I am very sorry. ..." 
 
 The other, disconcerted for an instant, insisted: 
 
 " It is necessary, Melchor. . . . Senor Minister, it is in- 
 dispensable to make radical changes in the financial depart- 
 ment, according to what we have promised the country in La 
 Integridad, your honor and I myself. And for this nothing 
 is more natural than to make new appointments, to gather to- 
 gether our friends, those who have sacrificed themselves." 
 
 But Alcon, always with that empty look, as though lost in 
 the abyss of his own thoughts, merely murmured: 
 
 " Later. . . . We shall not fail to consider this promptly. . . ." 
 
 Sanchez Mendez, now angry, and seeing that his disciple was 
 trying to emancipate himself, attempted his last effort. He un- 
 
A TELEGRAM IN CHIFFRE 285 
 
 buttoned his walking coat, drew from it some papers, a whole 
 immense plan of financial changes, and started to read. . . . 
 
 " Point I (a). Conversion of the Debt." 
 
 But Alcon stopped him, extended one rigid hand towards 
 the manuscript, and with his eyes said: 
 
 " Please pass this to me . . ." 
 
 He then took the essay, glanced it over in silence, and finally 
 folded it up, making the folds as tight as though he never 
 meant to unfold the document again, and then stamping it with 
 a green glass stamp. 
 
 " It is well," he then said curtly. " I shall pass it on to 
 the section chief . . . he'll study it at his own time ... we 
 are not going to delay the matter." 
 
 Sanchez Mendez emitted a tremendous snort, unbuttoned his 
 coat once more, quite solemnly, rose with indignation, but sub- 
 sequently collected himself, and held out his hand. 
 
 " Dear Alcon," he then said in a subdued voice, " Sefior 
 Minister, I am taking my leave. ... I have some experience, 
 and I have pledged this office. Do not forget that you have in 
 me an adviser . . . even more, a friend." 
 
 Alcon meanwhile was seeing him to the door, until the tall 
 and robust person of Sanchez Mendez, who made everything 
 once more shake and tremble under his heavy tread, had disap- 
 peared in the adjoining office. 
 
 Alcon called out. Don Cosme once more appeared. 
 
 " I wish to repeat to you that there will be no more audi- 
 ences," said Alcon, altogether in his best ministerial accent. 
 Don Cosme went off to transmit this order, and passing from 
 office to office, from desk to desk, repeated like an echo: 
 
 " There will be no audience! Remember, no audiences." 
 
 And in all the offices, most of them already empty, the 
 employees now gave themselves up to their favorite occupa- 
 tions. 
 
 Don Cosme threw an alarmed glance at the clock on the wall, 
 laid his pen aside, and rubbing his hands, said : 
 
 "Well, well, . . . it's half past two ... the hour for my 
 milk." 
 
 He went to a little stand, and returned. He majestically 
 placed the cup upon his desk, upon a piece of cut paper, put 
 the points of his mustache aside, spread the ends of his napkin 
 
286 PAX 
 
 out with care, and then steeped his spongy biscuit in the 
 milk. At the neighboring tables there was one employee who 
 was reading La Revaluation, and another was lazily trimming 
 his nails with a pen knife. 
 
 But Montellano now invaded the antechambers, and at the 
 risk of a severe reprimand, Don Cosme, obsequious and hum- 
 ble, leaving his milk and biscuits for a moment, accompanied 
 the millionaire to the office, somewhat in fear that the non- 
 fulfilment of those strict orders might involve him in trouble. 
 But he was an old fox, and knew up to what point those orders 
 were to be carried out. 
 
 Hearing the heavy steps of Montellano, and the roar of his 
 voice, Alcon in a twinkling had thrown himself in his arm- 
 chair, and then assumed all the gravity peculiar to him. But 
 Montellano crossed the office with precipitation, took hold of 
 Alcon's cold hands, shook them forcibly and familiarly, and 
 then said: 
 
 " Now at last we have a real minister of finance! " 
 
 Alcon with a slight movement of his head assigned the 
 Russia leather armchair to him. 
 
 Montellano then went on pointing out the chief purpose of 
 his visit, but Karlonoff came in at this juncture, and putting a 
 roll of documents on the table, remarked : 
 
 " Here you have the complete plans of the attack." 
 
 Alcon did not at once understand, and was blinking with 
 his small short-sighted eyes. 
 
 " The plan of attack ... for .. ." he muttered. 
 
 Karlonoff held back. He did not know whether he might 
 talk frankly before him. 
 
 " Oh, yes, the one about the Canalization," burst out Al- 
 con. 
 
 " Exactly ! I have studied the point according to my own 
 method, which nothing can resist, and with that series of 
 resolutions we shall smash the whole contract, we shall over- 
 whelm them, drive them to desperation, oblige them to dis- 
 gorge the deposit. . . . The defeat of yesterday is a great vic- 
 tory. We shall lose in the legislature and regain all in the 
 executive branch. Ah, ah, nothing, there is nothing like hav- 
 ing the executive on your side." 
 
 " Very well," interrupted Alcon, " hand that bunch of docu- 
 
A TELEGRAM IN CHIFFRE 287 
 
 ments to the section chief. You know in order to let them 
 see clear in the matter. . . . When Congress adjourns, we 
 shall begin our own side of it. The President has promised 
 me that there will be no prorogation." 
 
 " That will by no means do," exclaimed Montellano, as soon 
 as Karlonoff had disappeared. " Permit me to speak with 
 frankness." 
 
 Alcon frowned, contracted his eyes and closed his lips 
 severely. But Montellano went on in his domineering voice: 
 
 " Quite the contrary, you must do quite the contrary. You 
 must lend your aid to the canalization enterprise, give full 
 publicity to what has been done and to what remains to be 
 done; you must demonstrate by what time vessels of deep 
 draught may enter by the Bocas de Ceniza, which will soon 
 be the case they say by the first of January; then the rail- 
 road from la Sabanilla will become worthless and useless, and 
 then it will be my turn, and I shall buy it ... as I have 
 some time ago explained to you, according to what we have 
 agreed upon. . . ." 
 
 " But I cannot carry out this operation without fulfilling 
 all the formalities in that case provided, and until all the 
 fiscal conditions which the law stipulates have been complied 
 with to the last letter," said Alcon, assuming a very important 
 and dignified air. 
 
 " Allowing that," replied Montellano, " here is the railroad 
 which will be disposed of by public sale, with the burden of 
 immense charges, and whenever you want it. Let them make 
 all the noise they want to, complying with all the conditions 
 you may impose, ... I assure you that I shall offer for that 
 road more than anybody else. . . . Don't let me miss this . . . 
 I shall pay for this on good terms, on very good terms . . ." 
 
 " Very well, Sefior Montellano. ... I am going to study 
 the points involved . . . always unforeseen circumstances ex- 
 cepted, I shall fix to-morrow the terms for the sale of this 
 property, public sale, of course, and with at least ninety days 
 intervals." 
 
 " But let it be at least before the first of January, because 
 after that date I shall be in Ubaque. . . . There we shall 
 await things. . . . Aura and Dolores have commissioned 
 me . , ." 
 
288 PAX 
 
 He became silent, because he recognized in the corridor out- 
 side the voice of Landaburo, who came in his rough soldier's 
 manner to ask a hearing. 
 
 Before Landaburo entered Montellano had slipped away, and 
 our hero burst out with : 
 
 " I came to see you, friend, to render you once again my 
 thanks for my restored liberty." While speaking he was in- 
 haling with delight that peculiar ministerial perfume from 
 which, alas, he had been separated for many years. " I am 
 here, esteemed Doctor, to thank you for my freedom. But in 
 order that your work be complete, I have another favor to 
 beg of you ... a little more." 
 
 "A little more? What is it?" queried Alcon, mistrustful. 
 He felt himself already a part of the Government, and was be- 
 ginning to distrust the revolutionary with whom he had walked 
 arm in arm in the foyer of the theater. It would be necessary 
 to hold back in time, to forget old promises, even though the 
 Revaluation forces should declare him a convert to the policy 
 of the " closed door." 
 
 " Yes, my friend and Doctor, I want you to issue to me 
 through the war department a passport allowing me to leave the 
 capital." 
 
 "A passport? ... In time of peace?" 
 
 Landaburo, who now perceived that he had gone too far, 
 added instantly: 
 
 " I am thinking of absenting myself from the country . . . 
 after surveying it, of course, and there is nothing else on my 
 mind. On the other hand, even when you guarantee our rights 
 ever so much, the police spies whom that inquisitor, Ronderos, 
 has all over, might embarrass my line of march. It is neces- 
 sary for me to travel, to put all my faculties to practical use. 
 I am stifling here. A man like myself requires the free air of 
 the American pampas. 
 
 Alcon drew breath. This would in no wise compromise 
 him. Besides, it would be a relief to have Landaburo far 
 away, to get rid of him. But he carefully recorded his re- 
 quest, and then assumed his studied attitude, became grave 
 and solemn, with his glance far away, and murmured the 
 Sybilline phrases: 
 
A TELEGRAM IN CHIFFRE 289 
 
 " We shall see ... we shall deliberate the matter." 
 
 " Doctor, . . . Mr. Minister," interrupted the other with 
 great insistence, with anxiety, " you dare not deprive me of 
 the sacred right of free locomotion." And then, approaching 
 Alcon familiarly, while the latter backed away from him: 
 
 " This journey of mine will be undertaken in your own. in- 
 terest; I shall utilize it making propaganda for you. . . . Only] 
 break with the policy of the closed door, and you will? 
 have the support of my comrades. Remember what we have! 
 been talking about formerly. . . . Let us give our ideals new N 
 values." 
 
 " But, General, did you not last night speak against the 
 leagues? " 
 
 " Ah, Doctor Mr. Minister," said Landaburo, breaking 
 out in hearty laughter, " that is my evil genius, my little joke 
 that now and then plays me a trick. There are leagues -and 
 leagues. We shall make a frank appeal to the country by 
 means of a convention which will recognize all the rights of 
 freemen. In a word, you are too intelligent to misunderstand. 
 You might become anything, with all and for all. You do 
 not belong to those who have denied us during the past decade 
 everything, water, bread, salt, and the title of brothers." 
 
 Then, in a firmer voice, in an almost threatening manner, he 
 added : 
 
 "Did you last night hear the plaints of the people? . . . 
 The wind is bearing hither sinister laments, and also shrieks 
 of those who are being strangled on the crossroads of existence. 
 . . . Redeem us, become our man and you will be the natural 
 leader in an evolutionary movement. If you will but open the 
 road for us, the one between those two mountains of mutual 
 hatreds that separate the two camps, as I have told Sanchez 
 Mendez so many times, and such a movement would lift you 
 to the very heights of the palace of . . ." 
 
 " Enough, General, . . . hm, hm! . . . I aspire to nothing," 
 the new minister interrupted, in a trembling, timorous voice, 
 greatly dreading the terrible indiscretions of Landaburo. But 
 then he turned around to take another look at his waistcoat, 
 and tried to improve on the phrase, leave a good impression 
 on the mind of this guerilla chief, and went on with his false 
 
290 PAX 
 
 smile, while his bald head underwent rapidly change after 
 change, from the deep carmine of pride and excitement to the 
 pallor of fright. 
 
 " I long indeed to repair those injustices, to open the path 
 of which Sanchez and I have spoken so often in La Integridad," 
 Alcon remarked. But then, in order not to go too far, and 
 not to compromise himself, he threw back his body, lifted his 
 hand, and touched the electric button on the wall. " I am go- 
 ing to give you your passport." 
 
 And on the appearance of a clerk, he said: " Take this card 
 to the war department. Good-by, General; we shall see each 
 other again . . . and confer ... I am waiting." 
 
 " And this also," added Alcon, making a gesture to Landa- 
 buro to delay his departure. 
 
 He sat down, and wrote quickly: 
 
 "It is hereby ordered to change the command of the Grana- 
 deros and to examine into the conduct of Borrero during the 
 recent events ... in your prison, General, I mean." 
 
 Gacharnah, who had been at a wedding, away from the 
 capital, met Landaburo on the stairs, the latter making the 
 steps ring with his satisfaction at the turn things had taken. 
 The fop glanced at the general with surprise at finding him 
 there, and hastened his step toward the finance department. 
 There he questioned the clerk who was still absorbed in the 
 reading of La Revaluation, wherein Landaburo had described 
 his confinement in the barracks of los Granaderos. 
 
 " The Sefior Minister can be seen ? " asked Gacharnah. 
 
 But the other went on reading without replying. 
 
 ". . . From my dark cell I could see through the window on 
 the north side, the corner of the street which in a spirit of grim 
 irony has been called Ayacucho Street. From the other 
 window, in an easterly direction, I enjoyed a view of the door 
 of a tavern: 'To the Bridge of Boyaca,' where there is, oh! 
 irony of liberty, to be discovered a modest nursery, kept by a 
 daughter of General Santander's cook. ..." 
 
 " Does the Sefior General happen to be much occupied ? " 
 
 The clerk, smiling cunningly, was not to be disturbed in his 
 reading, as follows: 
 
 "... I went to bed at a quarter to ten, according to direc- 
 tions affixed in my quarters. While I took off my coat, I re- 
 
A TELEGRAM IN CHIFFRE 291 
 
 called the fact that it was Saturday, and mentally I addressed 
 this malediction to Ronderos: Jesuit and Reverend Father 
 Ronderos, while I see myself forced to retire to bed at ten 
 o'clock and something earlier, you are with your friends and 
 with some old devout person at your Saturday party, relishing 
 a cup or two of chocolate, followed by the indispensable pray- 
 ers which the monks command. . . . Finally, I lay down in 
 the bed, a French bed 1 meter and 80 centimeters in length and 
 90 centimeters in width. I rose early, went to the mirror and 
 contemplated my face, the face of a patriot, livid and dis- 
 heveled by just one night of imprisonment." 
 
 "Have you finished?" insinuated Gacharnah, in a honeyed 
 voice, and with a tinge of irony. 
 
 But the other continued undisturbedly: 
 
 " Through the window on the southern exposure I saw a 
 company of the Granaderos, firing upon and aiming at a 
 figure fastened to a sign board. How unfortunate, I exclaimed, 
 that this mannikin is not the same Ronderos in person and 
 that one of these Catholic dunces does not cut short his vital 
 cord." 
 
 " Now, if you could tell me," insisted Gacharnah, " whether 
 General Ronderos will receive me? " 
 
 The reader, with a rather disrespectful smile, retorted: 
 
 " There is no general of any kind here, nobody of the name 
 of Ronderos." 
 
 "Well, then, who which is the minister? " 
 
 " The Senor Doctor Alcon," said the clerk in a reverential 
 tone, inclining his head. 
 
 Gacharnah stared about him quite stupidly. The tint of 
 his chubby cheeks went from pink to purple, from purple to 
 the hue of poppy. Then, lightly slapping the table with gloves 
 that were the shade of raw meat, he gracefully wheeled on 
 his heels, shot down the broad stairs, crossed the square and 
 the streets, exhibiting his paunch with pride, while his face 
 was full of content, turning over in his imagination schemes 
 and plans in which millions and millions were filing past, and 
 bolts of blue and red cloth were racing before his vision. 
 He arrived at the telegraph office, and causing the point of his 
 pen to scratch weirdly, he wrote: 
 
292 PAX 
 
 Gacharnah Brothers, Birmingham. Giant. Bearded. Judaizing. 
 
 GACHARNAH. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 THE RIVER 
 
 THE river, narrowed between two immense rocks, rushes 
 roaring and in turbulent, foaming masses, spume above spume, 
 through its constricted bed, leaps in a cascade, falls boldly, 
 and then spreads out boiling into a vast pool of azure hue, 
 along the borders of which a heap of withered leaves and 
 orange flowers are scattered thickly, the soft wind having swept 
 these from the orange grove growing along the river bank. 
 Red and white petals fringe the stagnant backflow of the pool, 
 turn slowly on the surface of the tepid water towards the 
 cascade, are halted on the way in certain spots, escape the 
 spouting current, then whirl into it again, and in patches 
 are lost between the large stones. Sometimes some single 
 flower is caught by a ripple, twirls about aimlessly, adorns the 
 pool with its beauty for moments, adheres to an inviting place 
 along the shore, as though fleeing death, and at last meets ship- 
 wreck, leaving behind a vague regret. 
 
 The republic is enjoying calm, a calm which seems to 
 have become more assured since General Ronderos abandoned 
 his share in the Government. The Integros Party, now ap- 
 peased, is holding the best offices in the war and finances de- 
 partments. Landaburo is still traveling in the interior of 
 the country, and is no more spoken of just now than are the 
 partizans of Revaluation. Quite alone La Integridad, which is 
 still under the management of Sanchez Mendez, is striking 
 discordant notes amid the general concert, advocating the forma- 
 tion of a new party, and aiming its arrows at Alcon since the 
 latter has become a member of the cabinet. Roberto has not 
 returned to bring the books of Montellano since he had his ac- 
 cident on Corpus Christi Day, but instead attends to the busi- 
 ness of the great enterprise in Bogota, and Alejandro, once 
 Congress has adjourned, and after a short stay up the Mag- 
 dalena, has gone to Ubaque to pass in that place of cool 
 winds a period of complete repose. 
 

 THE RIVER 293 
 
 December has come with its azure skies, with its cheerful and 
 luminous days, with vivifying clear lights, so admirably adapted 
 to banish all cares and burdens, and so fitted for rejoicing dur- 
 ing the coming holidays. 
 
 The two friends, stretched out in the shade of the planta- 
 tion of plane trees at the border of the pool, are enjoying the 
 perfumes with which the breeze is laden, slumbering under 
 the influence of the silky friction of the leaves, and submerge 
 themselves in the drowsy peace of this woodland spot. 
 
 " How nice it is to rest here after those four months of 
 agitation in Congress, and those tumultuous street scenes! " 
 exclaimed Alejandro. " Only cast a glance about you, you 
 might continue your obstructionist speech on the Rhone, or add 
 a new fragment on the river Ubaque." 
 
 " Just so, I might add that the harmonious sound of the 
 river drowns the vociferations of the crazed crowds; that its 
 rushing flow destroys the unpleasant memory of the Landaburos 
 and Alcons; that in this solitary place here, perfumed by that 
 breeze, refreshed by this cascade, I feel happy, invincible, for- 
 getful of all causes for worry and care. . . . Doubtless the 
 best part of memory is to forget . . . especially if this river 
 here helps one to forget." 
 
 " Good, in this wild and pleasant nook let us forget ~lfo~f 
 alone all politics, but also all about the Canalization project, 
 about letters of exchange, and about printed proofs. . . . Here 
 there is no place where one wants to do ought but enjoy this 
 wonderful zephyr which caresses the cheek like the soft hand 
 of a woman, where the eye meets only butterflies that are flowers 
 in flight, and flowers that resemble sleeping butterflies, as Dona 
 Aura would say." 
 
 " How much Bellegarde would enjoy himself here ! Listen 
 to this symphony played by a grand orchestra, to these low 
 notes, to the thunders of the waterful, the tones both sweet and 
 reposeful of the pool over there; those are the accompanying 
 instruments, and then, in that other part of the orchestra, the 
 leading instruments: hear how these strains are rejoicing over 
 the plunge of the water from the pool, when each drop changes 
 into a globule of shining silver; listen to the chorus of deep 
 bassos, of baritones and charming sopranos which all mingle 
 and jointly produce this glory in the plenitude of wilderness 
 
f 
 
 294 PAX 
 
 harmony; just hear the magnificat that grand musician sings, 
 this river forever embellished with festoons and crowned with 
 orange blossoms." 
 
 "Apotheosis, triumph, magnificat, hymn of glory? " ex- 
 claimed Alejandro, becoming suddenly thoughtful and rumina- 
 tive. " No, Roberto. You are now thinking of these rills of 
 clear water, of those pleasant feminine pettings, . . . and I 
 was thinking of those promises of blissful love here, which came 
 true for other generations and at times past and gone; of 
 the sound of torrents tumbling and roaring, which with the 
 accompaniment of their rushing uproar invited to confidence. 
 I was thinking of the conflict with hands furtively stretched out 
 on this grassy site, and of the laughter on fresh faces which were 
 reflected in this pool. And love, confidences, smiles, they all 
 have passed away: the idylls have vanished, the happy couples 
 have aged, the mouths which showed such charming smiles 
 in those remote years, they have all disappeared never to re- 
 turn, with an abominable grin, to lie in a corner of the ceme- 
 tery. . . . That music you dreamed of is weeping for the 
 springs gone and forgotten, for extinguished youth, for eternal 
 absence; the river intones a requiem for all the idylls, a 
 de profundis for dead happiness. All this passes, vanishes, 
 dies, does not satisfy me. . . . There is an immense distance 
 between the void of my heart and the love that I so much 
 longed for. There lies an infinitude of space between what 
 I am and that which I ought to be." 
 
 " Bravo! " exclaimed the voice of Doctor Miranda close by, 
 and he himself appeared between two gigantic rocks. 
 
 " Hello! Where do you come from? " said Roberto. " You 
 come in a torn cassock. . . . How do you like this mountain 
 air, and how is your health? Is it better? Are your house- 
 hold troubles over? . . . Did you hear us? " 
 
 " Yes, I heard the last sentence," replied Doctor Miranda, 
 seating himself on a rock beside Alejandro. " Very well, 
 Alejandro. You speak very wisely. But that does not as- 
 tonish me. ' There lies an infinitude of space between what 
 I am and that which I ought to be. . . .' That is you all 
 over. In the absence of Agiieros do you want me to make a 
 diagnosis, Alejandro? You are the victim of your own illu- 
 sions. You wish for a degree of bliss on this earth much 
 
 V 
 
THE RIVER 295 
 
 greater than is possible in this transitory world. Your long- 
 ings, your desires are vaster than your being. . . . What you 
 id just now is an argument in favor of immortality. It is 
 r headstrong nature which rebels when it is denied. You 
 3, if you two will permit me a pulpit phrase in this primi- 
 e nook, a sort of Hebrew Samson, who pulls himself erect 
 d with his shoulders lifts the gates of his prison." 
 
 They remained in silence. Nothing was audible save the 
 thunder of the waterfall. But above the cauldron of spume 
 there passed a shadow; they lifted their heads and followed with 
 their eyes an eagle which, bathing himself in the azure of the 
 Ijeavens, floated far above, moving his wings slowly, then 
 rose, steadily looking in the sun, and at last fled towards the 
 west, crossing the mountain chain. 
 
 Doctor Miranda put his hand upon Alejandro's shoulder, and 
 in an affectionate voice remarked: 
 
 " Dear Alejandro, you are a caged eagle." 
 
 Roberto, Alejandro and Doctor Miranda, refreshed and in- 
 vigorated by a bath, and followed by Perucho who carried their 
 bathing sheets, took a path along the mountain side, which 
 led to the village, and on their way they met Montellano 
 who, with his bathing clothes slung over his shoulder, was 
 on his way to take a bath. The millionaire requested Roberto 
 to accompany him for some distance because he had to speak 
 to him, and Alejandro and Doctor Miranda continued their 
 walk towards the settlement. 
 
 " Friend Roberto," said Montellano, with the pride of a 
 sportsman, " I have discovered this small path which is much 
 shorter to the river than the other." 
 
 He had really created for himself the illusion of having 
 opened a new path across the mountains, and he flourished 
 his staff to right and left, as though it were a hatchet. He 
 slashed into the waving reeds, cut off the stalks of the grow- 
 ing plants, made the flowers of the convolvulus fly about. 
 
 When they arrived at the pool, Montellano pulled off his 
 sack coat and threw it on a spot overgrown with weeds, fanned 
 himself with the flap of his straw hat, wiped off his perspira- 
 tion, and bracing himself, turned his glittering small eyes upon 
 Roberto. 
 
 " We must speak of an important matter," he remarked. 
 
296 PAX 
 
 " Let me know what it is, Don Ramon." 
 
 " Friend Roberto, you probably know that Doctor Alcon will 
 arrive here this afternoon from Bogota." 
 
 "I did not know it." 
 
 " He is going to confer with me about a matter which is 
 of great interest to me." 
 
 " I am listening," answered Roberto, with haughty and sar- 
 castic indifference. 
 
 Montellano became silent, hesitated, threw a glance at the 
 river with some sign of uneasiness, and then, snorting vehe- 
 mently, turned towards Roberto. 
 
 " All right, let me be plain. We ought to understand each 
 other, friend Avila. I shall talk to you in confidence. We 
 have to speak without subterfuge. It is a serious matter. Do 
 you want me to speak out or not? " 
 
 Roberto, with his smile of delicate scorn, his hands in his 
 pocket, made a slight movement with his shoulders which might 
 have been taken as a gesture of assent. 
 
 " Good," continued Don Ramon. " I always like to treat 
 things frankly, to take the bull by the horns. I am going to 
 speak plainly. Doctor Alcon, the able member of the cabinet, 
 is coming here to-day. He has for some time been an admirer 
 of my daughter Dolores." 
 
 "I see." 
 
 " He is, like myself, a man who comes quickly to the 
 point." 
 
 " I see." 
 
 " And he is coming here to get an answer, yes or no, be- 
 tween to-day and to-morrow." 
 
 " I see." 
 
 Montellano, noticing Roberto's sarcastic tone, and the cold 
 and scornful smile which played around his lips, lost his self- 
 assurance. After another silence, he began to fan himself 
 anew with his hat, and went on : 
 
 " Well, no, the thing is not quite so simple. That is, I 
 do not know for certain whether Dolores . . . that is, whether 
 Doctor Alcon . . . Well, you understand me, don't you?" 
 
 "Not entirely." 
 
 Facing Roberto's scornful smile, Montellano began to lose 
 his temper. But he succeeded in remaining calm on the 
 

 THE RIVER 297 
 
 surface, wiped his abundant perspiration from his forehead, his 
 neck and skull, gave his eyes an affectionate expression, and 
 to his voice a wheedling, almost plaintive one. 
 
 " See here, my friend, I must think of my child's future. 
 I have to be both father and mother to her. As for Aura, 
 she does not come into question in this business. All right. 
 I do not have to tell you that I like Doctor Alcon: a practical 
 man, one with fine prospects, and also one of great influence. 
 I will not waste time on such details; the important thing for 
 me is ... is .. ." 
 
 "Is yourself?" 
 
 "Myself? All right, yes, myself. I want Doctor Alcon to 
 marry Dolores. That would suit me. But speaking to you 
 entirely in confidence, I will say that it is now a year ago, 
 to be precise, a year all but ten days, for to-day is the 30th of 
 December, yes, sir, since we met you at El Consuelo for the 
 first time. It is now a year that you have been fluttering like a 
 butterfly around Dolores . . . and this is not quite proper 
 and suitable either for Dolores and myself, nor even for your- 
 self. I can understand it if she has a certain attraction for 
 you. The case is simply this, that inasmuch as you have no 
 serious intentions, whereas Doctor Alcon has, you might help 
 disabuse Dolores." 
 
 Roberto felt piqued, kept silent, and in his face there was 
 again to be read an expression of delicate scorn, and he re- 
 peated the same movement with his shoulders which Montel- 
 lano, with his ingrained lack of tact, took to mean approval. 
 
 " See here, Roberto," he said, therefore, " you have influence 
 with her, you might advise Dolores, help her to decide, show 
 her Alcon's worth." 
 
 " I'll do it," was his reply. " Be easy, I'll do it this very 
 evening." 
 
 " Good, good, very good. I see, as you put it. I see that, 
 after all, we two are made to understand each other, and . . ." 
 "Ah, you must excuse me, Don Ramon. To that I cannot at 
 all agree. 'Made to understand each other?'" Roberto re- 
 peated after him, bursting into a fit of hearty laughter. " No, 
 you must excuse me. We shall never understand each other. 
 We speak two different languages, and we belong to two op- 
 posite races. I am neither inferior nor superior to you. The 
 
298 PAX 
 
 point is that we are of different species. Each of us has a 
 different idea of life itself. For me mankind is made up of 
 two groups: artists and savages. For you it also consists of 
 two classes: poor and rich. You disdain what I admire, and I 
 value very little what you think so much of. We live, in fact, 
 on two different planets. For you the external struggle, the 
 heaping of money, capital as father and interest as son, the 
 check, the document, the stocks, the letter of exchange, the 
 commercial code; for me the internal struggle, reflection, dreams, 
 the artistic line, color, expression, disinterest, the proof sheet, 
 the code of honor. . . . And these differences are irremediable. 
 They are differences that come down from far off," went on 
 Roberto, becoming more and more animated, letting fly those 
 words which had been imprisoned for long in his throat. " I, 
 I a descendant, and remember, I say, a descendant, of an 
 imaginative and dreamy race, a race that for many, many 
 years was always seeking death in Spain, a useless death, one 
 that brought no advantage, during the wars against the Moors, 
 a race that conquered Granada, that went afterwards to Amer- 
 ica to help civilize an unknown world; a race of dreamers, a 
 race made to love, and if you will, a Quixotic race. . . . And 
 you, the ascendant, and mark well that I say, ascendant, of 
 a new branch, are of to-day, self-made, a son of your own 
 achievements, your own efforts, which is a merit. You go 
 onwards, while I go backwards. We meet each other for a 
 moment on the highroad, and we exchange greeting. But we 
 do not understand each other, and as we are traveling in op- 
 posite directions, we bid each other good-by, we are separated 
 by a greater and greater distance each saying to the other: 
 till never again! " 
 
 And turning his shoulder around, whistling the well-known 
 air from Carmen, he strode hastily off through the cane planta- 
 tion. 
 
 Montellano remained alone. He did not understand much 
 of what Roberto had meant by his declamation, but, after all, 
 saw with satisfaction that he had succeeded in his proposition: 
 to separate this young man from his daughter, this irrepar- 
 able dreamer, so that he would no longer pursue his object like 
 an irresponsible butterfly of the air, and decide the situation, 
 once for all, in favor of Doctor Alcon, a safe man, bold and 
 
THE RIVER 299 
 
 not squeamish in his means, the man with whom a mysterious 
 bond united him, with whom he was able to expand, to whom 
 he might confide his combinations and schemes without the 
 risk of an aggressive issue. . . . With him, yes. With him 
 there was no danger of being misunderstood. They both felt 
 allied by the ties of similar tastes, they both belonged to the 
 same species. 
 
 And with the aim of meeting Doctor Alcon when he should 
 arrive from Bogota, his future son-in-law, as he kept on 
 reminding himself gaily, he had gone to the bath, so that 
 he might stop him when crossing the bridge that spanned the 
 waterfall. And in order to be busy at something useful while 
 awaiting his coming he took from the pocket of his sack coat 
 a bundle of papers and began to study them, without paying 
 attention to the sun which roasted his back, nor to the over- 
 powering light which struck his pages. 
 
 A cloud of butterflies fluttered around him, and one of them 
 sat down for rest and meditation on his bundle of papers. 
 Montellano smashed it by a rough slap of his hand, and with 
 a grunt blew away the gold that had settled from the crushed 
 wings. Then behind him, overhead, he felt the bridge trem- 
 bling and shaking. At last! It was Doctor Alcon with a 
 whole train of his employees from the department. 
 
 "Doctor Alcon!" he shouted. "Doctor! Here you are! 
 Get off your beast; dismount! Join in a bath! " 
 
 They had now come up. Alcon who had just traversed the 
 wilderness with its damp, had his eyeglasses misty with his 
 own breath, and was blinking and dazzled by exposure to the 
 blinding sun. He dismounted amidst moans and complaints, 
 tied his white mule himself to the trunk of an orange tree. 
 His animal showed on its back the sweat-flecked reins and 
 a layer of gray dust. 
 
 "The hour for my milk! " exclaimed Don Cosme Oramas. 
 
 He looked to one side, as though seeking instinctively the 
 wall clock in his office. He drew out a bottle and a glass from 
 a small bag, a supply of biscuits from another pocket, then 
 poured out the milk, and with delight began to soak the spongy 
 cake. 
 
 The animals started to graze in the shade of the trees or else 
 rolled on the ground and squealed luxuriously on the grass. 
 
300 PAX 
 
 Alcon's mule began to nip dainties on the brambly spot near 
 by. 
 
 " My dear Alcon," said Montellano to the Minister, who, 
 worn out by fatigue had thrown himself on the ground. " I 
 am glad to have you here. Now we are going to take a bath, 
 and you will see how quickly your fatigue will pass away. 
 ... I see already how after the public sale I shall have the 
 Sabanilla railroad on my hands, after fulfilling all required 
 formalities, at a million. The Government has done a bril- 
 liant stroke of business. The road is worth nothing. The river 
 traffic by way of Bocas de Ceniza has killed it. Day after to- 
 morrow, on the first of January, the first large vessel of the 
 company passes through, and everything is quiet, and nobody 
 is talking of war, as Ronderos used to do constantly. Good, 
 for what we return please give me the decree for the '48 issue 
 of bonds. That cursed old Ronderos did not want to re- 
 establish the old fund. ... I know already all about that op- 
 eration just as I do about the loans . . ." 
 
 Alcon collected himself, gave Montellano a sharp glance, 
 made a very grave face, and put on his ministerial frown. 
 
 " Ah, Don Ramon," he said, " we shall see, . . . afterwards 
 ... we shall not delay the matter ... the question shall be 
 studied. . . . After all, this does not depend upon me ... it 
 is not entrusted to my department." 
 
 "Why, on whom does it depend, then? " 
 
 Alcon compressed his lips, and shot a meaningful glance 
 at his questioner. 
 
 " On whom does it depend? . . . hm, hm! Rather on you, 
 on you yourself." 
 
 Montellano now understood, and felt a vague disquiet. If 
 Dolores should not consent? If Roberto should not keep his 
 promise? . . . He had so much business to transact in that 
 department ! 
 
 Doctor, Serior Minister, your honor ought to take a bath 
 now. That will refresh you, and you will feel much rested. 
 After that we shall go to my house. Aura is awaiting you 
 for dinner. . . . Dolores told me that it would give her much 
 pleasure to see you ... she also is waiting for you." 
 
 Hearing the name of Dolores, Alcon's face brightened, began 
 

 THE RIVER 301 
 
 to look more human, and his false little smile shone all over 
 his countenance. 
 
 " We'll try this bath," he said. 
 
 And he had grown so merry that he burst out into a tre- 
 mendous laugh, and both men began to undress. 
 
 " Sefior Don Ramon," then remarked the Minister, in a 
 confidential, familiar tone, " my excellent friend (he pulled off 
 the one sleeve), as you know (pulling off the other), I have 
 for quite a long time been expecting an answer. ... I am go- 
 ing to prove to you that you did wisely (and he folded his coat 
 up with great care), to give me your advice upon the subject 
 of matrimony. . . . Yes, Seiior Don Ramon, let us talk about 
 this with entire frankness, with an open heart (and he unbut- 
 toned his waistcoat), for you and I are men with hair on 
 our chests (he pulled off his shirt). Those personal mat- 
 ters of an urgent character are difficult to deal with. As our 
 beautiful language says: To him whom the clout was never 
 made for, his breeches may give sores." (And he unbuttoned 
 his breeches.) 
 
 " Talk, friend, talk," rumbled Montellano, his voice nearly 
 drowned by the rushing sound of the river. " You never in 
 your life had to put on a shirt of eleven varas (and he hung 
 his enormous shirt of tartan stuff on a bush) and know better 
 than anybody where the shoe pinches (pulling off the shoe on 
 his right foot)." 
 
 " Well, then, Don Ramon, as I do not care to speak in rid- 
 dles (and he managed to pull both his socks off), I want to 
 say that I wish the wedding to take place as soon as possible. 
 . . . You say that she on her part has made up her mind. . . . 
 Then it is an understood matter between us two." 
 
 Alcon was in good humor, loquacious, and burst out sud- 
 denly in high-pitched laughter, as brusk as the neighing of a 
 horse. 
 
 " Haha, haha," he neighed, " I shall talk to Dolores this very 
 evening." 
 
 Montellano now stepped up to the clear, cool pool, and im- 
 mersed himself, then drew out his head which was streaming 
 water all over the face, and shouted to Alcon who was wait- 
 ing at the bank and touching the cold water carefully with the 
 
302 PAX 
 
 point of his toe, not wishing to " cultivate closer relations," 
 as he would say in diplomatic parlance, with it. 
 
 " I pledge myself to do all that I can, although she is 
 sometimes rather self-willed," said Montellano, " but let us 
 talk plainly. Between us two there must not be any mystery. 
 . . . We understand each other. You know that I have some- 
 thing. It is all invested at good profit. Look at the nice 
 fit I made with La Danta. ... As my wedding gift I shall 
 make over to you the deeds of Cebaderos and two houses in 
 Royal Street. . . . Good. . . . But, that being so, let us make 
 another loan the coming week. . . . Give me the decree for 
 the amortization fund of the bonds of '48. Really? How 
 much is it? . . . More than eight hundred thousand pesos for 
 payment of the railroad." 
 
 Roberto, on leaving Montellano, had taken the path up the 
 hill. On reaching the summit and arriving at the highroad, 
 he halted pantingly, and then followed the road slowly. He 
 was in a meditating and disgusted mood, and a vague sentiment, 
 a mingling of anger, of sadness and distrust, had crept into his 
 heart. At first he resolved not to speak to Dolores. What, 
 after all, did these people matter to him? Let them shift for 
 themselves. Let Alcon and Montellano arrange their affairs 
 as they saw fit. Whether Dolores married or no, and whether 
 Alcon or somebody else became her husband, made very little 
 difference to him. Really? . . . Did it mean so little to 
 him? 
 
 He met the great crowd of summer guests who after their 
 bath were taking their afternoon stroll. Dona Aura de Mon- 
 tellano was strolling along in the midst of a bevy of girls 
 that followed her, talking and laughing, was affecting a 
 juvenile agility, walked with a swaying step, and when smiling 
 showed all her teeth in the midst of which there shone a solid 
 gold one, the result of biting into an unripe apple, as she 
 claimed. 
 
 " Roberto, come here, Roberto," she called to him. " I must 
 show you some verses that I wrote yesterday in the shade of 
 that fruit tree yonder, in a moment of inspiration. They are 
 intended for the January issue of the Mujer Independiente." 
 
THE RIVER 303 
 
 The girls in her train had laughingly ran away as soon as she 
 had started reciting: 
 
 TWILIGHT STRAINS 
 
 How pallid is Phoebus of sapphirine light 
 
 While in his arms the sun clasps the night. 
 
 The rose to thee opes her homesick bosom, 
 
 In the sun's greenish waves so swiftly declining, 
 
 How pallid is Phoebus of sapphirine light! 
 
 In the crisp golden hue of toppling rushes, 
 
 And in the turquoise blue of an abyss that crushes, 
 
 Reddens the blood of the sun now dying, 
 
 With pinky roses and primroses yellow, 
 
 In the crisp golden hue of toppling rushes. 
 
 The shadows ravish the stars anemic 
 With their polychrome faded shimmering, 
 And their multicolored faintest glimmering, 
 And like bloodless loves endemic, 
 The shadows ravish the stars anemic. 
 
 The passers-by took the road to Volador, avoiding the hill- 
 side; from the depths of the can brake came the dull thunder 
 of the river. 
 
 In a group were walking together Doctor Miranda, Alejandro, 
 Doctor Agiieros, and Bellegarde. 
 
 " To-morrow," said Bellegarde, " to greet the new year, the 
 first deep-bottomed vessel will pass through the Bocas de 
 Ceniza. Despite certain recent events, of which I as a for- 
 eigner have no right to give an opinion, I hope that peace will 
 not be disturbed." 
 
 " Peace, yes, there is peace," replied Doctor Agiieros, " the 
 peace of Poland. . . . Ronderos has endeavored to keep us 
 caged in golden cages. . . . And his successors follow in his 
 wake. . . . Frankly I tell you, dear Count, I who have been 
 fighting your projects, your canalization enterprise, that since 
 all this has been undertaken by this present government, it 
 is inadvisable, because it will enable this same government to 
 overcome the defenders of the national Constitution. The mo- 
 mentary evil will only become a permanent disease." 
 
 " That which I see in the country," interrupted the Count, 
 
304 PAX 
 
 " after the lapse of ten years of peace, is great activity, great 
 hope, great cheerfulness. Do you not hear yourself the merry 
 bustle, the laughter and songs of those happy young people 
 over yonder? Well, thus it is all over the whole country." 
 
 " No, dear Count," retorted Doctor Agiieros, " it is impos- 
 sible for this feudal colony of Philip II and of Father Thomas 
 de Torquemada ever to attain to a perfect psychological con- 
 dition. . . . And in speaking that way I do not mean our 
 progressive and enlightened clergy, such people as Doctor 
 Miranda, but I am referring to that drove of foreign adven- 
 turers, people of low extraction, who come here after being 
 driven out of their own lands to fatten themselves on us, dis- 
 guised under the pompous name of sisters of charity or mis- 
 sionaries." 
 
 " Beg pardon," broke in Alejandro with some heat, " you 
 must have visited many hospitals, Doctor, and must have 
 watched these same sisters of charity from close by. You 
 must know whether it can be the money they earn that has sent 
 these pious woman on their painful mission. . . . You speak 
 of people of low birth. . . . And you, apostle of democracy, say 
 this? ... Of course, the nobility of blood plays no important 
 part in this matter. But I see now that you, a radical demo- 
 crat, demand just that in order to take care of the sick and 
 dying. Good, I am glad of this change in your ideas. And 
 besides, I am acquainted, for instance, with a sister of charity 
 who bears in her escutcheon the cross of the Crusades and in 
 her veins the blood of Mortemar." 
 
 " Ah, yes," replied Agiieros, " I have seen her from afar; it is 
 Sister San Ligorio . . . she is neurotic. But I do not want 
 to emphasize that feature of the question. The sisters of char- 
 ity are excellent women in their way, although they might be 
 displaced by English nurses who are in some respects superior 
 to them. What I do claim is that this country cannot prosper 
 while we are under the control of a government that leans 
 entirely upon the army and the clergy, that is to say, upon those 
 who kill and those who lie. Excluding in my arraignment, of 
 course, as always, my dear Doctor Miranda and those few 
 others who resemble him. . . . But the foreign clergy, the 
 missionaries, they leave their own countries merely to accumulate 
 
: 
 
 THE RIVER 305 
 
 riches, to engage in profitable trade, to seek and succeed in 
 life." 
 
 " To seek life . . ." exclaimed Doctor Miranda, with an 
 accent of irony. " To seek adventures and wealth ! These 
 men who in the school of Catholic apostleship have solely learned 
 the science of seeking death! " 
 
 They all stopped walking. Doctor Miranda stood in the 
 center of the group, his cheeks aflame, his eyes flashing with 
 indignation. . . . 
 
 "Seek death?" he proceeded, "die, do I say? ... But 
 that does not tell it all. . . . For they sacrifice their lives not 
 once, nor twice. . . . No, what the missionary learns, what 
 that foreign priest whom you so abhor, learns, is the art of 
 dying, of dying every instant, of dying all the time. First he 
 dies for his own family, for father, mother, for all that we 
 ourselves have and hold dear, and all that makes life worth 
 living, all this he gives up forever. And he dies again, dies 
 a second time, for friendship. He has to tear himself loose once 
 more and for always from his new paternal home. Fatherland ? 
 He has not even a fatherland. . . . He dies anew in coming 
 to faraway regions, to the impenetrable forests of America, 
 to the deserts of Caqueta, to the prairies of Casanare, where 
 the sky, the mountains, the customs and manners, even the 
 language, remind him forever that he is a man without a coun- 
 try. . . . And after dying thrice, he has still to die, with 
 an agony that never ceases and which is bound to last until 
 the last hour of his span of life, for he must die also to him- 
 
 iself, must extinguish every longing of his very heart and 
 spirit." 
 
 Alejandro, who was moved and stirred to the very depths 
 of his soul, drew closer to the priest and offered him his arm. 
 They all went on in silence, Doctor Agiieros being in bad 
 humor, and nobody either ventured to pursue the conversation 
 on the same topic or to turn into new channels. The words of 
 Doctor Miranda had disturbed all his hearers. But suddenly 
 they all involuntarily stopped at a curve in the road to admire 
 the panorama and to linger on the view presented. 
 
 In front of them, on the hills, there were huge yellow patches , 
 of withered pasture ground; there were the traces of some fire, 
 
306 PAX 
 
 black and of capricious forms and hues. Farther away, cling- 
 ing to the hillsides, there were small houses of blinding white, 
 sheltered all about by weeping willows whose graceful plum- 
 age was swaying to and fro in the gentle breeze, and farther 
 below were the meadows between which the river was flowing 
 musically. A bluish mist was veiling the outlines of distant 
 objects. Upon the summits of the hills some trees were traced 
 with softness upon the reddish atmosphere towards the setting 
 sun. In the veiled distance columns of smoke rose straight 
 and clear to the sky; a huge bonfire on the foggy horizon 
 blazed up and went down with varying fire effects. There 
 could be seen, filtering slowly across the enclosure of willows, 
 the glare of a fire. . . . 
 
 " Roberto, a folksong, with words of your own." 
 And he, strumming his mandolin, burst out singing, ac- 
 companied by all the girls who followed him in a harmonious 
 and far-reaching chorus with their fresh and brisk voices, and 
 over them all the voice of Dolores thrilling with passion was 
 clearly distinguishable : 
 
 Death is sweet if it comes 
 Snatching me from thy side; 
 My hands between thine, 
 Thy lips upon mine. 
 
 The voices were stilled a moment, the mandolins continuing 
 their plaintive rhythm, scattering melancholy through the rushes 
 whence the invisible river still sent its own somber tune. But 
 the chorus began once more: 
 
 Oh, but how sad his coming 
 In a lonesome spot, 
 If thine eyes do not rest on mine, 
 My lips not touch thine. 
 
 How beautiful Dolores was that night! She was youth it- 
 self, youth in bloom. On the banks of the river, remembering 
 her childhood, she had broken off and gathered bunches of 
 wildflowers in the woods, of those flowers without number and 
 without name which embellish the wilderness. Without a mir- 
 ror, without knowledge of the fashion, she had wound those 
 stray blossoms into her wealth of curly hair. With this simple 
 
THE RIVER 307 
 
 ornament, in this strange and unfettered guise, her beauty har- 
 monized deliciously with the beauty of her surroundings. 
 
 And in a movement of admiration, Roberto compared her 
 to those flowers which have just opened their hearts in the 
 copses of the woods, to those gladiolas which flourish on the 
 verge of the road, filled with the rays of the sun and which, 
 in that instant, in the splendors of a sunny afternoon, spread 
 all the delicate perfume of their corollas. In the depths of 
 her black eyes could be divined her secret burden, the pre- 
 mature fatigue of life, the satiety of the soul, the breaking up 
 of the first love which yet surrounded Dolores with a luminous 
 nimbus. 
 
 " Why are you singing these sad songs, Roberto? " 
 "Have you ever heard merry folksongs? Do you not re- 
 member this stanza of Pombo's: 
 
 " A wayward tune, 
 
 Friend yet destroyer, 
 
 Which weeps with the weeper, 
 
 Yet soon wakes woe." 
 
 And Dolores continued: 
 
 " Oh, for a burst of laughter, 
 Turbulent, bestial, 
 But glowing with passion 
 And fire celestial." 
 
 " Very good, Dolores. I admit my defeat. But let us not 
 go back to melancholy songs, and rather speak of pleasant 
 things," answered Roberto in a tone of scarcely perceptible dis- 
 pleasure, " for right now I am going to tell you a piece of 
 good news." 
 
 " A piece of good news? " 
 
 She listened to him hesitatingly, always afraid of his caprices, 
 and suspicious of him, and in order to avoid disappointment, 
 she instantly made up her mind to collect herself and to show 
 a prudent reserve, to oppose her valor to his pride, with the 
 spirit of her race of fighters. 
 
 "What is the news?" 
 
 " Doctor Alcon is going to arrive here this evening." 
 
 " I am glad of it, for he is a good friend of my father's." 
 
308 PAX 
 
 " But he is a better admirer of your own : a model wooer, fine 
 and constant." 
 
 " In that case he has one quality which others lack." 
 
 "Which quality?" 
 
 "Well, that one . . .the one you just named: constancy." 
 
 " Doctor Alcon is full of good qualities, who dares doubt 
 it?" 
 
 " You yourself admit it." 
 
 " I know what he is looking for in Ubaque. According to 
 what you intimate, after so many other successes, he will achieve 
 here one more. His honor is coming to propose to you to be- 
 come his wife." 
 
 Silence. Two little birds close by are chasing each other, ris- 
 ing, falling, lose themselves at last in the amber atmosphere. 
 
 "And what do you advise me to do, Roberto?" asked 
 Dolores in her voice of clear crystal. 
 
 " That you take counsel with an adviser who never deceives 
 us. Consult your heart." 
 
 " And what if my heart does not care to answer, if it is silent, 
 and remains mute, if it is afraid to talk," she concluded in a 
 low voice, which seemed to strangle and die. 
 
 " Then that is proof that you must take counsel with your 
 head." 
 
 " And what is that going to say? " 
 
 " That Doctor Alcon is a man who has made his way up- 
 ward steadily and rapidly, enterprising and laborious ... a 
 writer of merit, a practical man of common sense, a minister 
 who seems exempt from bad fortune, one who understands how 
 to combat and how to win. . . . That life itself is not a poem 
 . . . and that you had better not trust those dreamers, those 
 fickle ones, those of complicated nature, those who like sad 
 folksongs, and those who do not believe in paragons." 
 
 They followed the others in silence, Roberto with his head 
 hanging low, she with head on high, with eyes that shone with 
 suppressed pain and fear. 
 
 The immense shadow of the Guayacunde fell aslant the 
 brows of the hills and declivities. From the depths rose the 
 perfumes of the jessamines and of humbler flowers, mingled 
 with those of primroses and fruit trees, and the tepid aroma 
 emitted by the sugar mills, whence issued the long thumping 
 
THE RIVER 309 
 
 of the engines, at regular intervals, the whistling and songs 
 of the carriers and drivers. The dusky air was already swept 
 with twilight shadows, while overhead could still be seen wings 
 of birds gilt by the dying sun, and these looked like creatures 
 aflame. Between the rows of trees, the street musicians, with a 
 variety of popular tunes sang and played their best, seeking ap- 
 plause from all, balconies and chairs, delighted their hear- 
 ers with improvizations in inimitable style, and as an encore 
 to her cavatina the mountain primadonna would respond, just 
 as in the case of arias with chorus, with the Spanish folksong, 
 the bambuco, this other free-souled and primitive song, and the 
 plaint of the mandolin : 
 
 My hands between thine, 
 Thy lips upon mine. 
 
 " I should like to go that way," murmured Roberto, giving 
 himself up to sadness, " in a year, in a day, amid these 
 simple, great things, and murmur my last words together with 
 those of these innocent and pure beings." 
 
 He raised his eyes. The sky, clear and very high, was 
 speckled with stars. A zone of luminous dust covered the whole 
 firmament from one extreme to the other. The fireflies began to 
 shed a dim luster like sparks torn away by the wind from a 
 far away conflagration. Out of the cane brake, the depths, the 
 trees and bushes the odors of the night plants and flowers 
 exhaled their perfume, and the confused harmonies of this na- 
 ture which in falling asleep retains the mingled palpitations 
 and murmurs. There floated all around an immense calm in 
 the midst of which was raised the voice of the river which was 
 still intoning the requiem of idylls, the de profundis of buried 
 bliss. An outline approached Dolores and Roberto. 
 
 " Is it you, Doctor Alcon? I had not recognized you," ex- 
 claimed Roberto. "Are you looking for Dolores? I believe 
 she was waiting for you. . . . Good night! " 
 
310 PAX 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 A MASQUERADE BALL 
 
 IT is the thirty-first of December. All the summer guests in 
 Ubaque, the Bogota people who have come to seek in that 
 smiling place relief from care and diversion, health and in- 
 tercourse with persons similarly inclined, have met in the 
 pleasant anticipation of another day of amusement. Alejandro 
 and Roberto are giving that night a farewell masquerade ball in 
 honor of Count Bellegarde at the Union Club, as the Count is 
 starting on his homeward journey for Europe on the following 
 day. The year is departing, and departing amidst laughter 
 and flowers, rejoicings and amusements. 
 
 As the Count wished to see the lagoon of Ubaque, he has 
 undertaken a trip with his friends through the hills which lead 
 to it. At the head of the whole cavalcade rides General Ron- 
 deros. 
 
 " You cannot imagine," he said, " how happy I feel. That 
 life of unending preoccupation, of anxieties and unrest, was 
 a burden too heavy for my shoulders. To make peace secure, 
 to insure a quick development of affairs, was my only ambi- 
 tion while in the cabinet, and I believe I have done my share 
 towards that end while it was in my power to do so. I feel 
 a great satisfaction, Sefior Bellegarde, to have arranged with 
 you the contract for the canalization of the river, and to have 
 defended it. With that great work which will without doubt en- 
 rich the country, a great step toward definite pacification has 
 been taken." 
 
 " My gratitude, General," answered the Count, " is due to 
 you, for the faith which you have consistently shown in me, 
 and the kindness you have displayed at the same time, is in- 
 deed very great. No doubt the country, performing an act of 
 justice and also in its own interest, will recall you soon to 
 preside once more over its destinies." 
 
 " Oh, no, sir, I do not wish it, I do not, indeed. I must 
 think solely of how to prepare myself to die well. I feel very 
 old." 
 
 A woman who did messenger service for the telegraph op- 
 
A MASQUERADE BALL 311 
 
 erator, came panting with a telegram for Bellegarde. It was 
 opened. "It is the news," said" Bellegarde, after reading it, 
 " that the first large ship, the Colombia, will to-morrow enter 
 by way of Bocas de Ceniza, as we had promised." 
 
 " Praised be God from the bottom of my soul," exclaimed 
 Ronderos, his eyes moist with emotion, and shaking hands with 
 the Count. 
 
 " Besides," he continued, " there is more news which will 
 sound pleasant in the ears of the shareholders. The enter- 
 prise has awakened real enthusiasm. The shares of one pound 
 each are now being quoted at four pounds on the London Ex- 
 change. A great amount of capital is being offered to me 
 for new enterprises. I feel profoundly sorry to be obliged 
 to leave the country to-morrow." 
 
 " And is there no way of inducing you to stay a while longer, 
 my friend? " exclaimed General Ronderos. 
 
 " Impossible. To-morrow it will be precisely a year, you 
 gentlemen may recollect, since I was notified that my group 
 was busy with the idea of canalizing the Seine and making 
 Paris a sea port. Thereupon I presented my plans and projects 
 to a commission studying the matter. The commission has ap- 
 proved them, and the French parliament is going to take them 
 now into consideration. It is absolutely necessary for me to 
 present myself in person. I hope, however, to return to Colom- 
 bia very soon, since Colombia is to me the most attractive of 
 all countries in America. During my absence Alejandro and 
 Roberto will remain in charge of the whole enterprise. And 
 they will advance things, I have no doubt." 
 
 " I suppose," said Alejandro to Roberto in an aside, " that 
 your fears and hesitations have by now disappeared. Your 
 32,000 shares are worth 128,000 pounds sterling by this time. 
 That is quite a little fortune, eh? You can now redeem your 
 house, as well as the two haciendas, leaving you a good-sized 
 reserve." 
 
 " But I have not so far, and I do not now intend to sell these 
 shares. It would be a breach of good faith." 
 
 They arrived on the heights. Beyond the rough hillside 
 there stretched a vast plain of marshy pastures. They put 
 foot on ground, approached the edge of the mountain side, and 
 regarded the far view silently. 
 
312 PAX 
 
 " Rather rare, this, I think, Count, is it not," said the Gen- 
 eral, "this lagoon at such a height? There is a certain re- 
 semblance to some of the Swiss lakes." 
 
 A perfect calm enwrapped the entire landscape. The lake 
 reflected the granite peaks of the neighboring steep mountains, 
 the immense back of the Guayacundo, which rose up almost 
 sheer from the water's edge and was portrayed in all its de- 
 tails with photographic correctness, while the gaze of the be- 
 holder was unable to distinguish where the reality ended and 
 its reflection began. At the bottom a bluish light prevailed 
 through which the clouds appeared to sail through a wavering 
 luminous opening in the center of the smooth surface. An 
 eagle, master of these lonesome spots, floated and balanced him- 
 self with his immovable widespread wings. The wind then 
 crumpled the level surface of the water, stirring slowly the 
 heavy fluid, and when the latter again flattened out, it took on 
 glints of mother-of-pearl, of steel. There was a big patch of 
 rushes rising out of the calm water, and the mirroring flood 
 was divided by two long lines that were breaking up, and 
 then the lake presented an aspect both delightful and sinister. 
 The breeze set in again, the splash of a wave larger and deeper 
 than the others was heard. . . . And again the whole scene 
 was enwrapped in the most profound silence. 
 
 Maraton, the dog, had dived down into the bed of rushes, 
 scurrying here and there about in it, but sprang suddenly upon 
 the lush grass growing there, emitting a growl of rage. 
 
 " What is it, Maraton ? What is troubling you ? Have you 
 heard some of Wagner's music?" 
 
 The dog came forth. Watching the direction he took, they 
 saw upon a declivity, on top of a rock, a rider on a black 
 horse. 
 
 " It is Socarraz, the scorpion," exclaimed Chispas, com- 
 ing forth suddenly, revolver in hand. 
 
 " Leave him, leave him," replied Ronderos. " Let us ride 
 down to the village. They are awaiting us." 
 
 When they arrived there, everybody was in merry humor and 
 full of enthusiasm. There were dust clouds and much noise, 
 the jingle of harness, ladies and gentlemen galloping along 
 the road, following the path down the hillside, towards the 
 place chosen for the celebration. 
 
A MASQUERADE BALL 313 
 
 The whole cavalcade, mad with excitement and enjoyment, 
 was jamming into the narrow vale of El Volador, and was dash- 
 ing up and down the dusty highroad. The cobblestones rang 
 with hoofbeats, and the horses on hearing the patter of so 
 many animals and their riders on the stone pavements leading 
 to the depths below where the river was roaring, pointed their 
 ears, and pressed closer against the rocks beside the path. 
 The rejoicing went on increasing, the unrestrained merriment 
 grew steadily, because down there in the lower places could 
 already be discerned the spot picked out for the festival, with 
 the Union Club, the numerous tents noticeable in their snowy 
 white, and the girdle around it all formed by the silvery river, 
 to which the shadows and the orange plantations afforded a 
 charming contrast. 
 
 There was a transparent atmosphere, the vivifying sun of 
 the tropics brilliantly poured its flood of light upon the fronds 
 of the palms, and gave to the scarlet petals of the flowers the 
 glowing appearance of rubies. 
 
 And as the cavalcade descended lower and lower the heat 
 became greater and Nature more lavish. An intense well being, 
 a palpitating joy seemed at the same time to penetrate the 
 veins of everybody, and some of the general rejoicing was 
 creeping into all these bodies of merry-makers, injecting a 
 more vigorous sap and a new blood into them all. The trees 
 with their abundance of foliage were filled with this magic savor, 
 as well as all hearts. Approaching the river, they crossed 
 now the bridge, the noise all the while deafening, and came 
 out on a plain covered with fruit trees; there the Rio Blanco 
 and the Rio Negro join, form a new whole, and merge their 
 waters amidst the rushing thunder of their waves. 
 
 All those present, come from everywhere, are in an uproar 
 of liberty and excitement, singing, laughing, running about on 
 the plain, making the horses bathed in sweat dance on the velvet 
 turf, skirmish about in lively groups, plucking whole hand- 
 fuls of blossoming flowers, despoiling the bearing trees in the 
 orchard, intoxicating themselves with the delicious fragrance 
 of the lemon-trees, gathering bunches of orange blossoms, and 
 spilling all over the grass the gold of the oranges. The savor 
 rising up from the soil itself fills the lungs, the tropical vigor 
 rushes to the head and face, and this, together with the merri- 
 
3 H PAX 
 
 ment of the festivity itself, fires all pulses, enshrouds them in 
 a vibrant atmosphere, so that the fever steals into the arteries. 
 After a time the excitement of this fever begins to breed 
 fatigue, the tension of enthusiasm relaxes, the greed for pleas- 
 ure diminishes, will power itself deadens, and then comes a 
 mist of stupor, a wave of languor, and melancholy invades 
 them all, takes possession of them, submerges them gently. 
 
 Alcon, with Dolores (now his betrothed), on his arm, is 
 going from group to group receiving felicitations and well- 
 wishes; Dona Aura does not enjoy herself, but Montellano 
 is gorged with satisfaction and pride. 
 
 " Doctor Alcon, you succeed in everything." 
 
 " Mr. Minister, what a fine couple you and your betrothed 
 make! " 
 
 " Your honor has obtained a success more decisive than your 
 literary and political ones." 
 
 " Dolores, accept my wishes for your happiness! I think it 
 is assured." 
 
 And she, leaning with abandon on the arm of her future 
 husband, let herself be led on by him, receiving congratula- 
 tions and good wishes, walking with a firm step, with a mien 
 of resolution, with a shining, resolute glance. 
 
 Alcon, on his part, always stiff, accepted this homage cere- 
 moniously, allowed people to heap flattering remarks and felici- 
 tations on him, and as if at his desk in the department, answered 
 them with a slight bend of the head, murmured evasive replies, 
 vague words, smiled disdainfully, threw his head back, made 
 gestures of assertive cheerfulness, and from time to time directed 
 over his eyeglasses, at Roberto, haughty glances full of insolence 
 and cunning. 
 
 Gacharnah walked about with his paunch triumphantly, keep- 
 ing a whole squadron of servants on the run, offering goblets 
 of champagne, sandwiches, mountains of biscuits; he himself 
 would uncork the bottles, would carry about in his chubby 
 hands, while performing miracles of equilibrium, piles of plates, 
 ice-cream in cups, and desserts. He felt upon his shoulders 
 the responsibility of the mission entrusted to him by Alejandro 
 and Roberto, and priding himself on his fine taste, his activity, 
 his culinary knowledge, would sweep into the tents, help the 
 attendants carve the turkeys and slice the hams, denouncing 
 
A MASQUERADE BALL 315 
 
 the chef's qualifications as a cook. And when everything 
 seemed in running order, he would mingle with the guests, 
 approach a table piled high with bottles and flasks, seize 
 liquors and table ingredients, pour the drink out into two tall 
 glasses, and would, bowing gracefully, offer to the guests his 
 latest concoction, a refreshing beverage, pink and foaming, 
 the " Montellano cocktail." 
 
 Night came, and the greensward was deserted, while the in- 
 vited assembly began to prepare for the masquerade ball. Be- 
 tween the darkening foliage became visible balls of colored 
 light, and next the level space was crossed by long rosaries of 
 glowing color. From the big tent which had been prepared for 
 the ball, there issued vivid streams of light. 
 
 Then the orchestra burst into its enlivening strains. And the 
 waves of the river, the waves of light and the waves of music 
 flowed and merged into one blend of harmonies, bursting out 
 and reflected by the rocks all around. 
 
 At last the longed-for hour arrives. The maskers have in- 
 vaded the central hall of the club, as well as the gardens. All 
 epochs are represented, and all colors. Grenadiers of the impe- 
 rial guard, Indians, Japanese, dominoes, the Druids walk arm 
 in arm with common wenches. Philip II meets Cleopatra, and 
 the stately monarch at once breaks out in a fit of hearty laugh- 
 ter. The Three Musketeers have taken hold of three old women 
 painted up as papal adherents. Mephistopheles bows and takes 
 off his red beretta, in order to salute a nun in a white frock. 
 
 In a nook of the tent a Spanish hidalgo in surcoat and pow- 
 dered wig is whispering to a knight in full armor, his vizier 
 closed and the plumes of his steel helmet erect and waving. 
 
 " Look at Carmen, she has made an Andalusian sovereign of 
 herself. Just notice how that Scotchman, that Edgar, is fol- 
 lowing her, jealous and in love with her. . . . My, my, how the 
 Garter with its diamond ribbon contrasts finely in the costume 
 of the minister with the silken stockings ! " 
 
 The hours pass, the new year draws near. The old year is 
 going amidst gay lovemaking and bright smiles, amidst flowers 
 and happiness, amidst the maddening mazes of the dance, and 
 the shouts of reveling. 
 
 The clamors of a waltz are stilled, and a chorus of voices, 
 accompanied by the chords of the mandolin, is intoning a bam- 
 
316 PAX 
 
 buco. And the couples and beauties approach and listen to that 
 song so unrestrained in its rhythms, so capricious and audacious 
 in its tune, so monotonous and sad, so simple and spontaneous, 
 like the murmur of the river itself, like the breathing of the 
 dawn, like the splendor of the birds, like all the harmonies of 
 Nature. But in spite of being one of Nature's own cries, in 
 spite of its simplicity, it takes possession of the soul, softens it, 
 fills it with melancholy and sadness, dares to say those things 
 which lips would not dare to frame, breeds confidence, encour- 
 ages the heart to begin a love dialogue, . . . mute, eloquent, 
 bold. 
 
 " Let us dance the bambuco! " 
 
 " Somebody give us the bambuco! " 
 
 All the young couples, however, begged to be excused, plead- 
 ing that none of them knew how to perform it. Nobody at all 
 ventured to walk up to the center of the hall. 
 
 " Dolores! Let Dolores dance it! " 
 
 Alcon, making use of his double authority as minister and 
 fiance, approached her, took her arm, and begged her to yield to 
 the general request. Then she tore her mask off her face, threw 
 it aside, went to the center, and waited. Everybody was looking 
 for a young partner for her, a partner worthy of her, but no one 
 appeared in the center of the space. Then voices were raised. 
 
 " Roberto ! Roberto ! Let Roberto dance ! " 
 
 His friends, opening their ranks, discovered him, took him by 
 the arm, and pushed him into the center. He and she, distrust- 
 ful, like fugitives, gazed mutely at each other from afar, each 
 avoiding the other's eyes. 
 
 Eternal story of love, 
 Law that Nature's self ordains: 
 Woman follows him who flees, 
 And flees from him who follows. 
 
 The strumming of the guitars is now heard, and the mandolins 
 twang their plaintive chords, like sobs cut short, like sighs of 
 passion or supplications, and together these instruments are 
 weaving with their chords a simple, touching melody, stammer- 
 ing its thrilling meaning, but a melody which soon changes, as- 
 suming penetrating vibrations, accents filled with the breath of 
 ardent love, and ending in a fiery declaration. And then this 
 
A MASQUERADE BALL 317 
 
 melody, as though harking back to its humble beginnings, re- 
 turns to the first bars, enmeshes itself once more, like a filament 
 in network, enwrapping all hearts, spurring them on, and con- 
 founding all in one single palpitation, in one sole shudder and 
 swoon. 
 
 Dolores and Roberto, in the midst of all this noise and excite- 
 ment, looked at each other only sidewise and stealthily. She in 
 her Carmen costume, vigorous, animated by the music, assuming 
 the attitude of a woman of the people, full of natural grace and 
 verve, arrogant and insolent. She threw away her velvet cape, 
 and then, slender and agile, advanced to the sound of the bam- 
 buco, of that song which starts in a slow measure, languid and 
 listless, but which goes on gathering life and warmth. He on 
 his part crossed the hall, reaching his partner, kneeling down 
 and rising again, receding, then searching for her, while she fol- 
 lowed him, avoided him, fled, and both maintained this pursuit, 
 this flight, forming circles, weaving figures in the dance, and 
 next swiftly breaking them up again, always to the accompani- 
 ment of a music that undulates, that sings and weeps, that 
 threatens and menaces. And the rhythm steadily quickens, is 
 agitated by feverish shocks; the mandolins give more of an im- 
 ploring and thrilling expression to their plaints and sobs. The 
 musical phrase of the flutes becomes precipitate, shrill, and 
 dominating. 
 
 A mysterious fluid began to run through the veins of the spec- 
 tators, who applauded with frenzy, and who divined in the soul 
 of the young couple a tender drama developing itself. They, 
 the two dancers, while the dance proceeded with its pretty 
 curves, gave themselves up to the intoxication of the moment. 
 They were afraid to meet and touch during its windings, they 
 avoided a direct gaze at one another, and they were thinking of 
 fate that always brought them in touch again, forced them to 
 look for each other, to persecute each other, imitating in the 
 dance itself all the gestures, all the fires of a passion which in- 
 sinuates itself, which flees and attracts, which conquers while 
 fleeing, and at last, longing for each other, inflamed and dazzled 
 by their own feelings, as though pushed on by an irresistible 
 force, they approach, look without reserve, smile, and then 
 stretch out their hands, trembling in every limb. . . . 
 
 " New Year's ! New Year's ! " 
 
318 PAX 
 
 All the slender tall goblets in which the froth of the cham- 
 pagne is running over, are raised in the hands of the company. 
 The orchestra bursts out in a triumphal hymn saluting the new 
 year. 
 
 " New Year's, New Year's! " 
 
 Shouts are suddenly heard in the garden. Shouts and rough 
 voices again. Then one . . . two . . . three shots. 
 
 " General Ronderos !" . . . 
 
 "Here! Here!" 
 
 Roberto and Alejandro are outside in a flash, and see at some 
 distance, by the light of the Japanese lanterns, a group of men in 
 violent motion. They reach the point. They see General Ron- 
 deros, who is assisted by Chispas and Casanova, defending his 
 life against four horsemen. In the half light Roberto recog- 
 nizes the black horse of Socarraz. Chispas and Casanova point 
 their revolvers again and fire upon their aggressors. The horse 
 of Socarraz, wounded, begins to rise on its haunches, makes its 
 escape with great bounds, takes the road leading up the hillside, 
 and is lost in the dark. The other riders follow him. 
 
 " What's the matter, General? " 
 
 " An attack upon me. ... I was in the gardens, together 
 with the Count. . . ." 
 
 " They wanted to carry off my General," says Chispas. 
 
 * ' General Ronderos, General Ronderos!" shouted the tele- 
 graph operator, coming up at a run with a telegram in her hand. 
 The General reads: 
 
 "Most Urgent! 
 
 " General Ronderos. In Ubaque, or wherever he may be found. 
 
 " A revolution has broken out in the entire Republic. They com- 
 municate with the Northern frontier. Tubalcain Cardoso proclaimed 
 generalissimus and highest chief. Landaburo at the front with forces. 
 Exposito Montes and Nero Jaspe declare themselves provisional presi- 
 dent in Honda. Polanco proclaimed on the Coast. Terenico Nichols in 
 Ambalema. Government hopes your patriotism will charge itself with 
 command as chief of the constitutional army. 
 
 " THE PRESIDENT, SANMARTIN." 
 
 At that moment there came the report of a shot from the steep 
 rocks by the river bed, and with it a wild voice shouting: 
 " Long live the Revolution ! " 
 There was everywhere confusion, dismay, sobs. Dona Aura 
 
A MASQUERADE BALL 319 
 
 shrieked, and tore the telegram out of the hands of General 
 Ronderos. 
 
 "Tubalcain! . . . My husband! ... He has come to life 
 again. ... A hero! " 
 
 Between hysterical convulsions of laughter and tears she was 
 taken to the tent of Gacharnah, and her friends surrounded her 
 without knowing whether they ought to congratulate her or to 
 show her the cold shoulder. Gacharnah, from among the 
 amazed crowd, approached the poetess and, radiant with joy, 
 drenched his dainty linen handkerchief with perfume, and then 
 applied it to the nostrils of Dona Aura : 
 
 " It is the choicest scent of Houbigant's," he exclaimed; " it 
 is Celestial Extra," and he smiled proudly. 
 
 Montellano came also, frowned, made a motion as though in 
 protest against these proceedings. With his big voice he domi- 
 nated the general chorus of fright, but a moment after was show- 
 ing a flash of joy in his eagle eyes because of the reappearance 
 of Cardoso. Then he went in search of Alcon and found him 
 already on horseback, ready to start for the Capital with his 
 body of employees. 
 
 " Dear Alcon, Mr. Minister, what has happened just now to 
 me, as husband of the wife of a revolutionary, might compro- 
 mise me much. But you know, I am nowise responsible for 
 that. Our arrangement remains fixed as before . . . and that 
 is sufficient." 
 
 Meanwhile the servants, in the midst of the terror and sur- 
 prise, were busy tearing from the bushes and plants and trees 
 the still burning Japanese lanterns to light up the path on their 
 flight. The masked guests, on the other hand, with the blind 
 impetus to save themselves at any cost, in the disarray of a des- 
 perate flight, in the confusion of the moment, mounted, after 
 seizing on some horse, and departed with the utmost haste, their 
 hoarse and ill-controlled voices betraying despair and affright, 
 and in the mists outside they were scarcely able to recognize one 
 another. They fled from the group of buildings, crossed the 
 bridge with shouts, took the road to El Volador, passed hurriedly 
 through the streets of Ubaque, and made for the route leading to 
 the Capital, with continual expressions of amazement, turning 
 their heads to look back, believing that at every instant there 
 :"Mght appear guerrilla bands amidst the rocks, in the narrow 
 
320 PAX 
 
 mountain paths, on the brambly wastes. Trying to find the way 
 in the obscurity, but unable to make out anything, clutching the 
 withers of their animals like madmen, passing the narrow 
 bridges which shook and bent under the great load, they tot- 
 tered along the mountain paths with trembling limbs, descended 
 across the deep ditches and clefts, stumbling and falling, 
 climbed the narrow paths up and down the hillside, and only 
 by a miracle escaped coming to an early end by falling over 
 precipices. 
 
 Hours later, there might still have been remarked the strange 
 sight of troupes of these mummers from the masquerade, attired 
 fantastically, and with all the appearance of a procession of 
 demented and mortally frightened beings, fighting their way 
 homewards across the stony parts of the panorama, in the bleak 
 light of dawn, making the impression, from a distance, of ca- 
 pricious silhouettes, hastening towards the Capital, looking at 
 the same time sinister and laughable, deadly tired and trembling 
 under their brilliant costumes of velvet, satin and tinsel, the 
 colors contrasting forcibly with the pale, disheveled appearance 
 of their wearers, in whose foces could be read lack of sleep, 
 carking care, disenchantment and fatigue. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 ADVANTAGES OF WAR 
 
 DECREE NUMBER 3 OF THE 1st OF JANUARY. . . . 
 
 By which Public Order is declared disturbed within the whole Republic. 
 The President of the Republic, making use of the powers conferred 
 upon him by Article 121 of the Constitution, and after hearing the 
 opinion of the Council of State, and 
 
 Considering 
 
 1. That many Revolutionaries in the close neighborhood of the ter- 
 ritory of Venezuela and well-known for their enmity to the institutions 
 and the Government of Colombia, amongst them the so-called General 
 Tubalcain Cardoso, have approached with Revolutionary forces the 
 frontiers of this Republic. 
 
 2. That at the same time the Government is receiving news from 
 divers parts of the Republic from which it appears that a general Revo- 
 lution has broken out; 
 
ADVANTAGES OF WAR 321 
 
 3. That important press organs in this Capital and particularly La 
 Integridad,^ La Revaluation, and El Escorpion, have for a long time 
 been exciting the population to rebellion; 
 
 4. That the Government of the Republic cannot remain indifferent 
 in face of this external danger and of a civil war entirely unjustifiable 
 and in any case certain to cause ruin and desolation to the country, 
 for which reason it is his duty, in conformity with the Constitution 
 and the Laws, to defend it and to defend the public order, while it 
 has not sufficed for that purpose to show a conciliatory conduct on 
 the part of the Government nor to propose a reduction of the size of 
 the public forces, nor to respect scrupulously the rights of everybody 
 and to give to the press of the opposition the most complete liberty in 
 its criticism of the actual Administration, 
 
 Decrees: 
 
 Article One. Public Order is declared disturbed within the whole 
 Republic, the territory of which is declared in a state of siege. 
 
 The Governors of the Departments are hereby invested with the pre- 
 rogatives of civil and military chiefs. 
 To be communicated and published. 
 Given in Bogota. ... F. DE P. SANMARTIN. 
 
 The Minister of State: Esteban Torralba. The Minister of Foreign 
 Affairs, Nabuco Benavides. The Minister of Finance, in charge of the 
 Department of War, Melchor Alcon. . . . The Minister of Public In- 
 struction, Max. Ovalle. 
 
 AMAZED people were massed at the corners of the streets read- 
 ing this decree. And following this, with the swiftness habitual 
 in such cases, another poster was being affixed beside the above, 
 reading : 
 
 DECREE NUMBER 3 OP THE 1st OF JANUARY. . . . 
 
 By which the functions of the civil and military chiefs are determined. 
 The President of the Republic. 
 
 In view of Articles 61 and 121 of the Constitution, 
 
 Decrees: 
 
 Article 1. The Governors, in their character of civil and military 
 chiefs, are herewith clothed with the following powers: 
 
 1. To organize the military forces required for the reestablishment 
 of order. 
 
 2. To carry out the expropriations and forced loans demanded by the 
 circumstances. 
 
 In the premises of the war department meanwhile all sorts 
 of people are invading the passages, the offices, and come and go 
 in turbulent groups, shout, call to each other, strut around, and 
 all with the same disorder and anxiety which would be shown in 
 
PAX 
 
 case of a big fire. New faces are to be seen in which can be 
 read the fear, the curiosity, the joy, the dissimulation, the impor- 
 tance which the place and time inspire. There are uniforms, 
 red and blue and green ones, very recently donned or resurrected. 
 Voices used to command are to be heard, with interjections, 
 curses, impatient grumblings. And meanwhile, the clerks with- 
 out interrupting their work are bowed over their desks, making 
 flourishes with their pens, copying orders, notes, telegrams, deaf 
 to all the uproar that is going on all around them. 
 
 The door which communicates with the office of the assistant 
 secretary is slamming every minute with the incessant passing 
 through of section chiefs, of a thousand clerks and employees, of 
 military men who are coming to get the required signatures for 
 passports, pay checks, railroad passes, permits for night service, 
 etc. And the assistant secretary, after a rapid glance at these 
 papers, without reading them, goes on signing and signing, with 
 pain in his shoulder and his arm, dazed, tired out by the inces- 
 sant tumult, by the deafening roar of voices, by the rush and 
 fuss in the adjoining offices, and by the click of the telegraph 
 apparatus installed there, which with its desperate tick-tack, 
 seemingly restless and unappeasable, makes every nerve tingle, 
 precisely like the whole country, which is in a state of high 
 fever. 
 
 In steps a priest, correct, tall, ruddy, blue eyes, military car- 
 riage, tempered with modesty. 
 
 " I am Father Aragon," he says, bowing politely to the assis- 
 tant secretary, " and chaplain of the Grenadiers that march 
 away this afternoon. I came to get my commission papers." 
 
 He takes his papers and folds them up neatly, and at the door 
 he meets Karlonoff (Colonel of bridges and highroads, technical 
 adviser of the department, first assistant secretary, etc.), who 
 brings in his pocket a resolution by which every soldier must 
 carry in his knapsack " the golden book of the Colombian sol- 
 dier," which has been written by this same Karlonoff for the 
 " use of the three arms." . . . 
 
 At the same instant, too, there enters Sanchez de Peiianegra 
 to offer an invention of his which for reasons of notorious injus- 
 tice had not received the endorsement of the two chambers, 
 namely, " the gun without repercussion," and within a few mo- 
 ments there has developed, augmenting the existing turmoil, an 
 
ADVANTAGES OF WAR 323 
 
 interminable discussion, full of technical terms, between these 
 two experts: 
 
 " It must be remembered that the distance from the bore to 
 the breech is almost the same as from the touchhole to the cir- 
 cumference." 
 
 " I don't deny it," interrupts Sanchez de Penanegra, after a 
 violent fit of coughing, and holding up his hand to make 
 Karlonoff understand that he wishes to finish what he has to say, 
 " but if we consider that the space between the lock communi- 
 cates with the bore, etc." 
 
 He was rendered speechless once more by another terrific at- 
 tack of his cough, and half-dead, tears running out of his eyes, 
 stammering, he nevertheless continued the 'discussion, and he 
 and the technical adviser of the department retreated, amidst 
 waves upon waves of people, from one office to another, explain- 
 ing their different theories. 
 
 " I want, above all, first the guns," at last concludes the 
 Colonel of the bridges and highways, locking himself up in his 
 private office, and without giving the inventor a chance of fol- 
 lowing him there. " The latest invention, the latest patent is 
 spoken of in the Military Review of Tokio. It is the 100 Gun, 
 the big Yamagata." 
 
 Behind a door guarded by two sentinels and locked at double 
 turn, Minister Alcon is attending to business. He is benumbed 
 by his sleepless night, still quite disabled by the frightful trip 
 through the night, by the terror of his fellow travelers, and some- 
 what dazed by the recent events which, he begins to think, have 
 perhaps gone a trifle farther than he had foreseen. 
 
 Gacharnah, fresh, rosy of complexion, with an air of total 
 satisfaction, his paunch still in triumphant evidence, in his but- 
 tonhole wearing a faded chrysanthemum, is seated right in front, 
 his limbs elegantly displayed upon a Louis XVI sofa with gilt 
 and carved frame. 
 
 " My dear Doctor Alcon," he says, " the cloth is ready, in 
 agreement with our understanding, sufficient for 20,000 outfits, 
 Edwards type . . . there is nothing to beat it in the whole 
 place." 
 
 There came a smart rap at the door leading into the passage- 
 way, evidently by a person of importance. 
 
 " It is I, the technical adviser," said the voice. 
 
324 PAX 
 
 They withdrew the bolt and turned the key. 
 
 " It is indispensable to urge at once," Karlonoff said, after 
 having locked the door again, " urge by cable the instant remit- 
 tance of those 10,000 rifles with their munition, five million car- 
 tridges, and furthermore as a specialty of the first magnitude, 
 those big guns for the Grenadiers; these guns are the last word 
 of modern science, and of artillery: the 100 cannon, long Yama- 
 gata." 
 
 " I will take charge of that," exclaimed Gacharnah, all aglow 
 with happiness.. " The order will be filled and the goods here 
 before another sixty days. That matter is settled." 
 
 " Yes, friend, that may be considered settled; but for all pur- 
 chases of this kind, remember, it is necessary that the other 
 members of the cabinet empower me to sign a document which 
 I have just drawn up." 
 
 A timid knock at the door. Alcon hurried to it, and with- 
 out opening took a paper which was passed to him through the 
 chink. 
 
 " Ah, here it is, just what you want," said Alcon. 
 
 Gacharnah read: 
 
 DECREE NUMBER 3 OF THE 1st OF JANUARY. . . . 
 
 Concerning the formalities to be complied with in contracts for the 
 supply of war material for the army. 
 The President of the Republic, 
 
 Considering: 
 
 That the urgency with which war material of every description has 
 to be obtained, and also those objects required for the mobilization 
 and equipment of the army, is very great, and that it is difficult and 
 in many cases not feasible to effect a meeting and the presence of all 
 the members of the council of Ministers, at all times and when it would 
 be necessary for the previous approval of said contracts, 
 
 Decree : 
 
 Therefore, those contracts which in amount exceed a thousand pesos, 
 concluded by the Minister of War, are to be excepted from the aforemen- 
 tioned formality, and shall require for their validity solely the ap- 
 proval of the said minister. . . . 
 
 " Very well, very well ! " exclaimed Gacharnah, while he burst 
 into a sonorous guffaw. " Then will your honor please order 
 the disposition regarding the cloth we spoke of as was sug- 
 gested." 
 
ADVANTAGES OF WAR 325 
 
 " It is precisely for that I am now starting the big storehouse 
 under the directions of Gonzales Mogollon," observed Alcon, 
 who did quickly whatever he undertook to do. " As regards the 
 arms and the Yamagata guns, we must amend the contract." 
 
 " May I mention once more the vessel of which I have pre- 
 viously spoken to your honor? It is going to be the cruiser 
 Alcon. . . ." 
 
 Alcon frowned slightly, and then pursed his lips in the minis- 
 terial style. . . . 
 
 " We shall see ... the question will be duly considered . . . 
 we must not unnecessarily hasten the matter." 
 
 And while Gacharnah nevertheless was pressing, there were 
 new knocks at the door. 
 
 " It is Doctor Agiieros! " was the announcement on the other 
 side. 
 
 The Doctor entered, while Gacharnah went out to send off his 
 cable relative to the cargo of weapons. 
 
 ." Although we are adversaries," said Doctor Agiieros, smil- 
 ingly, " here I come with a philanthropic project, friend Alcon. 
 I know that those sectarians, Ronderos and Company, would 
 oppose this, for they do not trust me, but with you it is different. 
 For you I should myself vote in a political convention. . . . 
 Well, friend Doctor, I wanted to say that in this nice little war 
 which my fellow partizans have begun in defense of their rights, 
 much blood is going to flow, or I am much mistaken. In a 
 word, the Republic is entering on a new era, is in a new morbid 
 state . . . and the crisis," he said this smilingly, " might end 
 perhaps in the complete recovery of the patient. . . . Mean- 
 while, in my position as physician, in whose eyes there are 
 neither friends nor foes, but merely patients, I am going to fulfil 
 my duty." 
 
 And he was silent for a moment, awaiting the effect of his 
 words. 
 
 " Not to lose time," he then proceeded, " here I have the whole 
 project of organizing the ambulances. Dona Aura de Cardoso, 
 who is so much of a patriot, is charged with the use of a thou- 
 sand kilograms of lint and of two kilometers of gauze bandages. 
 I will sell to the Government, from my drugstore, at almost cost 
 price, 100,000 packages of hydrophilous cotton gauze." 
 
 Alcon received the paper and read: 
 
326 PAX 
 
 Art. 4. The surgeon-in-chief of the model ambulance is to receive a 
 compensation equal in amount to that of a general of division. 
 
 Art. 5. The personnel of the ambulance will proceed automatically. 
 
 " Very well. . . . Colonel Sandoval y Sabogal, will you 
 please take notice of this decree and of the despatch nominating 
 Doctor Agiieros." 
 
 Overtopping all the turmoil outside there came the voice of 
 Gonzales Mogollon. 
 
 " You will see, your honor," exclaimed the latter, after enter- 
 ing and closing the door behind him, " how well I have already 
 organized the big storehouse. Here I bring the draft of the 
 decree: it is the same text as the one used at the last revolution." 
 
 The decree concluded: 
 
 Senor Don R. Gonzalez Mogollon, director of the army storehouses, will 
 receive the same emolument as a brigadier general, so far as fiscal effects 
 are concerned. 
 
 The doorkeeper announced the aide-de-camp of the Presi- 
 dent. Alcon and Karlonoff were left alone, and the door was 
 again locked. 
 
 " I bring," said the aide, " this decree relative to the reor- 
 ganization of the army, and am handing now, with a paper 
 bearing the signature of His Excellency, a sketch in which the 
 President asks Doctor Alcon also to sign this decree immedi- 
 ately, for reasons of great urgency." 
 
 Alcon read it hastily, signed and then read it once more 
 leisurely : 
 
 Decree number 4 of the first of January ... by which an 
 army corps is created. 
 
 The President of the Republic orders : 
 
 Art. 1. To be organized an army corps for operations against the rebels 
 in the center of the Republic and along the Atlantic coast. 
 
 2. Call into active service General-in-Chief Pedro Alcantara Ronderos, 
 and appoint him chief of operations and chief commander of the forces 
 which constitute said army. 
 
 3. Confer on the General Alejandro Borja the effectivity of that grade. 
 Summon him to active service, in appointing him chief of staff of the 
 army spoken of above. 
 
 4. Appoint Colonel Roberto Avila first adjutant-general of the chief 
 commander, to whom that rank and post is confided. 
 
 Art. 5. Appoint as chaplain of the army the priest Doctor Miranda. 
 
ADVANTAGES OF WAR 327 
 
 Art. 6. Confer the title of Brigadier-General upon Colonel Rafael Bor- 
 rero, and appoint him chief of the battalion of Grenadiers. 
 
 Art. 7. The cavalry squadrons Lancers of the Vanguard, which will 
 form the Ronderos column, will be commanded by Colonel Milan Gil, 
 and the battalion First of Bogota by Colonel Casanova. 
 
 " It is all right," said Alcon, handing him the decree signed, 
 and in a resigned attitude. " I have affixed my signature, al- 
 though there is here somewhere in the text a French gerund. 
 
 Military music was heard on the square, bellicose notes which 
 made the window panes rattle. Alcon and Karlonoff ran to the 
 windows, and saw that the battalion of grenadiers began to file 
 past on its way to the railway station, with General Borrero at 
 its head. 
 
 On the square, which was crowded with people, the multitude 
 began to raise a clamor, and this mingled with the strains of 
 the military band and the clatter of the horses. 
 
 There were cries : 
 
 "Long live the Constitutional army! " 
 
 "Long life to it!" 
 
 "Death to- it! " bellowed a number of other voices, raging 
 wildly. 
 
 A great tumult arose in the square, a terrific scuffle in which 
 umbrellas and walking canes played a great part as weapons. 
 
 Meanwhile the battalion went on filing past in a compact 
 column, and the rifles were all carried at the same height, so 
 that as the men marched along their left arms all described the 
 same motion, and it looked almost like the monotonous oscilla- 
 tion of so many pendulums. 
 
 The square went on filling more and more, being now a black 
 sea of the merely curious, of people frightened, surprised, or 
 inflamed with political hatred. 
 
 "Death to Tubalcain Cardoso! " 
 
 "Long life to him!" 
 
 New scuffles, insults, threats, challenges. Eyes inflamed with 
 passion, livid faces, clenched fists, hats smashed, canes broken. 
 
 "Long life to the veteran, General Borrero!" somebody 
 shouted from the porch of the Capitol. 
 
 Borrero did not turn his head, but his horse rose proudly on 
 his hind feet, as though proud of its rider. 
 
 There was a great throng of people pushing and bustling 
 
328 PAX 
 
 about one corner; a thousand heads stared at an enormous 
 poster which stated: 
 
 " The Rebellion. Bulletin Number 1. Cacota de la Matanza, Janu- 
 ary 1. ... 
 
 To President Republic. 
 Please copy. 
 
 Revolutionary forces numbering 5000, commanded by so-called General 
 Tubalcain Cardoso, proclaimed generalissimus, attacked garrison frontier 
 at La Chorrerra. After eight hours desperate fighting, they abandoned 
 camp, leaving 1000 dead, 1200 wounded. We lament irreparable losses, 
 but still follow motto ' Progress and Brotherhood.' 
 
 Telegrapher, BOLANOS." 
 
 In Alcon's office new knocks were heard against the doors. 
 It was Gacharnah, who was back from the telegraph bureau. 
 Karlonoff opened the door for him, and when he entered, the 
 noise and loud gossip of the adjoining offices could be heard 
 from afar. He still wore that faded flower in his buttonhole, 
 and carried a whip in his left hand, with which he had had to 
 fight his way through the turbulent masses in the street. A 
 strong perfume preceded him : the " Celestial " with which his 
 handkerchief had been drenched: 
 
 " They stink! as Petronius would say, Seiior Minister." 
 
 Then approaching him within earshot, and stealthily looking 
 to right and left, not to be overheard, he said to Alcon: 
 
 " I conclude from the fact that news from the coast does not 
 get through here, that the coast district is in favor of the Revo- 
 lution and obeys Polanco, who is the ablest leader amongst the 
 revolutionists. The Government needs vessels in order to move 
 their troops by way of the sea, and because of this I once more 
 repeat my offer of an excellent ship, armed for war, which can 
 be in Colombian waters within a very short time. A cablegram 
 would suffice. Four Armstrong guns, steel-clad, fifteen knots 
 per hour. ... It could, I suppose, be called the cruiser Alcon." 
 
 " All right, all right," said Alcon in a languid tone, and 
 yawning, " it's true we need it. By to-morrow we can have 
 concluded the bargain. There are only some formalities to be 
 attended to." 
 
 The Minister yawned again, and by contagion Karlonoff and 
 Gacharnah yawned likewise. 
 
 " Sefior Minister, your honor is getting weak," said Gacharnah 
 
ADVANTAGES OF WAR 329 
 
 with tender solicitude. "It is afternoon already, and you have 
 taken no food since morning. Will you permit me . . . this is 
 on my personal account ... we shall have something brought 
 here from the Sporting Club. . . . Only one minute, please." 
 
 He hurried off, diving into the dense multitude outside with 
 his rotund paunch. Doctor Agiieros profited by this opportu- 
 nity to confer with Alcon, and observed that he had already had 
 the medicines taken to the storehouse, and that he at present had 
 come to get an order for payment, and also to assume charge of 
 his new office as chief of the Model Ambulance. 
 
 Alcon had the registry book brought to him, assumed a grave, 
 solemn expression, and getting on his feet, he put the question 
 to the Doctor: 
 
 " Do you swear to defend the Constitution and Laws of the 
 Republic?" 
 
 But Agiieros, with a perfectly amiable gesture, broke in, pro- 
 posing a formula somewhat altering the wording: 
 
 " I promise to fulfil my duty, on my word of honor, and I 
 think that the noblest and the principal of these duties is to 
 keep the revolutionaries correctly informed as to the move- 
 ments of the Government." 
 
 " All right," said Doctor Alcon, seating himself again, and 
 feeling satisfaction at the fact that he could give this noted 
 opposition man a proof of his toleration. 
 
 There was a noise at the wall. Karlonoff ran to the tele- 
 phone. Agiieros paid close attention, trying to reconstruct the 
 dialogue from the abrupt phrases he listened to. Karlonoff was 
 gesticulating as though he were making attempts to convert a 
 rival. 
 
 " Whom am I talking with ? . . . More distinctly. . . . Sta- 
 tion? . . . What station? ... of the railroad? . . . Yes, yes, 
 . . . good. . . . Ready! ... I say that I am ready! . . . 
 General Borrero? . . . Good. ... At this very time. ... I 
 am saying that at this very time. . . . Urgent. . . . Forced 
 march. . . . No, sir. . . . Oh, well ... if that is the way, it 
 is all right. . . . What? The key? . . . Certainly, I forgot. 
 . . . Take the key ABC, deducting twenty numbers. . . . Yes, 
 twenty numbers. . . . All right, then. . . . With whom you are 
 speaking? . . . With Colonel Karlonoff. . . . Yes, yes, yes. 
 . . . Thank you! ... Good-by." 
 
330 PAX 
 
 In the adjoining office, the so-called banner room, a species 
 of archive nearly always locked, the clatter and clicking of 
 plates, dishes, and bottles began to be heard, and this music 
 sounded very pleasant to Alcon, while he rapidly scanned a 
 whole bundle of telegrams from the four corners of the whole 
 Republic, most of them marked " very urgent," in which the 
 governors, prefects, alcaldes, sent news regarding flights with 
 revolutionary forces in which there was mention of thousands of 
 dead, of places burned down, of the population trampled under- 
 foot, of wholesale murder. . . . 
 
 Gacharnah, who had had a magnificent luncheon carried 
 over, now made his appearance, half opened the door to the 
 office, and motioned with his arms, showing the table set and 
 the soup already smoking. 
 
 " Sefior Minister," said he ingratiatingly, with the manner of 
 a hotel manager or head waiter. 
 
 They went in, and Alcon, Agiieros, Karlonoff, and two aides- 
 de-camp sat down. Three soldiers that moment came in, carry- 
 ing more dishes and viands. Gacharnah turned and turned 
 about, sometimes seated, again dancing about behind the table. 
 . . . " This nice little white wine, Sefior Minister?" . . . 
 "You like a little more of this Burgundy?" . . . "Kidney 
 a la Cardinal? Yes, I myself ordered it." 
 
 One of the orderlies placed upon the table a stupendous fowl, 
 browned most deliciously at the fire. 
 
 " It is fattened, Sefior Minister, and is one of those I breed on 
 my own place," he said, and, indeed, the appetizing bird spread 
 a most titillating aroma of truffles a novel odor in that atmos- 
 phere where the smell of foolscap and legal papers had usually 
 prevailed. 
 
 " Allow me to carve this bird," said Gacharnah, while he 
 shoved his shirt cuffs higher. 
 
 " No, no," rejoined Agiieros, " this comes under the head of 
 my new functions. . . ." 
 
 " Let us see, Doctor," put in Alcon, and bursting out in one 
 of his rare fits of laughter, which so closely resembled the neigh- 
 ing of a horse. 
 
 " Let us see the scalpel of the Model Ambulance at work! " 
 
 All fastened their eyes upon the physician, who with gravity, 
 
ADVANTAGES OF WAR 331 
 
 as though getting ready for an operation of the greatest delicacy 
 and requiring the highest skill, surrounded by a circle of assist- 
 ants, now rolled back his sleeves, felt of the edge of his carving 
 knife, and took careful note of the right point and where to pass 
 the knife upon the surface of the fowl, just as if he were tracing 
 the lines of the operation in advance. A short while after, in- 
 stead of a bird, he had on the carving dish a heap of slices that 
 were of tempting tenderness and delicate fiber. . . . But the 
 aides-de-camp would not try these dainties. They felt a cold 
 shiver run down their spines as they watched that implacable 
 knife cutting with diabolical skill, that ambulance chief cutting 
 deeply into the flesh. Karlonoff admired, but remained tran- 
 quil. He knew that in his position as Colonel Inspector of 
 Bridges and Highways he would not have to leave the Capital, 
 nor to trust himself to the good graces of Agiieros. Then the 
 company sampled the beverages most extensively: white wines, 
 red wines, darker wines. Merriment was universal. At the 
 table, laughter and jolly jests were heard. All of the guests 
 praised Gacharnah's menu, his excellent taste, his undeniable 
 competency in all matters of gastronomy or stock raising. And 
 he, rosy and smiling all over, letting his satisfaction ooze out at 
 every pore, gave little familiar slaps on the shoulders of his 
 neighbors with his chubby hands, treating the Minister likewise 
 with easy familiarity, whereat Alcon frowned a bit; but Gachar- 
 nah went all about the table with the utmost good nature, his 
 paunch triumphant, as usual. In his feverish brain Gacharnah 
 saw millions of pesos crossing each other, and in his mind's eye 
 he saw the word transmitted by him per cable in letters of fire, 
 the word which meant to despatch the vessel armed for war: the 
 word Persifi cation. 
 
 The telegraph operator at this moment rose from his table and 
 in silence took two telegrams to Alcon, who read them also in 
 silence, and then left them on the table. Agiieros, while occu- 
 pied carving the bird and distributing slices, by sidelong glances 
 managed to make out the contents of the despatches in frag- 
 ments, carving, conversing, answering, and reading slily, as 
 follows : 
 
 " This wing for the Seiior Minister." 
 
 To the Minister of War. The Revolutionists have taken the 
 steamers . 
 
332 PAX 
 
 " Colonel Karlonoff, I am giving you these tender cuts." 
 
 taken the steamers and armed them . . . 
 " To be sure, friend, excellent Bordeaux wine." 
 armed them for war purposes, have taken pos . . . 
 
 " Yes, friend Alcon, I have bathed in Ubaque. . . . Some- 
 thing more of the breast ? 
 
 taken possession of the river. . . . 
 
 " Thanks, I have already helped myself to some fish." 
 The whole of Tolima under arms. . . . 
 
 " Well, I prefer champagne." 
 The situation is most grave. . . . 
 
 " This salad for His Honor. . . . Another small piece? . . . 
 There goes." 
 
 Terencio Nichols has occupied the bridge in Girardot. . . . 
 
 Alcon took the telegrams, folded them calmly, put them with 
 others into an envelope, handed that to one of the aides over his 
 shoulder, and then wiped his mouth with the napkin. 
 
 "It is for General Ronderos. ... It concerns him. . . . 
 The salad is excellent." 
 
 Gacharnah approached the table. With his supreme skill as 
 a waiter he served Alcon with champagne, and murmured in a 
 sweet and obsequious voice : 
 
 " A little ice for the Sefior Minister's champagne? " 
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 
 THE FAMILY CRUCIFIX 
 
 THE last rays of the sun shone upon the dark dress of Dona 
 Ana, and in the half shadow of the apartment her white head 
 and her thin and bloodless hands were sharply defined. In an 
 
THE FAMILY CRUCIFIX 333 
 
 attitude of abandon and fatigue, submitting to an excess of 
 grief, she swallowed her tears, was sunk in her bitterness, con- 
 quered and prostrated by the sorrow that enwrapped her like a 
 clinging garment. Roberto was taking his departure for the 
 war that very night. Arriving at Ubaque, he had spoken to her 
 of his leaving as of something probable, but afar off. Her 
 heart, however, her faithful heart, which made her always di- 
 vine the thoughts of her son, had told her that the hour of 
 parting was drawing near. 
 
 Once in a while hope had seemed to smile on her, and she had 
 almost forced herself to believe in a period of future happiness. 
 Her soul, like those timid and colorless flowers that were born 
 in the shade, began to assume a ruddy tint, began to open to a 
 new sun, to an unknown sun, the sun of happiness. Her imagi- 
 nation, benumbed in the ice of adversity, had again unfolded its 
 wings and attempted flight. In the midst of sweet dreams, she 
 had seen the lost haciendas recovered. But then the awful 
 words: "The scaffold! The rock!" would flit through her 
 mind, and these words, bringing back memories of humiliation 
 and torture, would become food for her pride and hauteur, be- 
 cause they represented the triumphant efforts of her son. She 
 had seen herself once again in the old manorial house at Bogota, 
 surrounded by the shadows of her ancestors, encompassed by 
 recollections, amidst those portraits installed for ages in the 
 ancient drawing room where the high chairs and the damask 
 hangings were forever occupying their places. 
 
 And another enchanting vision had come to her-: the balcony, 
 the roses of Castile which she herself would scatter upon Roberto 
 and Ines amidst the sound of loving voices and the plashing of 
 the cool waters in the fountain with its stone basin. ... In the 
 place of anxiety and worry there would be the felicity of Ro- 
 berto, and a solid, indestructible fortune. And now, without 
 any warning, while still basking in her own blissful dreams, 
 when calm and confidence seemed so firmly established, . . . the 
 war! Again taken unawares, again the anguish, the momentary 
 expectation of frightful evil, the agony of suspense ... the 
 family fortune irremediably lost, ... the specter of penury and 
 indigence . . . desperation. All happiness and gaiety gone for- 
 ever, dead, buried in a tomb whose crushing load the old lady 
 felt weighing on her breast. A weight so gigantic, so enormous 
 
334 PAX 
 
 that it ground her down in the dust and mire, that it crunched 
 her very bones to powder, asphyxiated and throttled her, op- 
 pressed her heart, and annihilated her soul. 
 
 Silence reigned about her, a silence charged with menace, 
 with sinister presentiments and tragic visions, images of what 
 her inseparable companions were going to be as soon as Roberto 
 should leave her: solitude and neglect. 
 
 The clock hanging on the wall with its monotonous and even 
 tick-tack, which did not interrupt the silence but seemed to form 
 a part of it, reminded Dona Ana of her own existence. With 
 its expressionless chimes it appeared to discount life itself, to 
 mark the atoms of eternity, and with its indifferent accents to 
 ridicule the illusions of Dona Ana, recalling her own misfor- 
 tunes, to count and recount her disappointments, to bring the 
 moment of separation and enforced absence nearer and nearer, in 
 order to continue thereafter monotonous, frigid, accompanying 
 with the self-same tone laughter and tears, always counting the 
 seconds, taking apart the tiniest fragments of eternity. 
 
 Dona Ana trembled nervously as the Angelus sounded in the 
 adjoining tower, and she thought she could discover in that slow 
 and plaintive sound, as though issuing from an infinite melan- 
 choly in space, the destiny of pain and grief which these bells 
 spoke of now and were to speak of all the following evenings 
 a destiny which was bound to accomplish itself inexorably. 
 
 It was a disconcerting tune, sharp, shrill, humble, and in that 
 fateful hour, facing the perspective of misery and definite dis- 
 aster, it seemed to her as though it would always form a con- 
 trast in her recollection with the great bell of the cathedral in 
 Bogota which in a past that no one could ever bring to life 
 again, had been steadily announcing festivities and rejoicings, 
 as its clear and resonant voice had filled the apartments of the 
 manorial home of the Avilas. 
 
 The destiny of pain had to be fulfilled. The war had de- 
 stroyed the family fortune, and it was now to rob her of Ro- 
 berto as well. This was the last, the most formidable blow, 
 and it was useless to try and resist, to struggle against fate. All 
 that she could do was to resign herself mutely to omnipotent 
 fatality. And in an outburst of anguish she turned her tor- 
 tured eyes toward the Mater Dolorosa: " Most Holy Virgin," 
 
THE FAMILY CRUCIFIX 335 
 
 she wailed, " defend and protect my Roberto, and let him return 
 safe to me ! " 
 
 The soul of Dona Ana, habituated to sadness without tears 
 and to anxious silence, to mute pain, had expanded with its 
 trials, so that, in opening itself to compassion "and bearing the 
 stamp of real greatness, it harbored all the maternal tenderness, 
 all human suffering, and seemed to accompany that night which 
 was to bring such woe to mothers, all the sons departing on dan- 
 gerous errands to distant places, to deadly climates and hunger 
 and thirst and nakedness, surrounded by constant peril and 
 terrible diseases in order to meet agony and death in wilder- 
 nesses, in burning plains, on the battlefield, with no hand to 
 close their eyes. 
 
 She heard Roberto's light step in the corridor. She straight- 
 ened up in her chair and quelled the anguish of her heart. She 
 did not wish to depress her son with her own melancholy, nor 
 to break his spirit. Duty it was that obliged him to leave her, 
 and it was necessary for him to go. Both by a tacit agreement 
 avoided airing their sorrows, and giving loud and open expres- 
 sion to them. Both came of stock that knew how to face calam- 
 ity, secret pain, death itself, with forehead high and heart whole, 
 without cowardice or misgivings. 
 
 " Are you here, dear mother? " 
 
 They remained silent. The cold wind of January whistled 
 through the chinks of the window, howled in the patio, carried 
 from afar the shrill blast of a locomotive. The old clock on 
 the wall, with an even pulsation, as of an insensible being, 
 alien to all emotion, went on with its monotonous tick-tack . . . 
 but suddenly it began to creak, wheels were heard to turn inside 
 it dully, and then it struck slowly seven. 
 
 The silence still continued, and so did the strong west wind. 
 The twigs of the bushes were lashed by it against the grating. 
 The clock repeated the hour: the train, as if to remind Roberto 
 that the hour had come, issued anew a long, piercing, dominant 
 signal, and the echoes of the Monserrate gave it back. 
 
 Then Dona Ana rose, lifted her handsome white head, crossed 
 the room with a firm step, and drew from her neck a golden 
 crucifix attached to a ribbon. And while she put it on him, she 
 kissed, at random, furtively, as though by accident, his fore- 
 
336 PAX 
 
 head, cheeks, neck, rested her trembling hands on his breast and 
 upon his palpitating heart. . . . 
 
 "It is the ancient crucifix of the family . . . with it your 
 grandfather died ... it was the last gift of your father 
 may it accompany you and bless you, son of my soul ! " 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 THE MONUMENT TO THE DEAD 
 
 ALEJANDRO went busily about the apartments in his house, 
 attending to the last preparations for his departure for the war. 
 He reread and burned papers; assisted by a servant he packed 
 his trunks, in which he also put a few books; he placed aside 
 a sword which had already served him in two previous cam- 
 paigns; and then he went to bid a last good-by to the monu- 
 ment which bore for him the vivid remembrance of the happiest 
 moment of his life, that monument which was to him the sepul- 
 cher of his happiness. The monument to the dead ! . . . What 
 bitter and tragic feelings it awoke! He was thinking this sud- 
 denly, and then remembered that the present war was similar. 
 The epoch of destruction and death which had begun anew for 
 Colombia was symbolized, enclosed there, by that monument. 
 
 A colossal sepulcher it was, on one side and the other men, 
 women and children who at the threshold of eternity move about, 
 advance, kneel, prostrate themselves, are erect, according to their 
 agony, their resignation, or their heroism. . . . Yes, those un- 
 fortunates who go to battle to die by thousands are here repre- 
 sented those mothers, those wives, who follow them to camp 
 and who perish there in pain and misery, those masses decimated 
 by bullets and epidemics they are all shown in this monu- 
 ment, they are standing there at the gate of eternity. . . . That 
 central figure stretched out at full length in the crypt and over- 
 spread by the vast shadow of Death that is Colombia herself. 
 Heroic dead, unknown and forgotten dead, humble dead over 
 whose unenshrined ashes no cross and no token will arise. It 
 will be for you survivors to remember, for you to erect for them 
 both a monument and a grave. The common ditch into which 
 the bones that the revolution has scattered all through the moun- 
 
THE MONUMENT TO THE DEAD 337 
 
 tains and the plains of Colombia could be piled on high, is not 
 a worthy burial place. 
 
 There was heard in the deep silence of the room a trumpet 
 blast, the trampling and clatter of horses, the passing of a 
 squadron of cavalry. He rushed his preparations for starting, 
 thinking with pain and sorrow of the fact that he must leave 
 behind him all the amenities of home, his pictures, his books, 
 to go and hurl himself into brutality and destruction, go where 
 he must paddle in mud and blood, see wounds and tears, breathe 
 the foul air of barracks, the distasteful fumes of the hospital. 
 
 He went out quickly, took a train, and in the agitation of the 
 trip, crossing the low plains swiftly, at the side of General Ron- 
 deros, amidst the jingle of weapons, enveloped by the whole ap- 
 paratus of an army, seeing the gleam of bright arms, of steel and 
 the gay trappings of uniforms, his thoughts changed, and he felt 
 the fascination of strife, the atavistic attraction of battle, the 
 desire of removing obstacles, of being more skilful, more auda- 
 cious, more persistent than the adversary. 
 
 General Ronderos was searching his pockets, and then drew 
 out some papers which he handed to Alejandro. 
 
 " In the confusion of departure, of the hurry and bustle, I 
 forgot to show you this telegram," he said. " Roberto has been 
 prompt in attacking the enemy as soon as he arrived in Girar- 
 dot." 
 
 " And ... ? " said Alejandro. 
 
 The query was put with eagerness. 
 
 "Read! He sends good news," answered the General with 
 that calm which a man maintains who has grown old under the 
 emotions bred by war. And Alejandro read: 
 
 " Girardot, January 4. ... 
 
 " General Ronderos . . . Bogota. 
 
 , " instantly after our arrival here, at 8 A. M., shots were fired by sharp- 
 shooters placed on the iron bridge which they had partially dismantled 
 and fortified. The enemy resisted until 4 P. M. The first battalion of 
 Bogota behaved with courage and audacity. Casanova decided the action 
 with his men. We then crossed the bridge and went into camp at the 
 other side of the river, at the hacienda La Gloria, where there are plenty 
 of provisions for our troops. 
 
 " Unless ordered otherwise, I shall pursue the rebels, whom Socarraz 
 with 500 mules has joined. Exposito Montes, Neron Jaspe and Sinai 
 Largacha have occupied Honda. Landaburo, who has proclaimed himself 
 
338 PAX 
 
 provisional president, has taken Bodegas, seized a number of vessels, and 
 has forcibly requisitioned coffee, hides, rubber. He fulfils his pledge: he 
 loads his knapsack with fruits for exportation. 
 " Please communicate instructions. 
 
 " ROBERTO." 
 
 After reading the telegram, Alejandro interrogated General 
 Ronderos : 
 
 " And is there no trace as yet of Bellegarde? " 
 
 " None." 
 
 "It is strange. Since the night at the Union Club not a 
 single word from him." 
 
 " He was with me when Socarraz made his attack on me. . . . 
 He was intending to leave for Europe on the next day, but he 
 has probably postponed his journey. ... In times of such dis- 
 order as now, during such confusion, nobody knows anything of 
 the other; we must continue to inquire after him." 
 
 They arrived at the terminal of the railroad, and left the 
 train. Alejandro flew to the telegraph office, and there was 
 handed a despatch from Roberto, dated at La Gloria. He read : 
 
 Here goes now on his uncertain road 
 He who with his soul cherishes thee, 
 And hopes when death seizes thee, 
 To welcome thee at the great port 
 Called, like this one, La Gloria. 
 
 After getting the whole army underway on the road to Honda, 
 Ronderos and Alejandro, while the mules outside trotted past 
 their shelter, had some conversation. 
 
 " Frankly," said the General, " the situation of the Govern- 
 ment is serious. Cardoso, although defeated in a first engage- 
 ment, will return with larger forces. The entire Republic is on 
 fire. But the most serious point is that the revolutionary armies 
 have taken possession of the river, and that with Honda, Bar- 
 ranquilla and other harbors the entire communication with the 
 coast and even with the outside world has been cut. The cus- 
 toms duties, provisions, all resources. . . ." 
 
 " The first thing, General, will be to take Honda." 
 
 " Doubtless; we are going to do that very thing." 
 
 "And then?" 
 
 " Then sweep them from the plains of Tolima, proceed to 
 
THE MONUMENT TO THE DEAD 339 
 
 Antioquia, and next make our way, on shore, if we have no 
 river route open to us, to the Atlantic Coast." 
 
 " But the river, . . ." suggested Alejandro. " Don't you 
 think it would be best to flank them, occupy some of the harbors 
 along there, and thus interrupt the communications of the revo- 
 lutionary forces? " 
 
 " Certainly. You yourself will take charge of that. You 
 will enter by the mountains of Antioquia, then turn towards the 
 river by the forest road, You will then seize the harbor of 
 Borja, which you know better than any one. After that we 
 shall see." 
 
 There arrived a battalion which had left the capital on the 
 previous evening. The soldiers, bathed in perspiration, and 
 nearly prostrated by the heat and powerful sunlight, saluted 
 their chief with enthusiastic acclamations. 
 
 Ahead, disappearing and then reappearing in the turns of 
 the road leading up the hillside, could be seen the outlines of 
 Doctor Miranda, and near him the snow-white hoods of the 
 Sisters of Charity. 
 
 After three days' march, during which several sutlers died 
 from sunstroke, the army arrived, under a sky of brass, at the 
 shores of the Magdalena River, opposite Honda. 
 
 General Ronderos and Alejandro, accompanied by a suite of 
 aides-de-camp, made reconnaissance under the fire of the enemy. 
 The Revolutionaries had destroyed the suspension bridge, the 
 cables of which were deep in the water. The forces of Landa- 
 buro, Montes, Jaspe and Largacha had taken possession of some 
 houses on the opposite bank, or else they had dug trenches for 
 themselves up on the heights, behind long parapets formed with 
 the planks taken from the bridge or with the sleepers of the 
 railway. 
 
 Ronderos aligned his troops between some morasses in which 
 the soldiers had hidden themselves up to their chins, and on top 
 of a rocky hill which commanded the positions of the adversary. 
 
 " General," said Alejandro, " there are still some of our 
 troops in the rear. Do you want to wait for them? " 
 
 " No, Alejandro," he answered, without halting his horse. 
 " Here are our guns already. . . . Just see how quickly those 
 officers of the Grenadiers are working! The thunder of our 
 big pieces will soon call those delayed detachments." 
 
340 PAX 
 
 From the mules were now unloaded the wheels, the caissons, 
 and soon the batteries were in readiness, with their conical piles 
 of ammunition beside them. The gunfire began. 
 
 A flash. A big hole torn. A trembling as of an earthquake. 
 It shook the air as far as the utmost confines of the horizon. 
 A thousand echoes repeated the tremendous roar with incessant 
 repercussion. The shells crossed the wide river with a hum- 
 ming sound, and buried themselves on the opposite shore, mak- 
 ing gaps in the trenches, or smashing the small houses to frag- 
 ments. Pillars of smoke, which the wind swept away, and be- 
 tween which, now and then, small white crowns were floating. 
 
 General Ronderos shuddered with a mixture of martial joy 
 and sorrow, for these guns to his mind had in this new era of 
 blood and pain a voice which insulted and which groaned, 
 which threatened the enemy and which muttered a de profundis 
 for the dead. 
 
 Scarcely had the rifle shooting begun, when the chief of Junin 
 fell. They carried him to some distance among the rearguard, 
 and placed him in the large room of a small house prepared for 
 the ambulance by Doctor Miranda and the Sisters of Charity. 
 TJie priest bent over the wounded man. 
 
 "Where?" he murmured. 
 
 " Here, Doctor, in the chest. ..." 
 
 He opened his shirt, and the blood began to run on the 
 floor. 
 
 He grasped his wound with the left hand, and with the right 
 pressed the arm of the priest. The latter understood his wish, 
 and he bent over him to hear the confession of the dying man. 
 
 After a short while, being almost unable to articulate, he 
 whispered : 
 
 " Doctor, they fight stoutly." 
 
 The noise of the battle was heard even here. One could 
 clearly distinguish the tack-tack of the scattered rifle fire; again, 
 the discharges in mass, the dull booming of the guns, the regu- 
 lar hammering of the machine guns. Other wounded men be- 
 gan to arrive. The little house was very soon full of blood, of 
 moans and of dying gasps. The heat in it grew and became 
 asphyxiating. The Sisters of Charity came first, and next the 
 surgeons and their assistants. The ambulance service was being 
 organized on the spot. 
 
THE MONUMENT TO THE DEAD 341 
 
 Sister San Ligorio, in the midst of heartrending shrieks, of 
 sobs and despair, in spite of the pools of blood everywhere, went 
 on washing the wounded, binding up the wounds, refreshing the 
 parched throats, the pale, dry lips, wiping off the sweat of the 
 dying and speaking within the hearing of these unfortunate 
 fellow creatures words of resignation and of hope. 
 
 During the first few moments Doctor Miranda had to master 
 himself. The transition was too sudden. He had passed from 
 hymn books to the battlefield, from being a master-Hellenist to 
 these scenes of horror, from his study to the position of chaplain 
 in the army, and from a life of deepest peace to one of unspeak- 
 able terror, to this small hall crowded with suffocating men 
 whose wounds caused them to emit notes of pain almost unlike 
 anything human. But quickly these feelings disappeared, and 
 Doctor Miranda felt springing up within him a new kind of 
 enthusiasm, the consciousness of a new type of vocation, and he 
 accepted his burden with heroism, almost with joy. 
 
 His cassock stained with blood, and his hands likewise 
 smeared with it, he nevertheless was everywhere, comforting, 
 helping, blessing; he lent a willing hand in transporting the 
 wounded, in placing them on the operation table, where the 
 surgeons and their assistants swiftly cut off arms and legs that 
 fell to the ground and were pushed contemptuously aside with 
 the foot. The operators dived with their forceps deep into the 
 fearful wounds made by bullet or shot, and then they just as 
 quickly sewed together the ragged edges of bleeding flesh, while 
 red jets of blood spurted out meanwhile. The priest heard with 
 horror how the terrific noise of the battle went on unabated, and 
 saw with similar feelings how the stream of new arrivals, mostly 
 with ghastly wounds, went steadily on. 
 
 Already the assistant surgeons, their sleeves tucked up to the 
 elbows, their arms bespattered with the dreadful fluid, no longer 
 took the pains to have the wounded carried first to the operation 
 table, but kept on instead working among these poor fellows with 
 haste, with a mechanical skill, as though they were dead bodies, 
 soulless, unfeeling, medical preparations. 
 
 One assistant surgeon, without paying any attention whatever 
 to the patient's roars of pain, extracted a bullet from the stom- 
 ach of a captain who was stretched out on the soil outside upon 
 a pile of straw, the latter reddening more and more with his fast 
 
342 PAX 
 
 flowing blood, while another wounded man followed with curi- 
 osity and horror the play of the scalpel and was waiting his own 
 turn, having meanwhile been placed carelessly with his back 
 against the wall. Suddenly the captain began to gurgle, to 
 vomit blood. Others filled the little house with their groans, 
 their dismaying cries, their death rattles. 
 
 One of the wounded, placed sitting in the corridor, with one 
 of his legs shattered, recovered strength for a moment, leaned 
 on his elbow, and listened attentively to the turmoil of battle. 
 
 " How splendidly the machine guns are working," he said. 
 
 A spent bullet hit an ox loaded with munition, and the animal 
 crumpled its hide, lashed with its tail, as though to chase away 
 an insect, then doubled up slowly, fell prostrate on its own 
 load, and the whites of its eyes began to show. Then it com- 
 menced to groan softly in a dull sort of way, and its agony 
 began, as though to protest against the evil deeds of man. 
 
 Alejandro went at great speed to bring up a battalion that had 
 not yet arrived at the battlefield. 
 
 " Come on, boys," he encouraged them with a shout. 
 
 He put new life into them, made them follow him at quick- 
 step, and when they got up to the battle line, when the bullets 
 began to whistle about them, he turned to the military band 
 that was marching in front of them, and called out: 
 
 " Let's have the national hymn, quick, or anything else, a 
 lively march or a bambuco." 
 
 The musicians put their instruments to their mouths without 
 further ado, and played the victory march from Aida with a vim, 
 the stirring notes of this march mingling with the thunder of the 
 cannons, the latter seeming to mark the rhythm. 
 
 And then Alejandro, quite suddenly, inspired doubtless by the 
 music, saw the following image arise in his memory : the theater, 
 a night of opera, the house overcrowded, gaiety, life, waves of 
 light making the diamonds on the snowy necks of the ladies 
 sparkle, the faces in the immense audience standing out clearly 
 against the red background of plush and gold in the boxes, and 
 on the stage the triumphal entry of Rhadames. . . . 
 
 The soldiers went into battle full of spirit, headed by Alejan- 
 dro who, feeling the rich blood of his forebears boiling in his 
 veins, drew himself up proudly in his saddle, rose in his stir- 
 
THE MONUMENT TO THE DEAD 343 
 
 rups, and launched himself into the thick clouds of powder 
 smoke. 
 
 On every side he noted minute details while riding along the 
 ranks of these men drenched in sweat, breathing an air of fire, 
 deafening the atmosphere with the ceaseless roar of the guns. 
 
 He came to a small hill. There a machine gun went on 
 tack-tacking without cease. The soldier who handled the mech- 
 anism of it fell, another instantly replaced him, but he also was 
 killed. The bullets fell in a perfect shower upon this group of 
 men, and they began to give way. One of them rose, ran away 
 without his headpiece, then stopped, turned around and never 
 got up again. Alejandro dismounted, brought another squad of 
 men, and started them anew handling the gun. He went on up 
 and down the battle line, always in an atmosphere that was both 
 dim and hot. Thus he also arrived at the hillock where the 
 artillery was stationed, almost perishing with thirst, and feeling 
 the tickling of the acrid gunpowder smoke in his throat. From 
 this height he cast a sweeping glance backwards: towards the 
 huge cyclones of dun smoke, the horrible nightmare of it all: a 
 bizarre mixture of the scarlet of uniforms, the purple of spilt 
 blood, the blue of jackets, the glitter of arms, the flashes of mus- 
 ket and gunfire, the trees destroyed and torn to unsightly stumps 
 by bursting shells, the horses prone on the slippery ground and 
 convulsively struggling there in their death agonies, wounded 
 men who crawled painfully along between puddles of dusky 
 water, soldiers who ran for life, others who moved about fever- 
 ishly, who appeared and then were again swallowed up in the 
 dim reek of smoke; faces inflamed with passion, perspiring 
 faces, faces disfigured, pallid, grimy, stained with blood and 
 mud, faces convulsed by anger, fear, passion, all half hidden 
 by this all-embracing cloud of battle. And then the dead, lying 
 there with glassy eyes, with limbs distorted, with clenched fists, 
 in unnatural, in ludicrous, in dramatic postures, mouth open, 
 showing the teeth as if in a mocking smile. 
 
 He went and stood amidst the batteries. One commandant 
 directed the handling of two new Hotchkiss guns which shone 
 in the sun. This man went from one to the other, with enthu- 
 siasm, with youthful motions, with catlike agility. He made 
 them load, then pointed the gun with glee, burst into loud laugh- 
 
344 PAX 
 
 ter at every discharge. Then he would follow the course of the 
 projectile in silence, would gaze attentively towards the oppo- 
 site shore, and then observing the gap made there somewhere, 
 seeing perhaps the big cloud of dust raised by the shot in the 
 trenches over there, or a number of frightened soldiers fleeing 
 from a house just hit, he would laugh with a hideous kind of 
 merriment and abandon, then would run back to the battery, as 
 if acknowledging a favor, would bend over his piece, and upon 
 the hot mouth of the cannon he would place his powder-black- 
 ened hand lovingly, patting it in approval. 
 
 " Just look, General Borja," he would say, " this new shot! " 
 
 He bent again over his gun, adjusted the sight on it, knelt on 
 the ground, laughingly rose, then took one step backwards, threw 
 his arms wide, and fell without a sound, with a red point in his 
 forehead. Over on the other side they concentrated now their 
 fire upon the flat top of the hill where the guns were stationed. 
 A number of the artillerists fell dead or wounded within a short 
 space of time, and red spots gleamed among the straw stacks 
 used to disguise the position of the batteries. Just then General 
 Ronderos came up, quiet and cheerful. The bullets were still 
 raining down, but the General rode at a short trot along the 
 brow of the hill, again and again, ignoring the danger, tranquil 
 and thoughtful, as he used to do when riding among his pas- 
 tures at La Laguna. The aides-de-camp came and went with 
 precipitation, spoke to Ronderos with anxiety, with enthusiasm, 
 then turned their steeds with spasmodic zeal, and went back at 
 a gallop, and their hurried gestures, their evident worry con- 
 trasted strongly with the even step of the stout horse, with the 
 serenity of the old veteran. Suddenly the General halted his 
 mount, turned slowly to Perucho, his orderly and trumpeter, who 
 put his trumpet to his lips, inflated his cheeks, and listened to 
 the order. 
 
 "Ceasefire!" 
 
 On the other shore, upon the mud wall of a house, through 
 a curtain of bluish smoke dimly visible, a white flag was flutter- 
 ing. The trumpet blast was repeated, and little by little the 
 firing died away. Then was heard on the other side of the 
 river a second blast . . . the signal for a parley. 
 
 Soon after the white flag could be seen coming down the hill- 
 side, and at last arrived at the shore. Next a big boat started 
 
THE MONUMENT TO THE DEAD 345 
 
 from the bank and crossed the river obliquely. Alejandro with 
 his field glass carefully observed the route of the vessel on the 
 river. He noticed the hard task the rowers had to overcome the 
 strong current, the flash of the sunlight on the wet paddles that 
 ran with bright drops of water. The boat arrived, and the 
 emissaries sprang ashore. 
 
 " Hello! " exclaimed Alejandro, who kept on watching them 
 with his glass, " it is ' Social Reason ' Vidaurre and Villafaiie." 
 
 They came up. General Ronderos took his horse slowly to 
 the shade of an immense poplar. 
 
 " Senor General," said Vidaurre, " we come in behalf of 
 peace." 
 
 " We carry," spoke up Villafane, " these papers here from 
 General Landaburo, who makes the patriotic proposition to con- 
 clude a political pact which would put an end to the present 
 war." 
 
 Ronderos, without opening his lips, took one of the papers, 
 read it, and handed it to Alejandro. The latter read : 
 
 " Commander's headquarters of the terro-fluvial army. 
 
 " Provisional Presidency of the Republic, Presidential Palace, 
 
 " Honda, January 6, 
 
 " Senor General Pedro Alcantara Ronderos, 
 
 in his encampment. 
 " Greatly esteemed Friend and General : 
 
 " Above all, I hope that you will cause the fire against me to be sus- 
 pended, and order that your pieces of artillery will not expose this his- 
 toric city to destruction, without any advantage to yourself. Yes, for my 
 part, I shall not fire upon your forces any longer. I give you my word 
 to be here, without moving my troops, until your arrival. I am greatly 
 desirous of conferring amicably with you alone. You can safely pass the 
 river without being fired upon. Only be sure to float a white flag in 
 the canoe that will convey you, or else give the signal of an admiral's 
 salute if you should happen to come at night time. You may bring with 
 you two aides-de-camp and one trumpeter. Upon my word of a general 
 and provisional president I promise that both your honor and your life 
 shall be respected. 
 
 " Your friend and compatriot, 
 
 " F. LANDABURO." 
 
 Ronderos dismounted, his aides surrounded him. The mes- 
 sengers thought he was going to dictate some communication or 
 other, when they heard the General say, very calmly and with a 
 smile : 
 
346 PAX 
 
 " Alejandro, let us take a glass of beer with these gentlemen! " 
 
 A case of it was opened, and Ronderos drank the beer with 
 avidity. 
 
 " I am parched," he said. 
 
 Then he seemed to consider the proposed truce as a thing of 
 secondary importance. 
 
 " Friends," he said, seating himself upon a big load of war 
 stores, " tell Seiior Landaburo that I give him one hour to sur- 
 render, for that would be the best means to avoid further blood- 
 shed." 
 
 He asked for another glass of beer, slowly drank it with appe- 
 tite, and said after a short pause: 
 
 " Tell him that the surrender will be unconditional, but that 
 I offer Landaburo and his troops complete amnesty, as also the 
 means to return home. This, according to my notion, is a sim- 
 ple particular, but I shall not accept any political pact." Here 
 the speaker asked that his horse be brought, and continued. " I 
 do not make a pact with disorder." 
 
 He mounted his horse, looked silently at his watch, and put 
 spurs to his animal. 
 
 " General," exclaimed Vidaurre, when General Ronderos had 
 already proceeded some distance, " his excellency, the Provi- 
 sional President, has given us verbal instructions to declare that 
 he wants to avoid the shedding of additional blood, of fraternal 
 blood, that he wishes the country to be spared more ruin and 
 tears." 
 
 "Well, then, let him surrender! " cried the General phleg- 
 matically, and he dug the spurs into his horse in order to ride to 
 the shore where the soldiers were drinking very noisily, taking 
 large draughts, while standing upon the burning sand, and 
 where they cooled face, hands and chest in the river. 
 
 Villafafie called Alejandro aside, and said: 
 
 " General, I should like to leave for the Capital. Landaburo 
 has made us believe that this war would be a very short one, 
 that the Government army was unreliable; but it seems to me 
 that hostilities will drag on. If you could have a passport to 
 Bogota made out for me . . ." 
 
 " In an instant, my friend," said Alejandro, " and even with 
 assistance for your journey." 
 
 " Things over there," then remarked Villafane, while he had 
 
THE MONUMENT TO THE DEAD 347 
 
 signaled the opposite shore, " are entirely at odds. General 
 Montes arrived here on January 1, seized Honda, also the 
 steamers, and began to organize an army. We were quite 
 united, but two days later Landaburo appeared, proclaimed him- 
 self provisional president, asked to be recognized by us, and 
 some of us said yes, others no, while the army, too, split into 
 halves; the two generals have threatened each other with their 
 revolvers, the lucky provisional president was meanwhile mainly 
 busy in confiscating all the exportable fruit, and then having it 
 loaded on board the steamers bound for the coast. ... In a 
 word, I am going to return to my office." 
 
 So Villafafie mounted his horse and took the road for Bogota, 
 itching for fat war commissions, for percentages, premiums and 
 discounts; he was thinking, while he went up towards Consuelo, 
 that up there at the Capital at these times it would be much 
 easier to pile up a fortune within a brief time, and that even 
 without running the risks of war. 
 
 Vidaurre embarked for the other shore, with the white flag 
 floating conspicuously at the bow of the boat. He could be seen 
 going up the steep hill in zigzag; fashion, enterng a house. 
 Shortly after, below Honda, could be heard the whistling of the 
 steamers. 
 
 " Listen, friend," said Ronderos to Alejandro, " all the enemy 
 wanted was to profit by a truce to make his escape. They are 
 making good their flight this very instant. It is impossible to 
 capture them now. I know the trick. I never seriously be- 
 lieved in the honest intentions of these two messengers." 
 
 Soon after some boats started from the opposite bank, which 
 offered their services in transferring the Government army to 
 Honda. 
 
 The rowers which the Generals Montes, Largacha and Jaspe 
 had made use of, told that their forces were seen to march off 
 in the direction of the plains of Tolima, and that Landaburo, 
 with all the steamers he had been able to seize, including the 
 Bellegarde and the Ines, had escaped by the way of the lower 
 river, with Puerto Borja their objective point. Profiting by the 
 long twilight, the troops of Ronderos began to cross the river, 
 and while the bridge was once more put in serviceable condition, 
 the soldiers were transferred in boats, the cattle swimming over, 
 tied to the prow of each vessel. As soon as the town had been 
 
348 PAX 
 
 occupied, General Ronderos sent forces to be under the command 
 of Alejandro, in order to pursue those guerrilla bands that very 
 night. 
 
 " Poor fellows," observed the General, watching the various 
 detachments filing past, " they are tired out, exhausted from the 
 engagement of to-day, but it cannot be helped ; it is necessary to 
 put the rearguard in pursuit of the enemy, profiting by the en- 
 thusiasm aroused by our victory. For if the forces of Montes 
 should join those of Socarraz and then together attack Roberto, 
 he would be in great danger. Therefore we must go to his 
 help." 
 
 Night fell at last. 
 
 Doctor Miranda, accompanied by the Sisters of Charity, as 
 well as by a number of orderlies, began his search for the cas- 
 ualties that had been left behind by the Revolutionaries, en- 
 trusted to the mercy of their adversaries. Together they first 
 followed the river line, looked closely along the whole shore, 
 then over the stubble fields; they climbed up and down, passed 
 the trenches, the redoubts, the houses which the machine guns 
 had swept and demolished, then went down into the declivities 
 and gullies, up again to the tops of the bluffs, once more down 
 to the depths, and then at random among the mists of the 
 heights, always guided by the cries and groans of the wounded, 
 by the murmured plaints of the dying, by their prayers and 
 sighs and pitiful sobs. Then they would be tottering with the 
 rigid bodies of those beyond all help, touching in the dark the 
 cold cheeks of corpses. From the depths of the canebrake there 
 issued a plaint that seemed to be diminishing in strength, but 
 sounded most pitiful in the dark night. When Doctor Miranda 
 drew near, bent over and saw, the pale light of the lantern fell 
 upon a body all besmeared with blood, the hands shaking and 
 lifted in supplication, and a face that was already bathed in the 
 shadows of death. This wounded man opened eyes that were 
 dilated by a great hope, seemed to beg with his ghastly gaze. 
 Then he made a supreme effort to rise, but a stream of blood 
 burst out of his mouth, drenching the priest's cassock, and the 
 hand which sought his was getting icy cold. There also ap- 
 peared in the wilderness of tall rushes near the river and then 
 was lost again in the shadows a woman who had a baby asleep 
 in her arms, and with a dull moaning that never left her lips, 
 
INCENDIARIES 349 
 
 she kept on searching among all these wounded and dead for a 
 loved face. 
 
 Then they brought all of the unfortunates they had found 
 back to camp, and all the night the black cassock and the snowy 
 hoods, lit up by the feeble rays of the lanterns, like fantastic 
 visions, like wandering souls on their journey, crossed and re- 
 crossed the hidden places in the hills, searching for more aban- 
 doned ones, and ever they would reappear where groans and 
 sighs weakly hung on the night air. And from the whole field 
 of battle there broke a desolate cry, a penetrating wail, a lament 
 without end, inarticulate words, blasphemies, curses, howls, 
 mystic invocations, whispered prayers, cries inaudible, plaints 
 interminable. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 INCENDIARIES 
 
 THE army goes winding slowly its snakelike trail along hol- 
 lowed out paths, along sparse, withered stalks of dead vegeta- 
 tion. The heat, the murderous fatigue of forced marches, have 
 stilled the voices, driven away smiles and laughter. They all 
 crawl along mute, sad, perspiring like a flock of tired sheep. 
 
 Day after day the army has traversed the plains of Tolima, 
 those interminable plains, showing nothing but rigid, sickly 
 stalks, so infertile that not even the horses and cattle can find 
 sustenance there. Day after day they have vainly longed to 
 reach the end of their miseries. Day after day they have trav- 
 eled beneath a burning sky. Always the same crude light, 
 always the same naked glowing disk in the heavens, implacable, 
 devouring. Day after day they have tried to escape that fire in 
 air and sky that is eating up their marrow, that puts fever into 
 their veins, that scorches their lips, that murders their sleep, 
 that paralyzes their will power, that prostrates and exhausts. 
 The open prairie, always before their eyes the desert plain, with 
 its bare and hopeless monotony. All the colors revealing health, 
 strength and cheerfulness have gone. In their place nothing is 
 visible but wan and grimy faces. The sun has burned them, 
 has desiccated them and drunk up their blood. These are all 
 
350 PAX 
 
 countenances as of a hospital on the march. All have the color 
 of ashes, the same ashes which mark the route here and there, 
 the sterile yellow of sand, the pallor of the withered vegetation 
 that is all around them. 
 
 It is now a whole month that Alejandro and Roberto, at the 
 head of an army worn out by fatigue, hunger, sleeplessness and 
 fever, pursue in the midst of the devastated plains, with neither 
 truce nor rest, the forces of Socarraz, who with extraordinary 
 agility manages to concentrate them, disperse them, to attack 
 and to disappear. Two days before, they had succeeded in sur- 
 rounding the guerrilla chief, and when, after unheard-of efforts, 
 they prepared to close the net and capture him and his band, he 
 contrived by means unknown to give them the slip once more, 
 to evade his pursuers. Thus the tracking of him had to begin 
 all over again, and just now, making a new supreme effort, 
 they were for another time in his wake, trying to intercept him 
 before he should reach the river. Two nights now the soldiers 
 had had no sleep, being constantly on the march, interrupted 
 solely a few times by brief halts in order to slaughter a few head 
 of cattle which then were roasted at an open fire and cut up 
 and eaten standing. . . . Some of the soldiers, with their lids 
 closed, with burning, troubled eyes, with hurried respiration, 
 and half suffocated, had fallen in their tracks, conquered by the 
 lack of sleep, remaining on the ground with mouth open, and 
 with congested faces. The officers had to shake them, roughly 
 awaken them, help them to rise, and to remind them that a strag- 
 gler was a dead man. Then, picking up their rifles, these poor 
 fellows would get on their feet without a murmur, shake the dust 
 from their knapsacks, and follow the others, tottering, silent, 
 like sleepwalkers. 
 
 Quite in front there are a number of young fellows, some of 
 them smaller than the rifles they carry, bowed down over their 
 drums, over their bugles and some bundles of swords. Then, at 
 irregular intervals, come the troops proper. The officers who 
 raise swarms of gnats and other insects with long wings, try 
 listlessly to cheer on the mules who with drooping ears let fall 
 big drops of sweat on the burning sand. 
 
 On top of the huge munition boxes are carried hunks of meat 
 blackened by exposure to the sunlight, hampers filled with provi- 
 sions, piles of firewood, just what a tribe of nomads needs in 
 
INCENDIARIES 351 
 
 crossing the desert. A number of mules come next, bearing no 
 load, but exhibiting on the loins and on their protruding ribs 
 shapeless sores, monstrous lumps, swellings which are oozing 
 with viscous blood. Around them are buzzing clouds of mos- 
 quitoes. Little chaps scarcely big enough to take care of them- 
 selves, are on the backs of sumpter horses shaking with the mo- 
 tions of the animals as these proceed at the slow gait of the 
 marching line, and these boys are dressed up grotesquely in cor- 
 porals' or sergeants' uniforms. The camp women are carrying 
 hand baggage, calabashes, and often on their bosoms their ema- 
 ciated babies who in vain are seeking nourishment at their 
 mothers' dried-up breast. All of these women look like gipsies, 
 with skin and complexion browned by the sun, eye sockets ab- 
 normally enlarged by lack of sleep and rest, and also by insuffi- 
 cient food, almost bloodless, and stopping now and then to wipe 
 the sweat from their perspiring faces, which ^hey do with bed- 
 sheets they wear wrapped around their necks.) Then they take 
 a whistling breath, and when they have leisure, lie down with 
 their arms as pillows, or else attempt to find some cooler spot, 
 putting their cheeks against the leaves of some wayside plant. 
 
 Quite in the rear, alone by themselves, creeping along, form- 
 ing pitiful groups, with cadaverous countenances, come the 
 wounded and sick. Those who have injuries on the feet are 
 walking with the aid of staffs or stripped branches picked up on 
 the road, or else are leaning on the stock of their rifles, making 
 their way painfully, resting the foot often on the uninjured side, 
 with bent heads, bowing down, and fanning themselves at every 
 step with the flaps of them hats that hide or reveal faces which 
 tell of atrocious sufferings, 
 
 Doctor Miranda, afoot and mingling in the ranks with the 
 men, speaks encouraging words to the despairing and tired, 
 counsels the enfeebled and sick, puts new heart into the march- 
 ing soldiers. There he drops a simple phrase of compassion, 
 here he gives an affectionate pat on the shoulder of one ex- 
 hausted, further on says a pleasant or jocular word, and the 
 soldiers begin to smile with new hope, draw themselves up erect, 
 feel refreshed, ready for new sufferings, ready even for death. 
 And seeing the effect of his words, of the magical influence of 
 his voice, the priest himself is moved, and lavishes his own re- 
 ligious faith, mingled with affection, on the men. The bril- 
 
352 PAX 
 
 liancy of his glance is veiled by the tears that will come to his 
 eyes, and his lips smile with an expression of bitterness and 
 sadness. Sometimes a soldier will call him aside to make some 
 confidential communication, fervent confessions, about sins com- 
 mitted long ago, or sharp presentiments, or explosions of grief 
 that find a sympathetic echo in the depths of that heart aflame 
 with divine love. And the priest will listen to them in this man- 
 ner, one by one, during the march, and will make these souls 
 stronger to bear the inevitable, will strengthen them the more as 
 fatigue tortures them, will deepen their hopes the more if despair 
 assails them, if affliction bears down on them. 
 
 "Poor fellows! Just look, Alejandro! " exclaimed Roberto. 
 " They can scarcely endure this any longer. Could we not en- 
 camp here? " 
 
 " Impossible! We should thereby lose the fruits of our pres- 
 ent extraordinary efforts. It is indispensable for us to reach 
 the Magdalena River before Socarraz does. At present we may 
 hope that not a single man of them will escape us. I do not 
 think they can be far from here." 
 
 " Well, then, let us go on." 
 
 They strained their eyes towards the distance. In the torpid 
 atmosphere there were floating particles of remote conflagrations, 
 cinders, soot, fine ashes. A. bluish mist hid the horizon from 
 their gaze. 
 
 " Yonder is Palmares," said Alejandro. " It seems to me I 
 can scent the bivouac of Socarraz. Let us investigate." 
 
 " Over on the other side, on the right," said Colonel Avila, 
 " I make out a column of thick smoke . . . yonder, quite in the 
 distance, and a glow as of reddish waves." 
 
 " It is another place set afire." 
 
 " Socarraz scatters fire and pestilence for his allies." 
 
 Certain black shapes could now be remarked in the plains. 
 They were coming in the direction of the army. The clusters of 
 fugitives grew in size and number. They were people who had 
 been driven away without knowing where to go. Their faces 
 wore an expression of terror, their arms were stretched out as if 
 seeking help. They were unfortunates who came dragging 
 along their sole possession a cow, or a pig. There was an 
 old woman who did not even possess a head-covering, carrying 
 a small child in her arms, and next to her a tall old woman with 
 
INCENDIARIES 353 
 
 gray braids and the aspect of a witch, clutching some ragged 
 articles of clothing beneath her bare arms that were crossed 
 and recrossed by dark veins. They drew nearer, they halted 
 with fear, glanced behind them, saw the sky alight with the 
 ruddy flames, and turned once more determinedly, continuing 
 their road, desperate, without further reflexion, making gestures 
 of complete desolation. 
 
 Doctor Miranda stepped out of the ranks, approached these 
 fugitives, and spoke to them like a father. He advised them 
 what to do, offered them protection, and then these unhappy 
 people began to relate what had happened to them. They 
 showed the tall pillar of smoke, surrounded the priest, knelt to 
 him, kissed his hand, and burst out in sobs. 
 
 The fugitive villagers were received within the army, and the 
 latter proceeded slowly. Roberto and Alejandro, who walked in 
 the rear, in order not to abandon their wounded and sick, now 
 noticed with astonishment a bivouac but recently abandoned, 
 stakes on which slaughtered cattle had been roasted, piles of 
 intestines covered with flies, boiling in the heat of the sun in the 
 midst of huge pools of half dried blackish blood; and crowding 
 about all this, numbers of vultures that were gorged and un- 
 afraid, as though they were familiar companions to army life. 
 
 Further forward the repugnant odor of burned hides and 
 wool assailed the nostrils. Between black clouds there was still 
 smoldering the sorry remains of a little cabin. Across the 
 threshold of the reeking ruins of his humble little structure, face 
 buried in the ashes, lay a young lad, his feet scorched and the 
 skin of the back broken and swollen with fearful blisters. A 
 number of vultures retired with silent bounds, glancing at the 
 meal they had left. Within the straw were stretched out the 
 lifeless bodies of an old man and a young one. The old man, 
 whose biblical white beard was deeply stained with blood, 
 showed a terrific knife thrust which had pierced the forehead 
 and the cheek, while the young one, lying in a pool of blood, 
 showed a strong back marked with sword blows, the latter 
 crossed with black stripes, and at the neck a formidable slash 
 which had left the head barely hanging by a tendon. 
 
 " That is the signature of the Escorpion," remarked Chispas, 
 approaching the two chiefs. " He cannot be far, for the blood 
 is still fresh." 
 
3*4 PAX 
 
 Some shots were heard in the vanguard, and there was a 
 scuffle. Casanova arrived in haste. 
 
 " General, they are in Palmares, and no longer here," he 
 said. " They have taken refuge on the river. We shall capture 
 them." 
 
 Blasts on the trumpet; commands; shouts of rage. 
 
 The trumpet of the lancers is heard. Chispas hastily rode 
 toward a small group of palms which rose on the horizon, close 
 to the river. 
 
 The first battalion of Bogota, with rifles held ready, started 
 at quick-step, Casanova cheering them on. The battalions were 
 formed in fighting line and hastened forward. In the silence 
 of the surrounding landscape could be clearly heard the metallic 
 rattle of the cartridges that were being inserted in the rifles. A 
 breeze carried the fresh scent of the vegetation along the Mag- 
 dalena River, and bore the echo of shots fired somewhere. 
 
 " Come on, boys," encourages Alejandro, " a last effort, and 
 the campaign will be over! " 
 
 They arrive, but they find the camp of Socarraz empty. 
 The guerrilla men have succeeded in escaping, have even crossed 
 the Magdalena. They fire upon the last vessels just crossing the 
 river. 
 
 In the midst of these shots, Chispas, red with anger and in- 
 dignation, spurs on his horse, pricks him with his lance to 
 induce him to trust to the current in pursuit of the guerrilla 
 chieftain who has a second time effected his flight. 
 
 " He has run away, the accursed scoundrel," shouts Chispas; 
 " they were here, they crossed the river, . . . they kept boats 
 ready." 
 
 There are some shots fired from the other shore, near the 
 forest border, and these indicate that the enemy is in safety. 
 Then they hear the trumpet signal of Socarraz. 
 
 All pursuit is impossible and dangerous. Alejandro resolves 
 to strike camp. At the signal of the trumpeter, the soldiers 
 align themselves, then break ranks, and run towards the water, 
 where they bend over the waves, drink their fill with much noise, 
 breaking out in shouts of merriment, while the women run to the 
 shore, dip their calabashes into the water, and when the clucking 
 of the inflowing water follows, they accompany it with bursts of 
 laughter. 
 
INCENDIARIES 355 
 
 The waters of the great river spread out majestic and splen- 
 did. The sinking sun paints upon the vast surface great 
 patches of scarlet, and the breeze forms long folds on the water. 
 The enormous disk of the sun seems to be steeped in a lake of 
 blood. In the lake the air is already beginning to melt into vel- 
 vety darkness. The details are hiding behind the veil which 
 twilight drops over the scene. The tall rushes are undulating 
 idly in a lazy wind. Roberto, stretched out at full length in a 
 hammock, saw the day sadly die and be swallowed up in the 
 immense fog banks which were empurpled by the sinking sun 
 and by the great incendiary fires blazing not far away. And 
 as the night advanced and grew, the glitter of the flaming vil- 
 lage likewise grew. As far as the zenith grand impenetrable 
 clouds of sable smoke rose and displayed their red spirals, inside 
 of which twirling and twisting showers of white, glistening 
 sparks were constantly carried upwards only to fall abruptly 
 like a cataract of fire. 
 
 Not far from the river, amidst a small grove of palms, there 
 were two spacious houses which Socarraz had fortified by 
 closing and barring all the windows. In these buildings Socar- 
 raz had left all his wounded and sick, and these comprised all 
 those from the army of the Government and those who had re- 
 mained behind during the shooting that afternoon in the 
 camp. 
 
 It was scarcely possible to move about in that abode of pain. 
 
 From that great mass of maimed, disfigured, and crippled 
 bodies there arose an incessant murmur of agony, a fantastic 
 mingling of howls, a flutter of rapid, feverish breathing, rau- 
 cous cries, dull gaspings. 
 
 In an asphyxiating, heavy atmosphere as hot as that of an 
 oven, there floated the emanations of a thousand deadly diseases, 
 of ulcers and gangrene, the filth of entrails rendered poisonous 
 by the fever, sweating bodies, all combined- with the penetrating 
 odor of iodoform. 
 
 The Sisters of Charity lavished here, with the doubtful light 
 of some tallow candles, their best attentions on these unfortu- 
 nates, without a gesture of disgust or dismay, calm and happy as 
 though they were traversing a royal hall peopled with persons 
 enjoying wealth and station, and full of music and perfumes. 
 
 Roberto and Alejandro having gone as far as the entrance 
 
356 PAX 
 
 to this primitive establishment, fled before the first fetid, super- 
 heated breath issuing out of its door. 
 
 Seized with respect and veneration, Alejandro remained on 
 the threshold. Sister San Ligorio having passed him, he had 
 given her a glance. From her emaciated face had disappeared 
 the traces of sadness and homesickness. She seemed to descry 
 the end of her exile ; in her eyes there shone the light of another 
 world, a glow of superhuman bliss. Amid those shadows of 
 death, those moans of agony, she was like a compassionate 
 angel sent to bestow supreme consolation for supreme pain. 
 
 Fascinated by that glance, infected with a heroic madness, 
 inflamed by a sudden call for charity, Alejandro resolutely 
 penetrated the hospital, and conquering all his repugnance 
 he drew near to those human bodies in which the spark of life 
 was still aflame, and treated them all with affectionate consid- 
 eration. Most of the patients were already at death's door, 
 however. Like the humblest and most forlorn of the male at- 
 tendants, and filled with joy at the chance of being able to over- 
 come his instincts, Alejandro did all sorts of common labor: 
 stanched the flow of blood, distributed medicines and sympa- 
 thetic counsel, and tended the patients, washing their wounds 
 and binding them up. 
 
 From a dark nook of the place there came shrill cries, min- 
 gling wails with blasphemies and insults. Alejandro ap- 
 proached. It was a guerrilla soldier, wounded that afternoon 
 during the rifle fire, who had been unable to cross the river. 
 Recognizing Alejandro, he broke out in horrible curses. 
 
 Sister San Ligorio came up, and knelt down at the side of the 
 bed. And her voice was clearly to be heard amidst the shouting 
 and screeching of the man on the bed her voice full of unshed 
 tears that penetrated to the very bottom of the soul and caused it 
 to vibrate with the deepest and most delicate sentiments. The 
 sister's eyes were fixed upon those of the raging man, who at 
 last felt their fascination until he ceased his furious outbreak. 
 Then he fell to complaining of his pain and his lot, and finally 
 began to sob and ask for pity. With the soldier reduced to that 
 state, Alejandro was able to obtain from him some details. 
 
 Socarraz, it seems, had made good his escape with all his men, 
 and had safely crossed the river. He had lately not moved with 
 his guerrilla band as rapidly as formerly, because he had been 
 
INCENDIARIES 357 
 
 embarrassed in his march by the hundred mules he had with 
 him, loaded with coffee and hides, and had at last been forced 
 to leave his wounded and a stranger from whom he never sepa- 
 rated himself, and who was likewise sick, in the houses of Pal- 
 meras. 
 
 "A stranger?" exclaimed Roberto, surprised. "Where was 
 he taken prisoner? " 
 
 " The night we picked up old Ronderos at the Union." 
 
 " Ah, Bellegarde! " remarked Roberto, quite taken aback. 
 
 " That is what the man said. . . . Socarraz did not want to 
 let him go, although he had offered a considerable ransom for 
 himself. I believe that something must have occurred between 
 those two, and that the attack at the Union Club was meant more 
 for Bellegarde than for old Ronderos." 
 
 "We must rescue Bellegarde! " cried Roberto. "What fate 
 is awaiting him else ! " 
 
 " This night we cannot do so," said Alejandro, holding the 
 other back. " How are we to cross the river? But to-morrow 
 we shall use those barks that Socarraz has left behind for 
 forcing a passage, and then we shall pursue him without rest 
 or delay until we can liberate the Count, my unfortunate, my 
 beloved friend." 
 
 " I bring here this letter," said Casanova, coming up sud- 
 denly at this juncture, and saluting Alejandro with his sword. 
 A messenger from General Ronderos handed it to me dur- 
 ing the time of our attack." 
 
 General Ronderos had sent them his orders and some impor- 
 tant news from his camp at one of the settlements in the moun- 
 tain district, as follows: 
 
 He had with a part of his army pursued the guerrilla bands 
 of Exposito Montes, Neron Jaspe, and Nichols, forcing them to 
 separate from Socarraz, and pushing them towards the chain of 
 mountains, where the enemy forces had scattered, leaving in the 
 possession of the Government the larger part of their provisions 
 and war material. The chiefs Montes, Jaspe, Lagacha and 
 Nichols had contrived to find safety, fleeing by way of the moun- 
 tains until they had reached the lower Magdalena, where they 
 had embarked for Barranquilla, a place held by the forces of 
 Landaburo and Polanco. 
 
 The custom houses of Riohacha, Santmarta, and Sabanilla 
 
358 PAX 
 
 were in the power of the revolutionists, and with the immense 
 resources and the collected products of these harbors they were 
 keeping alive the revolution and enriching its chiefs. 
 
 Landaburo was on a voyage to foreign parts, probably for 
 the purpose of selling those cargoes that had been exported for 
 his account, and also to buy vessels and munitions. Polanco 
 was in Barranquilla, where he was taking steps to seize Carta- 
 gena and make that his headquarters, according to rumor. 
 
 Ronderos ordered Alejandro to march with the forces under 
 his command to general headquarters, meeting him at Antioquia, 
 where further steps would be decided upon. The most urgent 
 and indispensable thing was to rush to the defense of Cartagena, 
 to free the coast from guerrilla power, wrest the river from the 
 hands of the revolutionists, and reestablish communications for 
 the Government, both with the Atlantic littoral and the outside 
 world. 
 
 Concluding the reading of this important missive, Roberto 
 exclaimed : 
 
 " The most pressing matter, in my judgment, is to rescue the 
 Count. With a detachment that you will not refuse me, with 
 Casanova's battalion and Chispas' lancers, I will undertake to 
 hand Socarraz over to you within a fortnight." 
 
 " I am unable to do so," replied Alejandro in a voice full of 
 sadness, one which betrayed his disappointment and bitterness. 
 " I cannot do so. The orders leave me no choice but to obey. 
 Disobedience would be treason. . . . Come, my poor boy, come 
 and help me arrange for the march to Antioquia for to-morrow. 
 . . . What bad luck!" 
 
 Roberto crossed the camp, and in order to obtain some hours 
 of sleep strung his hammock between two trees, close to the 
 border of the river. He stretched himself out in it, refreshed by 
 a cooling breeze, lulled by the motion of the river which came 
 plashing against the bank. But he found it impossible to sleep. 
 The image of his friend, prisoner of such a brute as Socarraz, 
 badly treated, ageing before his time, dead perhaps from hunger 
 and thirst, without doubt ill as well, dragged by the ferocious 
 guerrilla chief through the pampas during inclement weather, 
 forced to accompany him in all his lawless and dangerous un- 
 dertakings, which he was bound to attempt during his continu- 
 ous flight before the power of the government, filled Roberto 
 
INCENDIARIES 359 
 
 with dark forebodings and anxiety, and in his brain were crowd- 
 ing the most desperate projects to free his friend. At last, how- 
 ever, worn out by fatigue and lack of sleep, he felt that drowsi- 
 ness was gradually gaining on him, and in his lethargy the 
 images of Dolores and of Ines, the face of his mother, pale and 
 enfeebled, with tears in her anxious eyes, became blurred, and 
 he sank into profound slumber. 
 
 Suddenly he awoke with a start. He thought he had heard 
 a shot. He tried to collect himself and listened attentively. No 
 sound was heard. He must have been dreaming. The breeze 
 carried to him bits of fine ashes, probably from some camp or 
 bonfires but half extinguished. And he could hear the shouts 
 of the sentinels who passed along the watchword the steps of 
 the patrols who passed quietly through the camp, and the trot of 
 the horse carrying the officer of the day. 
 
 Another shot. . . . Yes, there was no doubt. He had not 
 deceived himself. 
 
 It must be an attack. 
 
 Roberto flew to the tent of Alejandro, whom he found grasp- 
 ing his revolver and quickly girding on his sword. 
 
 Chispas, officer of the day, came up on horseback. 
 
 " General, an attack. They have dispersed the advance 
 guard." 
 
 The noise was increasing every instant, like a torrent, as in 
 a storm rolling thunderclaps become more and more distinct, 
 more and more formidable. Perucho, the trumpeter, at the or- 
 ders of Alejandro, gives a blast. The soldiers, dazed and still 
 half asleep, get on their feet, run to where their rifles are stacked, 
 but before they have formed their ranks, there appears a black 
 mass at a hundred steps from them, a cyclone of horses which 
 comes on thundering right into the very center of the camp, 
 breaking small groups that are just forming to right and left, 
 cutting down some who in a panic are taking to the river, while 
 others, who are recovering from their fright, are lowering their 
 bayonets, or else take random shots. 
 
 Socarraz, at the head of his numerous cavalry, is advancing 
 with lightning speed towards the infantry, and the latter, sur- 
 prised, paralyzed by the unexpected, has not yet succeeded in 
 drawing itself up, so that the audacious guerrilla troops on their 
 swift animals are rapidly approaching, and doing so are throw- 
 
360 PAX 
 
 ing burning bunches of straw at different points where easily 
 inflammable material is stored. 
 
 Alejandro and Roberto are calling for the trumpeter Perucho. 
 But he has vanished. In despair they rush to the camp, rees- 
 tablish a sort of order, encouraging the soldiers, drawing up the 
 battalions, massing the cavalry in pursuit of the fugitives. The 
 squadrons of Chispas are now in pursuit of Socarraz's riders. 
 
 "What a disgrace! " bellows Chispas himself, while he digs 
 his spurs into the haunches of his beast, " for the Scorpion to 
 surprise us. But look out! We shall take him from the side." 
 
 Day began to break, and with the approach of dawn a strong 
 wind set in which scattered the isolated flames over the adjoin- 
 ing plain with its withered and parched vegetation. At various 
 points of the camp, marking the track of Socarraz's cavalry, 
 sinister pillars of smoke were rising ... the sparks flew be- 
 tween the straw stacks, and here and there darted red tongues 
 of flame with a sinister gleaming. 
 
 Suddenly, on the summit of a hill, the outlines of a horseman 
 appeared. Face, body, horse, lance, all stood out sharply from 
 the luminous background, the whole silhouette being intensely 
 black. 
 
 " It is he ! " exclaimed Chispas full of anger. 
 
 " Escorpion ! Escorpion ! " shouted his lancers and attacked 
 the hillside with great valor. 
 
 Behind Socarraz there now appeared a number of other horse- 
 men on top of the hill, and then it was an entire squadron that 
 suddenly stood out against the ruddy horizon in apparently in- 
 terminable file, like black ghosts on the rosy skyline. 
 
 Chispas's horsemen started in a frenzy of bravery up the steep 
 ascent of the hill, and dextrously began to climb it. The 
 horses, full of pluck, required scarcely any spurring. 
 
 But Socarraz's lancers awaited them up on the summit, in 
 vastly superior positions. When the squadrons of Chispas were 
 still at a hundred paces, the line of black ghosts suddenly began 
 to become alive. Their little flags on the long shafts of their 
 lances fluttered in the brisk wind, and sharply defined them- 
 selves against the ruddy gleam of the air. Then they lowered 
 their weapons and with savage shouts rushed to the attack 
 against their enemies. Midway of the rising ground there was 
 a terrific collision. The clash of steel upon steel, shouts, neigh- 
 
INCENDIARIES 361 
 
 ing and squealing horses, rushing away without their riders, 
 falling bodies, rude blows; the slashing of sabers and machetes, 
 red flashes of lances that are lowered and bury themselves in the 
 flesh, the vitals of opponents, then are raised again, are cloven 
 in two, clatter to the ground; dull, half-suppressed noises, cries, 
 curses, bodies against bodies, wrestling for a deadly grapple; 
 the fiery sheen reflects the steel of lance points, reddened now 
 with the blood of the enemy, as are the banderoles, the sabers. 
 And then, chaos ... a nondescript mass of struggling, howl- 
 ing, groaning, shrieking creatures, right in the midst of powder, 
 smoke and blood. 
 
 A dense, grayish gas, mostly smoke, wraps the whole scene 
 and its actors. Meanwhile the conflagration which enabled 
 Socarraz to penetrate to the very center of the camp, spreads 
 with awful speed in the whole surrounding plain, fanned on by 
 the strong gale now blowing, rises on the hillsides, surrounds 
 them and reaches out farther, while the size and fierceness of 
 the flames keep growing. They no longer lap at objects; they 
 open wide their hungry maws, and instantly devour. Thicker 
 and thicker the smoke is getting, it seizes and asphyxiates its 
 victims. The fine, flying ashes blind people. The burning 
 fragments are carried through the air and spread the fire along 
 great distances. And still the slaughter up on the hill is going 
 on uninterruptedly. In dust, and flames and heat men are 
 hacking away at each other. Horses that are being scorched 
 by the flames rise on their hind legs, bellowing with torture. 
 The lances again and again burrow into the flesh and come back 
 dripping with blood, are withdrawn from bowels and bellies and 
 brains they have pierced. Riders are tottering in their saddles 
 and fall to rise no more. On the soil also there is fire, and 
 corpses are being devoured by it. The odor of burning flesh is 
 sickening. But the horses at last refuse to obey their riders, 
 turn and do not come back to the slaughter, in spite of all 
 spurring. 
 
 In the camp, too, the fire spread with giddy swiftness. It 
 ran on, flattening out through the parched prairie lands about, 
 blanketed in a whitish smoke, slightly tinged with yellow, dense 
 and biting, and soon after there were heard thousands of slight 
 cracklings; lastly the flames themselves which, as though in- 
 spired by the prevailing rage for destruction, voracious, domi- 
 
362 PAX 
 
 nant, wasteful, sprang about with amazing leaps, walked in 
 whirlpools of fire, ever advancing, though often springing back 
 for a minute on their back path, with capricious motions, but in 
 an instant appearing again in front, as advance guards of ruin 
 and destruction. And the empire of the raging fire widened 
 every instant. 
 
 Surprised in their hiding-places by the sudden inundation of 
 fire, masses of strange insects, wild beasts, poisonous reptiles, 
 ran about on the open prairie in all directions, crazed and 
 paralyzed by the fury of this unknown element, escaping per- 
 haps on one side, and engulfed by it on the other. Many of 
 these creatures in their blind fear ran and ran until they 
 rushed direct into the hungry mouth of the fiery fiend. 
 
 The entire contingent of troops has been forced to surrender 
 the camp to the power of the flames, which pursued them at 
 every step. But suddenly there is an outcry, a shouting by the 
 multitude : 
 
 "The hospital! " 
 
 Some women with hair flying, clad in all sorts of rags, and 
 pressing their babies to their bosoms, with pitiable voices beg 
 help for those unfortunate beings who are on the point of perish- 
 ing in the flames to whose rage they have been abandoned. 
 
 Doctor Miranda hastens at once to their rescue, heading a 
 squad of soldiers who, by prodigious leaps, evading the danger, 
 arrive in front of the cluster of lightly constructed buildings. A 
 thousand tongues of fire are already licking at them. In an 
 instant they have run along the whole outlines, have spread over 
 the roof, and in a twinkling the whole roof bursts into flames. 
 
 A number of the sick patients have appeared, have fallen 
 down in the doorway, thus blocking the only entrance, stretch 
 out their blackened hands, and with throats paralyzed with fear 
 and heat, utter hoarse death rattles. Beyond the reddish cur- 
 tain of flames may be indistinctly seen the great crowd of sick 
 and wounded, writhing in the fiery furnace, enlarging the great 
 heap of those blocking up the entrance, their heads shorn of 
 hair by the fire, the faces as black as charcoal. 
 
 Doctor Miranda, resolved to sacrifice himself, rushed to the 
 front, intent upon penetrating to the interior. But a hurricane 
 of roaring flames kept him back. In the space inside there 
 
ALLIGATORS AND VULTURES 363 
 
 sounded a clamor of despair which mingled with the bellowing 
 of the conflagration. 
 
 The flames, having now encompassed the whole structure, 
 rose in a straight line. They gained constantly in volume, 
 pushing each other, rising and broadening, parting and unit- 
 ing, and sending even arrows of fire up to the tops of the 
 palm trees. One could hear the fan-shaped fronds of the 
 trees shriveling and roasting, then suddenly be devoured by 
 the element, and all the foliage on the trees vanishing in the 
 fiery breath, then the buildings in full flame, the straw roofs 
 transformed to gleaming ashes, and next the woodwork on 
 the roofs, the walls, all forming one huge flame, crackling in 
 one series of explosions. 
 
 The roof now crumbled. The clamor of voices inside the 
 vast space ceased suddenly, and the timbers, after bending, 
 sank into the depths, into one fearful crater that kept on 
 sending up showers of sparks. . . . 
 
 Doctor Miranda still wished to try the impossible. But he 
 was forcibly torn away from the scene. Before he yielded, 
 however, he raised his streaming eyes to heaven, lifted his 
 hands, let them drop slowly, with a gesture that bespoke both 
 leniency and pardon, and exclaimed in a voice that was shaken 
 by sobs: 
 
 " Children of Jesus Christ, redeemed by his most holy blood, 
 who are in the death throes devoured by flames under atrocious 
 sufferings. I grant you absolution in the name of the Father, 
 the Son, and of the Holy Ghost." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 ALLIGATORS AND VULTURES 
 
 ALEJANDRO and General Borrero were busy emplacing a num- 
 ber of cannons. Since the evening previous they had been 
 in Puerta Borja, which Landaburo had abandoned on the ap- 
 proach of Alejandro's forces. General Ronderos had followed 
 with the main strength of his army eight thousand men, 
 marching by way of the great plain of Ayapel, and had en- 
 
364 PAX 
 
 trusted to Roberto the task of going with smaller forces in 
 advance of the army to advise those in defense of Cartagena 
 that a numerous army would soon arrive to their aid. Roberto 
 to take the route of Panama, if that should be practicable. 
 Alejandro had been charged with the work of proceeding through 
 the dense forests, reaching the river, fortifying Puerta Borja, 
 and obstructing the passage of the steamers which Landaburo 
 had armed for war purposes. 
 
 f " Just see, General," said Alejandro, " how Nature day by 
 day wins back her domain. A few months ago there was here 
 a swarming ant-heap of human beings. Five thousand colon- 
 ists were at work in all directions. The dredges toiled at all 
 hours. The engines were whistling in the woods quite cheer- 
 fully, and the vessels entering or leaving the harbor imparted 
 plenty of life and motion. It meant the conquest of man 
 over the forest, over barbarism. Now on the contrary, the wild 
 forest takes revenge, is even at this short time again surrounding 
 these buildings. It stretches its arms, its twining plants out, 
 and is invading the shops, the storage houses, the magazines. 
 The alligators are once more asleep on the shores without be- 
 ing driven to flight by the incessant coming .and going of the 
 steamers. Frightened away by us, they are returned to enjoy 
 again in these surroundings the quiet of those epochs when 
 man and his plans were both absent from their quarters. 
 Just like the forest, they wished to reconquer their own domain. 
 Only look, General, at that big family of them over yonder, 
 at the other shore, lazy, well fed with all those dead bodies 
 that have floated down the river after so many fights of late." 
 
 " Please allow me," interrupted Borrero, " I want to try a 
 shot at them with this Hotchkiss gun. ... I want to find out 
 whether it has the required reach and power." 
 
 He fired the shot. The forest echoed and reechoed. On 
 the broad beach across, the bomb burst, and a palm-shaped 
 pillar of water spouted up. Several alligators plunged swiftly 
 into the near water, raising their tails. Others, wounded or 
 dying, were wallowing in the mire close by, while still others 
 remained immovable. 
 
 " General, do you want to join me in a reconnaissance? " 
 
 " Let us go," returned Alejandro. 
 
 They crossed the wide square, leaving on one side and the 
 
ALLIGATORS AND VULTURES 365 
 
 other the few buildings that Landaburo had not destroyed, and 
 then they made their way to the small hill which fronted the 
 river. 
 
 " From this height," observed Borrero, whose thoughts al- 
 ways turned on military operations, " Landaburo could have 
 kept us away with the guns he had. But fortunately he fled 
 as soon as he received news of our approach." 
 
 " That is his habit," observed Alejandro drily. 
 
 " He has also shipped off, in the vessels of which he could 
 dispose, as much of the immense provisions stored up here by 
 the Canalization company as he found it possible to do." 
 
 " And that again is in conformity with his habits. Quite 
 a humanitarian and progressist program he has: not to fight, 
 not to spill fraternal blood, but instead to load his knapsack up 
 with exportable fruit." 
 
 As they roamed about the territory so lately made use of by 
 the Canalization enterprise, they met everywhere with dam- 
 aged steel rails, whole engines or pieces of machinery rendered 
 useless, wheels, pumps, boilers, locomotives, and a big amount 
 of other material needed for the enterprise, wasted, spoiled. 
 
 " All this useless destruction, so barbarous, wicked, and 
 carried out by the alleged apostles of progress, is what pains 
 me most," interjected Alejandro in a melancholy voice. 
 
 " Millions lost," said Borrero. 
 
 " No, it is not that. It is because to my mind it seems that 
 I have lived with all those ruined machines, those locomotives 
 and engines now only fit for the scrap heap, with those dredges 
 and boilers, in intimate contact for months and months, then 
 so full of life and useful activity, now silent and useless, and 
 they seem to me to have been friends and comrades, now 
 wounded or dead. Their labor, their voice, their motion was 
 like something of my own self, poured into iron and steel. 
 They were my own will power and my own energy distributed 
 in torrents in this camp, which gradually was losing its savage 
 character, domesticating itself, being transformed into a wealthy 
 and happy city. To my fancy something of me has died with 
 the death of all this." 
 
 While Alejandro, weeks before, had gone on his way towards 
 the Magdalena and Roberto was crossing the Cauca district, 
 General Ronderos, on the way towards the Atlantic Coast, had 
 
366 PAX 
 
 crossed the Cordillera and descended to the wide plains of 
 Bolivar. The rainy season had come, and a rough, persistent 
 winter caused the army much trouble. Often they were com- 
 pelled to wade through deep morasses, and at other times they 
 had to walk through lagoons and lakes with the water reaching 
 up to their waists. Many of these stagnant pools covered a 
 great area. The mire removed from such springs or lagoons 
 emitted pestilential and poisonous miasmas. 
 
 Torrential and incessant downpours, like a deluge, accom- 
 panied them entire days and even weeks. And the army went 
 on with a low horizon that enclosed them on every side, slip- 
 ping along muddy stretches, paddling in the water, making 
 their painful way through the mire and ooze. Always under 
 a gray and veiled sky, a sky hung, thick with compact, murky 
 clouds. Sometimes the morning would open with clear weather. 
 Then the sun would scorch the shoulders like flaming arrows, 
 and the soldiers would be almost suffocated by hot vapors. But 
 then the horizon would again be crowded with dark clouds, the 
 atmosphere become thicker and thicker, the thunder begin to 
 roll, and the tempest burst out amidst flashes of lightning. 
 
 The mules heavily laden with guns and ammunition would 
 sink up to their backs in the semi-liquid ground, and many 
 perished in the morass. The soldiers saw themselves obliged 
 under such circumstances to unload the beasts of burden times 
 innumerable, and to carry their bulky burdens up to dry 
 places, a work which, repeated again and again, unduly 
 fatigued these men who had been losing their strength by 
 previous hardships of all kinds. During this long and pain- 
 ful march whole brigades perished, the army lost its entire 
 cavalry, and Chispas became adjutant of the commanding gen- 
 eral. 
 
 During these interminable marches, as during the sleepless 
 nights, the army was followed, pursued and always enveloped 
 in a cloud of mosquitoes, microscopically tiny insects, but 
 more dangerous than the tigers and lions of those waste lands, 
 because they brought with them from the swamps, their breed- 
 ing places, the germs of the fever that was decimating the 
 army. 
 
 " Tell Colonel Milan Gil that I want to see him! " 
 
ALLIGATORS AND VULTURES 367 
 
 Ronderos during the march went quite in the rear, depressed, 
 thoughtful. He carried in his soul all these fatigues and hard- 
 ships of his soldiers. Gay and impenetrable before his sub- 
 alterns, he hid in the depths of his heart his bitter reflections, 
 only to open his heart in the intimate colloquies he had with 
 his God, whom he asked for an opportunity to die a death 
 worthy of a soldier. He wished to disappear, to be anni- 
 hilated. His beard white as snow and much longer than of 
 yore, his hair long, both floated around his neck like a stigma 
 of old age. His thought, always taken up with the unforeseen, 
 keen to scent danger, was agitated in the midst of this wilder- 
 ness and these tempests and tropical rains, between the sinister 
 yesterday and the disastrous to-morrow. He considered death 
 a happy solution, leaving to it the weight of responsibility and 
 the uncertainties of the future. 
 
 When Chispas came, Ronderos turned on him his eyes that 
 were fatigued by broken nights, and which burned somberly 
 below a cadaverous forehead from out of deepened sockets. 
 
 " Colonel Chispas, do you know how many losses we have 
 had during the last few weeks? " 
 
 And with a quiet voice, approaching him, he said: 
 
 " Two thousand, yes, two thousand losses. I must make 
 them up with the Grenadiers, a battalion under the command 
 of Alejandro in Puerto Borja. They are only a thousand 
 men, it is true, but they are worth ten thousand to us. Within 
 a month I reckon on being before the walls of Cartagena to 
 set the place free. You will understand me. It is a delicate 
 mission, of decisive importance for the success* of the cam- 
 paign. You know, of course, that the road is menaced by 
 the guerilla forces who are making constant efforts to inter- 
 cept my communications with the Government. I have chosen 
 you for this mission because, besides being brave, you are 
 made for the rough life of the soldier, and I believe you capable 
 of confronting all the obstacles and hardships that impede 
 success. Alejandro will believe your words without any writ- 
 ten lines. Have you understood me well ? " 
 
 "Yes, General, perfectly. When am I to start?" 
 
 "At once." 
 
 Milan got his horse and made ready to leave. With most 
 profound pain Ronderos saw this friend taking his farewell, 
 
368 PAX 
 
 a friend so loyal and so amiable, and he perhaps envied him 
 his death; he felt he would not see him again. . . . 
 
 "Milan! Milan!" 
 
 And when he joined him: 
 
 " When you return, if you return, whatever you wish is 
 yours. And now let me hug you." 
 
 Once more now Chispas crossed the savannah, going from 
 north to south, the same route he had just come with the army, 
 and then he made his way into the Cordillera, until he had at- 
 tained the height of the pass which leads to the Magdalena. 
 Then he turned towards the east, through the only practicable 
 path that he could use. However, after traversing but a short 
 part of it, he perceived the camp of a body of guerrillas who 
 were stationed there for the precise purpose of intercepting 
 communications between Alejandro and Ronderos. He left, 
 therefore, his horse behind him, and made his way through 
 the mountains on foot, stumbling now and then upon huts of 
 the hospital service, where he obtained directions regarding 
 the right road to follow. 
 
 He traveled with great swiftness during the morning. The 
 pleasant weather, the fresh breeze from the mountain, and the 
 shade of the trees, allowed him to make the descent from the 
 summit of the range without fatigue and shortly after the 
 noon hour he had arrived at the hot valley through which 
 the Magdalena runs. 
 
 Here he calculated that the river could be but a few miles 
 distant, and that, therefore, he should be able to cross before 
 nightfall the plain covered by woods which separated it from 
 the camp of Alejandro. 
 
 It was virgin forest that covered this plain, never trodden 
 by human foot, enriched by centuries of alluvial deposits, vivi- 
 fied by the warm sod and showing a wealth of gigantic trees 
 which here, in the moist warmth of winter, had attained a great 
 height in the silence of their impenetrability. 
 
 Coming under the shade of this foliage, Chispas received at 
 once an impression of coolness which contrasted with the al- 
 most insupportable heat outside. Suddenly he saw his hori- 
 zon limited by rows upon rows of trees. The ground was cov- 
 ered by a thick carpet of dried leaves; here and there were 
 pools overgrown with aquatic plants, and he perceived an 
 
ALLIGATORS AND VULTURES 369 
 
 odor that was sweetish and repugnant, an odor of immense 
 vegetable decay, the miasma of fever. 
 
 At this hour Nature, as though prostrated by the heat, seemed 
 asleep, dead. There reigned a solemn and terrifying silence, 
 as in the ruins of a cathedral. 
 
 For an instant this wilderness filled his mind with anxiety. 
 It seemed to him that it weighed on him with a formidable, 
 paralyzing burden. But he shook off these sinister reflexions 
 entirely, and went forward, full of energy, bold and resolute. 
 
 Chispas went on with difficulty, because his feet sank deeply 
 into the layers of dry leaves, and he had to leap constantly from 
 spot to spot to avoid the miry or swampy places; or else he 
 was kept back by deep holes and gullies filled with rain water 
 or decayed vegetation, by ditches, by fallen tree trunks, by 
 springs of water or by twining plants and climbing vines that 
 entangled his limbs and which he often had to cut loose with 
 his machete. A cloud of wasps, buzzing around him, followed 
 him, harassed and stung him, covering him with blisters and 
 sores on hands and face. 
 
 But nevertheless, he went along with vigor and full of hope. 
 He was stimulated by the wish to welcome his friends in Ale- 
 jandro's camp, and he already could see himself returning with 
 them, at the head of the Grenadiers, pressing the hand of 
 the General, who with gracious words would thank him for 
 the great service rendered the army. He recalled the gen- 
 eral's promise: "If you return you may have anything you 
 wish! " After so many sacrifices, he would ask for his dis- 
 charge. He would return to his little house at La Laguna. 
 He saw Damiana, with a baby in her arms, come out to wel- 
 come him with smiles and sobs. 
 
 Early in the afternoon, when the sun began its home journey, 
 Nature, waking from her lethargy, began to give evidence of 
 life. From the soil, from the pools, from the waste spots, from 
 the curtains of greenery, from the highest foliage, there came 
 surging down, little by little, screams, shrieks, roars, bellows, 
 grunts, chirpings, murmurings, the whole fervor, the palpita- 
 tion of a primitive and potent Nature. 
 
 He came to a palm grove. The pointed shoots lifted them- 
 selves up skywards like sharp needles, and unfolded their 
 fan-like leafage in a refulgent plenitude of light. The dry 
 
370 PAX 
 
 leaves fell all about the trunks in great number, while the 
 wind, caressing the green plumes, produced in them a strange 
 shiver, as of live beings. 
 
 He still rushed on with anxiety, because he noticed that 
 the sun, which easily stole in between the open spaces of the 
 palm trees, began to take on orange-hued tones that covered 
 the whole trunks, from top to root, with a golden burnish. 
 And the shadows he threw when he came to open spaces, was 
 becoming longer and longer. 
 
 Should he have to continue his journey by night time, 
 through this mysterious forest, exposed to all the perils of the 
 unknown, perhaps to attacks by wild beasts, to snake bites? 
 
 Filling him with affright there came to his ears, repeated 
 a thousandfold, cries almost articulate, ajid about which it was 
 impossible to say whether they were sorrowful human plaints 
 or the roars of savage beasts. A little later there could be 
 noticed, high up on the top of the highest branches, a whole 
 crowd of monkeys, flinging themselves from branch to branch, 
 from trunk to trunk, holding on with their coiled tails, swing- 
 ing slowly between one tree and the next, stretching out their 
 long hairy arms, until they could grasp the lower branches 
 strong enough to bear their weight. When they perceived 
 Chispas, they stopped long enough to examine him carefully, 
 watched him with surprise, sat down meanwhile or hid among 
 the dense foilage, uttering shrill grunting sounds, and making 
 grotesque grimaces. 
 
 Flocks of birds seeking their nests were picking at leaves 
 and filling the trees with noisy chirpings. 
 
 Night closed in. The wind shook with greater force the 
 overhanging cupola of foliage. Those noises which during 
 the afternoon hours had peopled the immense solitude now 
 changed in kind. They became strange and melancholy. 
 There was a strenuous fervor, an infinite variety of sounds 
 everywhere, whistling sounds, acute and as though they were 
 watchwords and signals to be on the alert, predominating, 
 mingling with monotonous tunes, croakings, cacklings, owl 
 hootings, quacking of aquatic birds, roars of savage beasts. 
 
 In the obscurity there were flying all about, scattering thin 
 flashes or patches of greenish light, myriads of fire flies and 
 glow worms. Along the trunks of powerful trees, as upon 
 
ALLIGATORS AND VULTURES 371 
 
 graves in a cemetery, were lit and extinguished with equal 
 rapidity, fugitive phosphorescent gleams. 
 
 Little by little, despite his fearlessness, Chispas felt fear 
 creep into his soul. He attempted to hasten his steps, but at 
 each turn he tottered and fell. Then the damp, dead foliage, 
 clinging to his feet and legs, began to feel like the creeping 
 skin of reptiles. The fire flies seemed to be the fierce gleam- 
 ing of tigers' eyes; the twining plants became hands that at- 
 tempted to strangle him, and behind the trees he thought he 
 saw phantoms in ambush ready to assail him. 
 
 After hours and hours of marching, his strength began to 
 give out, and his body demanded some rest. But, with supreme 
 resolution, his feet sore and his hands bleeding, he still went 
 on. Every moment or so the sky became visible through the 
 curtain of foliage overhead, and he then saw the stars shin- 
 ing. He made an attempt to get his bearings, and to fix his 
 whereabouts at the time. When he did so, he became aware 
 that he was again in the palm grove he had left hours before. 
 
 With anger, with despair, with intense disappointment, he 
 then felt that after his great efforts, and after such crushing 
 fatigue, he had been moving about all the time without advanc- 
 ing a single step. He had lost his way. Discouragement 
 seized him. Why should he struggle any longer? Better aban- 
 don himself to his unhappy fate, let death overtake him. 
 . . . But no, rest, sleep would bring back his strength. Why 
 should he tire himself continuing his painful march during 
 the night? To what end was he to spend his forces uselessly? 
 When day came, he could easily ascertain his location, reach 
 the border of the river and then follow a fixed and safe direc- 
 tion. 
 
 He calmed down and became again master of himself. And 
 he stretched himself out on the ground, at the foot of a palm 
 tree, and in spite of the hunger he felt he soon fell fast 
 asleep. 
 
 It was, however, an unquiet sleep, tormented by horrifying 
 visions. It seemed to him that cold reptiles were crawling all 
 over his body; that a big snake had encircled his throat and 
 was choking him ; that a savage beast was devouring his bowels. 
 Each one of these terrible dreams meant for him a horrible 
 pain or an awful foreboding. Suddenly he awoke. He had 
 
37 2 PAX 
 
 felt an ardent breath, a fiery vapor upon his face. He quickly 
 collected his senses and in the uncertain light of the stars 
 and of the glow worms he was able to make out a tiger which, 
 surprised, made a leap backwards, gave a tremendous roar, 
 and then ran to safety in the surrounding thicket. 
 
 Seized with terror, and maddened, Chispas broke out in a 
 run, a run without aim, without object, simply a run to flee, 
 to escape this accursed and evil forest. Although exhausted, he 
 felt once more an extraordinary amount of vigor. His muscles 
 took on the elasticity and resilient power of steel. He swept 
 aside the twining plants that were hindering him in his flight; 
 he used his hands in tearing at thorns and brushwork, though 
 it brought him more scratches and wounds; with tireless energy 
 he bounded over great water-filled holes and tree trunks; lying 
 prone, he knocked his head against trees and slid through 
 narrow spaces like a reptile; he got up, fell again, and got on 
 his feet again in order to continue his wild run. Nothing 
 could stop or hinder him. Nothing in the shape of an ob- 
 stacle was able to keep him back from his insane course. 
 
 When day began to dawn dimly, the moon rose. It filled 
 the forest with new terrors and mysteries. The moonlight 
 diffused a half shadow in which a pale clearness of ghostly 
 white trembled, veiling objects, which painted spots of strange 
 luminousness upon tree trunks, leaving the remainder in inky 
 blackness. It lit up in patches the stagnant pools, and was 
 reflected by them in lugubrious tints. It designed in the thick 
 air angular, grotesque or tragical figures. It seemed to share 
 with the forest its own spirit and life, a life made up of 
 melancholy and sadness. 
 
 The presence of this vague light, and more still his anxieties 
 and forebodings, awoke in him afresh the sense of reality and 
 restored his reason. He halted in his mad run. In spite of 
 his feverish excitement, his body felt cold as ice. He felt him- 
 self all over. He was soaking wet. He concluded that he 
 must have fallen into the water, without becoming conscious 
 of it. The bites of insects hurt him greatly. His long ab- 
 stinence from food, aggravated by violent exercise, gave him 
 cramps, a deadly pain, an approaching annihilation of his 
 whole being. His throat felt like live coal. Now that he had 
 again calmed down, he looked for water to quench his in- 
 
ALLIGATORS AND VULTURES 373 
 
 tense thirst. When he found it, he drank some mouthfuls 
 with avidity, then fell down on the ground with mouth open. 
 
 The moon disappeared and the shadows reigned alone again. 
 His terrible visions returned, the reptiles, the savage beasts. 
 Sleep which delivered him up defenseless to the poison of the 
 serpents, to the teeth of the tiger, inspired him, therefore, with 
 greater terror even than did the dangers that had just been 
 torturing him. Sleep he now looked upon as his very worst 
 foe. So that now there arose a bitter struggle between his 
 exhausted body and the sleep he needed so badly. Sleep 
 seemed to him, in fact, an invincible monster that crept con- 
 stantly nearer, fascinating and tempting him, drawing him on, 
 closing his eyelids, paralyzing his limbs, robbing him of his 
 will power, and laying him out flat and powerless on the 
 ground. To resist sleep, therefore, he made superhuman ef- 
 forts, summoning the last remnant of his energy. He moved 
 constantly from one side to another, he wounded himself pur- 
 posely, he got up, he knocked his head against the tree trunks, 
 he rubbed the sores made by insect bites until they bled anew, 
 and in the midst of darkness he continued these struggles for 
 hours. 
 
 At last that night of interminable minutes drew to a close. 
 Light came. The forest intoned its morning hymn. A thrill 
 of hope, a vibration of rejoicing, a symphony of chirpings, of 
 trills and merry songs enwrapped the unfortunate man, pene- 
 trated him, lent him new support and relief, pushed him 
 onward on his road. 
 
 From the bottom of his soul Chispas, kneeling humbly, ad- 
 dressed a short but fervent prayer to God, lifted up his spirit 
 and implored to be led out of this cruel, murderous wilder- 
 ness, and then, filled with a new faith, he resumed his way. 
 
 After a short march, however, he felt that his body in no 
 way answered to the virility of his spirit, and that, having 
 already given all of his strength, he was worn out, prostrated, 
 spent. He discovered that there was nothing in his vigorous 
 will power for his enfeebled body to lean on, and this con- 
 viction fixing itself in his mind, he began to walk with extreme 
 slowness. He was tottering like a drunken man, supporting 
 himself against the trees, grasping with uncertain hands 
 branches and twigs. He felt in his legs a strange weight, some- 
 
374 PAX 
 
 thing which did not come from his own body, that seemed 
 like two big lumps of iron that he was forced to tear out of 
 an uneven soil. And between the two temples there was ap- 
 parently driven a red-hot nail, while throughout the entire 
 frame an itching, darting pain was shooting to and fro cease- 
 lessly, comparable to thousands of needles pricking flesh and 
 nerves. 
 
 Through his brain, burning with fever, there were crossing 
 terrifying visions. He was dreaming in plain daylight. 
 Changing rapidly, there passed before his eyes scenes either 
 horrible or overpoweringly sweet. Sometimes the images were 
 of death, again of the happy past, of his wedding in the 
 chapel at Sauzal, of the caresses of his wife, of the newly-born 
 baby that held out its arms to him. . . . 
 
 He fell on the ground. He tried to shout, to ask for help. 
 But only an imperceptible sob would rise to his throat, a 
 harsh and raucous rattle. He was overcome, exhausted, dying; 
 only his overexcited fancy was active, moving with lightning- 
 like swiftness. 
 
 He felt the approach of death, the definitive, irrevocable sen- 
 tence. He saw himself stretched out on his own bier, lying 
 there with open eyes, while the crows were making a meal of 
 him, or while wild creatures devoured him. And what then 
 would become of his family? Then he saw Damiana, holding 
 the little child by the hand, begging alms from door to door. 
 Both were in rags. The baby was crying, but people drove 
 them away with scorn. Sobs began to convulse him, sobs that 
 shook his breast; but they were mute sobs, for his throat was 
 unable to produce sounds. Tears were rolling down his burn- 
 ing cheeks. 
 
 Then he saw a livid, ghastly face, which looked at him with 
 squinting eyes. Socarraz! . . . He struck Damiana, lashed 
 the child with a whip, while the tiny creature begged him 
 weepingly to desist. . . . No, he did not strike Damiana, this 
 image, but he caressed her and dragged her into his arms, . . . 
 and she? . . . She smiled upon him with her mouth so rosy 
 and fresh, showing those two rows of magnificent teeth that 
 lent so much expression to her smile. 
 
 No, he did not wish to die. He supported himself upon his 
 two trembling hands. Half reassured, he raised his eyes to 
 
ALLIGATORS AND VULTURES 375 
 
 God and in a prayer of supreme devotion he pleaded that his 
 own life might be spared him, and that his wife and young 
 child be given protection, those two who were pieces of his 
 very heart, who without him would die of misery and loneli- 
 ness ... or that the other one, that Socarraz might be snatched 
 away. 
 
 And he began anew to move his limbs, to crawl forwards, 
 spending whole hours in advancing a short distance. 
 
 In the trees he heard noisy flutterings, sinister croakings, and 
 he saw a flock of vultures that extended their sharp bills above 
 the foliage and followed him. It was an omen of death it- 
 self. But a sudden resignation, a supreme consolation came 
 down from heaven to him, and fortified his oppressed spirit. 
 Death, after all, meant liberty, meant the end of his troubles 
 and pains, meant union with God, the beginning of a better 
 life. He would struggle no more. He would gladly await 
 Kis dissolution. . . . And he remained thus a long while, quite 
 at ease, commending his soul to the Creator, and entrusting the 
 beings he loved to his care, making profession of contrition, of 
 L supreme love and devotion. 
 
 Suddenly he heard the whistle of a steamer. Was that the 
 delirium of fever? No, the whistling was now repeated, came 
 nearer, clear and precise. Then he also heard trumpet blasts, 
 like a prelude to salvation, like a greeting from life itself. 
 
 "Ah, . . . the camp!" 
 
 The noise made by the wheel of a steamer, the waves which 
 struck against the embankment, and the threshing sound made 
 by the engines of the vessel coming nearer and nearer, were 
 heard in front, and then grew faint and fainter in the distance. 
 Hope, cheerfulness, the ardor and the desire to live put into 
 his enfeebled body a last spark of energy, a strength, a force 
 unhoped for. 
 
 He crawled to the bank of the river, and then fell down 
 on the shore. A sleep that was the outgrowth of fever and 
 complete exhaustion seized him, dominated him, clamped him 
 down to the spot, robbed him of all power of motion. 
 
 The flock of vultures came down, and began to examine him, 
 stretching out their bare necks, making singular leaps, half 
 opening their wings. There began to appear at the border of 
 the river the enormous head of an alligator, with its jaws open. 
 
376 PAX 
 
 It sunk its claws into the bank, drew its back out of the water, 
 and set out on its way across the san d with waddling steps. 
 
 The vultures, seeing this rival about to rob them of their 
 prey, became alarmed and uttered a series of croaks, directing 
 their iron bills against their foe. 
 
 The alligator with a deep bite seizes Chispas by one of his 
 legs and drags his body behind him by a series of tugs. 
 
 The vultures crowd together, croaking furiously, whirl about 
 and perform a grotesque dance. 
 
 In the shallower water of the river border are appearing 
 other alligators. 
 
 Suddenly the body of the unfortunate Chispas, the alligator 
 that has seized him, and those other alligators that are wait- 
 ing and are going to dispute possession with him at the bottom 
 of the river, all disappear together below the surface of the 
 water, so silently, so smoothly that not even the grass and 
 weeds growing along the shore are disturbed by it all. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV 
 
 THE FLYING DUTCHMAN 
 
 AFTER passing through a large part of the country and mak- 
 ing brief halts at the towns of Cartago, Buga and Cali, Roberto 
 had arrived at Buenaventura, accompanied by Casanova. He 
 was discharging the commission which General Ronderos had 
 entrusted him with, that of bringing news of the approach 
 of the army of those small forces defending Cartagena against 
 the Revolutionists. 
 
 From the nature of the road he knew that he would find 
 it very difficult to get to Panama, because if during normal 
 times there came to Buenaventura only an average of two 
 vessels per week, now, because of the Revolution, it was but 
 very rarely that any vessel at all touched at that small harbor. 
 The little town, previously showing only slight indication of 
 prosperity, was now suffering from the consequences of the 
 war. Its streets were deserted, its harbor lifeless, its ware- 
 houses and shops empty and locked up, and it bore all the 
 
THE FLYING DUTCHMAN 377 
 
 signs of a total paralyzation of trade and shipping, of general 
 poverty and complete stagnation. 
 
 Roberto was consumed with impatience in view of the im- 
 possibility of continuing his journey, and in his anxiety he 
 passed hours and hours of his time at the seashore, staring at 
 the bay where the lazy waters came slowly up to his seat until 
 the wavelets would lap his feet and then again retreat, leaving 
 bare an extensive shore littered with all sorts of filth and rub- 
 bish, and which, heated by the tropical sun, rendered the air 
 unwholesome and infected with the germs of serious diseases. 
 
 On a certain morning, after one of those squalls frequent 
 along the coast of the Pacific, he sallied forth as usual to scan 
 the horizon, and soon he saw in the offing, where he had so often 
 gazed in vain, a small black cloud, no larger than a speck, 
 which stood out from the diaphanous crystal of the sky. A ves- 
 sel ? Little by little the dark spot began to define itself, gaining 
 substance, and after he had waited anxiously some time longer, 
 there became visible two points above the level of the sea, two 
 smokestacks crowned by black plumes. Soon the hull of the 
 ship could be seen, then the main mast, the rigging, and at last 
 the flag and the two white ridges raised by the keel as it cleft 
 the waters of the bay with its steel edge. 
 
 Quite absorbed by his observations Roberto noticed how 
 the vessel, after describing an elegant curve, stopped, and 
 next he heard the creaking of the chains being paid out, the 
 clatter of iron upon iron, and the drop of the anchor as it sank 
 into the depths of the bay. 
 
 She was a German merchant vessel, with an uncertain des- 
 tination, to return home after the lapse of six months. She 
 was to make a stop at Panama, but not to carry passengers. 
 Nevertheless, Roberto entered into amicable relations with the 
 captain commanding the ship, and obtained the favor of him 
 (after winning his good will, and by dint of much persuasive 
 eloquence), of being taken on board for a passage to Panama. 
 
 While they were still in the bay of Panama it became known 
 on board, through the harbor officials, that the city was in 
 the hands of the revolutionists and that it was commanded by 
 General Pericles Azucararse (alias the mulatto, Jose Dolores). 
 
 This presented a new and possibly insuperable obstacle. 
 Roberto could not disembark without falling a prisoner into 
 
378 PAX 
 
 the hands of the guerilla chief. The captain of the vessel 
 came once more to his aid, saving him from his predicament. 
 Indeed, he wrote to the local authorities to the effect that he 
 needed to send a subaltern of his to Colon in connection with 
 some matters concerning the requirements of the ship. Thus 
 Roberto was able to leave the ship in the disguise of an offi- 
 cer of the merchant marine, contriving to slip past the harbor 
 master unnoticed and cutting short with a curt and brief " hum, 
 yes," all dangerous conversation regarding his incognito. 
 
 The Government forces, defeated in Panama, had fortified 
 themselves in Colon, so that the legitimate government was still 
 in power in the latter city. There Roberto, in contrast with 
 the past obstacles and disappointments, had a pleasant sur- 
 prise. He found that the cruiser Alcon, purchased from 
 Gacharnah by the war secretary in Bogota, had arrived in 
 Colon the night before. The commissioner who had brought 
 the vessel did not know exactly to whom to deliver her. Rob- 
 erto, who easily procured 3fl the authorization required for 
 the case from the Government, readily took over command of 
 the vessel as a Colombian cruiser. 
 
 The crew was German, and was under the immediate orders 
 of Captain Muller. The latter was a good-tempered jovial 
 elderly man, a votary of Bacchus, of delicate, feminine features, 
 and gifted with amiable courtesy. 
 
 The captain then placed himself at the disposal of Colonel 
 Avila, and they both proceeded to investigate the vessel from 
 stem to stern. Roberto noticed with surprise the luxury which 
 reigned everywhere in this vessel, now turned into a cruiser. 
 There were mysterious nooks and cabins, a labyrinth of pas- 
 sages, a soft half-light everywhere, a perfumed atmosphere, 
 thick curtains, rich carpets, downy divans, marble toilet tables, 
 and he was struck above all by the peculiar kind of refinement 
 overhanging all. His expert eyes could not fail to perceive the 
 exquisite harmony of colors and lines everywhere visible. 
 
 They came to a vast cabin on the ceiling of which Roberto 
 could not help admiring an allegorical panel representing 
 Music. It was the work of a master. At the back of this re- 
 markable room there stood a beautiful grand piano, made of 
 the rarest woods, with rich incrustations, and on which, in gold 
 letters and arabesques was traced the inscription: " The Flying 
 
THE FLYING DUTCHMAN 379 
 
 Dutchman." And Roberto instantly remembered that one of 
 Wagner's operas was thus called. 
 
 " Is that the name of the piano? " Roberto asked the captain, 
 who had followed him with unsteady feet. 
 
 " No, the name of the vessel itself; its former name, . . . 
 when it still belonged to the King of Bavaria. ..." 
 
 "His gunboat?" 
 
 " Not exactly ..." responded the captain, and began at 
 once with enthusiasm to narrate the history of his vessel, saying: 
 
 " Ah, if it were not for the memories evoked by it, the 
 memories which it guards, the artistic ties which bind me to 
 it ... I should not care to be its captain now. . . . Have 
 you heard of the friendship which united my sovereign to the 
 great man who directed the construction of this vessel? " 
 
 "Vickers Sons & Maxim?" 
 
 " No," said Muller, with a smile of disdain. " Wagner in 
 person. Louis of Bavaria desired to own a bark that would 
 immortalize the opera of the maestro. In summertime, after 
 the music festivals of Bayreuth, there were to be given concerts, 
 musical cycles on the high sea. He would undertake pleasure 
 trips with the whole troupe, from the prima donna to the bril- 
 liant corps of ballerinas. Wagner himself went to the ship- 
 yard, and there he communicated to the builders his unique 
 conceptions, so that the vessel would possess acoustic condi- 
 tions of the highest order. How many times have I accompan- 
 ied my beloved sovereign, with his dear ballerinas whom I my- 
 self directed, to the azure skies of the Mediterranean, to the 
 coast of ancient Hellas, to Cyprus, to Sicily, to the cradles of 
 art. . . ." 
 
 " But the years pass, and everything ages. My King died. 
 The merry days of youth were followed by days and years of 
 monotony and boredom. The Government of my country fi- 
 nally decided to sell this boat, already much deteriorated and 
 now without any definite object to serve. But this vessel will 
 forever be connected in my recollection with the great name of 
 the master. I myself have never had the heart to separate 
 myself from this vessel, and thus I came to America to share 
 its fate, whatever it may be." 
 
 Deeply moved, Muller then sat down, as though crushed by 
 a great grief, before the piano, and played with extraordinary 
 
380 PAX 
 
 feeling and skill one of the most expressive passages from 
 Wagner's great opera. 
 
 Meanwhile Roberto, although wrapped in the strains of this 
 intoxicating music, which vibrated in the cabin as within the 
 hollow of a mellow violin, thought he could hear between the 
 folds of the heavy hangings that were fastened to the carpet 
 on the floor, and in the delicious dusk of the adjoining smaller 
 cabins, feminine laughter, whispering, caressing noises. . . . 
 
 But urged on by his keen wish to meet and encourage the 
 defenders of Cartagena, Roberto hastened his departure, which 
 was set for that very night. 
 
 It was necessary to find a port or a beach near the city 
 whose fate was in doubt, because when sailing for it the vessel 
 would be liable to attack by the enemy. Casanova and some 
 others worthy of confidence succeeded in putting Roberto in con- 
 tact both with Cartagena and with the chief commanding the 
 army that was to liberate that town. In this certainly Captain 
 Miiller who knew very little about America and still less about 
 the deserted coasts of Colombia, could be of very little help. 
 But with the aid of a good chart and acting on information ob- 
 tained in Colon, Roberto became convinced that the require- 
 ments would be met by San Pedro del Sinu, a small place 
 to the east of Cartagena, frequented almost entirely by fishing 
 boats and smugglers. 
 
 Greatly gratified by the success of this part of his task, 
 Roberto started on his voyage, favored by magnificent weather. 
 But he became soon aware, both by the slow progress made 
 and by the irregular action of the engines, that the vessel was 
 suffering from some grave defect. When he questioned the en- 
 gineer, he learned that although from a strictly artistic point 
 of view the Flying Dutchman was a model ship, it was some- 
 what different with its engines, since these had never been much 
 to brag of in the beginning, and were now sadly suffering from 
 age and long usage. 
 
 " But that is not a matter to worry about," opined Captain 
 Miiller, " at least not for such a consummate artist as with 
 pleasure I see you are. The vessel, of course, has somewhat 
 been affected by the rigors of time, just as I myself have. But 
 there is a way to mend that. Just as soon as you have fulfilled 
 your mission, we can go to Curasao to have the necessary re- 
 
THE FLYING DUTCHMAN 381 
 
 pairs made. There we ourselves can renew our liquid pro- 
 visions, almost exhausted on board, a fact which, as chief of 
 this expedition, I ought to let you know." 
 
 In spite, however, of its slow progress, two days later they 
 sighted in the dark background of the coast the group of 
 houses which they were looking for. 
 
 " Just look," said the captain, accosting Roberto on deck, 
 " at those three lines : the wide sweep of the horizon, the coast, 
 and the sea. . , . Does it not suggest to you the subject of a 
 great painting? " 
 
 " I should prefer to know," said Roberto, " how we shall be 
 able to disembark our men within these masterly lines." 
 
 " Well, as to that, I should not undertake to conceive a defi- 
 nite plan," replied the captain, with a very friendly smile, 
 " but here we can have a pilot, who might be able to solve the 
 puzzle." 
 
 They dropped anchor at some distance from shore, for fear 
 of shallows along the coast. Roberto gave detailed instructions 
 to Casanova and his companion, handing them also a letter for 
 Ronderos in which he let the latter know that within a fort- 
 night he would be in the Bay of Cartagena and that he should 
 attack the besiegers, provided he could be advised of the pres- 
 ence of the army, so that hostilities could be opened simul- 
 taneously. He also communicated to Ronderos the news that 
 he had aboard two hundred boxes of munitions, as well as an 
 extensive stock of military equipments and uniforms. As to 
 the preconcerted assault he would fire three cannon shots, 
 which ought to be replied to by another three shots from 
 Ronderos' artillery. 
 
 In one of the two boats on board which preserved their old 
 inscription of the Flying Dutchman, the commissioners ap- 
 proached the coast line. But not being able to land in the 
 small craft, because the strong waves would have damaged 
 or smashed it against the wharf, they reached the shore by 
 swimming. 
 
 After several days of troublesome, navigating, during which 
 the defects of the vessel grew more serious, Roberto arrived at 
 Curasao. With how much pleasure did he leave the sea to 
 which he was not habituated, and touch again solid and inhabi- 
 tated soil! 
 
382 PAX 
 
 He straightway made for the Hotel of the Lion of Flanders, 
 and stepping into the spacious dining-room he heard voices and 
 saw two men whom he seemed to know, one in front of the other; 
 they were giving their most particular attention to a succulent 
 meal of many dishes. The one man was thin, of rapid move- 
 ments and extravagant gestures, in which could easily be read 
 self-sufficiency and pretension. The other was flabby and 
 fleshy, with thick eye glasses: Landaburo and Sanchez Mendez. 
 
 Landaburo proudly displayed the military uniform in which 
 he was arrayed, dolman and kepis, in which guise Roberto had 
 lately seen his picture on the wrapper of packages of cigarettes 
 beneath the motto: " General Landaburo, Provisional Presi- 
 dent of Colombia." Mendez was in an elegant summer suit. 
 Both showed in their manner a restful and pleasant life. 
 
 While they were enjoying their truffles and mushrooms and 
 washed them down with wines of ancient vintage, they wrote in 
 pencil something of importance which caused them great pre- 
 occupation. For that reason they did not espy Roberto, who 
 sat down not far from them, in the shadow of a curtain, whence 
 he could hear while he satisfied his appetite, all Landaburo 
 was reading, as follows: 
 
 Project of a pact of peace, concluded in Curacao between the most ex- 
 cellent Senor Floro Landaburo, President of Colombia, supreme director 
 of the war and commander of the armies at sea and on shore, and his 
 Excellency Luis Sanchez Mendez, envoy extraordinary and minister pleni- 
 potentiary of Colombia to His Apostolic Majesty. 
 
 We, being genuine representatives of those two great political communi- 
 ties who are now at armed strife with each other regarding control of 
 Colombia, desirous to consecrate the principle that their rights are equal 
 and that the supremacy of the one in the government does not imply the 
 forcible negation of all political life to the other, and still less its exter- 
 mination, and corresponding to the faithful pledge given by our historical 
 mission and to the confidence put in us by our fellow-citizens, and, gen- 
 erally speaking, by all Latin-America, have concluded to conclude and do 
 conclude, ad referendum, the peace convention contained in the following 
 articles : 
 
 1.) At the end of thirty days a convention shall meet in which will be 
 represented all parties, thus : " Of the ninety members who will comprise 
 that august body, thirty will be of the Revaluation 7" arty, thirty of the 
 Integros, and thirty of the Ministerial Party." 
 
 Landaburo interrupted himself, put his pencil behind his 
 ear, drank a glassful with a relish, and observed: 
 
THE FLYING DUTCHMAN 383 
 
 " Thus, my dear Doctor, we shall have two-thirds of the 
 whole." 
 
 " Yes, that is very well," rejoined Sanchez, " please con- 
 tinue! " 
 
 2.) In order to insure the validity of the preceding clause, the Govern- 
 ment will punish severely those ministerials who vote in the electoral 
 conscriptions assigned to the other two parties. 
 
 As a material guaranty, the forces of the Revolution which are now 
 organized, will remain under arms, and in possession of the territory 
 which they to-day occupy, as will those of the Government. 
 
 " This point is essential," grunted Sanchez, casting a shrewd 
 glance at the other. 
 
 3.) The Convention once organized, the individual at this time holding 
 it will, of course, lose the office of President of the Republic, and instead 
 the power will be exercised by two Consuls, namely, the Provisional 
 President and the late President of the Senate. 
 
 Sanchez, who was carving a roast, suspended his labors for 
 a minute, and smilingly questioned Landaburo by a glance full 
 of affection which he shot above his eyeglasses, and the latter, 
 to make his meaning perfectly plain, added in a satisfied way: 
 " You and I." 
 
 4.) The Convention will declare forfeited the rights and concessions of 
 the Company of the Panama Canal, and will send a Commission of three 
 members to take possession of the property of the said company. 
 
 5.) The Convention will also declare by one act the invalidity of the 
 paper currency, the only method by which all Colombians will lose rapidly 
 and equably their paper money, the rich as well as the poor, and thus will 
 start afresh on a new path. 
 
 " These last two articles will show to the country that the 
 interests of a sect have not been able to postpone, much less to 
 forget, those of the parties to the contract, which means the 
 interests of our country." 
 
 Sanchez nodded his head. 
 
 6.) The present Peace Convention, by which the Party of Revaluation 
 recovers its rights, is not an alms given to beggars, but an act of patriot- 
 ism, by which this party is placed on the same footing with its adver- 
 saries, without any other pretension than to sit down, of its own right, 
 at the national table. 
 
384 PAX 
 
 Landaburo finished his reading with a solemn voice, letting 
 his glance travel all around, as though there were present a 
 numerous audience, and then he laid his pencil on the table 
 with emphasis. A vigorous outburst of laughter rang out 
 at that moment from the corner occupied by Roberto. Then 
 the latter rose and, still laughing, went up to his two country- 
 men, saying: 
 
 " Most excellent gentlemen, this project of yours strikes me 
 as a surprisingly complete and perfect measure. That is the 
 most scientific solution of the whole war. Accept my congratu- 
 lations! Such a peace in which the two belligerents remain 
 armed, confronting each other, is enough to render anybody 
 enthusiastic. Elections so pure and so freely conducted that 
 its results are foreseen in advance, and in which the votes of 
 the friends of government are to be severely handicapped; an 
 honor and a depreciation so heroic that all those in the' possession 
 of paper currency must lose them rapidly and equitably, as you 
 put it, in order by these means to enrich the Republic . . . 
 all this is worthy of the rude virtues of antiquity. I am more 
 than assured that the Sefior Minister will convert into in- 
 validated paper money the fat sum paid him in gold for this 
 diplomatic mission, and that it will be the same with the let- 
 ters of exchange and those exportable fruits which in Colombia 
 have filled the knapsacks of the Provisional President here 
 present in order to secure for himself a modest competency. 
 Both are going to lose their paper money rapidly and equably. 
 I admire, above all, the self-denial with which you two choose 
 to step down, one from his throne-like seat in the Senate, the 
 other from his elevated diplomatic post, merely to fill the mod- 
 est place of consuls after the Roman pattern. We should also 
 be thankful that while you two are settling and discussing the 
 fate of the combatants, you are meeting not in the camps, 
 gaining those honors that are to be won there, but at a 
 great distance away from danger, seated before an opulent 
 meal in the Lion of Flanders, awaiting the right moment to sit 
 down at the national table." 
 
 And he went out, on his way to the dock-yard. 
 
 Landaburo instantly guessed the purpose of Roberto's trip 
 to Curasao, and set out to prevent his leaving the island. In- 
 deed, he denounced him to the Dutch authorities of the island, 
 
THE FLYING DUTCHMAN 385 
 
 claiming that the cruiser Alcon had shown the British flag on 
 the high seas for military reasons. The charge was false, but 
 Roberto did not succeed in disproving it and leaving Curasao 
 before the expiration of the fortnight appointed between him 
 and General Ronderos to attack the besiegers of Cartagena 
 by land and sea. 
 
 Roberto in the midst of anxieties, could see in his mind's 
 eye the old General, perhaps dying or totally exhausted, after 
 a harassing march lasting months, arriving in the vicinity of 
 Cartagena and waiting in vain for the help promised him by 
 the cruiser Alcon. 
 
 During the last few days far-away storms had agitated the 
 ocean, and their traces could be perceived in the high seas that 
 came smashing against the coasts and harbors not very distant 
 from Curagao. 
 
 It seemed almost as though the ocean still retained a mute 
 kind of anger, and as though its waves were muttering curses 
 and maledictions, preparatory to carrying out definite plans of 
 vengeance. 
 
 After leaving Curasao and being on the open sea Roberto did 
 not fail to hear once more the odd rhythm of the ship's en- 
 gines. True, at first everything went well. The throbs of 
 the engines were regular and similar to the pulsations of a 
 healthy person. But in a short while they changed to irregular 
 motions, the thumping of the machinery became strong and weak 
 by turns, and the whole action sounded more like the plaints 
 and snuffling of a sick man. 
 
 Roberto passed long spells in the chart room of Captain 
 Miiller, who was always cheerful and amusing, diverting him 
 with his light chatter, notably with his gay recollections of 
 famous musicians and dancers. But the weather became threat- 
 ening. The sun blinked from a murky sky pale and uncertain, 
 and the mist which permanently enwrapped the horizon, ap- 
 peared to Roberto of bad augury. It was not long before the 
 Alton was the toy of a violent storm. And the crew became con- 
 vinced that the vessel would soon be in the midst of an ap- 
 proaching hurricane from the Caribbean Sea. 
 
 The evening came, and the Flying Dutchman creaked and 
 leaped about in a fantastic manner, so that it looked as though 
 she would soon go to pieces. Frequently powerful waves would 
 
386 PAX 
 
 sweep over the whole bridge, until to remain there was almost 
 impossible. At other times the vessel would be lifted up to 
 the very summit of a mountain of water, remain there for a 
 second quite steady, and would then be hurled down into a very 
 abyss that threatened to engulf it. At such times there would 
 be felt a tremendous shock, and the screw would furiously turn 
 with lightning speed within the void, being unable to reach 
 th0 surface of the sea and aid in the progress of the ves- 
 sel. 
 
 Outside there was impenetrable obscurity, the roaring of the 
 tempest in the rigging, and the constant pounding of the waves 
 whose spume, like delicate white lace upon the black waves, 
 floated upon the dark surface. Sometimes, too, ruddy lights 
 wandered like specters across the tragic horizon. . . . 
 
 Night came. The obscurity was complete, the furor of the 
 storm increased. 
 
 Flashes of lightning crossed each other in the heavens, 
 and cleaved the dense mist in all directions, coming often up 
 the farthest portion of the firmament, like magic lighting up 
 for instants, the infinite blackness. The waves grew in size 
 and terrific power, rose towards the sky, became veritable moun- 
 tains, then returned on their path, and through the darkened 
 ocean there ran frightful bellowings, terrifying crashes, hoarse 
 thunderings. 
 
 Suddenly Roberto smelt the odor of smoke, coming from rags 
 or timber afire. He went on deck, then all about the ship, 
 exploring it from end to end. Nothing. And he was return- 
 ing satisfied that there was no cause for disquiet, when he 
 saw issuing out of a skylight in the stern a whole whirl of 
 sparks which went scattering their fugitive light over the wide 
 expanse of the black waters. 
 
 After a cry of alarm, " Fire on board," he quickly slipped 
 down the hatchway, and struggling with the smoke which al- 
 most stifled him, he got to the hold of the ship. On opening 
 the door of the store room, where the war stores and clothing 
 outfits were kept, he was driven back by the flames that tried 
 with a terrible roar to find egress. 
 
 "The munitions! " 
 
 He ran back in search of the crew in order to organize an 
 attempt to quench the fire. In one of the passages through 
 
THE FLYING DUTCHMAN 387 
 
 which he ran half suffocated, the flames burned his shoulders. 
 The fire blew from point to point. 
 
 On the bridge he met sailors who were already paralyzed with 
 terror, endeavoring to find means to escape. Groups of them 
 were already disputing among themselves the forcible possession 
 of the boats suspended from the sides of the ship, and tried 
 to launch them overboard, while others were grasping life savers. 
 . . . All was confusion, disorder, futile bustle. 
 
 The flames were increasing in size and fury steadily, spread 
 over the surface of the sea and, being reflected in the water, 
 looked like patches of blood. 
 
 Roberto, his revolver in hand, and in a voice whose energetic 
 sound amazed himself, succeeded at last in exacting obedience 
 from this crazed multitude, in keeping them under control, 
 infusing them with courage, and convincing them of the use- 
 lessness of all efforts to try and dominate the fire that were not 
 made under his command. 
 
 " To the pumps! To the hatches! " he shouted. " Cut off 
 the fire! . . . Overboard with the munitions! " 
 
 Such were his brief orders, his battle plan. And the crew, 
 accustomed to obey, electrified by will stronger than their own, 
 and now recovered from their first panic, went each to his ap- 
 pointed place on board, in order and silence. And a short 
 while later a group of them succeeded in saving the munition 
 stores out of the hold. Others were busily at work at the 
 pumps and the shock of the spouting masses of water was 
 heard, while hatchets and axes with which to cut off flaming 
 parts of the deck or rigging could be seen in the sinewy hands 
 of the sailors. 
 
 But in spite of such strenuous efforts the fire advanced with 
 amazing swiftness. The strong wind sweeping over the whole 
 deck from the stern, the flames spread over the whole vessel, 
 growing constantly in power and at last wrapping everything 
 in a mantle of smoke and fire. Then, as a last resort, Roberto 
 gave orders to tack, so as to present the whole front to the 
 hurricane. Then the flames retired towards the stern, leaving 
 the bow and the center of the vessel free and thus diminishing 
 the danger. And the thought came to Roberto's mind that this 
 frail vessel, now wandering about without goal in the immensity 
 of the ocean, battling with the pitiless waves, shaken by the 
 
388 PAX 
 
 whirlwind and lighted solely by a trail of fire, was certainly a 
 nautical phantom, such as the Flying Dutchman of the legend 
 was said to be. 
 
 Meanwhile the work of fighting the flames went on. Thanks 
 to these strenuous endeavors and to the skilful maneuver of 
 exposing the bow of the ship to the full power of the hurricane, 
 Roberto succeeded at last in confining the conflagration to the 
 stern. There, however, it still raged unrestrained. The miz- 
 zen mast, half devoured by the flames, was on the point of 
 crashing down right into the engine room, but in the very nick 
 of time a plucky sailor succeeded in cutting the ropes which 
 held this mast, thus letting it roll into the sea. 
 
 Suddenly a flash of lightning, a shock, a detonation. . . . 
 Had the munition stores caught fire? . . . Each thought his 
 last hour had arrived. Terror stalked once more in the ranks. 
 Their efforts in fighting the conflagration relaxed. Disorder 
 reigned. Everybody came and went at his pleasure and 
 crowded and shouted without listening to commands. 
 
 Roberto for the second time restored the spirit of his crew. 
 He proved to these crazed men that merely a heap of machine 
 gun munition, left inadvertently on deck, had exploded, and 
 made them understand that only the disregard of fear and death, 
 self-denial, a common effort, could save them all from destruc- 
 tion, whereas selfishness and unreasoning fear, as well as work 
 done in a haphazard manner, would mean disaster for them 
 all. 
 
 Thus again the panic subsided, and the joint fight against 
 the common danger, the fire, began in real earnest. All worked 
 with great energy. It was evident that a new spirit had been 
 infused into these bodies exhausted by so many hours of hard 
 and unremitting labor. Not a single one among them who 
 did not bear tokens of this great struggle. They all were half 
 naked, with their hair singed, with faces bathed in perspira- 
 tion, covered with ashes and cinders, or showed wounds that 
 bled profusely or their bare flesh covered with horrible burns. 
 
 The bustle on board kept these poor fellows constantly on the 
 move, obliging them to watch carefully the most exposed and 
 dangerous points assailed by the flames, while all the time they 
 were between two equally menacing dangers: death by fire or 
 death by drowning. 
 
THE FLYING DUTCHMAN 389 
 
 The flames which as yet they were unable to subdue, scorched 
 their faces and cut them off from all relief, and the sinister 
 gleaming and dancing tongues illumined the exposed flesh, 
 while they cast the men's lower extremities into deep shad- 
 ows. 
 
 Towards midnight the storm began to abate its fury, and 
 then the wind took to shifting about rapidly. The flames 
 then broke out afresh in all their terror, and spread anew over 
 other parts of the vessel. Their size, too, increased, splitting 
 into several wild holocausts, flared up and diminished in an 
 irregular manner, and threatening every instant to make one 
 resistless sweep along the whole ship. 
 
 Roberto, who had noticed the complete absence of Captain 
 Miiller for some time, went to look for him at his post of 
 duty, but could not find him. He went downstairs to the din- 
 ing-room, and there he found him, emptying, tumbler after 
 tumbler, the choice liquors with which, at his suggestions, the 
 ship had been supplied at Curasao. He received Roberto with 
 an affectionate tenderness, calling him either " Your Majesty " 
 or " Maestro Wagner." Terror and the wine cup jointly had 
 produced in him a profound mental disturbance. That femin- 
 ine soul of his, made only for the emotions and the delights of 
 art, was not able to confront death face to face. 
 
 Becoming aware that the conflagration had taken on new life, 
 this odd captain had a hallucination: he plunged on deck, but 
 thought himself at the theater, where he imagined himself di- 
 recting a minuet, a particular one with which, in times past, 
 he used to earn great applause. His diseased imagination 
 had overshadowed all fear and danger, and what his eyes be- 
 held seemed to him one of those Wagnerian scenes upon 
 which the ample means of Louis II of Bavaria had been squan- 
 dered. His distorted fancy grasped this whole terrible ap- 
 paratus of the raging conflagration on board merely as a 
 piece of decorative scenery. The sea was to him a stage set- 
 ting, and those men scorched and bleeding and in rags who 
 were desperately contending against the devouring heat and 
 flame, were to him nothing but actors instead of strugglers in 
 a gigantic duel. 
 
 On deck the captain of this fantastic vessel was endeavoring, 
 on the points of his toes, to teach a certain dance step. He 
 
390 PAX 
 
 bent his ear to listen to the supposed ballet music, he indi- 
 cated the measure and the time of it with great and patient 
 minuteness. He spoke, in an affectionate voice, to one side 
 and the other. He showed again and again, the figures of 
 his dance, and put in their proper places his imaginary bal- 
 lerinas. He raised his hands as though conducting a bride to 
 the altar with delicate grace, and to wind it all up, he broke 
 out in fits of laughter and applause. 
 
 Just before break of day, the wind had shifted completely, 
 which permitted Roberto to change the course for Cartagena, 
 without the danger of the fire on board invading the vessel in 
 other quarters. The fire, in fact, which by now, thanks to 
 energetic action, had been confined to one part of its hull alone, 
 at last, deprived of material on which to feed, went out en- 
 tirely. 
 
 The rising sun, lighting up those vast spaces previously 
 a prey to the hurricane, now shone with great splendor upon 
 the grateful ocean. Above, the national flag of blue; below, 
 the waves gilt by the glorious rays of the sun, and the vessel 
 itself, wounded and consumed, leaving in its wake small clouds 
 of ill-smelling smoke, with its crew utterly spent by herculean 
 labors, despoiled forever of its thick curtains and marble 
 toilet tables, of its cozy divans and soft carpets, of those hidden 
 spots where Roberto had fancied hearing whispering, feminine 
 giggling and caresses. . . . 
 
 Far away on the horizon appeared now the uncertain lines 
 of the Colombian mountains. So far it was, however, but 
 a narrow ribbon which by and by was to widen out until 
 it presented, in light and shade, the details of the coast. 
 
 As the vessel proceeded on her course, Roberto was en- 
 abled to fix with absolute certainty the end of the journey, 
 and already he thought he could distinguish with his glass at 
 a point in his field of vision which corresponded to the exact 
 side of Cartagena, a dense smoke, indications of extensive 
 fighting going on there. As he advanced farther, he could 
 hear, in confirmation of his surmises, a long and steady roar, 
 like distant thunder. Urged on by his anxiety, he made up 
 his mind to overcome every obstacle in order to be there in 
 time, and at the risk of flying up into the air with his queer 
 craft, he gave instructions to speed up the engines to their 
 
K. 
 
 THE FLYING DUTCHMAN 391 
 
 maximum capacity. And then the cruiser Alcon exerted it- 
 self like a man in a fever, puffing and blowing and cleaving 
 the water like a superannuated racing yacht. The engine 
 thumps with a violence probably never before shown, and the 
 screw whirls with lightning speed. Roberto, it is true, can hear, 
 through all the clatter and noise, something like groans of 
 fatigue emitted by this craft debilitated by age, death throes 
 that foretell speedy dissolution this craft has of late been 
 nearly annihilated by the hurricane and half destroyed by in- 
 ternal combustion. 
 
 But still he steadily advanced, hastening through the waves, 
 until, the coast itself now reached, he was able to penetrate 
 without trouble, into the bay by way of its narrow chan- 
 nel. 
 
 He approached with his vessel as closely as he could those 
 places where the combat was raging with greatest fury, and 
 by sending at close range into the ranks of the besieging forces 
 a number of well-aimed shots, using for the purpose his ma- 
 chine guns, he inflicted severe punishment on the enemy. The 
 latter did not count . on this attack from the rear, while they 
 had already been outclassed by the forces of General Ron- 
 deros. Dismay seized them. General Ronderos, in fact, had 
 arrived but three days before in the vicinity of Cartagena, and 
 had pledged himself to fight desperately in order to defeat 
 the enemy and raise the siege of this important harbor city. A 
 part of his fores, indeed, had already broken the opposing 
 ranks and reached the walled and fortified center of the city, 
 coming most opportunely to the aid of the exhausted and out- 
 numbered garrison of Cartagena. The rest of the besieged 
 forces had been maneuvering in the open field against superior 
 forces to defeat the assaults upon the place. 
 
 Since the arrival of Ronderos the fighting on both sides had 
 been of a most desperate nature, and at the moment when 
 Roberto came to his friend's aid, the battle was still undecided. 
 The forces of Polanco, who was directing the siege, and who 
 was both brave and able, had exerted themselves to their ut- 
 most. 
 
 Amongst the powerful instruments of the attack upon Car- 
 tagena Polanco had also used those vessels seized on the Mag- 
 dalena River and the dredging boats of the Canalization Com- 
 
 i 
 
392 PAX 
 
 V . 
 
 pany, which, armed and fitted out as war vessels, had been util- 
 lized in a bombardment of the forts of Cartagena. 
 
 Some of these small vessels were pursued down the bay by the 
 Alcon, and sunk by artillery fire, while others, thanks to their 
 low draft, were able to escape from the combat. With pain 
 Roberto recognized among these craft the Bellegarde and the 
 Ines, as well as the dredges, and ordered them at once to be 
 fired upon, destroying thus his own property. 
 
 The opportune arrival of the cruiser Alcon and Roberto's 
 energetic and skilful attacks decided the victory in favor of 
 General Ronderos. 
 
 At the reports of the first shots Captain Miiller awakened 
 from his dreams, and in the midst of his mental derange- 
 ment he understood, with a half-light of tottering reason, that 
 a battle was going on and that it was his duty, both as a mili- 
 tary man and a captain of this vessel, to take his place in this 
 fight. His first idea, therefore, was to put on his uniform. 
 He chose to appear in proper guise, his most elegant outfit. 
 Thus he came on deck, in pumps, silk stockings, short breeches, 
 and a sword, while his bosom was adorned with several deco- 
 rations; the memorial medal of Wagner, the order of musical 
 merit of Bavaria, and the royal order of St. Cecilia. 
 
 Attired in all this splendor he presented himself with great 
 solemnity and a commanding mien. 
 
 The first thing that met his artist's eye, was the vivid blue 
 of the bay, slightly stirred by the breeze, the irregular shape of 
 the city, with its girdle of walls, and upon the neighboring 
 hills, the forts. Then outside, giving animation to this pic- 
 ture, the besieging army, the glitter of its arms, the bright 
 colors of its uniforms, and the smoke clouds on the battle 
 field which, driven by the wind, were dispersed into a semi- 
 transparent veil, here and there torn to shreds. 
 
 The clatter of the infantry, the trumpet blasts, the shouting 
 and shrieking of the combatants, the smash of the waves against 
 the docks and beach, and the echoes of the guns, this entire 
 medley of noises that were acute, grave and solemn, seemed to 
 Miiller, educated in the art of Wagner, a sublime symphony, a 
 grandiose disharmony, a plenitude of sounds which, in the 
 exaltation of his madness, made his entire being tremble, in- 
 
THE FLYING DUTCHMAN 393 
 
 toxicated him, shook him to the point of a veritable paroxysm of 
 enthusiasm. 
 
 The stage setting, the drama itself, and all this singular 
 music . . . this meant to him a dream realized, meant the 
 new art, the music capable of furnishing the exact expression 
 of the indefinite. And he remained a long while there carried 
 beyond himself, as if on wings, without taking account of the 
 danger, when he suddenly heard near him a cry of intense pain. 
 One of his own crew, a handsome German youth, lay in the 
 convulsions of death at his feet. 
 
 The blood which escaped in streams from his death wound, 
 was forming on deck a pool of vivid red, and then ran off 
 in thin rills, finally filtering, drop by drop, into the sea. 
 The bright scarlet of the blood made a striking contrast with 
 the excessive pallor of the dying man, across whose face there 
 passed rapidly snowy waves of increasing feebleness, and from 
 whose blue eyes the light and expression now fled. 
 
 Death put into those eyes a fixed look of dread, reproach, in- 
 finite bitterness. 
 
 Miiller observed all this with affright. His soul wounded, 
 he returned to reality, and in spite of his mental aberration, he 
 comprehended all that was passing. 
 
 Upon the beach there lay many dead and motionless, or else 
 they moved about in the same appalling manner as the young 
 German had done a moment before in his agony. A num- 
 ber of dead bodies were floating on the water, at the mercy 
 of the waves. 
 
 The shells fired by the Alcon were tearing great holes in the 
 ranks of the assaulting army, and many of these, taken by sur- 
 prise at the great losses sustained by their own side, fled with 
 great speed, went into hiding, looked for shelter, and threw 
 their arms away. 
 
 And yet those men were for Miiller beings rendered power- 
 less, against whom he harbored no sentiment of hostility, but 
 on the contrary feelings of profound pity. 
 
 On board also the effects of the struggle were increasing. 
 Marines and gunners were filling the vessel with sharp cries, as 
 some of them were hit, and their blood, running along the deck 
 in thick patches, was feeding the waves. 
 
394 PAX 
 
 In the delicate soul of the old artist compassion conquered 
 fear. He wanted to bend down over the dying, render them 
 help, ease their pains, receive their last wishes. Stumbling and 
 falling over the blood which deluged the deck, he succeeded 
 in coming near some of these unfortunates, took them by the 
 hand, but found these already cold, wanted to bathe their fore- 
 heads, but discovered them clammy with the perspiration of 
 death. 
 
 Unable to alleviate these agonies, he rose, gazed at himself, 
 and saw that his own hands, his clothing, his entire person had 
 become soaked with blood, and then, remembering his author- 
 ity as captain of this ship, an idea of remorse, of grave re- 
 sponsibility, shot through his head, like a red-hot iron. " Per- 
 haps he himself was guilty as well ? " 
 
 His madness broke out, and he began to shout in a power- 
 ful voice, as if to dominate his own awe, yelling that they 
 must suspend this battle, that the guns must be silenced, that this 
 cruel mission was not the one the Flying Dutchman was built 
 for. But nobody listened to him. The vessel seemed to share 
 the enthusiasm of its crew. And like them, intoxicated by the 
 fight, by the fumes of the blood spilt and by the smoke of 
 the powder, the vessel, in a final impetus accelerated her artil- 
 lery discharges, vomited death, and like a monster mutilated dur- 
 ing combat, which in its agony still deals deadly blows, rushed 
 about the sea seeking the enemy and destroying him. 
 
 Miiller thought of the horrible sin of this vessel made alone 
 for art, that is to say, for that which is generous and kind, 
 and that now it had failed in its mission and committed an 
 eternal crime: the crime of war. . . . 
 
 -Tormented by remorse, feeling weighed down by the hea _ 
 burden of sin, he pronounced upon himself in his demented 
 conscience a sentence from which there was to be no appeal: 
 death for the vessel, and death for himself, and since both had 
 been stained with the same guilt, both should share the iden- 
 tical expiation. 
 
 He ran down into the engine room. 
 
 A moment later, the vessel shook and vibrated like a living 
 being, and then it came to a dead stop. The boilers blew 
 up. The heart of the vessel and the heart of Miiller had both 
 ceased to beat at the same instant. 
 
PUERTO BORJA 395 
 
 The sentence had been carried out. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV 
 
 PUERTO BORJA 
 
 "ROBERTO! " 
 
 "General!" 
 
 They silently embraced each other. 
 
 Roberto had escaped unharmed from the catastrophe of 
 the Flying Dutchman, because at the moment when Captain 
 Muller, the firemen and machinists had perished, scalded or 
 burned by the explosion of the engines, he had happened to be 
 on deck. He disembarked as soon as the enemy left the beach 
 free. He now set eyes on the General with a feeling of pro- 
 found sadness, and felt in embracing him that the old warrior 
 had become a veritable bag of bones. The gray hair which he 
 formerly wore close clipped, had turned completely white, and 
 now floated about his neck. His face was ashen, the eyes sunk, 
 and his whole appearance now expressed weariness and de- 
 pression. 
 
 Ronderos laid his hands on the shoulders of Roberto, and 
 then contemplated him with intense affection. How well this 
 sunburnt skin became his young friend, how manly and how 
 full of laughing humor he looked, for all of which the open 
 sunlight, the hardships of a campaign, and its dangers as 
 well were responsible. 
 
 "And how about Casanova, and Chispas?" asked Roberto. 
 
 " They have not arrived here. I presume they are either 
 prisoners or dead." 
 
 Together the two scaled the walls of the city. The Gen- 
 eral gazed attentively over the whole field of battle. The bod- 
 ies of the dead which lay down below at their feet emitted an 
 insupportable, fetid stench. Many other corpses were float- 
 ing on the surface of the water in the bay, rigid, with eyes 
 wide open, as though scanning the sky. 
 
 For the greater part these dead were negroes, with their bellies 
 inflated and their mouths covered with bloody foam. 
 
396 PAX 
 
 The general, wiping off the perspiration which was drench- 
 ing his face said quietly: 
 
 " Now Polanco will probably go to Barranquilla and Ca- 
 lamar, in order to concentrate his forces. ... I know that he 
 has a huge store of munition and war material on board the 
 Bellegarde and Ines. . . . No matter, from now on begins their 
 downfall. I have just learned that Panama, too, has been re- 
 covered. 
 
 He spoke with visible fatigue, and it sounded as though 
 the words died on his lips. 
 
 " General," said Roberto, " you ought to devote yourself for 
 the present to the reestablishment of your health. Your frame, 
 at last worn out by the ceaseless toil entailed, absolutely re- 
 quires a rest. . . . 
 
 " True, ... as soon as I have cleared the river. . . . And 
 you yourself? What do you mean to do now? " 
 
 "If you will give me permission to do so, I want to fulfil 
 a duty of friendship, namely, rescue Bellegarde. I want to 
 start this very night. I mean to return to Tolima by way 
 of the Cauca." 
 
 The general hesitated a moment, and then looking at him 
 affectionately, he replied: 
 
 " Are you going to leave me? " 
 
 " Yes, General, with great regret. But it is indispensable. 
 I fear much for the life of that friend to whom I and the 
 country owe so much. . . . Another request, General: I want 
 to bury Miiller . . . give him a grand burial. ... In place of 
 gun salutes he must have Wagnerian music . . . and please 
 tell the orchestra that if they do not play well, he will without 
 doubt rise from his coffin." 
 
 The revolutionists had retired from Cartagena by three 
 roads: the railway, the dike and the Bocas de Ceniza, and 
 then, by order of Polanco, had gathered all their forces at Cala- 
 mar. 
 
 But Polanco's retirement had been slow and difficult work. 
 He had to see to the safety of the vessels and to the thorough 
 destruction of all the property owned by the Canalization 
 company. It was necessary to destroy all of their finished 
 and half-finished work so as to remove for good and all this 
 powerful rival of the Sabanilla railroad, in the purchase and 
 
PUERTO BORJA 397 
 
 ownership of which Polanco had a share. Meanwhile Landa- 
 buro, having returned from Curagao, had resumed the chief 
 command of the Revolutionists in his capacity of provisional 
 president. The church of Calamar had to serve as barracks 
 for their general staff. In the sacristy, converted into a stable, 
 the horses were taken care of, and on top of the altars the 
 principal commanders had their couches for the night placed. 
 The orderlies with their women occupied the rest of the build- 
 ing, where some improvised fireplaces served for the preparation 
 of meals, with good dry wood obtained from the furniture, the 
 doors and saints' images. 
 
 Landaburo had his own bed put up upon the main altar, 
 and from there he dictated a proclamation to Vidaurre, his 
 adjutant and business partner. 
 
 His proclamation read : 
 
 " Citizens of Calamar : Greetings to you ! From the day I was born 
 I have longed with my soul to become acquainted with your city, the 
 same city that has since become the cradle of the Revolution. Duty com- 
 pelled me to remain in the eastern part of the country, while desire and 
 sympathy drew me towards the west, and I was unable to solve the prob- 
 lem how to be at the same time in two different points. A predicament 
 which I have now reason to bless. For here you have me. 
 
 " Blessed predicament, I say, although old Ronderos no doubt by this 
 time has published bulletins filled with stupendous falsehoods and as- 
 signed in it a grand and thundering part to himself, in the way of Tar- 
 tarizing the campaign, and in which he has likewise declared that his 
 Pretorian guards and his own clever plans have driven us out of Carta- 
 gena. He most likely is at this moment celebrating our defeat with 
 deep draughts of liquor, because the powder which they do not know 
 how to burn in serious fighting they waste in vain glorifications and 
 tricks. 
 
 " Our brave soldiers quietly left the place when it seemed good to them, 
 and the Pretorians remained behind within its walls, of which they 
 wanted to make their Torres Vedras. There has been nothing more than 
 a change of scenery. 
 
 " It is certain that the Janissaries will this time fight with tenacity, 
 driven on by Catholic fanaticism and in like degree by alcohol. But he 
 who claims that we have come here in consequence of defeat is badly mis- 
 taken. 
 
 " The loads of lassos which the Tiger of the Capitol (who has put a 
 price upon my head) has accumulated for the purpose of rendering us 
 powerless of motion, will be links in the chain of triumph with which will 
 end this night of slavery. 
 
 " Since friends in misfortune are given to misstatements, there has not 
 lacked at least one person in our ranks, General Polanco, who has spoken 
 
398 
 
 PAX 
 
 ill of me. This general is a leader whom I esteem and respect and with 
 whom I have had but a few childish quarrels, and these must be covered 
 with the cold lava of the years. 
 
 " Let Polanco believe me unfit, let him deem me only good enough for 
 second place, all right ; but to charge me with dishonesty ! ! Not on your 
 life! Polanco is a proud fellow who does not even know the ABC of 
 war, and in whose brain a plan of campaign has never even been out- 
 lined with precision. 
 
 " Before the walls of Cartagena the army was grand, the army was 
 admirable, the army was everything, the leader less than nothing. Gen- 
 eral Polanco knows only how to plan campaigns with pin pricks upon 
 maps. He ought to have taken the city at any peril, sneaking in, if 
 necessary, through a crevice, because, as Pelopidas says : ' When a lion's 
 skin is not available, the skin of a she-mouse must do.' 
 
 " Citizens of Calamar : The Revolution represents the only legitimacy 
 there is, the only real right possible and admissible in this free land of 
 ours. Do not forget that! 
 
 " With an army that is the most warlike and formidable ever seen in 
 this Republic, with twenty vessels armed for warfare and war supplies in 
 unparalleled masses, I am about to oust the rotten and tottering govern- 
 ment at Bogota, in spite of all the Pretorian battalions on the Atlantic 
 coast, and will not leave one single stone standing of the fastness of 
 Catholic fanaticism, the ally of our adversaries, which has enticed them 
 into numberless shameful crimes, and which has employed them as its 
 tool of personal ambitions. I advance upon Bogota with the sword of the 
 Destroying Angel, to uproot despotism, which like a volcano spreads its 
 mud over the adjoining territory. Bogota is to-day the crater of a fanati- 
 cism with desires of an expansion based on political and religious grounds, 
 as Madrid was in the days of Philip II, and it was only by means of an 
 international policy that that disturbing and infecting center was finally 
 rendered impotent. For that redeeming work I declare as a good patriot 
 that I shall make common cause with those foreign governments likewise 
 threatened, and that in such honorable company I shall put foot in that 
 accursed city. If we have conquered them in a hundred battles with but 
 ten cartridges per soldier, how much better shall we be able to do with 
 the ample munition supplies we now carry with us? 
 
 " We lack food and rations, because patriotism does not provide gen- 
 erously for its maltreated servants, but for us it is to-day sufficient, in 
 order to be amply paid, to be greeted with a smile between pictures of 
 happiness, bestowed by the beautiful ladies of Calamar, and to-morrow, 
 instead of food and rations, to be greeted by another smile from the lips 
 of the no less beautiful ladies of Bogota! 
 
 " Cursed be he who still speaks of reconciliation, of peace, of dis- 
 armament and compromise ! 
 
 " Soldiers, at them ! 
 
 " Long live the Revolution ! " 
 
 Landaburo dictated his proclamation abed, carelessly, with- 
 out much forethought. In him, the actor, the man of the- 
 
PUERTO BORJA 399 
 
 atricalism, there was never anything asleep. From time to 
 time he interrupted himself, dictated new orders, asked for 
 data regarding the forces that were still on the way to Calamar, 
 or made dispositions as to the march on the following day. 
 On certain occasions he let fly malicious phrases against other 
 leaders. With his inferior officers he discussed intimate details 
 about the conduct of Polanco, or cracked aggressive jests at his 
 expense. To show his great erudition as a navigator or engi- 
 neer, he gave most minute orders regarding the handling of the 
 engines of the vessels under his control, or else instructions 
 to the captains present about their future maneuvers. 
 
 " Read this, Colonel," he now said, " read all you have 
 written. I do not remember what I have dictated." 
 
 When the reading was finished, Landaburo sprang up with 
 a bound, and exclaimed: 
 
 " Simply admirable. Send this at once to the printer with- 
 out altering a single comma. . . . And now for the formal dec- 
 laration of loyalty which all the leaders are to sign me this very 
 night, including, of course, the officers of the army. I am going 
 to dictate that. Write down, Colonel: 
 
 " We present to you our enthusiastic salute as provisional president of 
 Colombia, and we acknowledge that you have dedicated your life to the 
 disinterested service of Revaluation. In you we have the varied elements 
 with which we are going to crush constitutional despotism. 
 
 " We know that your protests of Curasao in favor of peace were ficti- 
 tious, mere traps with which to deceive the tyrants. 
 
 " With you at the head we shall triumph, or else mingle our blood with 
 yours. You alone unite the qualities of the true general and tactician 
 with those of the thinker, philosopher and polemist. The steel of your 
 pen is as finely and justly tempered as that of your sword. Talent, 
 energy, valor and both private and public virtues are in you legendary, 
 and you possess them in eminent degree. For this reason you are as 
 invincible in war as you were in peace. We are ten thousand men, but 
 with you at the head we shall be one hundred and ten thousand soldiers. 
 
 " Let this spontaneous manifestation which all the leaders and officers 
 of the army of the Revaluation and liberty offer to you be a slight offset 
 against the calumnies of which you have been made the victim by some 
 persons envious of your glory, persons who have spoken of you as a 
 speculator, deserter, and apostate. 
 
 " Long live the provisional president, our invincible chief ! " 
 
 Villa fane hastened from the room to obtain all the signa- 
 tures and left Landaburo walking to and fro in the presbytery 
 
400 PAX 
 
 of the church building. Landaburo recollected and tried to 
 imitate the attitude of Napoleon, the great Napoleon, on the 
 eve of great battles. His hands were clasped behind, his 
 gaze was directed into the infinite, as though contemplating 
 visions of glory, classic battles which for simple mortals were 
 invisible. Now and then he would let that noble head of his 
 drop on his breast. 
 
 After a long while Villafafie returned, with an aggrieved 
 look. 
 
 " Do you bring me those signatures? " 
 
 "No, General." 
 
 " What do they want? What do they say? " 
 
 " They are of opinion that although the praise heaped on 
 yourself may not be excessive, there is a measure of indeli- 
 cacy about the whole matter. But, they assert, this document 
 ought to be worded so as not to wound the susceptibility of the 
 other chiefs and leaders, in order not to endanger the harmony 
 that ought to reign in an army." 
 
 " Well, I do not accept any other formula," shouted Landa- 
 buro, beside himself with fury. " I am not a prodigal son. 
 . . . Give that declaration to me. ... I do not want them to 
 sign anything. I do not! " 
 
 And taking the writing, driveling with anger, stamping the 
 floor like a small child, he tore the paper to bits, threw it on 
 the ground, tramped on it, and shrieked: 
 
 " The whole Revaluation Party is nothing but a parcel of 
 envious fools." 
 
 A moment later he remembered that by his conduct he was 
 compromising the dignity of a high post, and also the sympathies 
 of those who might be listening, and he therefore changed his 
 tone, approached Villafafie, and continued: 
 
 " See here, my friend, I am not merely a party leader. 
 That is a mold too narrow for me. That irks me, that bothers 
 me as if I were trying to wear the same small suit I wore when 
 a child. I am an eagle enclosed in the egg of a canary. I can 
 only be the chief of the nation, its head. I am a national 
 figure, and those men, those imbeciles, do not understand me." 
 
 On the following day ten vessels armed for war left Calamar, 
 and went off towards the interior of the Republic, and by 
 order of Landaburo the four thousand men who had concen- 
 
PUERTO BORJA 401 
 
 trated in that harbor went along. As they advanced up the 
 river, the latter began to show the luxuriant wealth of its shores : 
 splendid panoramas, pastures until recently rilled with grazing 
 cattle, vast beaches on which whole tribes of alligators were 
 sunning themselves; walls of verdure that bordered the waters; 
 scores of settlements abandoned by their inhabitants; moun- 
 tains which stood clear against a brilliant sky; avenues of gi- 
 gantic cedars standing in regular groups as in a park; dusky 
 landscapes in which palm groves detached themselves with their 
 trembling fan-like foliage; roofs and cupolas of dense green- 
 ery, garlands of vines completely covered with brilliant blos- 
 soms of butterfly shape, festoons, and cavities closed by purple 
 curtains. . . . Along the whole extent of the river the methodical 
 and thorough destruction of the work done by the Canalization 
 company, as well as the machinery and appliances used by 
 them, could be observed: dredges gone, dikes annihilated, 
 very strong fences torn down, plantations, buildings, powerful 
 steam works all wiped out, together with the last traces even 
 of the canal toilers; millions in value utterly destroyed, titanic 
 efforts come to nought. 
 
 One morning General Nichols, commanding the vessel acting 
 as advance guard, reported to Landaburo that he had found 
 an enemy encampment. Landaburo, who went in a fine boat 
 named after him, hastened up in order to be present at the recon- 
 naissance. He perceived upon the right shore of the river, 
 at Puerto Borja, the camp, and amid the fortifications the 
 company builiding, with tents and bonfires all about it, and 
 behind the broad avenue leading up from the landing stage, 
 there were visible a hill, trenches and redoubts for defensive 
 purposes. 
 
 Immediately Landaburo issued orders for the commanding 
 officers to assemble, and when they had met, he distributed 
 amongst them a paper on the cover of which was to be read: 
 " Plan of attack at Puerto Borja." 
 
 " Foreseeing this fight here for I do foresee everything . . . 
 I had these instructions drawn up, gentlemen," he then ad- 
 dressed them all. 
 
 Then he made one of the aides of his immense general staff 
 read the document in a loud voice, as follows: 
 
402 PAX 
 
 " 1.) The divisions Chances and General Mosquera will disembark 
 below the great enemy encampment, will then seize the building of the 
 Aserradero and remain there one hour, thirty-five minutes. 
 
 "2.) The divisions Landaburo, Tuso Gutierrez and First of January 
 will disembark on the left shore of the river, and will erect trenches of 
 sand in sacks weighing not more than two arrobas. The companies will 
 take positions keeping a distance of one meter twenty-five centimeters 
 between each. 
 
 " 3.) As a signal of reconnaissance there will be used one long trumpet 
 blast and one note lower for attention, and as answer, another long blast 
 and two high notes. The password for the same purpose will be the 
 sublime one of Cambronne at Waterloo, and will be answered by ' no 
 surrender.' " 
 
 Just then a whistle was heard at some distance. It was a 
 steamer coming under full steam. One could hear the thump- 
 ing of the wheel as it beat the water rapidly. Soon this vessel 
 had advanced in line with the one in which Landaburo was 
 giving his instructions. General Polanco sprang on deck and 
 flashed one of his sharp glances upon those around the chief 
 commander. 
 
 "What is the meaning of this?" he then asked. 
 
 And Landaburo answered: 
 
 " We are going to attack the enemy here entrenched in 
 Puerto Borja. I have given out a plan of attack in writing, 
 one which goes into the most minute details, so that in case we 
 should lose the battle it would not be through lack of foresight 
 on my part." 
 
 "Attack? But . . . ? Did you not state in your proclama- 
 tion at Calamar that we were going to Bogota? That was 
 what was agreed upon, the thing fixed. The friends there 
 are now waiting for us in order to receive the immense muni- 
 tion supplies you promised. A misfortune here would mean 
 our ruin. We ought not to risk the last resources of the Revolu- 
 tion. Disembarkment in Honda would be of infallible effect. 
 ... It is for you, General, to fulfil your promise. Let us go 
 to the heart of matters, to the capital, which is without mili- 
 tary protection, and let us leave this and the Coast to the 
 generals of the Government." 
 
 " I take the liberty, General, to present this plan to you, 
 which I have just submitted to the divisionaries and battalion 
 chiefs." 
 
 Without taking it, Polanco responded: 
 
PUERTO BORJA 403 
 
 " Do you also win battles upon maps and charts and with 
 stickpins? " 
 
 Landaburo took pains to defend his plan. He was wounded 
 in his pride as the " foremost South American tactician," and 
 thus, with energetic gesticulations, he entered into a technical 
 exposition in which recurred again and again his favorite ex- 
 pressions : 
 
 " Stimulate an attack," " the extreme right," " let the van- 
 guard file past," " formal attack," " overwhelm the flank," 
 " hurl back detachments," " fall upon them," ..." and for- 
 ward! " 
 
 The discussion waxed bitter. Some of the commanding offi- 
 cers sided with Landaburo, others with Polanco, the latter keep- 
 ing his equanimity despite the insults contained in the proclama- 
 tion of Calamar. 
 
 " They are always finding pretexts not to fight those who 
 show some courage," said Landaburo, " but I know the reason 
 why." 
 
 "And what is it?" asked Polanco, nettled beyond endur- 
 ance and confronting the other. 
 
 " Fear, General." 
 
 "All right. Let us fight, then. . . . That will show who 
 the timorous are. Everybody disembark! " he shouted to his 
 men. " Let us take the fort." His stentorian voice rang out 
 like a trumpet. " Let us fight. . . . But without those paper 
 plans. ... To the fort! " 
 
 But before leaving the room he called Landaburo aside. 
 
 " We two, General, shall have a little account to settle . . . 
 but not here . . . not in the presence of the army, because 
 we should finish with it. ..." 
 
 "If you wish, General, we shall embrace in front of the 
 leaders. I could issue another proclamation which might be 
 called: 'The Handshaking.' . . ." 
 
 But Polanco turned his back on him and no longer heard 
 Landaburo's proposals. He rushed forth shouting: "To the 
 trenches! . . . And no looking back! " 
 
 He had the trumpeter give the proper signals, and the army, 
 accustomed to follow this fiery leader, hurried its disembarka- 
 tion with enthusiasm. 
 
 Within a few instants the fort was swarming. The cannon 
 
404 PAX 
 
 balls began again their thunderous music, and this was soon 
 after drowned by the multitudinous roll of the rifle fire, volley 
 upon volley. The attacking soldiers rose in serried ranks 
 against the fortifications, hastening, crowding each other. In 
 the melee the different battalions were mingled; the marching 
 was done in disorder, without a concerted movement, like that 
 of a huge street mob. Only one kind of unity there was among 
 them: the pushing on to victory; eagerness to arrive with the 
 swiftest possible haste at the trenches, and with this in mind they 
 forgot everything else. They stared at what was ahead of them. 
 They were bound to crumple up the enemy forces, to decimate 
 them, destroy them. 
 
 In the opposing camp Borrero was strolling among his bat- 
 teries, imperturbable, serene. His guns worked like a charm 
 and with stupendous effect: loading, pointing, shooting, like 
 clockwork. 
 
 In the wall of flesh that was advancing rapidly, there were 
 already openings, breaches. The assailants were swaying. 
 The bayonets were flashing in the sunlight, held high. The 
 holes in the wall were closed up, and the mass was again 
 advancing, steadily, irresistibly. Only death stopped them. 
 Their ranks were thinning, but there was no halt. Many 
 tottered, many fell, their feet stumbled over dead or dying, the 
 wounded shrieked or gasped with the pain of their injuries. 
 But the wave of raging humanity was irresistible. The fort 
 was now full of attacking masses. In this exaltation of en- 
 thusiasm, in this paroxysm of force and violence no words 
 were spoken, gestures were the sole language, and these said 
 all, fascinated all, pushed them on to their murderous work, 
 electrified them. 
 
 Polanco was always in the front ranks, brandishing his 
 sword with furor and this spectacle of their general thus ex- 
 posing himself to danger, drove his men recklessly on, and 
 they climbed the steep height of the fort embankment on 
 and on, to conquer or die with their chief. With a mighty 
 leap Polanco is now on top of the trench, ... his men are 
 shouting " Victory," but in the act itself Polanco is seen throw- 
 ing his arms wide apart, and collapsing in a heap. 
 
 The death of the favorite leader of the army, however, in- 
 
PUERTO BORJA 405 
 
 stead of damping their courage, merely serves to inflame them, 
 and with an access of furious rage, with an impetus that 
 nothing can stop they rush on like bulls into the arena. 
 
 " We are going to revenge our general," they howl, and with 
 fiercer energy than ever they hurl themselves upon the enemy 
 host. There was a terrific shock, a clash that was deafening. 
 . . . The soldiers of Alejandro fired when the muzzles of their 
 rifles almost touched their quarry. But despite all that their 
 commanders could do, they began to give way. The red flag of 
 the Revolution waved in the redoubts on top of the fortifica- 
 tions over piles and piles of the slain. 
 
 Alejandro and Borrero reformed their broken ranks. With 
 threats and entreaties they succeeded in stopping the flight of 
 their men, infusing new courage into the hearts even of the 
 most frightened. Borrero, carried away with anger, ran his 
 sword through two of his fugitive soldiers. The veterans gath- 
 ered for a counterattack. They turned their faces towards the 
 enemy, and in their turn assailed those who sat in their own 
 strongholds. Quickly they recovered the territory they had lost 
 and made themselves masters of the heights. And now a strug- 
 gle, body against body, like two enraged duelists, set in up 
 there which exceeded in grimness and tenacity anything yet 
 enacted. For the possession of a few feet of ground; for 
 inches even. Each side fought like veritable fiends. Swaying 
 to and fro, yielding and gaining anew, the two opponents did 
 their utmost in stubborn valor. There was now no gun fire, 
 only fighting hand to hand, in the silence of supreme effort 
 and despair. Only the sinister clatter of steel meeting steel, 
 bayonet or machete dropping from nerveless grasp, the groan- 
 ing of men desperately wounded or dying, the shriek of mortal 
 pain or of victory, these were all the sounds in this bloody 
 drama of mass murder. 
 
 Casanova, who, on disembarking at San Pedro del Sinu, had 
 fallen into the power of the Revolutionist forces, had been taken 
 prisoner and kept on board the Belle garde which, with the 
 Ines, contained, as he knew, immense quantities of munition. 
 Thanks to the carelessness of his keepers, whose attention was 
 completely engaged by the tremendous struggle above described, 
 which they could observe from near-by, Casanova, who enjoyed 
 
406 PAX 
 
 a certain degree of liberty within the vessel, could also mark 
 the progress of the obstinate fight and saw with pain how his 
 own friends were driven out of their trenches. 
 
 In that instant he determined to carry out a plan which 
 had previously occurred to him as a possibility. The place 
 where the munitions were deposited was at that instant unlocked 
 and easily accessible, in order to serve the necessities of the 
 combat itself. Casanova took two gallons of petroleum and 
 cautiously made his way into the hold of the vessel, where 
 he poured the oil over the boxes and other containers that 
 enclosed the munitions, gunpowder, etc. Then he used a hand- 
 ful of straw to set the whole afire. When he saw the flames 
 leaping up, sure of the success of his plan, he jumped into the 
 river, swam across, gained the other shore, and there hid be- 
 hind the thick trunk of a tree. 
 
 The ship's hold took fire like tinder, and the vessel was in 
 an inkling one mass of flames. Casanova saw how the bow 
 of the vessel suddenly lifted high. He threw himself down on 
 the ground in order to escape flying munitions or debris, when 
 the ship went up in smoke. . . . There was a tremendous ex- 
 plosion, shaking the mountains even and making the very soil 
 tremble. 
 
 An instant later the fire leaped over to the Ines, and that 
 ship was, within the space of a few minutes, likewise an 
 ocean of flames. Both vessels floating slowly on the water, 
 drifted down the river, lower and lower. 
 
 The combatants had heard the first explosion which stunned 
 and frightened them for a moment, and later on the second. 
 Shouts were raised : " The vessels are burning ! The muni- 
 tions are flying up in the air! All retreat is cut off! " And 
 these cries spread and soon carried despair into the ranks 
 of the Revolutionists. Panic seized them. The struggle it- 
 self ended. The forces of Polanco, now suddenly dominated 
 by unreasoning fear, yielded the disputed territory and began 
 to flee. 
 
 Landaburo, seeing the disaster, resolved to save at least those 
 ships which still remained to him. He ordered them set afloat, 
 and with the flotilla, retired once more to Calamar. 
 
 Pursuit, however, on the part of the Government forces like- 
 wise rapidly grew to unheard-of proportions; it was carried 
 
PUERTO BORJA 407 
 
 out with an impetus, with a rage, with a frenzy almost, that 
 were in exact proportion to the desperate character of the previ- 
 ous struggle. Anger at the defeat and the frightful losses 
 sustained at the beginning of the fight pushed the soldiers 
 of Alejandro on to indiscriminate vengeance. The intoxica- 
 tion of triumph dominated them, the effervescence of malice, 
 the giddiness of murderous lust. In their hearts had broken 
 out the rabid appetite of savage beasts. They shouted fear- 
 ful deprecations, curses, maledictions at their disheartened 
 foes, and felt an insane joy in mere destruction, in the convul- 
 sions of agony, in the noise and the bloody power of their 
 weapons, in horrible mutilations, in hacked members. 
 
 Alejandro, for whom, to be sure, the momentary defeat of his 
 battalions had been a keen pain, an acute shame, wounding his 
 pride as much as if it had been a deadly and bloody insult, 
 also felt himself enveloped for a few moments in a very clod 
 of blood. In his bosom there raged a storm of malignant feel- 
 ings, and he launched himself ferociously upon the now re- 
 treating enemy. But in this short spell of fury there appeared 
 before his eyes and conscience the emaciated face of a loved 
 one, with two blue eyes of unspeakable fascination. Then 
 his soul was swept by a sentiment of compassion, and all de- 
 sire for revenge was forthwith stifled. 
 
 At the risk of his own life he suddenly threw himself be- 
 tween the pursuer and the pursued. He held his soldiers back 
 from further slaughter. He interposed himself between the 
 butcher and his victim. He made his authority felt. He 
 saved the life of the conquered. He punished those victors 
 who were implacable. 
 
 Alejandro and General Borrerro organized the ambulance. 
 The battlefield suddenly was invaded by stretcher-bearers and 
 the wounded were picked up with care and conveyed to field 
 hospitals. Alejandro even showed preference for his late 
 enemies, and he looked for and gathered in his arms many of 
 them, lavished caressing words on them, treated them like 
 brothers, like equals. And as he did so he felt that the 
 white apparition smiled approvingly. 
 
 The shadows fell on the two armies, hungry, worn out with 
 the ferocious fighting of the day. In the silence of the night 
 there is better heard the interminable lament rising from such 
 
408 PAX 
 
 camps, a lament in which cries of pain mingle with cries of 
 hope, with gentle sighs of approaching death, cries like those 
 of little children. 
 
 And meanwhile the vessels set afire slowly drift down the 
 river, halt at times before obstacles, are delayed at banks, 
 knock themselves against big rocks, set aflame the foliage of 
 huge trees under whose shade they have found momentary 
 rest. They pass on, lighting up with their gigantic luridness 
 the lonesome spots on the long journey, and like messengers of 
 devastation, with the noise of a cataclysm, these winged fiery 
 heralds will tell the savage creatures of the wilderness that 
 they may at their ease continue to watch over their domains, 
 that these savage forests, these inmeasurable plains have once 
 more turned away from awakening civilization and resumed 
 their old lethargy, their animosity to all progress, that they 
 have dropped back into barbarism. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI 
 
 ONCE MORE THE ROSES 
 
 MONTELLANO and Dolores, journeying from Bogota to Honda, 
 and having left behind them the small settlement of Guaduas 
 with its little white houses, half hidden between the plumes 
 of the bamboo plants, were now beginning to descend the steep 
 path which, winding along finally ended on the plain that led to 
 El Consuelo. To the eyes of Don Ramon and his daughter, 
 habituated to landscapes illuminated by a tempered light such 
 as was the case, too, in those places through which they had 
 come, the immense panorama of the valleys along the Mag- 
 dalena which now opened to their view, an unlimited phan- 
 tasmagoria which in sun-swept majesty extended all the dis- 
 tance to the very crest of the opposite chain of tall peaks, 
 came as a surprise. 
 
 Before reaching El Consuelo, they saw the building of a mod- 
 est wayside inn, half screened from view by trees, and noticed 
 with terror that its beams were charred by fire, that the roof 
 had been likewise destroyed, that its blackened ruins lay on 
 the ground nearby, amidst the rubbish merely some broken 
 
ONCE MORE THE ROSES 409 
 
 poles, the fences that had enclosed a small adjoining tract of 
 tilled land torn to fragments. On this small field there lay 
 prone a blackish mass. The mules scented this and backed 
 uneasily from it. Montellano whipped his team close to this 
 forbidding spot. 
 
 " Father, oh, father," warned Dolores, turning her eyes 
 away from the sight, " this is the inventor, it is ..." 
 
 " Yes, it's Sanchez de Pefianegra," shrieked Montellano, 
 horrorstruck. 
 
 They saw a dark stain on his chest, the frail, thin body 
 stretched out, the hands very white, the face wax-like, the 
 expression somewhat sickly and yet sweet, with its usual in- 
 offensive placidity that the murdered man had preserved even 
 in death. 
 
 But there now began to appear from the other direction, 
 along the road that led upwards, dimly seen through bushes 
 and trees, the rifles of an escort, then the hats, next the bodies 
 of soldiers on foot, and also of three persons riding mules. 
 
 " General Ronderos," exclaimed Montellano, instinctively 
 feeling the shock of a possible fate such as that of Pefianegra. 
 
 The veteran military leader was indeed seated on the back 
 of a mule, his body bent and his hat falling over his face. 
 When he had been carried close to the little house, he attempted 
 to dismount without help, but was unable to do so, and had to 
 accept, much to his annoyance, the assistance of his aides. 
 
 "Wounded, General?" asked Montellano, seeing him so 
 pale and exhausted. 
 
 " No, friend," replied the other in a half -strangled voice. 
 "It is merely the fever from down there . . . and the grief 
 to see this part of the country in this condition." 
 
 He said no more. The aides, spreading out some clothing, 
 made a sort of couch for their chief in the center of the room. 
 The old general dropped down on it like a dead load, and lay 
 there quite inanimate for a while. The crude sunlight, pene- 
 trating the space through the broken roof, glittered upon the 
 hilt of the sword and spread itself about the somber eyes that 
 lay deep in their sockets, imparting to the General's counten- 
 ance the color of old ivory; the bony face, with its strongly 
 pronounced cheekbones and the sharp, angular nose and fore- 
 head stood out more clearly. As he lay thus stretched out his 
 
410 PAX 
 
 breath came and went feverishly, feebly, with much fatigue. 
 
 Now his army began to arrive: a mass of exhausted soldiers, 
 some dying, others displaying horrible wounds, eaten up by 
 fever a grievous sight. A number of them carried two or 
 three rifles, in order to relieve those who were too feeble to carry 
 their own. They went up the steep slope without speaking 
 without cheerful songs, without a smile, heads hanging low, 
 crawling painfully along. Scarcely a groan was heard, or a 
 moan of fatigue. All the faces bore the impress of sadness, of 
 weariness, of death. 
 
 Just then there was seen, coming up through the waste land 
 through which wound the path in the rear, a number of riders 
 from among whom there could be heard, more and more dis- 
 tinctly, the humming and rumbling of a well-known voice. 
 Above the rattle of the harness and the conversations of the 
 peons, fragments of phrases found their way. 
 
 " I have enough time for everything. . . . The hospital. 
 . . . The problem of peace. ... A general reconciliation and 
 embracing. . . . The model ambulance. . . . This will be for 
 twenty years. ..." 
 
 The voices came nearer. 
 
 " General Ronderos, here I am. . . . Here you have your 
 friend Gonzalez Mogollon, after a lapse of eight months. I am 
 always on the road where my duty in the service of poor suf- 
 fering humanity takes me ... at the orders of the great heroes 
 who are dying for their country. Here I have it, camp bed 
 No. 1234 of the Model Ambulance, organized by official de- 
 cree and with rules established by me, despite all my mani- 
 fold and absorbing occupations. . . . What a campaign was 
 yours, ... we have learned of your condition. . . . This mule 
 does not step along very well. . . . And I am all the time over- 
 coming the most insuperable difficulties, as a recruit of the good 
 cause should. . . . Sefior Montellano, you here, too? ... And 
 it's easy to be seen that you are now on the way to la Danta 
 all that you have left, according to what you say," and Gon- 
 zalez made this last remark very deliberately. 
 
 " Yes, I'm a ruined man. ... I have not even a place in 
 which to lie when I am dead. I am going to bury myself, and 
 we'll have to put another tall taper in the chapel at Danta." 
 
 Those around the speaker smiled with a mutual smile of in- 
 
ONCE MORE THE ROSES 411 
 
 telligence. They all knew that the millionaire, ever since the 
 outbreak of the war, had himself spread the rumor that he 
 was entirely ruined, so as to escape forced loans and exactions 
 from both armies. 
 
 General Ronderos rose to leave. The cold chills had taken 
 hold of him again. The tall bundle of bones was shaking 
 and shivering. His teeth were chattering, and his face began 
 to show livid spots, as though he were dying. 
 
 " Before you go away, General," said Montellano, " is the 
 river safe? Is there no danger? " 
 
 " None whatever," replied Ronderos, stammering with the 
 fever. " After his defeat at Puerto Borja they had been gather- 
 ing the vessels that Landaburo had been seizing. . . . He him- 
 self, with a handful of followers, has taken refuge in the moun- 
 tains. Good-day, gentlemen." 
 
 And he went towards his mule. 
 
 " General, the camp bed . . ." 
 
 " No, Friend Gonzalez. I and a field bed ? A thousand 
 thanks." 
 
 He tried a smile, which bared his pale gums, and then went 
 ahead, assisted by his aides. A keen physical pain of which 
 he did not want to complain, contracted his features. 
 
 The army had formed along the road. They were going to 
 render the honors of his rank to him. 
 
 " General," Gonzalez wanted to know, " is this all that is 
 left of the famous army of the Atlantic . . . eight thousand 
 men. ... I am certain . . . eight thousand outfits I handed 
 over myself to the model workshops founded by myself, and 
 these were sent on to Madellin more than six months ago." 
 
 " Yes, friend, . . . the famous army," replied the general, 
 with another shudder from his fever. " You see for yourself 
 what is left of it. A thousand men! Or rather, a thousand 
 skeletons! " 
 
 He started to walk his mule, with his face turned towards 
 the ranks bent deep over his beast. The commanding officers, 
 unsheathed sword in hand, gave their commands in brief, curt 
 sentences. The trumpets sounded the salute to the general-in- 
 chief; it was a warlike march the stirring strains of which 
 rose and floated away, filling the great space between the wilder- 
 ness and the silence of the mountain range far off in the 
 
412 PAX 
 
 distance. And at the sound of their chief's well-known voice, 
 and the strains of that music, all those men bent and bowed, 
 all those bodies bled almost to death, all these rows of skele- 
 tons, instinctively became erect, presented arms with trembling 
 hands, throwing their heads back, as though galvanized, with 
 a new spirit, a new courage, with a last fire of pride in their 
 pupils. 
 
 The general, still bent over his saddle, shivering, passed up 
 and down the ranks, climbed up the slope, and the trumpeters 
 blew their longest and best, blew a blast that sounded, in face 
 of this sinister spectacle, almost like a cry of anguish, like 
 a last farewell to their dying chief. 
 
 They went off, disappearing in dusty distance, and soon after 
 there could only be seen, along the crooked road they followed, 
 the glitter of their bayonets and the white cloth of the stretch- 
 ers. 
 
 Dolores took the direction of the summit which began to ap- 
 pear some distance off in the torrid plain. A frightful noise 
 made her turn her eyes. The bed of withered leaves that cov- 
 ered the ground crackled with a multitude of scampering lizards. 
 A very large butterfly which in balancing itself either set its 
 velvety wings aflame with reflected sunlight or else seemed to 
 steep their bright blue in shadow, was fluttering about near her. 
 This small detail brought back memories of that far-away 
 morning when, amidst the song of birds and the cheerful talk of 
 travelers, full of zest and hopes, she had been on her way with 
 her father to the Capital, buoyed up with vague ideas of con- 
 quest. The afternoon sun gave now trembling outlines to the 
 distant view, was drying up the puddles near the roadside, was 
 absorbing the vapors of the deeps, and spread through the whole 
 atmosphere a bluish tint which, diffusing itself throughout the 
 heated air, paled the bright yellow of the bamboo groves, the red 
 glamour of the flowers and the metallic sheen of the palm leaves. 
 
 In her thoughts she began to compare the two panoramas, the 
 two epochs. It was still the same landscape, the same river, 
 which over yonder was flashing from between sandy shores, 
 the same clumps of groves and forests which, in diminishing 
 sizes, were lost in the prodigious background, the same welter 
 of summits and mountain tops, the same confused profiles of 
 interminable mountain fagades. . . . But already the symphony 
 
ONCE MORE THE ROSES 413 
 
 of the dawn of life was gone, the merry mood that awoke her 
 on the morrow, the idyll of the first hours, the music of the twit- 
 terings in the wilderness of cane or reeds. At present it was but 
 the splendor of devastation;, the earth itself exhausted and som- 
 nolent, enveloped in its petrified serenity; it was an amphithea- 
 ter of reddish mountain sides, extenuation and fatigue, a silence 
 of sadness which became tedious with its eternal monotony; big 
 compact clouds, like heaps of copper, which stood out against 
 the violet-hued shadows of the great distance. 
 
 Nothing was astir, nothing was apparently alive, nothing was 
 singing within this enormous space gone to rest and sleep, in 
 this scorched world, in the dramatic wilderness of the mountain 
 ranges, in the mournful majesty of the whole panorama, over 
 which was floating an atmosphere of weariness and suffering, a 
 mist of boundless despair. 
 
 She drew a parallel between the two panoramas and the two 
 epochs. But she felt that the panorama of that morning now 
 gone was like a landscape limned by a youthful painter possess- 
 ing a vigorous hand, a hand that traced the lines with accuracy 
 and force, which intensified the tints and gave to the colors 
 freshness and clearness . . . while this same landscape now 
 seemed but a copy made by the uncertain and trembling hand 
 of an old man, who traced the outlines without firmness, and 
 who put into all the neutral tints of his sated pupil the inertia 
 of a worn-out heart. 
 
 All at once Dolores with a sudden dread heard shots being 
 fired. Nothing was to be seen. Only here and there, amongst 
 the waste places, were to be noticed flashes in the pan; puffs 
 of smoke were rising which became more and more fiery as the 
 shadows increased. Yonder there came out of the thicket a 
 small band of infantrymen who started to go in the direction of 
 El Consuelo along the highroad. From spot to spot they turned 
 around, aimed and fired, and then continued mounting the 
 heights on the same road. 
 
 The leader of this band stopped, gave several orders, and with 
 great anger brandished his machete, at the same time threaten- 
 ing the fugitives. But he was unable to make them obey him. 
 The road was soon full of people who passed in front of the 
 house, and continued their flight up the slope. 
 
 They passed near Dolores: their appearance was that of va- 
 
4H PAX 
 
 grants, clad in rags, half naked, besmeared with mire. They 
 seemed to be hard pushed, and while struggling up the steep 
 declivities they were panting, gazing behind them with great 
 fear, and then resumed their flight again. 
 
 For two months now Roberto, meaning to set the Count free, 
 had been pursuing Socarraz, and the guerrilla chieftain, agile, 
 tireless, never leaving his own neighborhood, going to and fro 
 in a territory where he had friends and partizans, was fleeing, 
 always avoiding a fight; he fell upon his victims like a bird of 
 prey, then made good his escape again, roamed through the 
 great plains of Tolima, hid in the mountains, slipped through 
 narrow passes, and by audacious maneuvers, was able, even 
 when hardest beset, to interpose the Magdalena River between 
 himself and Roberto. But at last the latter had succeeded in 
 driving him away from the right shore of the river and taking 
 measures preventing his return there. He had also closed all 
 avenues of escape for him, and since the day before Roberto had 
 been chasing him without a minute's stop, having taken no rest. 
 One single road had been left open for the fugitive, the high- 
 road where the forces of General Ronderos were in power. 
 
 Dolores heard shots coming from the heights, then an increase 
 of firing, and the sound of the shooting came nearer and. nearer. 
 Then the fleeing band turned and passed right in front of her, 
 but in disorder and each seeking safety for himself, frantic with 
 fear, panic-struck, throwing arms away, and in desperate mood, 
 crowding in a heap in the small space before the house. Socar- 
 raz, distributing his menaces, insults and threats among them, 
 stops, assembles and reunites his soldiers again, and to encour- 
 age them he rushes back towards his enemies who are meanwhile 
 coming up from the path below. But suddenly he begins to 
 shriek with rage, totters, and then falls. 
 
 " It's my leg. Damnation! To the dark gap! " 
 
 They put him on a stretcher, and then take to a transverse 
 path, behind the house, when they begin to run with great speed. 
 
 Unexpectedly, amidst the clinking of the harnesses, the sounds 
 of clashing steel, and shouts and maledictions, Dolores sets eyes 
 on Maraton and hears at the same time a beloved voice: 
 
 " You go and cover the road to Bogota! Up that way! " she 
 hears Roberto shout to some of his men. 
 
 " Over that way I hear shots ! " he goes on. . . . 
 
ONCE MORE THE ROSES 415 
 
 " Now there is no way out for him, and chance is aiding us. 
 I put the rearguard here. It is two months since the Scorpion 
 is causing me this trouble, but at last I have him bottled up. 
 You're in my hands at last! " 
 
 "Roberto! " exclaimed Dolores. 
 
 And she rushes at him, with her arms opened wide. She 
 calls a second time to him, but the horsemen, with their leader 
 at their head, at this instant are disappearing on some brambly 
 fields. And simultaneously Montellano comes crawling out of 
 the house on all fours. 
 
 " Dolores . . . where are you ? Let us flee ! That was 
 Escorpion! They will murder us ... loans . . . ransom 
 ... we have but two mules left. . . . They will treat us as 
 they did Sanchez de Penanegra. ..." 
 
 " I believe they are coming back; let us wait." 
 
 " Let him come back ! ... We must flee ! " 
 
 " If it is Roberto, papa, ... I hear him. . . . They may 
 wound him. . . . We must wait for him ! " 
 
 The pursuers from up the hillside now began to arrive. An 
 aide of Ronderos offered his services to Montellano and his 
 daughter. 
 
 " Let us get out of this . . . quick ! " Don Ramon kept shout- 
 ing. " I have to go to Honda. ... I would rather stay down 
 there. ... An escort. . . . They may return." 
 
 " In an instant." 
 
 They mounted their beasts, took the road, and were lost to 
 view among the trees. 
 
 Roberto meanwhile had continued the pursuit of the guerrilla 
 chief, who all this time had kept firing upon his pursuers. The 
 firing ceased. 
 
 "Surrender, Escorpion!" shouted Roberto. "You cannot 
 escape this time. Surrender! " 
 
 But only silence answered him. They rushed down a decliv- 
 ity, until a precipice halted them. The members of the guer- 
 rilla band seemed to have vanished. 
 
 It was almost night. This flight, however, appeared inex- 
 plicable. The two exits were both watched and the fugitives 
 surrounded. The abyss was yawning down below, frightful, 
 and it opened almost from the very top. And down there, in 
 the darkness, the roar of the water could be clearly heard. 
 
416 PAX 
 
 "Nothing again, as always! They evaporate. . . . The 
 earth swallows them up," said Roberto. 
 
 With his men Roberto camped for the night at the very verge 
 of the precipice. From time to time the dog started to howl, 
 ran towards the opening in the rock, circled around the abyss, 
 sniffed, searched with great restlessness, leaped to one side or the 
 other, then returned to Roberto, approached him with a low 
 growl, and lay finally down near the bonfire the men had lit. 
 
 " What is the matter, Maraton? " 
 
 The dog wagged his tail, put his head affectionately between 
 Roberto's knees, closed his eyes and appeared to go to sleep, 
 but suddenly shook his ears, straightened himself, glanced to- 
 wards the shadow, and in two leaps went back, dived down into 
 the depths, and was lost in the mist below. His howls were 
 heard in the silence of the night, and then he returned to his 
 master to lay his head once more between his knees. 
 
 Dawn came; the trumpets saluted the new day with the lively 
 tune of the reveille. Roberto, filled with curiosity, started an 
 investigation, accompanied by his officers. The dog, still rest- 
 less, went to the cut in the big rock, howled, and returned to 
 his master. 
 
 "What is it, Maraton? Search! Search! " 
 
 The dog started off with a whimper of pleasure, turned his 
 head, went further, and when at the mouth of the gap in the 
 rock he set up a tremendous barking, a most strident howl, 
 which was echoed by all the surrounding rocks, and when Ro- 
 berto himself approached the abyss, bending carefully over it, he 
 discovered a broken branch which was still hanging over the 
 void; on the margin he saw numerous tracks, and further below 
 he made out the iron bar of a ladder. 
 
 " Ah," he exclaimed, " here we are. There is a ladder. . . . 
 That is how they have escaped us so many times. ..." 
 
 A deep silence reigned while these men, squeezing each other 
 carefully above that abyss, were going down towards what was 
 hiding within the deep darkness of the big rock. Rendered 
 scarcely intelligible by reason of the rushing sound of the river, 
 there came up the scattered words of those below: 
 
 " There is nobody here, General," shouted Casanova. " The 
 enemy has fled." 
 
 But Roberto placed some good marksmen around in order to 
 
ONCE MORE THE ROSES 417 
 
 protect the descending party, and told the rest of his troopers to 
 climb down cautiously. That task, an easy one for these guer- 
 rilla men used to hard labor of every kind, was rather hard for 
 his men. First they found wild weeds growing in the crevices 
 of the rock, then the bars of a solid ladder, and lower down some 
 holes in the rock made with the pickax, which it was necessary 
 to feel about for with the feet. But they arrived at the bottom 
 at last, where the river took several turns in its bed with a roar- 
 ing noise, pent up as it was between two cuts of the mountains, 
 and screened by the overhanging forest. A slough in which 
 deep foot tracks were to be seen, indicated clearly in which di- 
 rection the fugitives had gone. In spots blood marked the deep 
 layers of decayed leaves. 
 
 After a rather painful march during which their feet were 
 torn by the thorny bushes, the party arrived at last at a huge 
 dark opening, formed by some sliding of the mountain side. 
 There were two rocks which on top allowed bits of the sky to be 
 seen through the dense cedar branches. The party halted. An 
 overpowering odor of fetid decay seemed to be the sole obstruc- 
 tion. A number of vultures could be seen moving about on the 
 top of the rocks. Their black wings stood out clear against the 
 blue atmosphere, and these birds had their bills turned towards 
 the abyss above them, sniffing the carrion, while others of their 
 number, at the entrance of the cavelike break in the rocks were 
 hobbling about wrangling with each other for the possession of 
 a dead body. A big fire, half dead now, sent up its spirals of 
 smoke, while its sparse flames lit up the rock itself and flick- 
 ered between the branches of trees. The soldiers, not knowing 
 where the enemy might be in hiding, kept their arms ready for 
 instant use, while the dog began to howl and growl, a token of 
 the near presence of the fugitives. They then rushed towards 
 the great opening along the only visible path, a very narrow one. 
 
 They noticed in advancing, in the grove of trees, a number of 
 corpses of prisoners, nailed down on stakes. Passing on far- 
 ther, they next discovered, further back in the hole in the rock, 
 where the stone formed a sort of roof, and a wide natural cave 
 was visible what had evidently been the storage house of the 
 band of guerrilleros. There were piled up in orderly fashion 
 pyramids of bales of goods, heaps of merchandise, boxes of 
 liquors, all in separate bulk, and silkstuffs, velvets, cloths, fine 
 
418 PAX 
 
 jewelry. Near by there were broken valises, objects of daily 
 use, such as shirts, shoes, pocket books. . . . 
 
 Roberto chanced to find among this heap a leather valise 
 lined with canvas, and read on the card attached to it: " Comte 
 Bellegarde, Cabin." 
 
 " He has perished. . . . Where shall I look for him? " And 
 he thought with horror of the vultures and the corpses seen in 
 the robbers' stronghold. 
 
 He advanced toward the mouth of the cave, followed by Casa- 
 nova. He grasped a large stone and threw it towards the inte- 
 rior. There was a flash at the very end of the cave, a shot was 
 heard, and then a shout. The whole detachment of soldiers 
 rushed up, believing that their leader had been wounded, but he 
 was unhurt. Casanova, however, who had been behind him, 
 had received a bullet in the arm. 
 
 " Go to the rear, boys," shouted Roberto. 
 
 He made them retire some distance. They brought lights, 
 and then they advanced with caution, holding their rifles ready. 
 In the back of the cave there were two human beings, both of 
 them lying on the ground. The soldiers drew near. They 
 found them to be Socarraz, who was still grasping his revolver, 
 and Bellegarde, who attempted to rise. Roberto knelt down at 
 the side of the Count, and was filled with terror at the sight 
 of his cadaverous countenance, his air of indescribable sorrow 
 and wretchedness. 
 
 Some of the soldiers had disarmed Socarraz who, mute and 
 grim, rolled his wrathful eyes around, glittering from fever in his 
 flushed face. Roberto turned toward Socarraz. 
 
 "How do you feel, my poor Escoprion, under these present 
 cricumstances ? Have you fever?" 
 
 But he kept silent, and only moved his lips with a gesture of 
 bitter scorn. 
 
 "Do you want water. ... I mean, of course, brandy?" 
 added Roberto. " Here you are." 
 
 The man drank eagerly, noisily. 
 
 " Let us see your wound. ... Is it the arm? No, the leg." 
 
 Roberto cut the linen strips around the wound with his 
 knife: it was a gunshot in the knee. Socarraz at last opened 
 his lips. 
 
 " If it were not for that fall down there, Don Roberto," he 
 
ONCE MORE THE ROSES 419 
 
 said. ..." And those cowards of mine who ran away as soon 
 as I could no longer lead them. . . . Without that it would be 
 you in my power . . . damnation ! " 
 
 They hastily bandaged Casanova's injury, and then made 
 stretchers for the two out of branches and twigs tied with tough 
 vines. 
 
 " Ah, those wounds," said Roberto. " What a trouvaille for 
 Gonzalez Mogollon. ... A general, a colonel, and a count. 
 ... He would gladly bring us three of his camp beds, his own 
 models, numbered 1234, 1235 and 1236. . . ." 
 
 They placed Socarraz on one of these hurriedly constructed 
 stretchers. As they prepared him for the journey, he dropped 
 a card case. Roberto opened it, and the wounded man showed 
 signs of great uneasiness. 
 
 " Do not touch that! " he moaned. " These are letters from 
 Encarnacion! " 
 
 Then he addressed Roberto. " My letters ! " he said. " And 
 you can buy these pickings of me, Don Roberto. I shall let you 
 have them cheap," he shouted, as he was carried off. " That 
 grieves me, this matter. ... I do not care a rap that you now 
 know this hiding place. . . . Now for another hole! ... It is 
 not necessary for your men to pass along the same way you 
 came. . . . The devil take this cursed leg of mine! " 
 
 Roberto now approached the Count, whom he had had laid 
 on a couch on the floor. In the light he could perceive the 
 incredible state in which he was, his emaciation, his deathlike 
 pallor. He saw with sorrow that he was near death. 
 
 Bellegarde tendered his hand, long, bony, bloodless, and it fell 
 heavily at his side. Roberto knelt once more at his side, and 
 took the hand, trying to warm it against his breast. 
 
 His respiration was scarcely perceptible, and his eyes, those 
 same eyes that had expressed so much will power and confi- 
 dence, were half closed. 
 
 " Roberto," whispered the Count, " I should like to speak to 
 you, alone." 
 
 And Roberto, without turning around, made his soldiers re- 
 tire some distance. 
 
 Bellegarde drew a long sigh, and over his noble countenance 
 there passed the shadows of approaching death. He remained 
 silent for a time, but then, after a great effort, he murmured : 
 
420 PAX 
 
 " Yes, ... I want to speak to you of Ines. . . ." 
 
 He opened his eyes wide, and in their depths Roberto saw a 
 tear glisten. For an instant a gracious smile lit up his stricken 
 features, and a slight convulsion shook his feeble frame. 
 
 In accents hardly audible, drawing a deep breath after every 
 word, as though each came from the bottom of his soul, he 
 muttered : 
 
 " Tell her . . . that she was my first love . . . my last 
 love. . . ." 
 
 His voice with every syllable became more broken, more halt- 
 ing. Each new effort stifled him. He went on: 
 
 " In my portfolio . . . you will find petals of the Castilian 
 roses which ... I have worn on my heart. . . . Please take 
 these to her . . . they are my last. ..." 
 
 He kept moving his lips, but no more words came. Then he 
 let his great gray eyes linger on Roberto, gazing at him with 
 great tenderness, and saying something which his lips could not 
 frame, and then these same eyes became turbid, veiled, and the 
 light died slowly out of them until death closed them entirely. 
 
 hen there was wiped out of his face all expression of pain 
 and depression, and his one-time grave and thoughtful air re- 
 turned to it. He recovered his seignorial aspect, his feudal ap- 
 pearance, unchangeable. He was again like those great lords of 
 old: carved in marble, who sleep their last sleep upon those 
 grand Gothic tombs. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII 
 
 THE INHERITANCE 
 
 ROBERTO buried his friend in a small village hidden away 
 among the mountains, and then started on his journey to Bo- 
 gota. He arrived there at night, and after embracing his 
 mother he went, accompanied by Maraton, to the War Depart- 
 ment, with the purpose of giving an account of his share in the 
 last campaign, and to request his retirement from military serv- 
 ice for the remainder of the war. 
 
 Passing in front of the theater building, he saw a sentinel 
 there who was half-asleep, and at the doorway a number of 
 
 H g ht 
 
THE INHERITANCE 421 
 
 soldiers stretched out on the ground, stacks of rifles leaning 
 against the wall, and from the darkness of the stage, in the thick 
 atmosphere of the barracks, there issued the sleepy voices of the 
 sentinels. 
 
 "One! Two!" 
 
 The image of Bellegarde did not leave Roberto's mind for one 
 instant ... his marble face, that gaze of infinite tenderness. 
 . . . And just then there came to him the memory of that night 
 on which Werther was given, during which, his sensibility 
 stirred by the music, he had allowed all those treasures, all the 
 fire of a soul steeped in the passion, the longing for love, to be 
 divined. . . . He had remained to his last hour enveloped in 
 that nostalgia for death of which they had been speaking that 
 evening. 
 
 No, not so. Bellegarde had not that craving for death when 
 a life of affection, of useful and ennobling deeds, a life of honor 
 and of fruitful activity was before him. It was the country it- 
 self that had this craving, and in scattering through it with full 
 hands the creations of his great intelligence and energy, he had 
 been himself torn along and engulfed in the whirlpool. He 
 had in the end been worsted, defeated, killed in his struggle with 
 barbarism. 
 
 At the War Department he met Alejandro, who had intended 
 to meet him that afternoon at the railroad station. 
 
 " I have asked for your promotion to general's rank," he said. 
 
 " Ask it for Maraton and for those brave fellows of Ronderos 
 whom I passed on the road by chance. Seriously, though, for 
 Casanova. I have brought a translation of that cipher letter 
 along. I fear that Cardoso will yet take his revenge on us. 
 To-morrow Escorpion is going to arrive here, and I am to see 
 him, in order to get confirmation of my suspicions." 
 
 " Have you met Montellano and Dolores yet ? " 
 
 " They have gone, I think, to Honda, haven't they? " 
 
 " Yes, Montellano went there, just as soon as the Magdalena 
 River was free, in order to take over the Sabanilla Railroad. It 
 is a deal by which he is clearing a matter of three hundred and 
 sixty thousand dollars. He paid a million in paper money for 
 it, which means ten thousand dollars, and it is worth four hun- 
 dred thousand." 
 
 " Montellano is speculating on the war and winning. We 
 
422 PAX 
 
 ourselves are speculating on peace and losing. . . . And Do- 
 lores? " 
 
 " Dolores, according to trustworthy information, will finally 
 marry Alcon, unless you yourself will come to the rescue." 
 
 "And Dona Aura?" 
 
 " She is writing her novel : Gold and Swords, or The Match- 
 less Wife." 
 
 11 Matchless can in her case only mean without two husbands 
 at once." 
 
 " They say that her ex-husband Montellano is paying her a 
 big pot of money, because he foresees a great triumph for Car- 
 doso." 
 
 Just then a very elegantly attired young man whose face was 
 badly pockmarked passed near them in the street. 
 
 " Do you recognize him? " asked Alejandro. " It is Villa- 
 fane. If you only knew how he came to catch the disease. He 
 had just concluded a formidable contract, one he had long been 
 fishing for. It was for one hundred thousand blankets. These 
 he had got at next to nothing by buying them of the soldiers, the 
 very same blankets the administration of the War Department 
 had previously furnished them. . . . But he was obliged to 
 transfer his work now and then to the hospitals . . . and one 
 of those blankets which had to be examined and mended hap- 
 pened to have belonged to a soldier who had died from small- 
 pox. . . . Vidaurre, after his experiences at Puerto Borja, was 
 sent here to Bogota on a passport, and is now in town. His 
 1 Social Reason ' is forging ahead in first-class shape. They 
 are rapidly acquiring a good-sized fortune with it. They are 
 devoting themselves, at every kind of percentage, to all the mo- 
 nopolies and speculations possible and imaginable." 
 
 " What noise is that in the next room? " asked Roberto. 
 
 Through the door of the adjoining office where, some time ago, 
 that famous luncheon had been given by Gacharnah, issued 
 queer sounds of rattling chains, whirring wheels, and military 
 commands. 
 
 " Ah," answered Alejandro, " it is the General of the bridges 
 and highways." 
 
 "General?" 
 
 " He has been twice promoted during the time of our ab- 
 
THE INHERITANCE 423 
 
 Both friends entered. Karlonoff, dressed up completely in a 
 field uniform: boots, spurs, mantle with hood, Prussian helmet, 
 was putting a big gun together. 
 
 " I am at this precise moment," explained Karlonoff affabl> 
 and directing his remarks to these two most recent arrivals, " at 
 this precise moment," he repeated, " putting the finishing 
 touches to a number of those long Yamagata cannons, which 
 were ordered at my suggestion, and which I was only able to 
 send to the front since that battle at Puerta Borja. And about 
 that battle, by the way, I'll have to make some serious observa- 
 tions to you, General. ... I had taken this cannon apart, and 
 I was just putting it together again, piece by piece." 
 
 After quite a deal of bother and time, Karlonoff managed to 
 finish this task, but some pieces were left over, and these lay on 
 the floor. 
 
 " And how about these things? " Alejandro asked, and lifted 
 them up from the floor. 
 
 " These are parts left over," said Karlonoff, with a gesture 
 of disdain. 
 
 Another of these cannons was lugged up to him, and he set 
 to taking it to pieces in like manner, strewing the hundred or 
 so different parts of it on the floor, table, etc. Then he began 
 to select from the whole heap certain fragments and managed to 
 reconstruct the whole, excepting, of course, that there were again 
 some of the parts to spare. 
 
 " Do you see? " said Karlonoff, not in the least shaken in his 
 equanimity. " These parts are left over, without any doubt. 
 This is undeniably owing to a blunder on the side of the con- 
 structor. . . . The Japanese are in the habit of making their 
 errors and oversights. But I am going to correct their errors. 
 ... I mean to omit from the whole number of guns bought of 
 them all those parts left over as useless and a nuisance. I am 
 going at once to present at Tokio my claim for a patent of 
 invention. The new gun will be called Karlonoff- Yamagata 
 improved." 
 
 An aide-de-camp of the War Minister let Colonel Avila know 
 that his honor was unable to receive him that night. So Roberto 
 left in company of the dog, and in crossing the antechamber of 
 the Minister they sniffed a most dainty odor. The ministerial 
 door opened at this juncture to give egress to Gacharnah, cheer 
 
424 PAX 
 
 ful, fresh, gardenia in the lapel of his coat. His triumphal 
 paunch had grown somewhat in size. It was now perfectly 
 round and had heroic proportions. 
 
 " Ah, my dear friend! " he exclaimed, taking hold of Ro- 
 berto's two hands. " I expect you to-morrow at luncheon time, 
 without fail. I shall have asparagus from Argenteuil, Brie 
 cheese, and real Johannisberg cabinet pudding, the real 
 thing." 
 
 The square in front was deserted, silent and full of shadows, 
 just as it had been that night of the festival; the moon in the 
 west, escorted by huge silver-lined clouds, and sailing on a high 
 sea of luminous color. The electric globes along the facade of 
 the Capitol threw against the black mantle of the night ghostly, 
 glimmering reflections, funereal lights. In rapid twinklings the 
 electric lights deepened or lifted the shadows, brought out 
 clearly, wiped away, or intensified the outlines of the stone 
 pillars, the walls, the. broad flight of stairs. . . . 
 
 The same stairs where he had in better days seen Bellegarde 
 ascending, gallant, vigorous, confident of himself, to sign the 
 Canalization contract. ... Of the whole enterprise, now, what 
 was there left? It had all disappeared: the enormous amount 
 of machinery, the dredges, the motors and engines, dikes, plan- 
 tations, buildings of every description, vessels . . . and, at last, 
 the Count himself. Everything had suffered shipwreck, every- 
 thing had been consumed, as though swallowed up by the in- 
 fernal regions. . . . 
 
 He bethought him of Ines. He went to her house, and 
 knocked. Dominated by a profound emotion, he was in hopes 
 that they would be at home. 
 
 "Aunt Teresa?" . . . 
 
 "Yes? All right. Don't tell them. I wish to surprise 
 them." 
 
 Seizing the dog by the collar, to prevent his running ahead 
 and announcing his coming, he rapidly ran up the stairs until 
 he came to the landing. 
 
 He had to stop here and take breath, for his heart beat pain- 
 fully. Was it merely the emotion he felt, or was it his com- 
 plaint become more troublesome because of his hasty ascent? 
 
 In the drawing-room he heard piano playing ... it was 
 Ines, and by one of those intuitions which makes to us known 
 
THE INHERITANCE , 425 
 
 the presence of a beloved being in drawing near to it, he saw her 
 plainly with her jessamine pallor, her thoughtful and affec- 
 tionate eyes, . . . she was playing Beethoven's fourth sym- 
 phony, the one Bellegarde had loved so well, . . . that impas- 
 sioned melody, that great song of love in which the master spoke 
 a language of divinest origin . . . and not alone that; she had 
 adopted the very style of the Count, she communicated to the 
 instrument his spirit, his sentiment. . . . Roberto listened, sur- 
 prised and disturbed, to these notes that were impregnated with 
 deep emotion, with intense feeling, with sweetest memories. 
 Suddenly Maraton, infected by the disquietude and the painful 
 surprise of his master, gave a little plaintive howl. 
 
 Instantly the piano became silent. The wooden floor in the 
 room creaked. The prisms of the candelabra tinkled, and a 
 light step was heard approaching. 
 
 "Roberto! What a shock, what a surprise!" and with a 
 somewhat sweeter inflection : " How happy you make me ! " 
 
 And she tendered him both her hands, those long, slender 
 hands, hands of a perfect mold, which Roberto had always ad- 
 mired as he would an exquisite work of art, and she put them 
 effusively into his own, hands that had been bronzed by the 
 sun, and roughened by the campaign. They looked at each 
 other : in her deep eyes Roberto read a story which he anxiously 
 endeavored to decipher. That forehead of snowy white, bathed 
 in melancholy, revealed a secret which might be a refusal or a 
 hope. She closely observed her cousin's face, in which formerly 
 there had been something fugitive and vacillating, now full of 
 determination and firmness, and discovered in his glance that 
 dark light of resolution which death leaves in those who have 
 known how to meet it face to face. 
 
 They crossed the room together. Roberto sat down in his 
 usual heavy chair. They both remained silent. The light of 
 a single lamp, veiled by a shade, cast the shadows of the furni- 
 ture, vases and candelabra on one side, drawing arabesques 
 upon the carpets and tapestries. A soft dusk heightened the 
 effect of all these rich and elegant things, rendering the imagi- 
 nation more vivid, inviting to confidences. 
 
 " I arrived only this evening, desiring to surprise you." 
 
 Ines responded with an affectionate smile. 
 
 With the impression of comfort, of well-being which sur- 
 
426 PAX 
 
 rounded him, there began to mingle in his heart all the mem- 
 ories of that house that had had for him nothing but affection, 
 refinement and cheer. For a moment he forgot the painful mis- 
 sion which brought him there. He would have wished that 
 nothing should disturb that delicious feeling of repose which 
 filled his soul, that nothing should break the charm. 
 
 " It is singular," said Ines, " how Maraton recollects that 
 passage of Beethoven which saddens him so. The howl which 
 so surprised me, the same as just now, that time when Belle- 
 garde . . ." 
 
 Her voice began to tremble, that name hung for a moment 
 on her lips, but she quickly recovered herself. 
 
 " When Bellegarde played it here, that first of January, . . . 
 he had only recently arrived." 
 
 And these words reminded Roberto at once of that more re- 
 cent scene : the horrible cave, the stretcher, the corpse which was 
 recovering all its former lordly hauteur, the whole noble appear- 
 ance of the Count, the dying glance ... the roses. He remem- 
 bered his charge, and he saw in its fulfilment a punishment\ 
 never suspected before. He felt that that grave and gracious 
 figure, which attracted her, which now fascinated her with a new 
 strength, with an irresistible charm, was going to interpose itself 
 between himself and his cousin. 
 
 " You must have news of him," she murmured timidly. 
 
 The moment to speak had now arrived, the moment to fulfil 
 that supreme charge, to repeat to Ines that declaration of love 
 which the Count had up to then locked up inexorably within his 
 own soul, and which escaped his lips only with his life. 
 
 Roberto divined that Ines would be moved to the depths of 
 her being, that this declaration would remove her from him for 
 ever, that the love of Bellegarde was going to dominate her, to 
 impose itself upon her with full mastery, with majesty, with the 
 sovereignty of death itself. 
 
 Ines continued in a sonorous tone, becoming more animated, 
 leveling her dreamy eyes upon her cousin : 
 
 " You must know something about him. For, Roberto, as 
 soon as I learned that Bellegarde was Socarraz's prisoner, I 
 knew that you alone would take upon yourself the task of free- 
 ing him, and ... I have never ceased believing that." 
 
THE INHERITANCE 427 
 
 " Yes, Ines ... I was going to speak to you about Belle- 
 garde. I have a message from him for you." 
 
 " Yes," she replied, with ill-concealed joy. " Do you know 
 when he will come? " 
 
 Then Roberto, in silence, took out the portfolio of the Count, 
 opened it, drew out a few withered petals, handed them to Ines, 
 who read in the attitude of her cousin the awful truth. 
 
 Then Roberto began to speak, but for a moment there issued 
 from his throat but a dull groan, a rebellious sob. 
 
 Ines rose, drew herself up, while an intense pallor spread over 
 her countenance, and in her eyes might be read bitter grief and 
 lifelong sorrow, whispering : 
 
 "Dead?" 
 
 Roberto silently gave free vent to his tears. Then, his voice 
 broken by rising sobs, he said: 
 
 " He was so good, so generous to me." 
 
 She remained standing, in a mute grief, solemn, while Ro- 
 berto, seated and leaning his head on his hand, told her about 
 the death of his friend. And he repeated to Ines, one by one, 
 his last words. And knowing the harm he thus did himself, 
 yet dominated by a sentiment of generosity and highmindedness, 
 he gave in a lifelike picture all those details of the sad scene, 
 laid stress on the intensity of Bellegarde's passion for her, which 
 had been uppermost with him until his last breath, saying that it 
 robbed death itself of its sting, dwelling on his infinite tender- 
 ness, on that last look which had been illuminated by memory of 
 her, showing how her image had been fixed in his soul until the 
 very last instant of his sad life. 
 
 Ines fainted, and seemed about to fall, but recovered in- 
 stantly. 
 
 " Permit me, Roberto," she then said humbly, " to withdraw. 
 I must tell my mother." 
 
 And she went away with her same light step. But she turned 
 at the door, took those withered petals carefully from the table, 
 and closed the door behind her. 
 
 He followed her with his glances, and then in imagination 
 saw her in her own room, kneeling, lost in sorrow, her face 
 bathed in scalding tears. And those tears and sorrows were a 
 cruel martyrdom for him. They filled him with despair, with 
 
428 PAX 
 
 bitter anger, they tortured him. A new sentiment, hitherto un- 
 known to him, took hold of him, the feeling of jealousy, jeal- 
 ousy of the dead, of a memory, of the shadow of a friend. 
 
 He had always thought Ines cold, apathetic, incapable of pro- 
 found feeling, intense passion, or strong love. And it was at 
 that instant, when he had seen evidence of those treasures of 
 affection she hid und^er an austere demeanor, and when he knew 
 the immense fund of tenderness that her heart possessed, that he 
 had to lose her. Her silent smile had spoken plainly. But it 
 had not been for him. Estimating the magnitude of his own 
 loss, the incomparable value of what he had forsaken, and long- 
 ing to be the one preferred, even if it should cost his life, he 
 felt a wish to be in Bellegard's place and to sleep his last sleep 
 in the possession of her boundless affection, in a hidden nook 
 up in the mountains. 
 
 He heard, however, the short and firm steps of Dona Teresa, 
 who entered a moment later and embraced him stormily, only to 
 start telling him about the annoyances, shocks and nuisances 
 occasioned by the war, her vows made to all the saints in 
 Heaven, made together with Dona Ana for his own safety and 
 for his life, and then to urge him to tell her all about what had 
 happened to him during his campaigns. 
 
 " It seems to me hardly possible that it should be you, and no 
 other, that has undertaken and succeeded in so many enterprises 
 and performed so many acts of incomparable heroism. It's 
 dark here," she exclaimed, interrupting her own flow of words, 
 and, after a fit of laughter adding: " But Ines likes the dusk, 
 though I find that a half light is depressing. As for me, I am 
 fond of a bright light." 
 
 And she touched the button which communicated with the 
 central chandelier; a wave of strong white light inundated the 
 apartment. The shadows began to tremble and then fled in- 
 continently, started then on the other side, and became fixed 
 there. The folds of satin, dead in the shadow, began to bloom; 
 the gilding on the funiture looked fresh; the light spread, then 
 was absorbed and found a slumbering place in the soft rugs. 
 
 And while Dona Teresa, gay and sprightly, went on chatting, 
 he, submitting to his melancholy thoughts, set his gaze roaming 
 about this drawing-room in which the delicate hand of Ines 
 had created this perfect impression of the Empire style, had 
 
THE INHERITANCE 429 
 
 succeeded in finding those gradual shadings of green which in 
 artistic variations gently declined or rose until the brilliant 
 coloration of the emerald was attained, and on the other side the 
 deep shade of dry leaves and darkest dark green of pools. 
 
 The wandering glance of Roberto discovered, too, one single 
 petal forgotten on the table. It was the same table upon which 
 he had that night so long past left the branch which she had 
 worn on her bosom. It was something humble, sad and insig- 
 nificant, but Roberto imagined he could discover in the fact the 
 atom rescued from the shipwreck of his love, a trace of his 
 friend, a memorial of that last gaze, the full meaning of which, 
 however, had not so far penetrated him sufficiently. It was, he 
 thought, an expression of gratitude, a message for Ines, the 
 manifestation of an ardent desire, the longing that the vows of 
 Dona Ana would be accomplished, after all. 
 
 A door which was opened and closed, some light steps in the 
 corridor which were deadened by the thick carpet, the clinking 
 of the prisms, the frou-frou of a dress, . . . and Ines entered 
 once more. He saw her pallor, and on cheeks and eyes the 
 traces of tears. Dona Teresa retired, and they were once more 
 alone. 
 
 Roberto had in front of him an Ines never suspected or 
 known by him before, an Ines transfigured by Love, spiritualized 
 by sufferings. Like a superior nature she was, at the same 
 time attracting and repelling him, while inspiring him with deep 
 affection and respect, veneration and tenderness That instant 
 too, he became aware that she had acquired, had inherited from 
 the Count his inscrutable aspect, his expression of cool affabil- 
 ity, his lordly and feudal air. He wished to talk, but he felt 
 bashful, silly, and he began to stammer incoherent phrases, 
 awkward words of little bearing, sentences that ended half 
 expressed. 
 
 Then sheer desperation began to dominate him, and he felt 
 lost. With an expression of deep pain, with meaningless ges- 
 tures and mien, he broke into a long lamentation, as though 
 talking to himself, in which he painted the complete failure of 
 his life, a jumble in which he had lost everything, fortune, 
 love and hope. There began to appear in the face of the girl an 
 expression of commiseration, of sympathy, of vigor; encouraged 
 by this and spurred on by anxiety, Roberto was able to dismiss 
 
430 PAX 
 
 his air of humble petitioner, his halting words and stammering 
 phrases; his uncertain expressions converted themselves into an 
 irresistible and eloquent plea. He felt himself impelled toward 
 Ines by the same tastes, by the same conception of life, and by 
 the same bonds of race and family, by the fire of the soul, that 
 strong shock of love which he had observed in herself. By a 
 strong effort, by his impetus, his pledges, he succeeded in con- 
 quering that heart, that novel passion, in appropriating to him- 
 self those infinite treasures laid bare for another, but whose 
 guardianship remained solely with him. 
 
 For he did not vacillate, nor doubt the meaning of that last 
 glance of the Count, who meant to put into his hands the hap- 
 piness of Ines, and into his heart a spark of that powerful and 
 steadfast love for whose cult he had lived and which robbed 
 death of its tortures and griefs. It was like the heritage of 
 felicity handed over by the dying man; it was like a legacy of 
 happiness. 
 
 The Count had been unable to give him a fortune, but he had 
 left him as a legacy something more in consonance with the ele- 
 vation of his character, a treasure, a higher and nobler fate. 
 
 Ines contemplated her cousin with curiosity, with growing sur- 
 prise. He also was for her a new man, a stranger, a foreigner 
 who presented himself for trial. The cousin who had always 
 treated her with fraternal affection, unreliable, fickle, voluble, 
 had been altered into a timid, stammering lover and wooer, one 
 who breaks out into desperate lamentations, and next, by some 
 hidden virtue, by some miraculous action, becomes a swain full 
 of resolution and ardor. The shadows of former doubt were 
 dissipated, and faith in the new lover grew. And she also, in a 
 vague sentiment of sadness and hope, in a confusion of melan- 
 choly and gratitude, in an undecipherable mixture of bitterness 
 and happiness, fancied that the love of Bellegarde had pene- 
 trated the heart of Roberto, and had communicated to it a new 
 identity, a powerful will, an intense life. 
 
 And both, amazed, surprised, saw a new dawn glow on the 
 horizon, the distances smiling and bathed in light. A splendor 
 of rebirth like that which had driven away the shadows, had 
 made the gold ornaments flame brightly, and had made shine 
 with new luster the old silken stuffs. And over all, drawing 
 
THE STORM 431 
 
 near them, uniting them, floated the dying glance of Bellegarde, 
 full of gentle tenderness ... the legacy of bliss. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII 
 
 THE STORM 
 
 GENERAL BORJA and Colonel Avila were starting on a trip to 
 the Gonzalez Mogollon Hospital, a name which had been given 
 to the former Christian Workshops managed by the Sisters of 
 Charity. After climbing a great deal of narrow streets and de- 
 clivities, in doing which Roberto insisted on frequent halts be- 
 cause of fatigue, they came back to find it situated at the foot of 
 the hill. There was the white clock tower, behind a thick mass 
 of trees. But long before they reached the building, it an- 
 nounced its presence by the strong odors of iodoform, chloro- 
 form, carbolic acid, and ether . . . which to them was equiva- 
 lent to the smell of bodily suffering and final death. 
 
 " Ah, poor Casanova! " 
 
 " This morning Agiieros told me that he would have to oper- 
 ate on him. His arm will have to go, since gangrene has set in," 
 remarked Roberto, stopping again, in order to catch his breath. 
 
 " Did you bring along that famous letter of Cardoso's for the 
 use of Escorpion ? " 
 
 " Here you have it." 
 
 Alejandro was handed a bit of paper, greatly soiled and torn, 
 and full of characters and numbers that seemed incomprehen- 
 sible. At some places, above the words indicating the key to the 
 cipher, there were others written by Roberto. Those words read : 
 
 " Great supply of ammunition . . . plain . . . savannah 
 . . . Aguila . . . decisive battle . . . fifteen." 
 
 " And what do you make of it? " 
 
 " More or less this: 
 
 " ' I count on a great supply of munition. I am leaving the 
 plain of Casanare via the savannah of Bogota for the wilderness 
 of Aguila. I shall fight a decisive battle, for which I reckon on 
 fifteen thousand men.' >: 
 
 Alejandro smiled doubtfully. 
 
432 PAX 
 
 " I have been able to decipher in part the key to the numbers 
 and letters but not the conventional words which are interpo- 
 lated. I know that my interpretation is venturesome, even in 
 certain places chimerical. But we are going to the hospital to 
 see whether we shall succeed in making Socarraz or some other 
 guerillero talk and furnish us with some additional words, or 
 else with some revelation that would confirm my translation, my 
 suspicions that the Revolution party means to make a last great 
 effort, if Cardoso has started from the plains and whether he 
 really intends to push on to the wilderness of Aguila. In order 
 to triumph Tubalcain is counting on a powerful element, with a 
 probability of success the other chiefs of the Revolutionary 
 forces could not reckon on." 
 
 " And which is that? " asked Alejandro in alarm. 
 
 " That he has not Landaburo with him." 
 
 "You believe that? " 
 
 " Let us go and convince ourselves," answered Roberto, as 
 they came out on the little square in front of the hospital, where 
 the penetrating scents of powerful drugs from the hospital min- 
 gled with the smoke of some open-air fires on which cooking was 
 done. The Escorpion had arrived that morning in a very seri- 
 ous condition ..." but something had to be left to chance 
 ... to the unforeseen, that milch is certain," as they were 
 told. 
 
 The sky began to cloud up, and forbidding shadows began to 
 fall on the city. 
 
 All over the whole circumference of the horizon a gray curtain 
 was spreading, and this, increasing the falling darkness, now 
 stretched its folds throughout the savannah. Only in the great 
 gap, where the two mountains showed a huge opening, there re- 
 mained a spot where the azure of the sky and the sunlight were 
 still in evidence, but this was narrowing visibly, inch by inch. 
 
 This great curtain of mist was spreading in an easterly direc- 
 tion, and was even now wrapping the summits of the cordillera 
 in its folds, covering the peaks, the approaches to the tops, the 
 rocks, the paths in the blackish green hillsides, the fissures on 
 the mountains, the yellow wastes. Dense fogs now pushed on 
 farther and farther, passed on pushing other fog banks out of 
 the way, attaching themselves here and there to the protruding 
 noses of rock formations, until there remained suspended the 
 
i THE STORM 433 
 
 immense curtain of obscurity and moisture from the sky, far off 
 at the gap of the mountains, and within and behind that it was 
 clear that the storm was brewing. 
 
 With unceasing tenacity, doubling their peal, the bells within 
 the small hospital tower were dinning, and the two friends felt 
 these strokes on their hearts as though they re-echoed with the 
 fierce cries of pain, the low moans of the wounded and dying on 
 the battlefields. 
 
 One burial was just over, and another followed it. On an 
 open bier the grave diggers hastily placed the body, shoving it 
 out of the hospital mortuary, and dragged it quickly to the bier, 
 then crossed the little square and the porch, which served as a 
 lounging spot for convalescents. The length of suffering en- 
 dured by patients, their handling people' struck down by death 
 so constantly, had quenched in these grave diggers the love of 
 humanity, compassion and all sensibility. Without paying the 
 slightest regard to these victims of the war, with an indifference 
 that was brutish, some cripples were playing at fencing with the 
 muleteers, all amidst savage fits of laughter. Others, who 
 were lingering on the steps of the entrance, were throwing dice, 
 and each time a game was decided, the rude laughter and 
 boasting of the winners were mingled with the curses and blas- 
 phemies of the losers. Under that menacing sky, in the half 
 light of late afternoon, it was a most depressing scene, in which 
 ribald laughter, blasphemies and the tolling of the passing bell 
 were all blended with the strong exhalations of the hospital and 
 with the stifling smoke from the bonfires. In that nook the 
 sweeping wave of the war had accumulated all the miserable 
 remnants, as a tempest scatters and turns topsy-turvy all the 
 sorry fragments from a shipwreck on to a lonesome beach. 
 
 They entered. The double archway of the patio, formerly so 
 pretty, now stood out in dull gray, the distant storm lending it 
 some of its shadows. The arches and walls were stained in 
 places by the smoke and ashes. Here and there were visible 
 dark splotches, the mark of a bloody hand, drippings from a 
 waterspout, which kept the tint of the walls a dull brownish red, 
 as though smeared over with coagulated blood. Above the doors 
 alternated the letterings of the former asylum with those which 
 Gonzalez Mogollon had had inscribed for present uses: " Em- 
 
434 
 
 broidery Office," " Smallpox Ward," " Artificial Flowers," " In- 
 fectious Fevers," " Weavers' Room," " Amputations." 
 
 They crossed the inner court; in the corridors emaciated pa- 
 tients were slowly wandering through the corridors, wearing 
 long cloaks. From between their folds looked out wan faces 
 bound up in cloths or criss-crossed by knife thrusts. From time 
 to time there passed some Sister of Charity among these groups, 
 but she would quickly disappear in the passages, while her 
 medals would tinkle for some brief while after her disappear- 
 ance. From one of the rooms there issued, sharply cutting the 
 silence, a tenacious, strident, unwearying howl. 
 
 Alejandro and Roberto went up the stone stairs, passing the 
 sickrooms, then crossed various corridors and next descended a 
 dark little stair, the steps of which creaked as they were stepped 
 upon. Then they heard a voice say to them, as in former times : 
 
 " Prenez garde, il y a dix marches." 
 
 They turned their heads; it was Sister Visitacion. 
 
 " Is that you, Senor Alejandro? Senor Roberto? After so 
 long a time . . . you are here? " 
 
 And she went down to accompany them. 
 
 " We have come to speak to some prisoners," said Roberto. 
 " We thought that we should have to follow the garden to find 
 them." 
 
 " The garden, . . . the garden . . ." the Sister said, inter- 
 rupting him, turning back her eyes and joining her hands in a 
 gesture of pitiful regret. " The garden ... ah, that is a dis- 
 aster. ... It is a pity! Oh, my little miracles! ... All has 
 been destroyed . . . even my famous Papa Imperator. . . . 
 Only look! " she wailed, while she led them through the garden 
 walks, bare, and betraying innumerable tracks of soldiers. . . . 
 "Only look . . . there remains nothing, nothing! " 
 
 " Oh, but there is something left," jested Roberto. " See 
 here! " and he picked from the ground some small yellowish 
 strips of paper. 
 
 And he deciphered them with difficulty. 
 
 ". . . Tri folium frugiferum. . . . Spercula arvensis. ..." 
 
 In a nook Roberto heard a shrill burst of laughter, and he 
 approached with surprise. It was the spectral figure of Sister 
 San Bernardo, as though carved from a block of ice. All 
 around her had died: the balmy blossoms in the garden, the 
 
THE STORM 435 
 
 thickets of greenery, the lilies and roses, and she alone remained 
 in the midst of this disaster; only in the brain of the poor de- 
 mented Sister had the breath of the great destroyer done no 
 mischief. 
 
 They returned to look for those wounded men they wished 
 to question, and walked through several more darkened and 
 cheerless corridors. The fog that had by now enwrapped the 
 hills entirely, cast its cloak of darkness over the whole edifice. 
 A flash of lightning was followed instantly by a deafening thun- 
 derclap, and this was repeated again, while the echo went rum- 
 bling and wandering through the whole range of mountains. 
 Then a shower of hail fell, and next a squall of thick raindrops, 
 which redoubled its fury up on the roofs, whipped the walls, 
 inundated the patios, invaded the whole building and in an 
 instant formed torrents of rain that were running in every direc- 
 tion. 
 
 " Sister," queried Roberto, " where are those wounded from 
 the fight at the Dark Gap? " 
 
 They entered a room the windows of which had just been 
 closed to shut out the gusts of rain from the squall. 
 
 " There are wounded and sick here from several engagements. 
 I believe that yonder," said the Sister, and she pointed to the 
 left-hand rows of beds, " over in that corner, quite at the farthest 
 end of the hall, there is one from that attack which Seiior Ro- 
 berto led, from what I have understood." 
 
 They made their way between the two rows of beds, and got to 
 the last, and there saw a muffled-up patient, with legs drawn 
 up, and his hands clasped tightly in front of him. He had 
 laid his head on his knees, and thence it rolled off every little 
 while. The man was a skeleton loosely covered with a yellow 
 skin, the very image of misery, prostration and mortal indiffer- 
 ence. 
 
 " You were at the fight of the Dark Gap? " asked Roberto 
 in a gentle voice. 
 
 The sick man did not move. 
 
 " He has been rendered hard of hearing by the quinine," sug- 
 gested Roberto. 
 
 He repeated his question three times, speaking louder and 
 louder. 
 
 But his silence continued; only the incessant howling from 
 
436 PAX 
 
 the adjoining hall went on. Alejandro interrogated the man in 
 his turn, and shook him by the shoulder. The patient raised 
 his head, slowly, making a great effort to do so, as though it 
 were a head of lead, turned his face, half opened his eyelids, 
 gazed vaguely about him, and let his head drop on his knees 
 once more. 
 
 "It is Perucho! " shouted Roberto. " He recognizes me, 
 don't you, Perucho? " and he stroked his neck with his hand, 
 feeling the small bones standing out there. 
 
 "Perucho! Look, Perucho!" shouted Roberto. "Do you 
 feel better? Can you hear me ? Don't you remember us? We 
 have not seen you for some time, not since Escorpion caught you, 
 and took you away from our side at the attack on Palmares. 
 . . . What have they done to you ? Listen, Perucho, raise your 
 head, man! See here, there are some reales for you. As you 
 do not open your hand, I am leaving these notes of paper 
 money for you behind your pillows. Perucho, do you hear me 
 or not? . . ." 
 
 The man made another effort, raised his head once more, 
 opened his eyelids, and looked about him with the same vacuity, 
 let his eyes rest for an instant on Alejandro and Roberto, tried 
 to think, tried to remember, moved his lips, and let his white 
 gums be seen, made a strong effort to articulate something, and 
 then, closing his eyes, heavily dropped his head at last. 
 
 "Perucho!" said Roberto in a strong and commanding 
 voice. "Tell us! Is it not true that they went to the wilder- 
 ness? What did you hear Socarraz say about that? . . . Yes, 
 yes, the wilderness? ... A great battle? ... Is it not so? 
 . . . They went to join some other forces? . . . They were go- 
 ing to receive munitions, lots of munitions? Do you agree to 
 that? . . . Now, come, remember, man, talk, tell IK about it! " 
 
 He lifted the head of the young fellow, turned his face, made 
 him open his eyes, and Alejandro finally felt a deep compassion 
 for him. Ah, those mouselike eyes of his in former times, so 
 lively and shining, that had always been talking, full of ro- 
 guery and animation, they were now nothing but two yellow 
 globules, heavy and listless. ... But Perucho seemed to wake 
 up again, showed an expression of fear, then he broke out in 
 stupid laughter, twisted his mouth, and next, assembling his 
 scattered ideas, and gathering all his will power, he stammered 
 
THE STORM 437 
 
 some syllables (once he pronounced " paramo," then " parami," 
 i. e., wilderness), with a faint breath, without any inflection or 
 emphasis, and then, exhausted, his forehead covered with sticky 
 sweat, he let his head again drop over his knees. 
 
 "It is useless, Seiior Alejandro," said the Sister; "thus he 
 passes his days and nights, . . . silent, without will power, 
 without saying a word. He scarcely takes a few drops of 
 broth, le pauvre enfant." 
 
 " Stop," exclaimed Alejandro. " Bring us a glassful, or even 
 but a mouthful, of sherry, ... let us see whether that won't 
 give his body a bit of blood, and to that empty head a ray of 
 sense, of memory or thought. . . ." 
 
 And when the Sister returned, Roberto poured some drops of 
 the wine into a large spoon. 
 
 " Listen, Perucho, open your mouth, really, you will like it. 
 ... It is wine .... take it ! " 
 
 The young fellow instinctively swallowed two ladlefuls, and 
 some moments afterwards a slight flush of red began to color 
 his cheekbones. He opened his eyes, in which a remnant of 
 thought began to shine. He opened his hands, which were dry 
 and yellow, and with his fingers he stupidly felt for his head. 
 
 " Are you beginning to think ? Do you manage to remember 
 things? " asked Alejandro anxiously. "Perucho, you are still 
 the same as before. Do you recall El Sauzal, the races, la 
 Alondra, the campaign? Don't you know the time when you 
 won the race on Petronio? " 
 
 He put his head in his hands, drew his legs back, and sat up, 
 while his expression of insensibility changed for a moment to an 
 intelligent smile. It looked as though this wreck of eighteen 
 years of age went back in his thoughts to his younger days, as 
 there came to him the recollection of that gust of air that played 
 with his hair and swept him almost out of the saddle when he 
 was on the back of Petronio galloping among the great mass of 
 people who were shouting and huzzahing to him as the victor 
 in the race. 
 
 " Yes, yes, Perucho . . . long life to him. . . . Petronio, the 
 track, the race . . . hurrah for him! " he yowled. 
 
 He turned his head toward Alejandro, spread out his hands, 
 opened his lips. The sweat was rolling down his temples; he 
 closed his eyes, then he shriveled up again, and once more let 
 
438 PAX 
 
 his head drop in the same old attitude of an Egyptian mummy. 
 
 " No use," said Roberto; " let us play our last card now, . . . 
 let us go and see Socarraz." 
 
 "Escorpion? Do you think so?" said Alejandro, in bad 
 humor. 
 
 " Let us try." 
 
 Once more they passed through the same immense halls and 
 wards, crowded with sick and wounded, who were placed along 
 the floor in interminable rows, on soiled mattresses filled with 
 straw or rush, or bare bricks. In these closely shut-up rooms 
 the germs of gangrene were spread; open wounds, fever and 
 festering sores bred death. Over all floated the sickening odor 
 of disinfectants. 
 
 They saw heads almost bereft of human semblance, wrapped 
 thickly in gauze, foreheads tightly enclosed in bandages. 
 
 Some of these patients, eyes and cheeks glowing with fever, 
 with short breath and respiration irregular, were stirring their 
 arms and legs, unable to find a comfortable posture, pushed on 
 by desperate restlessness. Others again, in a sleep of prostra- 
 tion, suffering from fantastic nightmares, were murmuring in- 
 coherent phrases, emitted pitiful cries, complained of their 
 sufferings. When they awoke, they would cast affrighted looks 
 all about them, and then would succumb once more. 
 
 One particular patient, whose face was purple, was stran- 
 gling, and filled his ward with the bellowing sound of a deep 
 cough that seemed to rend his chest. When he inhaled air, it 
 whistled in the caverns of his chest. 
 
 Another, with his mouth down, of a spectral pallor, let the 
 blood run into a basin as it issued out of his nose. He had a 
 permanent and incurable succession of hemorrhages that were 
 slowly killing him. 
 
 In all these emaciated faces, withered, bloodless, and of ashen 
 hue, could be read resignation to an inexorable fatality, depres- 
 sion without a shadow of hope, debility and supreme helpless- 
 ness, the habit of suffering without hope. 
 
 They pushed open a closed lateral door, and found them- 
 selves in a small hall in which the evaporating ether was pois- 
 oning the atmosphere: an odor that asphyxiated and produced 
 fainting and vomiting fits. Behind, against the walls, there 
 were rows of dishes with water, with a brown liquid, and on 
 
THE STORM 439 
 
 the floor pails, pitchers with boiling water. At the foot of the 
 window, upon a table, were spread out nickel-plated instru- 
 ments of steel, wearing a sinister gleam, twisted in form, cold, 
 awe-inspiring, of strange shapes, some like spiders, like scor- 
 pions, like poisonous wild beasts, like instruments of torture. 
 
 In the center of this room, naked, his face covered by a silly 
 mask, his chest convulsed and in violent commotion, shaken by a 
 short and rapid groaning, was Casanova. And close to this un- 
 conscious body, to this inert mass, with nude arms, and hands 
 blood-besmeared, Doctor Agiieros was amputating the gangrened 
 arm. The surgeon, surrounded by his adjutants, was working 
 in silence, in perfect calm, priding himself on his undeniable 
 cold-bloodedness, without having lost his amiable mien, or his 
 disembarrassed and elegant appearance and manners, his sci- 
 entific smile of exquisite courtliness. From time to time the 
 operating surgeon, without in the least exciting himself, issued 
 some brief order, or made an observation, cracked a joke, and 
 then would once more wrap himself in his former silence, inter- 
 rupted only by the anguished snore of Casanova. And during 
 the operation itself the three heads, the ruddy face of Agiieros, 
 and the two black heads of his assistants, moving about the 
 same radius, bending down over the same central point, drew 
 nearer or went farther away, rose or bowed down, separated 
 and then returned to join each other once more. 
 
 Both friends left the operation room, and crossing more and 
 still more sickchambers, discovered at last in a small apartment 
 the bed in which Socarraz lay. At the head of it the figure of 
 Dr. Miranda was noticeable, and at the foot, nursing the 
 wounded man, Sister San Ligorio, who, hearing the steps of the 
 two arrivals, raised her head. Fever, fatigue, night vigils had 
 played havoc with her. The constant contemplation of afflic- 
 tions that could not be cured, of pains without relief, had served 
 only to accentuate her expression of benevolence and sweetness. 
 Her blue eyes in those hollow sockets above the wan cheeks had 
 become larger. Alejandro, observing her further physical de- 
 cline, could not suppress a movement of anguish and painful 
 surprise. A smile then began to show in that pale countenance, 
 and she glanced at Alejandro with those eyes of inexpressible 
 charm, turning them to Heaven. At that moment she seemed to 
 have left the earth and to follow the intimate conversation of a 
 
440 PAX 
 
 beloved being invisible to terrestrial eyes. A sparkle from an- 
 other world shone for a moment from her cadaverous face. 
 
 Socarraz, lying on his back, with arms flung wide, eyes in- 
 flamed and face deeply flushed, showing rage and spite, was 
 turned towards the window. 
 
 " Let nobody touch me," he shouted, brushing the Sister 
 roughly aside. " What they want is to make a cripple so that 
 I shall no longer be able to fight against these corrupt scoun- 
 drels." 
 
 " No, sir, this is only to save you," said an assistant surgeon, 
 " but you have hampered the amputation which ought to be 
 made. The initial fever and the high temperature show that 
 septicemia has spread." 
 
 Doctor Miranda approached the two friends: 
 
 " He is lost," he told them in a low voice. " It is a terrible 
 case of infection, and the fever has already stepped in. He 
 would not allow them to cut off his leg." 
 
 "Really? The wound did not seem to be so grave at first. 
 . . . We have urgent need to talk with him." 
 
 " Do not think of it," answered Doctor Miranda, while he 
 twirled the silver snuff box between his nimble fingers. " I 
 have to profit by the last flicker of reason to induce him to 
 confess." 
 
 The washing was done. The assistants withdrew. The Sis- 
 ter picked up the cloths and sponges, and as though to force 
 herself to silence, she went to the farthest end of the sickroom. 
 
 The shadows crept into the chamber. There was a flash of 
 lightning, followed by a tremendous clap of thunder. The 
 tempest that had moved on now returned. 
 
 Doctor Miranda signaled them to withdraw. He bent down 
 afresh to the sick man, and murmured some words. 
 
 " I, repent? ... I? ... Damnation! " 
 
 " See here, Escorpion ! " said the priest in a voice of authority 
 and affection. " You must know that you are going to die. 
 More still : you have but a few hours to live. ... It is not cer- 
 tain that you do not believe. I know you well. There is a God 
 who will chastise you if you do not repent. But the same God 
 wishes to pardon you, the same who died for you. . . . Gaze at 
 him on this cross. ..." 
 
 The dying man did gaze at the crucifix which Doctor Mi- 
 
THE STORM 441 
 
 randa held out to him, then wrinkled his eyebrows, turned his 
 face to the window, and burst into a great fit of laughter. 
 
 " No, this is not God; it is a piece of wood. Oh, yes, yes, I, 
 repent? Repent of what? ... I have not done evil to any- 
 body. I have killed, of course, but only in self-defense. And 
 I have not robbed any one of a centavo. Nothing of that stuff, 
 Doctor! Try to catch somebody else with your nonsense. . . . 
 You cannot do anything with me. . . . Everything finishes with 
 here below. ... If there were a God, it would be a wicked 
 kind of God, who took pleasure in the unhappiness of his 
 creatures, an unjust God, one who gives to some wealth and 
 pleasant position in life, and leaves to others misery and hard 
 labor. . . . No, I won't have anything to do with such a God." 
 
 " You will have nothing to do with God ? " murmured the 
 priest in a low voice which, however, soon became fiery. " But 
 that does not depend on you. It is not within your will or 
 your hands, unhappy man. From the day on which you re- 
 ceived your being, you were united with Him by tight bonds, by 
 powerful and unbreakable bonds. Those bonds are such as tie 
 father to son, creature to creator. No, He is not the God of the 
 Rich, for them he found no other words but words of reproach, 
 hard and severe words, anathemas. He is the God of the small 
 and humble, of the oppressed. Blessed are the poor, those who 
 are hungry and thirsty, those who weep, says He who was born 
 and who died naked, ennobling and exalting human misery with 
 His teachings and His example, who underwent insult and in- 
 justice, and who went the noble and ample way to prepare you 
 for the glory to come. 
 
 " My son," continued the good priest, " open your heart to 
 love and repentance, break the shackles of pride, and that same 
 God whom you spurn will lift you to a world where the poor 
 reign, where there are neither great nor little, and no greater 
 hierarchy than that of the humble. If you reject God in this 
 last instance of compassion, and do not listen to your Re- 
 deemer and Father, you will then see Him, at the beginning of 
 all eternity, face to face, with His arms raised up, but He will 
 then not receive you lovingly, but will cast you into the infernal 
 regions, where envy, jealousy, wrath, which here below have 
 already poisoned your existence, will also reign, and you will 
 contemplate from the abode of the damned the bliss everlasting 
 
442 PAX 
 
 of the chosen. . . . Escipion! Is it not true that you repent, 
 that you acknowledge and love God ? " 
 
 " No! " shouted Socarraz. 
 
 And he sat down on the bed, with his inflamed eyes, with his 
 teeth bared, showing new strength, as though the steel springs 
 of his body had been renewed. A flash of lightning lit up the 
 room, and the thunder rolled through the mountains. 
 
 Socarraz threw the bedclothes on his couch aside. He drew 
 himself straight, displaying his crimson shirt, and smiled in a 
 savage manner. 
 
 "Ah, ah," he muttered, "it is the vanguard of Tubalcain! 
 Long life to him ... the fifteen thousand men . . . they are 
 carrying new rifles, . . . they have cannons, ... a supply of 
 munitions, boys, a big supply. . . ." 
 
 And he waved his arms in the air. 
 
 " Do you hear," said Roberto to Alejandro, " about the fifteen 
 thousand men? Do you still doubt? " 
 
 And full of anxiety they approached the bed of Socarraz. 
 
 " No, my friends," said Doctor Miranda, with a solemn mien. 
 " The soul, the soul, before everything else." 
 
 The two retired again. 
 
 " Abandon those thoughts," urged the priest, passing his hand 
 over the hot, dry forehead of the sick man. " Hear me: if you 
 do not love God, fear at least His justice, eternity, the never- 
 ending penance, hell, infinite pain." 
 
 " All fairy tales! " shrieked the other, as though waking up. 
 " I am not afraid of the devil." And he collected himself, got 
 up on his feet, emitted a great shout, and supporting himself on 
 both hands, rose, with excruciable pain, on his wounded leg. 
 
 Silence reigned. The gusts of the wind whipped the rain 
 drops against the window panes. Rising above the turmoil of 
 the squall there still came from the adjoining room the same 
 persistent howling, which mingled with the echo of the thunder. 
 
 Doctor Miranda lifted his hands to his neck, drew his scapu- 
 lary out, and put it in the hand of Socarraz. 
 
 " What . . . what is this? " asked the dying man. 
 
 " It is my scapulary, friend . . . leave it there. Nobody 
 who has it on his bosom will be damned." Socarraz seemed to 
 calm down, glanced to one side, and then to the other, spread out 
 his arms. The priest believed he was saved. 
 
THE STORM 443 
 
 "Friend!" 
 
 "What is it? Oh, yes," said the other, his face expressing 
 pleasure, and his voice growing more weak and stammering, 
 " ah, yes, I see them, I see them, but the fog does not let me 
 see very plainly. . . . Damnation! Cursed fog. ... Is the 
 wilderness of Aguila always closed to them? But here they are 
 coming. . . . Punctual ! . . . General Cardoso, here I am with 
 my people. Let me shake your hand! " 
 
 And he stretched out his hand at random to take that of the 
 priest. 
 
 " Who is this other one? That one who is coming there with 
 those other men? Through the Farallones Islands. ... If 
 perhaps I do not see them, do not see them, then I will remain 
 blind. ... It is the snowfall. . . . Now I see him ! . . . Long 
 live General Landaburo! . . . Let us embrace. . . ." 
 
 And he advanced his arm to put it around the neck of Doctor 
 Miranda. 
 
 " But how cold it is, General, in this cursed wilderness. . . . 
 My feet are frozen. Bring me my cloak, orderly. ... I feel 
 the cold already creeping up my knees. . . . Now I feel it as 
 high as my belt. . . . General Landaburo, let us take a stiff 
 drink. . . . Now I can see nothing at all," continued Socarraz, 
 passing his hand over his eyes. . . . " General Landaburo, what 
 is this? Is it the fog of the wilderness? ... It is an easy 
 thing, when on the march, to take this height. . . . Let us go 
 for them there. . . . Although they seem to hide in the fog. 
 Damnation! Higher up, boys! . . . What a tremendous hill 
 to climb! ... I am strangled, but higher up . . ." 
 
 And one could hear his effort to breathe. His breathing be- 
 came stertorous. His throat rattled. 
 
 " It means death," said Alejandro. 
 
 " It is the end of all," added Roberto, anxiously. " I feel as 
 if I myself were suffocating." 
 
 The Scorpion had dropped on his back. His arms lay flat 
 against his body. He turned his face to one side and the other. 
 An attack of suffocation seized him. Doctor Miranda put his 
 arm around his shoulder, helped him up, moistened his lips, 
 and wiped his forehead, which was covered with clammy per- 
 spiration. 
 
 " Escipion, do you hear me? Have you your senses about 
 
444 PAX 
 
 you ? Never mind those delusions. You are not in action, you 
 are here, on the point of death. You have but a breath of life 
 left . . . and your eternal fate is to be decided." 
 
 Socarraz, who had again dropped his head, suddenly raised 
 himself, opened his glassy eyes which looked without seeing, and 
 in which a frightful emptiness was to be noticed. He gazed 
 all around him. Then it seemed that he struggled to give him- 
 self account of his situation. He extended his hand, which 
 Doctor Miranda took and pressed affectionately. 
 
 " Socarraz, give me a sign . . . that will be enough. Do you 
 repent? " 
 
 " Who is it? " asked Socarraz. " Ah, yes. It is the priest, 
 the black bird! " 
 
 He drew some air into his lungs. 
 
 " Away with you, vulture! " he then shouted. " There is no 
 one dying here as yet." 
 
 With a nervous, repelling gesture he threw himself near the 
 edge of the bed, while he muttered incoherent phrases. 
 
 The hurricane was now completely unchained. Rain gusts 
 pounded against the walls. The strong wind whistled in the 
 chinks of the windows, shrieked lugubriously in the corridors of 
 the building, roared and tore at the trees in the garden outside, 
 and shook the doors with a frightful noise. A livid light 
 suddenly filled the dormitory, and painted the faces of the pa- 
 tients a greenish hue. The latter crawled out of their beds, 
 and with cries of fear threw themselves at the foot of the cru- 
 cifix. A terrific flash of lightning shook the whole edifice to 
 its foundations, with a tearing sound as though everything had 
 been crushed to powder. 
 
 Socarraz raised himself once more, took breath, with a strange 
 guttural noise, and before collapsing forever, he shouted with 
 unexpected vigor: 
 
 "How well the cannons work! . . . They are already re- 
 treating ! . . . Let us take them prisoner ! . . . We win the bat- 
 tle! ... Long live the Revolution! . . . Cursed be my soul! " 
 
UNDER THE SHADOW OF THE CROSS 445 
 CHAPTER XXXIX 
 
 UNDER THE SHADOW OF THE CROSS 
 
 MAKING use of old maps and plans, of geological samples and 
 verbal information, the General of bridges and highways made 
 out a detailed plan of the region which, according to Roberto, 
 was menaced by Cardoso, without there being missing a single 
 stone, nor even a tree. But in these said plans there was no 
 mention whatever of either that famous gap in the mountains 
 nor of the wilderness of Aguila. But then, he said, there was 
 no danger threatening from that side. A few words in cipher 
 and the delirious drivelings of a dying man were not sufficient 
 reason for preparing a difficult campaign, nor for summoning 
 the different divisions of the army which for the most part were 
 at the coast or in the Tolima plains. But, just when nobody 
 expected it in the least, news came to Bogota that Cardoso was 
 marching rapidly with a considerable army towards the capital, 
 coming by way of the wilderness. 
 
 General Ronderos, only partially recovered from his physical 
 ailments, started in great haste with the only forces there were in 
 Bogota, met Cardoso in the wilderness, at a point called Pan 
 de Azucar (Sugar Loaf), one day's march from the Capital, 
 defeated him and forced him to withdraw to the Wilderness of 
 Aguila, whence he had come. But once there, in the formidable 
 positions of Cabrera, and by way of the Gap of Aguila maintain- 
 ing his communications with the prairie country, from which he 
 constantly drew his required provisions, Cardoso fortified him- 
 self, beating back the attacks of the brave soldiers of Ronderos. 
 
 The panic and the disheartenment of the Government and its 
 friends which set in with the appearance of Cardoso and with 
 the subsequent inability of Ronderos' troops to take the enemy 
 trenches, were extraordinary. Dona Aura ordered a banquet to 
 be made ready at the Bicontinental in order to receive her tri- 
 umphant husband in worthy fashion. Soon there was talk of 
 commissioners of peace, of compromises, of politico-military 
 conventions. The big voice of Gonzalez Mogollon made itself 
 heard those days with much bustle and deafening tenacity. 
 And he kept up a ceaseless journey between the government 
 
446 PAX 
 
 palace and the house of Dona Aura by coach and auto, Gonzalez 
 conferring with her as to the bases of understanding for a gen- 
 eral peace by agreement, which the spouse of the poetess would 
 have to confirm later. Alcon had a moment of supreme happi- 
 ness. For he considered himself the arbiter of the situation, 
 and he believed he would be able to flaunt the striped ribbon 
 across his chest by attending skilfully to these arrangements, 
 that " revaluation of ideals " of which Landaburo had been 
 speaking. 
 
 But contrary opinions prevailed, overcoming " good " feel- 
 ing; bursts of resolution and energy succeeded fear. The immi- 
 nence of the peril brought out resources, raised armies, fired 
 enthusiasms, and restored the weakened will power of the friends 
 of the Government. Alejandro, who retained his post as chief 
 of staff of the army of Ronderos, stayed on in Bogota to hasten 
 the departure of the various divisions. One morning, with a 
 steady rain pouring down, he was watching the embarkation of 
 those troops with whom he was to start himself. The Grena- 
 diers, with their immense brigade and their long Yamagata-100 
 guns, arrived, ready to depart. The elite troop silently occu- 
 pied their train in perfect order. Producing a tremendous echo 
 within the surrounding tall edifices, the drums of the Milan Gil 
 battalion, hoarse and out of tune from the constant rainy 
 weather, resounded nevertheless with great force. The battalion 
 owed its new name to the mysterious disappearance of its former 
 commander. The flag, which was thoroughly soaked with 
 rain, now showed near its point two black ribbons that fell 
 mournfully down the length of the staff. With music, shout- 
 ing and a cheerful noise the Palmares division next presented 
 itself, under the lead of its second commander, because the first 
 one, Casanova, was still at the hospital. But suddenly a de- 
 tachment of invalids, emaciated and pale, came marching out of 
 the mouth of a side street. There came Casanova, with his 
 sword carried in his left hand. The right sleeve, proclaiming 
 the loss of his limb, hung down his thin body. 
 
 " General," he said, addressing himself to Alejandro, and in a 
 voice still rather feeble, " these boys will not fight without me. 
 Now that, thanks to you, they have made me a general, I have to 
 show my little stars." 
 
 Bells are ringing. The first stroke is for attention. The 
 
UNDER THE SHADOW OF THE CROSS 447 
 
 engine whistles again and again. Then, with creaking of 
 chains, the train begins to run slowly. The raindrops slapped 
 against the panes. The train bell gave forth melancholy notes 
 that were scattered throughout the deserted country side. 
 
 " Do you hear? " said Roberto. " It is the funeral knell toll- 
 ing for all those unfortunates who are carried off to the slaugh- 
 ter." 
 
 A short distance after their start they saw on one side the 
 race-course. The center of the wide space was covered with 
 wild grass and weeds; the track itself had sunk, the grandstand 
 and boxes had become ruins. When they had passed on a 
 little farther Roberto made out, in the thick, milky air, a country 
 house by the way, that of Bellegarde. 
 
 " It is a year ago that the unfortunate man was talking to us, 
 at Ubaque, of his impending journey. He did not know then 
 what journey he was soon to start on." 
 
 He.re and there, along the route, they noticed on a number of 
 houses the English flag or the Italian flag, and on the walls 
 flaming inscriptions : " English Property, Gacharnah Broth- 
 ers " " Italian Property, Fratelli Malatesta." 
 
 " Rhadames and the commission merchant," said Roberto, 
 " are successfully cultivating the branch of foreign reclamations. 
 Each chicken taken from those foreign pieces of property for the 
 use of the army, they make the Government pay for as though 
 it were the Phoenix itself. And when the honied voice of the 
 reclamationists is not heeded at once, their guns begin to speak." 
 
 They had to wait for detachments of recently enrolled recruits. 
 These came accompanied by their wives, sisters and mothers. 
 The poor fellows had to march between a double row of soldiers. 
 They all brought food along in large baskets, especially fowl of 
 various kinds. All their faces revealed deep distress, resigna- 
 tion or else a brutish indifference, the air of him who is accus- 
 tomed to suffer, and submits without resistance to the inevitable. 
 
 From amongst the women who remained in the road there 
 came sobs, and half suppressed moans. After the recruits had 
 entered the train and the engine began to move, there was a gen- 
 eral outburst of plaints and tears. Some distance away Roberto, 
 full of compassion for these poor people, heard the weeping of 
 an old woman, who had stopped in the middle of the road, 
 erect, grave, allowing tears to run down all over her fretted 
 
448 PAX 
 
 cheeks. The bell, as the train pulled out of the station, went on 
 ringing steadily, and it continued as long as the road lay through 
 the plains. But at last the train set up a piercing whistling, 
 the brakes creaked, and the engine stopped. The trumpets 
 sounded, and the troops aboard got out. 
 
 The rain ceased, but the marching path was thoroughly 
 soaked, and the soldiers marched along in mire. From afar 
 came the thundering noise of the torrents rushing along through 
 the bamboo jungles on the hills. 
 
 The Sisters of Charity marched along, accompanied by Doc- 
 tor Miranda. Seeing Sister San Ligorio among them, Alejan- 
 dro was convinced that only a miracle of will power, a miracle 
 of divine love, could enable her to remain, on her feet and resist 
 all the privations and hardships of a campaign like this: such 
 were her pallor and physical exhaustion. She seemed a spirit 
 already freed from its mortal coil. Alejandro bowed his head, 
 filled with respect and veneration. And she directed another 
 of those strange glances at him, grave and affectionkte at the 
 same time, by which she seemed to invite him to listen to the 
 secret voice that called in his heart, to devote his life to peni- 
 tence, to take the road of the cross marked by herself, the 
 road to Heaven. 
 
 On a horse covered with foam and utterly exhausted, his 
 flanks rising and falling from exertion, an adjutant of General 
 Ronderos who came direct from his camp, presented himself. 
 
 In Pan de Azucar there had been most determined fighting. 
 Cardoso, dislodged from one place, was defending his new 
 quarters palm tree by palm tree, and had erected fortifications 
 in La Cabrera, where he was enlarging his army with those 
 guerilleros whose bands had been defeated before and who were 
 now flocking to him. But there were also daily partizans of 
 Cardoso arriving from Bogota. After several times being 
 beaten back by Cardoso's men entrenched in strong positions, 
 Ronderos did not intend to make new attacks until he should 
 have received sufficient reenforcements from Bogota. His army 
 lacked everything: muntions, food, and shelter. Many per- 
 ished from hunger and cold. The wilderness was infested by 
 guerrilla forces who interfered greatly with communications. 
 That night, therefore, the new reenforcements were to camp at 
 Pan de Azucar, and the day following the Grenadiers were to 
 
UNDER THE SHADOW OF THE CROSS 449 
 
 proceed thither in aid of Ronderos, since their guns were abso- 
 lutely needed for the destruction of the mud walls and houses 
 at La Cabrera. Roberto was to stay in Pan de Azucar, in order 
 to direct and guard the reenforcements, the munition trains and 
 the provisions, and also to cover the march of the rearguard. 
 
 " The General has also charged me," concluded the adjutant, 
 " to show you this letter, taken from a postal messenger of the 
 enemy who fell into our hands. The letter is from General 
 Landaburo to his friend and confidant Vidaurre." 
 
 The letter read as follows: 
 
 " Nobody can attribute any of the disasters that the revolutionary 
 party has met with to me. They are due to the criminal inactivity, the 
 deep enviousness, and the low ambition of Polanco, to the rapacity of 
 Socarraz, the imbecility of Neron Jaspe, the cowardice of Largacha, to 
 the stupidity and laziness of Nichols; the latter being, however, nothing 
 compared to those of Tubalcain Cardoso, he having declared himself 
 chief of the Revaluation party and director of the war. He is ill-fitted 
 for that post, who lives shivering in those wildernesses day and night, 
 who has no constancy for anything except his plunder, and who for that 
 sole reason will be up watching all night. He is a cipher, spelling that 
 word with a big C, unable to plan anything, and incapable of executing 
 it when conceived. He is chaste and pure, that one also, fond of low- 
 lived singers and of smutty stories. His greatest vice, however, is his 
 habit of taking snuff, which is a vice of the Jesuits. To his craving for 
 rule and his incapacity the defeat of La Chorrera was due; but that de- 
 feat was an advantage to the country, because success in that battle 
 would have meant the presidency of Cardoso, which would have been 
 something like the government and presidency of Ravachol in France. 
 
 " How much more preferable are the vicious chiefs, when they know 
 how to win victories, to those masquerade-heroes who play the ascetics. 
 Many believe and I belong to their number that the failure of the 
 Revaluation movement is not so much due to the inability of its chiefs, 
 but rather to their excessive virtues. Our Bogota friends must know 
 what type of man this Cardoso is. Many compare him to Bazaine. They 
 should know, too, the shout of my soldiers when, gallant and proud, I 
 stride in front of them in my white uniform, on my war horse. A wave 
 of enthusiasm runs 'through them at such a moment. For one I have a 
 smile, for another a word of encouragement, and for them all the prestige 
 of glory and valor. And then the sublime shout will rend the air: 
 ' Long life to our leader Landaburo ! . . . Look at this, my brave boys ! 
 . . . Where our general puts his foot nobody else can find room ! ' But 
 nothing of all this gives me pleasure. In fact, I am indifferent to it. 
 Worse, it humiliates me, it outrages me, it ages me, the idea, I mean, 
 that a Tubalcain Cardoso should be preferred to me. And it is for that 
 reason that I consider myself expelled and proscribed by the Revalua- 
 tion Party, pursued by invidious suspicions and calumnies. Of all parties 
 
450 PAX 
 
 either known or yet to be known it is the one harboring the lowest kinds 
 of passions, the most ignoble instincts, the most nefarious and the most 
 villainous purposes. I turn my back on it and abjure herewith a cause 
 which rewards its heroes and defenders as this one does. 
 
 " Indeed, I am thinking of establishing myself in foreign parts and 
 founding a commission house. You who have such a talent for business, 
 will be glad to get me a goodly number of customers. I trust it will be 
 one from the ranks of the Constitutionalists, because customers from the 
 ranks of the Revaluation party do not inspire me with confidence. 
 
 " The house of Gacharnah Brothers must have an account in my favor, 
 the remainder of the last coffee they exported, which may be paid in 
 gold, and one from the bill of exchange which was bought at Calamar. 
 As the remittances, the letters and the account are in your own name, it 
 is necessary that you let friend Gacharnah know discreetly about all this, 
 so he will not forget it. 
 
 " Since my exile I see the triumph of my ideas everywhere, because 
 ideas do not die, do not change, do not spend themselves, and do not 
 grow old; in the end they always conquer. Against them bullets do not 
 prevail, nor chains or instruments of torture, nor jails. That which mar- 
 tyrdom could not achieve, has been obtained by indifference, a smile, 
 disdain, a shrug of the shoulders, old boy. 
 
 " I am speaking, for instance, of my ideas of peace, because the use of 
 arms, of violence, of any illegal means whatsoever, is the language and 
 the clearest sign of our barbarism, of unreason and of injustice. 
 
 " War is a crime ! And to those who might tell me that these have not 
 always been my convictions I shall answer, amongst other things, by 
 means of my speeches at El Consuelo and at the Bicontinental which 
 represent my definite and free confession of faith as my patriotic con- 
 science dictates it. 
 
 " To these eloquent words I want to add to-day those which follow, 
 in order to support with my authority as a revolutionist those of another 
 American equally famous as a man of peace. ' We have lost the way,' 
 said George Washington. We must suppose that the convolutions and 
 the silences of privileged brains, of the highest type of intellect, of the 
 great characters who have ever arrived at the summit of their ideals, will 
 never be understood by mere negation, dulness and scheming. From that 
 greatest height, therefore, I return as the enemy of all slaughter, of all 
 revolution, and the friend and apostle of peace and evolution. 
 
 " After all, I have abjured but one single letter : R. 
 
 " F. LANDABURO." 
 
 "Praised be God! " exclaimed Roberto. "We have in the 
 person of friend Landaburo the scatterer of armies, the most 
 powerful ally. But it is necessary to get him moving. . . . Let 
 us see ... Casanova ... a man of intelligence, a postal mes- 
 senger . . . send this autograph letter to Cardoso . . . here we 
 can keep a copy of it." 
 
UNDER THE SHADOW OF THE CROSS 451 
 
 " It would be better to consider this a little ... to fore- 
 see . . ." 
 
 " No, no! We will foresee nothing. You know that I pro- 
 fess the religion of chance. It is needful to let things come as 
 they will. . . . Only God knows what will yet happen ! Let us 
 go on! Onwards! . . . Let us only hurry on through the re- 
 cesses of the wilderness." 
 
 They mounted their horses, placed advance posts, and started 
 on their road in silence. The trot of the horses sounded hollow, 
 and there was a depressing monotony among the pools of stag- 
 nant water and the muddy roads. 
 
 " How are those paths of the wilderness really going to be? " 
 suggested Doctor Miranda, riding at Alejandro's side. Alejan- 
 dro was given up to his thoughts, still under the profound and 
 wholesome emotion which Sister San Ligorio had kindled in his 
 soul. 
 
 They followed the vehicles in a silence which was broken only 
 by the clanking of the harness and the champing of the horses, 
 and they advanced at a great rate, although the implacable rain 
 whipped their faces and wetted their clothes thoroughly. On 
 one side there were the fogs of the mountains, on the other the 
 prairie country, which lay under a mist of uniform gray. 
 Within the circle which the horizon described, there were visible 
 blackish masses of trees, or else the white outlines of some hut 
 or house. Along the steep paths trickled thin rills of water 
 downwards; the soil looked black, the rocks, the gullies shining 
 with rain. Some cattle, grazing on the moist grassy slope, 
 showed fear on the approach of the riders. The alder trees let 
 their branches droop, like moistened plumage. For short inter- 
 vals the rain ceased, and then the atmosphere became bright and 
 clear; the colors of everything stood out brilliantly, and the foli- 
 age showed a vivid green; the hillsides brightened too, until a 
 new shower poured down, and then the whole scene changed 
 once more, and the air turned thick and murky. In the center 
 of the wide plain the smoke of one small hut rose, tried to rise 
 straight, then flattened out and lost itself in the dusky surround- 
 ings. 
 
 " Roberto," said Alejandro at last, breaking in on the long 
 silence, " you vainly attempt to hide from me your annoyance 
 and your bitter temper. You have reason to feel that way, I 
 
452 PAX 
 
 admit. What more do you want? I have not forgotten that 
 you were in Curasao, that you have faced the dangers of the 
 sea, tempests and great fires. You have covered a thousand 
 leagues, and have not yet come to the end of your journey. It 
 is as though you were borne along by an inexorable fatality. 
 Let us submit, without grumbling, to our fate. We were born 
 for peace and for the finer appreciation of intelligence. Our 
 real destiny, as poor Bellegarde used to say, should have been 
 art. And yet we are forced to live in constant sight of vio- 
 lence, midst filth and mud, amidst the brutalities of war. We 
 are, in a word, Colombians. I also know," he went on, alter- 
 ing his tone, " not through you, from the laughter of Aunt Te- 
 resa and the tears of Aunt Ana, that the great desire of both of 
 them is going at last to be fulfilled. And despite your bad 
 fortune you are going to be happy yet, because our happiness is 
 not bound up in this fortune. But I am waiting for our speedy 
 return, and then . . . you will grant me a nook in your house." 
 
 Along the whole length of the road, as far as eye could reach, 
 the marching battalions could be made out in the murky atmos- 
 phere. The advance guard was already gasping up the steep 
 rise of ground, and could be seen on its tortuous path, winding 
 upwards in a snake-like coil. 
 
 The priest and the two friends were making their way along 
 the right-hand side, now climbing up a thorny crest, and their 
 horses found difficulty in their upward toil over the chalky soil. 
 The strong wind blowing down from the range, lashed and tore 
 at the manes of the horses and whistled in the ears of the trav- 
 elers. Then again the downpour ceased, and they left the path 
 and began to penetrate into an immensity of huge rocks, which 
 rose like so many skeletons. Alejandro threw his glance to- 
 ward the summit, searching something, and saw far in advance, 
 between the marching battalions, appearing and disappearing 
 in the turns of the road, the white hoods of the Sisters of 
 Charity. 
 
 " They are the ermine," said Doctor Miranda, divining Ale- 
 jandro's reflections, " which no muddy roads, of which you 
 spoke but a moment ago, can soil, the white relief amidst the 
 shadows, gentleness and sweetness amidst utmost brutality, gen- 
 erosity amidst egotism, the holocaust, the sacrifice, asking par- 
 don for so much blood poured out needlessly." 
 
UNDER THE SHADOW OF THE CROSS 453 
 
 They crossed a break in the mountain path, and began to 
 climb down between rocks over a deep path, the bed of a tor- 
 rent. Then they entered a different territory: gullies without 
 any vegetation whatever, in which the stone showed ruddy 
 tints, slopes which seemed like backs bared to the storm. 
 
 The horses had to descend long, slippery and difficult paths. 
 When they finally reached the bottom, they had to begin the 
 climb up another hill. 
 
 After a rough ascent they found themselves on the top of a 
 brow covered with large flat stones, through which they made 
 their way along a twisted narrow path, between brambles and 
 thorns. The noise of an invisible torrent accompanied them, 
 and the noise grew as they went down farther, owing to the 
 rains. Now the noise increases, and a dark whirlpool comes in 
 sight. There is an immense bowl of stone, and out of it the 
 water is escaping and inundating the path, whence it again 
 escapes in cascades, only to pour down into a profound cavern. 
 A group of ferns rears its trembling leaves above it all. 
 
 They were still ascending. Then they turned into a dark 
 and narrow path densely covered with thistles, tall reeds and 
 ferns, the spongy soil below grew thorns and blackberry bushes. 
 Onwards they went between bushes misshapen and half with- 
 ered, their branches covered with gray mosses and silvery scales, 
 from which water was dripping from the recent rain. This 
 vegetation, which the glacial winds never allowed to flourish, 
 struggling along on an arid and sapless soil, was hostile to man, 
 and was covered with thorns, sharp spines, and needle-like 
 hooks. 
 
 Thus they arrived on a high crest. The small summit was 
 cleft and scarcely allowed a foothold. They turned their horses, 
 and with emotion saw far down the boundless prairie, a huge 
 level space which stretched out from one end of the horizon to 
 the other, until at the farthest confines of it hazy fog veiled the 
 view. Divided by great distances, dense masses of trees behind 
 which the small buildings were hidden, showed the spots where 
 small villages were situated. Between the foliage, here and 
 there, some white clock tower would peep out. The silver rib- 
 bon of the river, flashing out at some points, could be traced, 
 flowing slowly, as though asleep. Its course was hard to follow 
 with the eye, because it went in curious curves, bending and 
 
454 PAX 
 
 describing almost perfect circles, then proceeding again a short 
 distance, only to retrace its path again and again, right across 
 the smooth meadow lands. 
 
 Roberto, mute and broken in spirit, indifferent to all, now 
 gave spurs to his horse, turned once more, and diving amidst the 
 ferns and dry plants, stopped at the brink of the canyon. He 
 looked out over the vast plain below, crossed with his thought 
 the intervening space, and there, behind the nebulous and swim- 
 ming horizon, sought the city, his house, the shelter, the comfort 
 of his home ; saw in his mind his beloved mother, with her sad 
 look, which, the last time he had seen her, had only cleared up 
 in a slight smile when she had been told of the silent agree- 
 ment between the two cousins. The white, dreamy face of Ines, 
 too, came before his eyes. Then, as if torn away from these 
 dreams in spite of himself, he tried to make out along the van- 
 ishing line of the range of mountains, far away, the road to 
 Honda, . . . and he felt as though those large black eyes were 
 resting upon him, full of passion and fire. 
 
 " What are you thinking of, Roberto? " shouted Alejandro. 
 
 "I? Of what? . . ." 
 
 He bruskly tore himself away from his thoughts, and moved 
 his head as if awakening. 
 
 " Are you sad? . . . What was it you were thinking of? " 
 
 " Well, yes, ... I felt sad," he said, changing his expres- 
 sion. " Sad because of General Karlonoff's wound. Don't 
 they believe it? A mortal wound." 
 
 "Wounded? Poor fellow! " said Doctor Miranda. 
 
 "How, wounded?" replied Alejandro. "If he has never 
 been in battle ... he will never get a bullet in his chest nor 
 profit from the services of Agiieros." 
 
 " Yes, wounded. ... Do you remember how strongly he de- 
 fended his plan of campaign? Well, we are doing everything 
 exactly contrary. The great tactician is wounded, wounded with 
 a deadly wound, to his self-love." 
 
 They all laughed, then took a drink. Then they rode off in 
 the opposite direction, spurred their beasts, and again started on 
 the road towards the wilderness, now near. They left behind 
 the bushes, and came to a new region, more exposed, more deso- 
 late, where above the black soil of the slopes only dry weeds 
 could flourish, rosettes resembling handfuls of knives, huge 
 
UNDER THE SHADOW OF THE CROSS 455 
 
 leaves formed like saws, withered ferns, showing a grayish tint, 
 which under the horses' hoofs gave forth a metallic sound. 
 
 They advanced rapidly. But as they advanced the wind be- 
 came keener and keener, penetrating them to the bone. 
 
 The wilderness opened before them with its aspect of desola- 
 tion, of nakedness, of misery. The mist which rose from the 
 ground, alternately veiled and disclosed the interminable spaces 
 thickly covered with weeds of a sickly yellow, in shape looking 
 like never-ending flocks of sheep. The wind brought from 
 time to time the rushing sound of a torrent which in leaps and 
 cascades roared through the tall cane-brakes with a dull thunder. 
 There came to their ears strains of a saddening harmony which 
 grew or diminished in volume, was gone and again returned. 
 
 They arrived at a pile of rocks, whence the torrent escaped, 
 and then they, began to descend the slope in the direction of the 
 cascade. 
 
 Alejandro strained his sight in search of something: on the 
 opposite side, already on the summit, in a rent of the fog, the 
 outlines of the Sisters were visible for one instant, and then it 
 was swallowed up again in the mysterious opaqueness, amidst 
 white drifts. 
 
 They came to the bottom of the cane-brake, and crossed the 
 mountain torrent, whence they began again to ascend. The 
 dense fog completely enwrapped them, forced them to rely on 
 their sense of touch, made them lose their way for moments. 
 
 "Alejandro! " 
 
 "Roberto!" 
 
 " Dear Miranda, are you there? " 
 
 Suddenly, up on the height, in the midst of the fog, a shot 
 was heard. Then another, and next a discharge en masse. 
 Several balls whistled by, while others struck the rock close at 
 hand. 
 
 "Casanova! Borrero! " Alejandro shouted in a voice of 
 thunder, and he dug his spurs into the flanks of his animal, 
 which sprang aside into the fern beds. 
 
 " Boys," he shouted again, " what does this mean? Is it an 
 ambush?" 
 
 " Ambush, no," replied Roberto, " there is nothing to hide in 
 here. . . . But still, it may be an attack in the wilderness . . ." 
 and he hastened away in pursuit of the enemy. 
 
456 PAX 
 
 Casanova and Borrero likewise went in pursuit, with his men 
 answering the firing, which seemed to come from above. A 
 salvo discharged upon those on the summit sufficed to drive 
 the aggressors away, and their shots now were lost in the dis- 
 tance. 
 
 "Doctor Miranda! . . . Where is Doctor Miranda?" 
 shouted an aide who was rushing his mule down the declivity. 
 
 " Here I am." 
 
 " Quick, come with me, Doctor. Take my mule, up, up ! 
 Quick! . . . Above there, on the plain, just at the end of the 
 hillside. . . ." 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 " Sister San Ligorio. . . ." 
 
 "The Sister. . . . Good God! ... But how? . . . How 
 has this happened? . . . Let us go! " 
 
 He climbed the steep slope, arrived at the top, gazed all about 
 him, and discovered some short distance away, swept by the icy 
 winds, a dilapidated house which with its clay walls, its thatched 
 roof, and with its shaky beams looked like a skeleton that had 
 broken through its covering of flesh. At the side of the little 
 house, springing out of the sterile earth, grew a number of 
 rustic lilies. In the patio of the hut, lying on the ground, rigid 
 in death, was Sister San Ligorio, in the arms of Sister Visita- 
 cion, who held her head in her lap. The eyes were closed, 
 the nose sharp, the lips ashen. Upon the face an expression of 
 placidity and sweetness had fixed itself with radiant immobility, 
 something like a peaceful smile during sleep. A red streak 
 was filtering out of the bfeast, was running down in front, and 
 was sucked in thirstily by the black powdery soil of the patio. 
 Doctor Miranda knelt down, questioned the other Sister with 
 his look, and began in a low and solemn voice to murmur the 
 prayers for the dying. 
 
 " Go forth from this world, thou Christian soul, in the name 
 of God, the omnipotent Father who created thee; in the name 
 of Jesus Christ, Son of the living God, who suffered for thee; 
 in the name of the Holy Ghost, who enriched thee with his 
 gifts . . ." 
 
 Alejandro, who had been in pursuit of the enemy, now re- 
 turned. 
 
UNDER THE SHADOW OF THE CROSS 457 
 
 "Miranda, are you there? . . . It was nothing. A small 
 guerilla band who took to their heels ..." 
 
 He shouted this to the priest from afar. 
 
 "Hurry, Sebastian! Night is coming on. ... But what is 
 the meaning of this? ... A Sister? . . . Who? . . . 
 Wounded?" 
 
 He came forward with his horse, then dismounted and took 
 several steps nearer, fixing his gaze upon the face of the dead. 
 Recognizing her and seeing the blood, the pallor of the face, he 
 was on the point of crying out and falling forward. But he 
 recovered himself, took a step backward, then bared his head, 
 bowed his body, and remained mute. 
 
 In the silence there was heard only the murmur of the priest, 
 who continued : 
 
 " We give thee back into the hands of Him whose creature 
 thou wert, so that after having undergone the sentence of death 
 pronounced against all men, thou mayest return to thy Cre- 
 ator . . ." 
 
 He saw far away a fragment of fog breaking loose from 
 the surrounding mass, which being driven overhead for an 
 instant mingled its white sheen with the snowy white of the 
 corpse, and then passed on afloat over the enormous waste 
 of the wilderness, spreading out an enormous shroud over 
 all. 
 
 Alejandro remained standing, mute, transfixed, motionless, 
 a prey to a feeling of stupefaction, surprise and bewilder- 
 ment. A deep sob shook him for a moment, but he con- 
 trolled it and hid it in the depths of his bosom. He stretched 
 out his arms, put his hands to his eyes, whence the tears 
 now began to fall, and then sank to his knees. 
 
 He was dominated by the startled consciousness of the super- 
 natural. Here, close to him, was being wrought the miracle 
 of the liberation of the soul, and he witnessed the passing away 
 of somebody to whom death was the better part of life. He be- 
 lieved that Berta de Mortemar, in taking the veil, had given 
 him a glance of farewell, a long and strange glance, impreg- 
 nated with gravity and tenderness, with which she now called 
 him to herself on high. And he felt that his existence was 
 bound by mysterious ties that were not to be broken, to the 
 
458 PAX 
 
 memory, the example of a sainted woman. And the mists 
 around him went on weaving a veil of mystery over the whole 
 saddening scene. The breeze that blew amongst the bushes 
 seemed laments, deep-drawn sighs. The voice of the priest, 
 which now and then was tinged with solemn inflexions, again 
 with enthusiasm, with mystic fervor, still continued: 
 
 " There issue forth the glorious angels' choirs to receive 
 thee; the apostles who are to judge thee, go to meet thee with 
 the triumphant host of martyrs. Thou art surrounded by the 
 shining throng of confessors, and thou art welcomed by the 
 radiant chorus of virgins. ..." 
 
 And those words which for the first time came to the ears of 
 Alejandro, fell like balm upon his despairing heart. He im- 
 agined he saw the angels on their winged flight through space, 
 carrying off the soul of this saint and bearing her in triumph 
 to a region of light, of eternal bliss, of infinite love ... a 
 region to which he, too, might follow her, imitating her. . . . 
 
 The spell which held him was broken by some diggers who 
 began to use their shovels, sounds which awakened a pain- 
 ful echo in his grieving soul. 
 
 "The grave!" 
 
 Then he heard the gentle voice of Sister Visitacion: 
 
 " Here. Bury her near the house! " 
 
 Alejandro rose, looked about him, stared with horror at the 
 brambles shooting up from the ground, at the mean little hut, 
 and then noticed the lilies not far away. 
 
 " No," he then said in a half -strangled voice, " here amongst 
 these lilies." 
 
 They all waited in silence. They stood erect, raised the 
 body, and placed it down in the grave. Doctor Miranda, in 
 a last appeal, with a voice broken by tears, but in which the 
 fervor of his faith was distinguishable, the fiery outburst ~oi 
 his trembling hope, said: 
 
 " Lord, into Thy hands I commit and to Thy compassion I 
 leave the soul of Thy handmaiden who, dead to the world, lives 
 in Thee through all eternity. 
 
 " May she rest in peace! " 
 
 Dead to the world! Thus, yes, thus Alejandro had seen 
 her since she had donned, like a virgin veil, the white hood of 
 the Sister. Dead to the world! But alive in God. For God 
 
UNDER THE SHADOW OF THE CROSS 459 
 
 had been her longing, His will and His law, and this it 
 was that had imprinted upon her countenance the seal of home- 
 sickness not curable here below, the sacred repose of hope, 
 and had given to her blue eyes that mysterious light, that un- 
 speakable fascination. 
 
 Doctor Miranda, standing near the grave, with his hands 
 raised to Heaven, blessed this last place of repose, and implored 
 as in a final farewell, eternal rest and eternal light for Sister San 
 Ligorio. 
 
 " May she rest in peace! " 
 
 They were about to throw a last shovelful of earth upon the 
 body below, but Alejandro stopped them, plucked instead an 
 armful of lilies, knelt down, bent over the pit, and then dropped 
 the blooming flowers over neck, bosom, arms and hands of the 
 slumbering dead. Then he gave a sign to the grave diggers, and 
 let the black earth fall upon the snowy linen, forehead, lilies, 
 over that body which not even at that instant lost its peculiar 
 seal of distinction, grandeur, and majesty. Alejandro made 
 next a tall cross out of branches, and imbedded it solidly in 
 the earth at the head of the grave. 
 
 " Now let us go," said Doctor Miranda, " since all has been 
 accomplished." 
 
 And all the others left, heads hanging low, and began to 
 climb a steep hill. 
 
 The priest approached his friend, who still lingered near the 
 grave, standing alone, with bare head, and mute. 
 
 " Let us go," he insisted gently, " let us go, Alejandro! " 
 
 But he, without turning his head, extended his arm silently, 
 pointed to the road. 
 
 The priest went off slowly. On attaining the top of the 
 height, he once more turned his head, and saw Alejandro kneel- 
 ing, bent over the grave ... at the foot of the cross. By 
 the movement of his shoulders the priest saw that his friend 
 was shaken by interminable sobs. 
 
 They then went into the dense mists as into a floating 
 shroud. But at last, late in the afternoon, the rising wind 
 swept the fog away. 
 
 The sun went down. It was a wintry sunset, veiled some- 
 times by ragged clouds, then the firmament was bathed in 
 light, leaving the wide extent of the landscape in dark shade. 
 
460 PAX 
 
 The outlines of the various slopes remain in the east piled one 
 upon another, with long spots of faint purple. 
 
 A cold breath runs through the meadows, a shiver presaging 
 the night. The last ray of the sun, piercing the dark brown 
 of the west, draws at random a fillet of light upon the leaden 
 background, and crosses the space covered with vapors, bathing 
 in melancholy mood the summits of the slopes, kissing its rim 
 with a golden shimmer, enlarging the shadow of the cross, which 
 it traces upon the naked earth, and is lost in the depths only 
 to reappear on the next slope, fantastically dilating in the lone- 
 some landscape of the wilderness. 
 
 The army continued its march in the light of the moon, and 
 about midnight arrived at Pan de Azucar, only two leagues 
 distant from the camp of Ronderos. 
 
 " I must give these poor fellows a bit of food and rest," said 
 Roberto, walking towards a tent in company of Doctor Mi- 
 randa. 
 
 " And to-morrow, or rather to-day," continued the priest, 
 looking at his watch in the light of a camp fire, " we must hear 
 mass." 
 
 " Oh, yes," replied Roberto, with a sad smile. " Happy 
 New Year!" 
 
 The swift trot of a horse, its snorting audible some distance 
 away, the clanking of spurs, . . it is Alejandro. 
 
 And Roberto read in the brooding expression of the face, 
 the crisis that had come to his friend, the renewal of his 
 being. He read the mystic atavism of the race that was 
 triumphing. He remembered the seal of irrevocable sadness, 
 of saintly resignation which marked the face of his own mother. 
 
 He then comprehended with the divining power of affection 
 that Alejandro wished to remain alone with the priest. He 
 therefore left and went to give directions for the field mass 
 with which the New Year was to be greeted. 
 
 Soon after, dawn began to throw faint lights upon the wide 
 extent of the wilderness: a half-light that was equally dis- 
 tributed and reposeful, perceivable as though from behind a 
 curtain, coming down to illuminate vaguely the sickly vegeta- 
 tion, the fanlike branches of the huge ferns, the shaggy leaves 
 of the weeds, the handfuls of straw, the icy solitude. 
 
UNDER THE SHADOW OF THE CROSS 461 
 
 The whole landscape was now softly illuminated. In the 
 zenith the curtain was beginning to part, and the pieces of 
 mist falling in a slow shower towards the soil, were unfolded 
 and broken up in their flight toward the horizon, letting the 
 azure of the upper sky peer through the rents. In the fore- 
 ground were appearing, in an immense picture, the serried 
 ranks of the battalions. Farther away, the white row of 
 tents appeared, and here and there, pillars of smoke were rising 
 straight in the still air of the early dawn. 
 
 The divisions were forming at the foot of a slope, upon 
 which a scaffold had been erected. There an altar, on the 
 right of it a stand of flags, and above them, a great cross 
 made of branches. 
 
 At intervals, tall, erect, fringed in gold, the flags. The one 
 of the Milan battalion bore funereal ribbons. The icy wind 
 of dawn shook them. The black ribbons emitted a slight noise 
 as though of fatigue, a dull moan, and again fell along the 
 flagstaff. The sun and the cold, the storms and rains, the air 
 of a hundred combats had taken away the luster of the colors, 
 merged the originally bright hues. But the flags themselves 
 were still there straight and proud, as symbols of faith, of 
 enthusiasm, of indomitable valor. 
 
 Upon the altar shone the cover and the white color of the 
 missal whose leaves the wind was fluttering rapidly. On the 
 other side there were visible two smoky fires whose dying 
 flames were trembling in the keen air. The chasuble was 
 folded in straight, rigid folds, and the satin of it crinkled, 
 showing dimly a crown of thorns on the back of the priest that 
 wore it. Standing close by him a soldier had lifted up a 
 huge baldachin crowned by a silver cross. 
 
 The mass begins. The military band breaks the silence, 
 with a march that scatters its notes far and wide. The whole 
 army forms but one shadowy patch on the scene. In the im- 
 mense ensemble there are no single faces to be noticed, but 
 merely the total mass, the colossal pile of gleaming bayonets. 
 
 At the lifting of the host the little bell sounds feebly, and 
 its tinkling is lost in the wide space. A tremendous roll of 
 the drums in the center is answered by another similar one 
 farther away, and so, from battalion to battalion, like a sue- 
 
462 PAX 
 
 cession of echoes, the stirring tune is repeated. Later there 
 mingle with it the clear notes of the trumpets, the chords of 
 martial strains on all instruments together. 
 
 The soldiers present arms at a given signal, and as if the 
 territory itself were hiding in sections, suddenly a number of 
 battalions bend down below the level of others, the flags are 
 raised in the morning wind, flutter, and seem to embody the 
 faith of the whole army, prostrate on its knees, for in the 
 hands of the priest is at this moment raised the host. 
 
 Dissonant flourishes, martial disharmonies, increase the tur- 
 moil with their strident notes, cross and recross, confound each 
 other, and at last melt into one tremendous triumph of sound. 
 
 Roberto, who assisted at the mass, broke out in the confiteor, 
 and Alejandro came forth from out of the center of the army, 
 and with hands joined passed through the midst of the soldiers, 
 who on seeing their commander, pale, emaciated, consumed by 
 a strange grief, observed him with surprise, with respect, 
 with affection. On arriving at the altar, Alejandro bent low 
 and then prostrated himself. The ministering priest advanced, 
 gave communion to Roberto, and seeing how Alejandro now 
 crowned that conversion for which he had hoped for so long, a 
 sentiment of saintly exultation, of tenderness moved him deeply, 
 stirred him to the innermost heart. 
 
 His voice, in presenting the host, became veiled. Alejandro 
 raised his head, sent his gaze, as the evening before, searchingly 
 heavenwards, as though following a track, a path traced up 
 there for him to see. Then he fastened his eyes upon the 
 enormous cross fashioned of branches, and as at that same in- 
 stant the sun issued piercingly, it appeared to be the cross it- 
 self which lighted up with its waves of splendor the whole 
 landscape, as though it spread brilliant rays over the world. 
 That light of dawn, so new and smiling, bathed Alejandro's 
 face, which expressed adoration, sanctified anguish, satisfied 
 love, even love superhuman. 
 
 Doctor Miranda could not contain himself any longer, but 
 let his tears run unrestrainedly down his cheeks. A pro- 
 found emotion, the fever of enthusiasm, the contagion of exalta- 
 tion ran through the ranks, shook the army from end to end, 
 and deep sobs were heard, singly at first, then multiplying, 
 so that they drowned the words of the officiating priest, who felt 
 
PAX 463 
 
 vibrating within him the piety of the priest, the fire of the 
 apostle, the serene affection of the friend. 
 
 " The body of our Lord Jesus Christ guard thy soul for 
 eternal life! 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 PAX 
 
 " I HAVE this humble auto-apotheosis of yours, General and 
 Doctor Landaburo, which has accidentally fallen into my 
 hands, and which I take the liberty of returning to yours," 
 said Tubalcain Cardoso, handing him the letter intercepted 
 and restored by Roberto. 
 
 Cardoso was a man of feeble physique, nervous, restless, yel- 
 low complexioned, with eyes that glowed like live coal. He 
 seemed to be devoured by an inner fire, and frequently made a 
 gesture as though he had swallowed bitter saliva. His fea- 
 tures were those of a typical fanatic, of an apostle of destruc- 
 tion, of a furibund demagogue. When he now began to speak, 
 he controlled his irritation with difficulty. 
 
 Landaburo was at the time dictating simultaneously to four 
 of his aides, and these, despite the intense cold, managed to lift 
 their voices to the provisional president with whom fate had 
 joined them. 
 
 Seeing the attitude of Cardoso, they left the apartment, in 
 order to summon a number of Landaburo's friends, fearing a 
 complete disagreement and, perhaps, a violent scene between the 
 two leaders. 
 
 " I can understand, General," answered Landaburo, without 
 losing his calmness, " that you feel mortified at the conflict 
 of authority that has arisen between us. But all that may be 
 smoothed over. We can have a grand review during which we 
 two might embrace in front of the whole army, and after- 
 wards I might issue a proclamation containing a grand eulogy 
 of yourself. Later, I could name you minister of war, in 
 charge of the office of secretary of finance, so as to entrust to 
 you the management of the public funds. ... I have learnt 
 
464 PAX 
 
 that you have compared my war exactions to those of Francis I 
 and of Caesar." 
 
 " I have indeed compared them with both," said Cardoso, 
 " because after your numberless defeats you might exclaim 
 with the one: ' All is lost save the baggage,' and with Caesar, 
 ' I came, I saw, and I provisioned myself anew.' And as for 
 your nomination, I decline the honor. Men who have no ideals, 
 nor fixed political belief, who accommodate their principles 
 to circumstances, who have neither faith nor flag, may become 
 useful as heads of commission houses, but not of a cause, nor 
 of an army . . . no, indeed." 
 
 As he spoke, giving vent to his wrath, he became calm once 
 more, recovered his serenity; the guerilla chief disappeared, and 
 the philosopher and apostle by conviction came to the surface. 
 
 " What if I am an anarchist ! " he went on. " Those are 
 my principles, and I have professed them with undying faith 
 for the past forty years. The great French Revolution stopped 
 midway on the road leading to redemption. The Rights of 
 Man remained thus only half developed, without guarantee 
 or protection. I had seen in you, General Landaburo, an 
 efficient collaborator, active and enthusiastic. Your speech 
 at the Bicontinental was for me a revelation, a hope and a 
 counsel, because it made me regard you as my comrade who 
 would help me in the extermination of law-trammeled society, 
 in the fair distribution of all wealth. And let me tell you, 
 General and Doctor, I have not yet lost that hope." 
 
 Outside of the shop in which the two chiefs were talking, 
 voices began to be heard: it was a perfect fermentation of 
 sedition and mutiny. 
 
 "Death to Landaburo! " 
 
 " Death to Cardoso! " 
 
 The two went out. 
 
 " General," continued Cardoso, dilating his nostrils, " do you 
 not perceive the odor of decay? All over the Republic are 
 bleaching the bones of the soldiers of the Revaluation cause. 
 In this camp there are thousands of dead bodies lying un- 
 buried. Do you think these men are to be told now that they 
 have died defending an evolution, mere theories? That war 
 is a crime? Do you think it possible for a whole country to 
 fling itself into a war, to fight a hundred battles and to drench 
 
PAX 465 
 
 the soil with blood simply for an R more or less ? Would it be 
 enough to answer them by a smile or by a shrug of the 
 shoulder ? 
 
 " In this letter, General," added Cardoso, snatching that 
 paper from the hands of Landaburo, and waving it in the 
 air, " you claim, and it is the truth, that martyrdom does not 
 extirpate ideas. But that which those who have sacrificed their 
 lives cannot accomplish, is accomplished by the termination 
 of the system of the closed door, and the introduction of 
 ' evolution ' and the ' open door.' And this is your definite 
 credo? " 
 
 And he broke out in a fit of noisy, sarcastic laughter, full 
 of scorn and provocation, in which he gave full vent to his 
 spleen. 
 
 In the camp the agitation was increasing. The friends of 
 the two leaders were ready to kill each other. 
 
 Landaburo, who felt the support of his partizans, exclaimed 
 with his voice of the parade field, changing from aggressor 
 to victim : 
 
 " Comrades, friends, this man ruins my faith in virtue, be- 
 cause he has an abnormal conscience. . . . Between us two 
 no tribunal whatsoever must decide, but the opinion of the 
 whole of Spanish America, if not the tribunal of The Hague." 
 
 Cardoso listened to him with his bitter smile. Some of 
 Landaburo's friends now came up, then he lifted his voice, 
 made his famous circular gesture, and continued in his trumpet 
 voice : 
 
 " I am no anonymous person. I bear a name illustrious in 
 science, literature, politics and military knowledge. My ideas 
 have been defined in my proclamation of Calamar. Those 
 brief but eloquent sentences are a program, my firm belief, 
 spontaneous and definite. 
 
 " The revolution represents the only sort of legitimacy, the 
 only right really possible and admissible in this free country. 
 A curse on him who would speak of reconciliation, of peace, of 
 disarming and compromises." 
 
 " And then, to furnish the most striking proof of my adhesion 
 to those principles, I am going to offer once more my life, 
 to sacrifice myself for Revaluation. I am going to play at 
 ducks and drakes with my existence, in order that after such 
 
466 PAX 
 
 service nobody may reproach me. Gentlemen aides," he wound 
 up, " please let all the detachments know at once that I am go- 
 ing to head a general charge upon^the enemy, desperate, but de- 
 cisive. Soldiers, we are going to change History itself. Long 
 life to the Revolution! " 
 
 "That is an absurdity!" exclaimed Cardoso. "I com- 
 mand here. I am constantly receiving reenforcement and muni- 
 tions. Within a few days I shall be able to duplicate the 
 fighting strength of the army, roll up the enemy, march upon 
 Bogota, which is bared of all forces. Ronderos is admirably 
 fortified, and if we are repulsed, the repulse will change into 
 a defeat and disaster." 
 
 But Landaburo heard him no longer. He had arrayed him- 
 self in full glory of battle, and on horseback, followed by his 
 aides, in heroic attitude, he was riding up and down the ranks. 
 Soon along the whole battle front the cry could be heard: " To 
 the charge! To the charge! " 
 
 Meanwhile Borrero and Alejandro had started with the 
 Grenadiers after the mass was over. Roberto and the rest of 
 the army had remained at Pan de Azucar, where a week previ- 
 ous the first hostile meeting had taken place, a most bitterly 
 waged fight between Ronderos and Cardoso, the latter re- 
 tiring to La Cabrera, not, however, without contesting every 
 foot of the ground with his opponent. 
 
 Innumerable bodies lay untuned on the field, mutely bearing 
 witness, as they lay thus in heaps, to the horrible long duel in 
 which the combatants met, fought, retired only to advance 
 again, recovering and losing the same point many times. 
 
 An icy wind whistled with gloomy persistence in the ears of 
 the troops who had in front of them a succession of slopes, like 
 an immobile wave of earth; upon these slopes could clearly be 
 distinguished the dead, resembling white or red stones in the 
 distance. 
 
 Flocks of vultures, drawn from incredible distance by the 
 strong scent of decomposition, were obscuring the sun, and in 
 their never-varying migration to and fro crossed the wide space 
 like clouds of a tempest, covering the soil with a cloak of 
 black, filling space with their horrible croakings. They kept 
 on sniffing the air busily for long distances, lost themselves 
 along the many declivities, the ravines, the cane-brakes, the 
 
PAX 467 
 
 gullies, and after their banquet, when replete with their hor- 
 rible diet, gathered in interminable rows, opened their wings to 
 the sun, while more and more of them were still arriving in 
 dark masses from all the points of the horizon, descending, scat- 
 tering, sating themselves with the fat meal, never able to get 
 enough of the splendid feast of human flesh. Far away, in the 
 depths of a steep, narrow valley, an arm is being moved to 
 and fro, a cloth waved for appeal, a pitiful cry for help unavail- 
 ingly heard. 
 
 Doctor Miranda dismounted, begged Alejandro to proceed on 
 the march, and finally started on his way alone, at the bottom 
 of the ravine. The vultures retired, croaking horribly, and then 
 returned to their prey. Swarms of horrible flies assailed the 
 good priest, and a thick and deadly vapor shut him in from 
 all sides. 
 
 But the priest, overcoming all his repugnance and facing all 
 the dangers, went on nevertheless, looking at corpses that had 
 lost their skin and who in strange and forced positions exhibited 
 the network of their nerves, the shapeless mass of muscles lying 
 bare; greenish faces, livid, the mouth full of bleeding clots, the 
 eye sockets empty; he saw human countenances which in the 
 process of decomposition, delicious morsels for these dreadful 
 birds of prey, had been transformed into horrible fragments 
 of putrescent flesh and fiber. With the relaxation of muscles 
 and sinews and nerves even those dead bodies left unmutilated 
 had assumed horrible expressions, some exhibiting an af- 
 frighted air, others an even more ghastly appearance of laughter 
 or ribaldry, of a paroxysm of grief. 
 
 Finally the priest arrived at the bottom of the ravine. There 
 he saw another fearful picture. Surrounded by greedy vul- 
 tures that had picked their eyes, there lay a young and once 
 comely mother, with a small and half devoured child, both in a 
 state of advanced decomposition, the little child with its mouth 
 still at the maternal bosom whence it had formerly drawn its 
 nourishment. The strong wind that was blowing stirred the 
 white cloth that had covered up the even whiter bosom of the 
 poor mother, and her beautiful chestnut hair was fluttering in 
 the gust. 
 
 And Doctor Miranda, his heart deeply touched, saw in his 
 mind all the successive stages that had preceded death for 
 

 468 PAX 
 
 these two: the dread of this fate that had overtaken the 
 mother in the end; the wailing and whimpering of the little 
 creature whom its only protectress was herself powerless to 
 help; the slow starvation, the mortal terror, the approach of 
 these scavengers of war and death, the final yielding to their 
 assaults, the agony, the bitterness of the end, drop by drop, of 
 their awful fate. He thought he could still hear the last cries 
 of despair, the last farewell, the last desperate attempts at es- 
 cape and the last gaze around for a merciful hand, for assistance 
 from the one who probably himself meanwhile lay a bleeding 
 corpse not far away. He had himself been the comrade, the 
 friend, confidant and confessor of those men of whom many 
 had scarcely retained any human resemblance. But though 
 his heart was heavy within him, he told himself that he must not 
 abandon them, that he must pray and weep for them; before his 
 eyes passed at that moment the memory of so many anxieties 
 and almost superhuman sufferings, and it seemed to him 
 that to console and encourage these poor beings was beyond 
 his strength. 
 
 Like a huge picture the whole campaign appeared before his 
 inner consciousness, its bloody scenes, its interminable marches, 
 its sleepless nights, the hunger and thirst by which these men 
 had so often been tortured, the conflagrations, the heat and 
 cold and rain, the wounds and disfigurements, the fever and 
 feebleness, the mud and slime and blood . . . and from the 
 depths of his soul he sent a fervent plea to Heaven, a plea for 
 the eternal repose of the dead. And for the living, a speedy 
 peace. 
 
 And in the midst of his prayer, there came to his ears, 
 skilled in distinguishing the turbulent noise of combat, the 
 echo, at first faint, but quite distinct afterwards, of a battle; 
 he turned hurriedly in the direction where a new slaughter was 
 shortly to fill the field with the bitterness, the death rattle, the 
 groans and the tears of struggle. He hastened once more where 
 death called him with iron voice. The turmoil went on in- 
 creasing rapidly, and he mounted his beast and quickened his 
 pace. 
 
 And as he advanced along a painful path, still strewn with 
 the fallen of previous fights, new pictures of pity, of violence, of 
 horror and pain appeared before his vision. 
 
PAX 469 
 
 Out of miserable huts made of branches and besmeared with 
 mud, there issued forth men half nude, half starved, covered 
 with horrible pustules from a deadly, a contagious disease. 
 
 A woman who held the head of a dying man; soldiers in 
 whose face could be read lack of sleep, exhaustion and fatigue, 
 and who were warming themselves at a fire. Others he saw 
 who were fighting wildly for a morsel of rotten meat. Farther 
 away there was an old man who was seated with his head 
 held between his hands, weeping bitterly. Then there advanced 
 along the road a man in rags, nothing but skin and bones, who 
 made faces and contortions, danced, broke out in bursts of silly 
 laughter ... a crazy soldier. On his approach there fled 
 and hid men and women of sinister aspect, who were inter- 
 rupted in their task of searching the dead, in robbing them, 
 in despoiling them even of their last stitch of bloodstained, torn 
 and soiled clothing. 
 
 Then he came across field surgeons working in the open. 
 . . . The blood was flowing, mosquitoes and flies were buzzing 
 thickly. On the soil are glittering all those instruments of 
 torture. The surgeons, bent over their bloody task, cutting 
 through the flesh, laying bare the bones, sawing through them, 
 manipulating the entrails without paying the slightest atten- 
 tion to the cries of pain from their patients, themselves in- 
 different, impassible. 
 
 As the priest advanced farther and farther, the roar of the 
 battle became more distinct, a ceaseless roar and explosion, 
 and yonder, at the bottom of the deep depression, still hidden 
 by the slope, issued as from a furnace, ruddy flames, pil- 
 lars of smoke, an incessant thunder which the echo repeated from 
 hill to hill, being thus prolonged through the whole mountain 
 range, like the rumblings in the interior of the earth that an- 
 nounce and accompany volcanic eruptions. 
 
 In a word, he saw in one immense panorama, the' total ex- 
 tent of the battle scene. In front of him was the enemy; in 
 the center, upon a height, the houses of La Cabrera. Yonder 
 was the army of General Ronderos. And between the two 
 contending forces there was a deep ravine. From place to 
 place, through the immense smoke clouds which were spread 
 over the entire battlefield like a bluish mist, could be seen 
 the masses of the revolutionary battalions, who were by now 
 
470 PAX 
 
 separated from the fortifications, hiding amongst the rocks, later 
 reappearing on the plains. The chain of trenches of the Gov- 
 ernment forces square upon square was afire from point 
 to point, like a rivulet of burning powder. It was one sole 
 flash of fire, one sole streak of lightning, one sole thunder, mak- 
 ing the region tremble, from the soil of the earth to the height 
 of the firmament. 
 
 Still Doctor Miranda went on, got to the brink of the battle 
 line, crossed through the ranks, scorned the bullets which 
 whistled all about him, sometimes emitting whining or moan- 
 ing sounds. Still proceeding, he went over the whole extent 
 of the camp, because amid the shouts of the combatants, the 
 sharp reports of the rifle fire, and clatter of the machine guns, 
 the blatant notes of the bands, and the tunes of the trumpets, 
 he was still able to distinguish the groans, murmured plaints 
 and sighs of the dying. And these voices which in his heart 
 outweighed those of the tumultuous battle itself, seemed to 
 plead with him imperiously, tortured him, and his soul began to 
 overflow anew with bitterness, and the immense mass of suf- 
 ferings exhaled by these unfortunate thousands weighed down 
 his mind. 
 
 " Vocem terroris audivimus, formido et non est pax." 
 
 11 General Borrero," the commanding general had said, indi- 
 cating with his fleshless hand a point in the affray, " advance 
 with your battalion as far as that height over there, fronting the 
 houses of La Cabrera. Destroy them with your guns, and 
 likewise every building in the vicinity, and the mud walls and 
 fortifications. That's all." 
 
 Then with a gesture that meant to hide his anxiety, he 
 stroked his mustache and his jaw, and then went back passing 
 along his lines, thus infusing, by his mere presence, indomi- 
 table courage in his soldiers, electrifying the whole army. 
 
 Under a rain of bullets Borrero occupied his new position, 
 had his guns placed and adjusted (they were the famous long 
 100 Karlonoff-Yamagata of improved type), and got his bat- 
 teries ready for action. In the midst of the general combat 
 the army anxiously kept gazing at the Grenadiers and their 
 new guns of " improved " pattern. For there the decisive blow 
 was to be given. They would dominate the most important 
 position of the enemy, would make a breach in his ranks that 
 
PAX 471 
 
 not alone would dislocate his whole forces, but would at the 
 same time open passage to the army of the Government. 
 
 "Fire!" 
 
 The ten noisy mouths of the " improved " type of gun burst 
 forth with one tremendous report. But Borrero noticed with 
 alarm that in the report itself there had been something flat, 
 weak, abnormal. 
 
 The houses he had aimed at were untouched, intact. Shot 
 upon shot was fired. The result remained the same. Nothing. 
 The projectiles fell at the distance of a few yards. The " re- 
 formed Karlonoff " could achieve nothing. 
 
 The enemy in front broke out into fits of ironic laughter. 
 Cardoso (for Landaburo, his purpose of displaying himself 
 for a moment accomplished, had disappeared), stood erect in the 
 trench : 
 
 "Machetes! Let us take the guns! " he cried. 
 
 And he headed the attack upon the cannons with two thou- 
 sand picked men. The famous guns fired shot upon shot, 
 just as rapidly as they could be loaded, but the evident use- 
 lessness of these cannons only served to fire the assailing 
 force with high courage. 
 
 The battalion which up to this moment had regarded these 
 famous guns as their comrades, as endowed with pluck and 
 heroism, as something which gave to their own souls something 
 of the strength and toughness of the bronze the guns were 
 forged out of, on beholding them so useless, were filled with 
 despair. The ranks of Borrero's men began to break, the 
 soldiers turned around, stumbling against each other. Suddenly 
 Tubalcain Cardoso could be observed pointing his sword, with 
 a gesture of victory, at the batteries before him. 
 
 Borrero, however, made up his mind to save these guns 
 or to perish with them. He had his trumpeter blow the signal : 
 Fall back upon the reserves! And the soldiers, hearing this 
 signal which regulates their movements and takes the place of 
 waning will power, with disciplined movements, mechanically, 
 automatically, fell back a few paces, and then grouped them- 
 selves anew around the flag, aligned themselves, become once 
 more an organized troop. 
 
 The cheerful and vibrant accents of their own chief, hearten 
 them still more. 
 
472 PAX 
 
 " My brave boys," he cries, " not a single shot. Let us re- 
 ceive them at the point of the bayonet, which we know how to 
 wield. . . . We are again in serried ranks, and we have al- 
 ways beaten them before. We are going to beat them now." 
 
 After a strident clinking the short and wide glittering steel 
 weapon has been attached to the rifles, and the soldiers, acting 
 on command of their officers, throw themselves on guard, right 
 foot behind, the body leaning forwards, the arms stretched 
 out and the bayonet lowered. Pushing, half frightened and 
 puzzled, the machete men meanwhile have reached the spot. 
 But the serene attitude of the battalion which they had believed 
 defeated in advance, stops them. 
 
 They are two thousand black, ferocious savages, half naked, 
 exhibiting their oddly white teeth with the gesticulations of 
 orang outangs, and brandishing with wild frenzy, above their 
 yellow caps, the flashing, broad blades of their machetes. 
 The first row of them is advancing now, and is launching itself 
 upon the battalion. Silently the machetes do their bloody 
 work, circle about the skulls of their foe, about their necks, 
 fearful slashes; in a flashing and scintillating figure the for- 
 midable weapons inflict deadly wounds, twist and turn, search- 
 ing out without rest or favor the unguarded spot in the other 
 men's armor, furiously glittering in their fiendish bloody task, 
 points always bare, reddened with the life fluid of their vic- 
 tims. But always the machete encounters the vigilant bayonet, 
 steel against steel, the point of the bayonet penetrating the 
 other's guard, and vainly they attack, tire out the destructive 
 attack of the machete, until at last the Grenadiers, like so many 
 streaks of lightning, pierce the close ranks of the macheteros, 
 nail them with the sharp points of their broad weapon red- 
 dened to the hilt. 
 
 " Now for the guns! " comes the voice of Borrero shrilly. 
 
 A flash, a thunderous noise, a thick smoke cloud. Amongst 
 the cohorts of negroes there are now openings, but these close 
 up again speedily. The battle is becoming a general scuffle, 
 a fierce struggle man to man, an infernal spectacle in which 
 the cannons themselves, a hundred times taken and a hundred 
 times recovered, are surrounded by rows of dead and wounded. 
 The whole scene, in fact, is now a strange medley of noises, 
 
PAX 473 
 
 made up of the reports of shots, the clatter of steel upon steel, 
 the creaking of axle-trees, the clinking of chains and harness, 
 the ring of bronze, the scuffle of men on the ground locked in 
 each other's arms intent upon murder, the tottering of wounded, 
 and all enclosed in an atmosphere reeking with sweat and 
 blood, with frightful blasphemies and curses, while the fighters 
 themselves battle with fire and steel, shoot and kill at but a 
 distance of inches, are drawn into single combats, mingle their 
 plaints and their breaths, bite, scratch, strangle each other. 
 
 The failure of the cannon, the temporary retreat of the 
 Grenadiers, the personal presence of Cardoso, at the head of 
 the macheteros, his valorous charge, aroused a blind enthusiasm 
 within the army of the revolutionists ; this spread to the trenches, 
 and led there to a wild fight. A panic seized the ranks of the 
 Government troops. 
 
 Defeat, at this critical moment of the gigantic duel, spread 
 through the heated, vibrant air hovered with its back wings 
 first above one and then the other army, scenting its prey and 
 ready to fall upon the victim with a bound, with a swift 
 sweep, like a flash. 
 
 Tormented by restlessness, Roberto, from his camp, heard the 
 increasing thunder of battle, the sinister bellowing which in the 
 clear air was more and more distinctly audible from far away, in 
 these wilderness spaces of Aguila. The reserve was waiting 
 from minute to minute, arms ready for marching, when some 
 panic-stricken soldiers arrived from the battlefield itself. 
 
 " They have defeated the Grenadiers, and are taking our 
 artillery." Such was their report. 
 
 Casanova, with a kind of speechless wrath, halted in front 
 of Roberto. They gazed at each other without saying a word. 
 Roberto made an affirmative sign. Then was heard the signal 
 for marching. The battalions left speedily, saluting the com- 
 ing combat with acclamation. 
 
 " It is the decisive battle," said Roberto to Casanova, with 
 whom he was galloping at the head of the troops. " Do you 
 hear the signal to charge along the whole line? Ronderos was 
 thinking of leaving us behind here, thus preserving a safe line 
 of retreat in case of defeat, but this attack now has come un- 
 expectedly, which means that it should have been expected. 
 
474 PAX 
 
 We are coming now without orders. . . . We must win . . . 
 else our act is inexcusable. . . . Victory or death ... do not 
 forget that! ..." 
 
 Roberto was as pale as death. His eyes showed deep hol- 
 lows, and he had an acute pain in his chest. His voice sounded 
 broken and was lost in an attack of weariness. 
 
 "Colonel, what ails you?" 
 
 " Nothing, nothing. This will pass away," he continued, bit- 
 ing his lips with anguish, and raising one of his hands to his 
 chest. " This will go away. We must make the final charge 
 upon them, Casanova. . . . All the divisions at once . . . one 
 single sweep without halting . . . profiting from the impetus. 
 . . . The Palmares Division must be in the center. . . ." 
 
 Casanova saw with affright that Robert grasped the mane 
 of his horse with trembling fingers, that he allowed his head to 
 droop, that he was barely able to keep in the saddle, and that 
 he was that instant fainting, his arms hanging down inert. 
 
 He sprang forward, succeeded in seizing the horse, and 
 managed to receive Roberto in his one arm before the latter 
 glided unconscious to the ground. 
 
 Roberto did not recover his senses for some time, then opened 
 his eyes and made an attempt to rise. 
 
 Clearly and distinctly the roar of battle reached them now, 
 more and more vividly, more and more inciting. It was a 
 vast sound composed of a thousand individual sounds: the 
 sound of brass, the sound of man in its most exciting note, 
 in the manifestation of the martial spirit. 
 
 Roberto's own men came on like a joyous hurricane, drunk 
 with enthusiasm, fascinated by the shouts of combat, electri- 
 fied by the prospect of victory. 
 
 With a supreme effort Roberto succeeded in mounting his 
 horse again, as he intended to put himself at the head of his 
 brave men, who were wild to go to the assistance of their old 
 general and offer him their lives at the moment of supreme 
 danger. But he was unable to do so. Prostrated by acute pain 
 he once more fell, fainting. He opened his eyes, saw Casanova, 
 who remained at his side, saw in him the despair of inaction, 
 the irresistible longing to join in the fight, the mad desire to 
 head the charge, to jump into the trenches, to defeat the enemy, 
 to scatter his strength, destroy him; in short, to conquer. 
 
PAX 475 
 
 " Leave me here," Roberto whispered, " aside here, this will 
 pass quickly. ... I shall follow you. . . . Make haste, haste 
 . . . over there! " 
 
 He pointed with his hand towards where the combat was 
 raging. He was even able to force himself to make a gesture of 
 farewell to Casanova, who at once rushed off, and then Roberto 
 fell back in another spell. He half awoke, and heard the 
 dull noise of the marching troops, the hoofbeats of the horses, 
 the ring of steel. 
 
 Then Casanova, it seemed to him, returned, with gestures 
 of great anxiety. "Good God," he said, "defeated?" . . . 
 " I have returned in flight," he thought he heard Casanova 
 mutter, " at the head of the last remaining columns. My horse 
 turned at the front, took the bit between his teeth, while I was 
 signaling to the enemy with my sword, motioning desperately 
 with the stump of my arm, like a broken wing, in a convulsive 
 movement." 
 
 He awoke again fully. The rumble of the last companies 
 was disappearing in the distance. 
 
 The wind coming and going brought the thunder of battle 
 closer or carried it off far away. In an interval of silence 
 Roberto heard on the road the song of sutler women: 
 
 (Death is sweet if it comes 
 Surprising me at thy side, 
 
 Thy hands in mine, 
 Thv lins nn mine. 
 
 Thy lips on mine. 
 
 ! 
 
 But oh ! how sad when it comes 
 In a lonesome nook, 
 Without thine eyes on mine, 
 Without thy lips touching mine. / 
 
 Ah! The folk song of Ubaque, Joy, the festival! Do- 
 lores! . . . 
 
 He felt in the back of his neck, in his spine, the wet and 
 cold ever so keenly. A penetrating, implacable cold. Before 
 his eyes the sky spread out clear and transparent, with the 
 same limpid blue which it wore that afternoon at Ubaque, 
 . . . and that other afternoon when, with his mother and 
 Ines, he was strolling so happy through the meadows at El 
 Sauzal. 
 
476 PAX 
 
 The battle waxed grimmer and grimmer, became more and 
 more heated. Roberto divined the mysterious current, the 
 heroic impetus which inflamed and carried the two armies on- 
 wards. He felt the destroying hurricane, the irresistible im- 
 pulse of the charge, the tumult of death, the prelude to the 
 victory on his side. . . . 
 
 Now the noises were diminishing and beginning to disap- 
 pear in the distance, the noise and bustle of battle . . . and 
 later still, the icy wind of twilight brought to his ears the 
 sounds of trumpets, clear, vivid, and proud, which proclaimed 
 victory. 
 
 The clatter of approaching horses is heard, the jingle of 
 bridles and arms . . . some horsemen are passing near by. 
 He means to beg their assistance. They observe him, burst 
 into a roisterous guffaw, and with brutal voice and in the lan- 
 guage of drunkards exclaim before riding on their way : 
 
 " Hidden in the straw field, have you, chief? Are you sick 
 or merely afraid? " 
 
 Afraid? Yes, he began to think himself that at the mo- 
 ment of entering the battle he had been prevented by a sudden 
 spell of cowardice, that an irresistible panic had made him 
 sick, that he had deserted his post. 
 
 Roberto made a supreme effort, struggled, succeeded in ris- 
 ing, . . . fell again heavily, . . . then fatigue overcame him, 
 his breath failed him, and he was again tortured by a sharp 
 pain in the chest. 
 
 Was this death, then? 
 
 Sometime it had to be. But not here, not in this solitude, 
 in this cold, in this . . . and his mother, far away, abandoned, 
 alone, in poverty . . . thinking of him, awaiting his arrival 
 day and night, her eyes fixed, glued to the sketch in which 
 Alejandro had represented him dead. To die? Yes, but only 
 after embracing her, after giving her a last kiss, a last farewell 
 embrace. 
 
 The presentiment of death took hold of him. He saw it 
 coming pitilessly, like a sovereign, domineeringly. He wished 
 to receive death with his whole mind, regard it face to face, 
 not as somebody who hides and flees from it, but rather as 
 one who throws himself resolutely into his arms, who fulfils an 
 irrevocable decree, resigns his own will to the will of God, 
 
PAX 477 
 
 and gives his life back to God as he would give back his 
 sword. 
 
 He was able to put his hand to his neck, drew out the 
 crucifix which his mother had handed him, and placed it with 
 a last effort to his lips. 
 
 He confessed at the bottom of his heart his belief in Jesus 
 Christ, the faith held by his ancestors, in which the Avilas had 
 lived and died for generations and generations. He repeated 
 the words which he had professed in the morning after the 
 communion : 
 
 " Soul of Christ, sanctify me! Body of Christ, save me! " 
 
 Then he took farewell of life, and bidding a last adieu to 
 all he had loved on earth, awaited death. 
 
 Dizziness overcame him once more . . . was it already 
 death? ... He took leave a second time. His heart, as 
 though it wanted to break his chest, was hammering away with 
 terrific shocks, increasing its palpitations a hundredfold. 
 
 There were running through his mind scenes and landscapes 
 filled with light and enchantment: El Consuelo, the infinite 
 horizon, the plains without end. . . . Dolores . . . her big 
 black eyes . . . the house, the garden, the gushing waters, the 
 shower of roses that was falling like a bridal veil. . . . 
 
 Then the drawing room in Empire style arranged by the 
 delicate hand of Ines, the comfort there, the delicious half-light, 
 the love which had enwrapped them, filling his mother with 
 happiness. 
 
 Life invited him, was smiling at him, desired to keep him 
 here . . . but the shining heaven on high was filling every- 
 thing below with mist and darkness, and in the thick shadows 
 those cheerful landscapes of a moment ago went to pieces, and 
 with them those charming scenes, life itself. . . . The earth 
 was becoming mute . . . everything was sinking into a silence 
 of eternity ... he no longer felt the damp of the soil, nor 
 the cold and frost, nor did he perceive any longer the hammer 
 beats of his mad heart ... it was going now more and more 
 slowly, until it would stop altogether. H|s existence now with- 
 drew entirely into his thought, his brain J 
 
 In the midst of the impenetrable obscurity enfolding him now, 
 two shining faces were calling to him: his father, ... his 
 sister Elisa . . . but they also passed, wiped out by the black 
 
478 PAX 
 
 shadow. All was now dissolving, submerged in this darkness 
 without form or limits into which he, too, was swallowed up, in 
 which he floated, lightly, without weight, drawn more and 
 more by the beckoning distance. There remained but one sin- 
 gle face now . . . the face bearing the seal of unaltering 
 sadness, with a crown of snow white hair. . . . 
 
 "Mother, dear little mother, farewell!" The pale face 
 came closer, caressingly touched his own cheek with hers, 
 brushed his forehead with her lips. . . . 
 
 The light of dawn tore the dark mists asunder: "Jesus! 
 Jesus!" . . . 
 
 Roberto stirred, stretched out stiffly; the last rattle died in 
 his throat, but a smile illuminated his countenance. . . . 
 
 The army of Ronderos camped for the night in the tents of 
 the enemy. Pursuit had been unchained upon those who were 
 lions in the morning and now miserable fugitives, seized with 
 terror, disseminated and dispersed, hunted without respite, 
 and knifed without pity in the woods and crags of the wilder- 
 ness. 
 
 Night fell like a merciful mantle which suspended the fright- 
 ful killing and hid the horrors of the combat. But in a short 
 while the moon lifted this veil of mercy once more, and solemn 
 and dolorous, its pale silver light bathed everything in melan- 
 choly and sorrow, throwing an icy gloom upon the battlefield. 
 This field which in the morning had been so crowded with life 
 and movement, with vivid noises and outbursts of vigor and 
 power, was now a field of mourning, a field of death, where 
 ruled prostration and paralysis, where corpses lay piled up 
 high, and where the dying were trying to hide their agony 
 within the pitiless soil that itself was drenched in blood; 
 where in the most tremendous of all disharmonies rose a sole 
 clamor, a sole cry; interminable moans, piercing howls, roars 
 of fright, voices of terror, prayers and appeals: 
 
 Vocem terroris audivimus, formido et non est pax! 
 
 Battlefield, field of horror, field of death which the tire- 
 less priest, with his cassock torn to pieces and stained with 
 blood, is ceaselessly visiting. He halts, he kneels down, he 
 hears the confession of the dying, rises to go on, continues scat- 
 tering the balm of compassion and affection. Up on the sum- 
 
PAX 479 
 
 mit of a slope he stops, scans with a long gaze the mass of 
 dead and wounded, and hearing the groans of agony that seem 
 to grow ever more gigantic in the stillness of night, groans which 
 seem to form one colossal voice in which cries of pain, cries of 
 fright, invocations and fervent prayers are mingled, sighs: 
 
 " Give us peace, oh, Lord ! " 
 
 He now follows the downward path, down to the bottom of 
 the ravine, and looks up the rocks and the gullies, arriving 
 at the next height. Here he gazes all about him, and his eyes 
 take in a larger radius. He seems to see the territory of the 
 entire Republic covered with skeletons, and seems to listen to a 
 clamor more moving, more sorrowful, than even the clamor of 
 the dying: the clamor of the dead. 
 
 The terrific vision of death overwhelmed Doctor Miranda, 
 haunted him with implacable persistence. The dead were 
 anonymous, unknown beings, ignored, friends, just and un- 
 just, repentant and unrepentant, Chispas . . . Bellegarde.*. . . 
 Sister San Ligorio . . . Socarraz . . . Socarraz the impenitent. 
 ... A new anxiety weighed on his apostolic heart. He was 
 thinking of those souls who had become perverted in the course 
 of the war, who persisted on their false path, who had strayed 
 away from God for all eternity. 
 
 But was this reality? Was it a dream, a delirium? To 
 rest his tired eyes he lifted them to Heaven and there saw the 
 moon tottering, a pale, bloodless moon which seemed to stray 
 about like the corpse of a heavenly body, unburied, wandering in 
 immensity. 
 
 He turned his gaze for a moment toward the rear. Another 
 dead body. . . . Whose was it? Roberto's! Stretched out on 
 his back, cold and stiff. One of the hands clenched on his 
 bosom, the other holding the crucifix near his lips. 
 
 He took him in his arms, called him, laid the rigid body on 
 his own heart, tried to bring back life, tried to warm the cold 
 lips, the cold heart, but Roberto remained silent, rigid, one 
 hand on his breast, the other on the crucifix. 
 
 No, it was impossible! To extinguish so much youth, so 
 much intellect, so much nobility! The friend of his child- 
 hood, the friend of his soul. And hot tears began to scald his 
 eyes and to flow down the forehead of Roberto. An intense 
 cold, a cold like from the grave, as though between his arms 
 
480 PAX 
 
 the corpses of his vision were multiplying and stretching far 
 and wide pierced the soul of the good priest. He joined his own 
 sobs with the sobs of the mourning hearths everywhere, with 
 the plaints of the wounded, with the cries of the dying, with 
 the mute groan of the dead: 
 
 PEACE! 
 
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