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diff --git a/1484-0.txt b/1484-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..66106af --- /dev/null +++ b/1484-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,15449 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, by +Vicente Blasco Ibanez + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse + +Author: Vicente Blasco Ibanez + +Translator: Charlotte Brewster Jordan + +Release Date: May 3, 2006 [EBook #1484] +Last Updated: November 8, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FOUR HORSEMEN *** + + + + +Produced by Donald Lainson + + + + + +THE FOUR HORSEMEN OF THE APOCALYPSE + +(Los Cuatro Jinettes del Apocalipsis) + +by Vicente Blasco Ibanez + + +Translated by Charlotte Brewster Jordan + + + +CONTENTS + +PART I + +I. THE TRYST--IN THE GARDEN OF THE EXPIATORY CHAPEL +II. MADARIAGA, THE CENTAUR +III. THE DESNOYERS FAMILY +IV. THE COUSIN FROM BERLIN +V. IN WHICH APPEAR THE FOUR HORSEMEN + + +PART II + +I. WHAT DON MARCELO ENVIED +II. NEW LIFE +III. THE RETREAT +IV. NEAR THE SACRED GROTTO +V. THE INVASION +VI. THE BANNER OF THE RED CROSS + + +PART III + +I. AFTER THE MARNE +II. IN THE STUDIO +IV. “NO ONE WILL KILL HIM” + V. THE BURIAL FIELDS + + + + + +PART I + + + +CHAPTER I + +THE TRYST + +(In the Garden of the Chapelle Expiatoire) + + +They were to have met in the garden of the Chapelle Expiatoire at five +o’clock in the afternoon, but Julio Desnoyers with the impatience of a +lover who hopes to advance the moment of meeting by presenting himself +before the appointed time, arrived an half hour earlier. The change of +the seasons was at this time greatly confused in his mind, and evidently +demanded some readjustment. + +Five months had passed since their last interview in this square had +afforded the wandering lovers the refuge of a damp, depressing calmness +near a boulevard of continual movement close to a great railroad +station. The hour of the appointment was always five and Julio was +accustomed to see his beloved approaching by the reflection of the +recently lit street lamps, her figure enveloped in furs, and holding +her muff before her face as if it were a half-mask. Her sweet voice, +greeting him, had breathed forth a cloud of vapor, white and tenuous, +congealed by the cold. After various hesitating interviews, they had +abandoned the garden. Their love had acquired the majestic importance of +acknowledged fact, and from five to seven had taken refuge in the fifth +floor of the rue de la Pompe where Julio had an artist’s studio. The +curtains well drawn over the double glass windows, the cosy hearth-fire +sending forth its ruddy flame as the only light of the room, the +monotonous song of the samovar bubbling near the cups of tea--all +the seclusion of life isolated by an idolizing love--had dulled their +perceptions to the fact that the afternoons were growing longer, that +outside the sun was shining later and later into the pearl-covered +depths of the clouds, and that a timid and pallid Spring was beginning +to show its green finger tips in the buds of the branches suffering the +last nips of Winter--that wild, black boar who so often turned on his +tracks. + +Then Julio had made his trip to Buenos Aires, encountering in the other +hemisphere the last smile of Autumn and the first icy winds from the +pampas. And just as his mind was becoming reconciled to the fact that +for him Winter was an eternal season--since it always came to meet +him in his change of domicile from one extreme of the planet to the +other--lo, Summer was unexpectedly confronting him in this dreary +garden! + +A swarm of children was racing and screaming through the short avenues +around the monument. On entering the place, the first thing that Julio +encountered was a hoop which came rolling toward his legs, trundled by +a childish hand. Then he stumbled over a ball. Around the chestnut +trees was gathering the usual warm-weather crowd, seeking the blue shade +perforated with points of light. Many nurse-maids from the neighboring +houses were working and chattering here, following with indifferent +glances the rough games of the children confided to their care. Near +them were the men who had brought their papers down into the garden +under the impression that they could read them in the midst of peaceful +groves. All of the benches were full. A few women were occupying camp +stools with that feeling of superiority which ownership always confers. +The iron chairs, “pay-seats,” were serving as resting places for +various suburban dames, loaded down with packages, who were waiting for +straggling members of their families in order to take the train in the +Gare Saint Lazare. . . . + +And Julio, in his special delivery letter, had proposed meeting in this +place, supposing that it would be as little frequented as in former +times. She, too, with the same thoughtlessness, had in her reply, set +the usual hour of five o’clock, believing that after passing a few +minutes in the Printemps or the Galeries on the pretext of shopping, she +would be able to slip over to the unfrequented garden without risk of +being seen by any of her numerous acquaintances. + +Desnoyers was enjoying an almost forgotten sensation, that of strolling +through vast spaces, crushing as he walked the grains of sand under +his feet. For the past twenty days his rovings had been upon planks, +following with the automatic precision of a riding school the oval +promenade on the deck of a ship. His feet accustomed to insecure +ground, still were keeping on terra firma a certain sensation of elastic +unsteadiness. His goings and comings were not awakening the curiosity of +the people seated in the open, for a common preoccupation seemed to +be monopolizing all the men and women. The groups were exchanging +impressions. Those who happened to have a paper in their hands, saw +their neighbors approaching them with a smile of interrogation. There +had suddenly disappeared that distrust and suspicion which impels the +inhabitants of large cities mutually to ignore one another, taking each +other’s measure at a glance as though they were enemies. + +“They are talking about the war,” said Desnoyers to himself. “At this +time, all Paris speaks of nothing but the possibility of war.” + +Outside of the garden he could see also the same anxiety which was +making those around him so fraternal and sociable. The venders of +newspapers were passing through the boulevard crying the evening +editions, their furious speed repeatedly slackened by the eager hands +of the passers-by contending for the papers. Every reader was instantly +surrounded by a group begging for news or trying to decipher over his +shoulder the great headlines at the top of the sheet. In the rue des +Mathurins, on the other side of the square, a circle of workmen under +the awning of a tavern were listening to the comments of a friend who +accompanied his words with oratorical gestures and wavings of the paper. +The traffic in the streets, the general bustle of the city was the same +as in other days, but it seemed to Julio that the vehicles were whirling +past more rapidly, that there was a feverish agitation in the air and +that people were speaking and smiling in a different way. The women of +the garden were looking even at him as if they had seen him in former +days. He was able to approach them and begin a conversation without +experiencing the slightest strangeness. + +“They are talking of the war,” he said again but with the commiseration +of a superior intelligence which foresees the future and feels above the +impressions of the vulgar crowd. + +He knew exactly what course he was going to follow. He had disembarked +at ten o’clock the night before, and as it was not yet twenty-four hours +since he had touched land, his mentality was still that of a man who +comes from afar, across oceanic immensities, from boundless horizons, +and is surprised at finding himself in touch with the preoccupations +which govern human communities. After disembarking he had spent two +hours in a cafe in Boulogne, listlessly watching the middle-class +families who passed their time in the monotonous placidity of a life +without dangers. Then the special train for the passengers from South +America had brought him to Paris, leaving him at four in the morning +on a platform of the Gare du Nord in the embrace of Pepe Argensola, the +young Spaniard whom he sometimes called “my secretary” or “my valet” + because it was difficult to define exactly the relationship between +them. In reality, he was a mixture of friend and parasite, the poor +comrade, complacent and capable in his companionship with a rich youth +on bad terms with his family, sharing with him the ups and downs +of fortune, picking up the crumbs of prosperous days, or inventing +expedients to keep up appearances in the hours of poverty. + +“What about the war?” Argensola had asked him before inquiring about the +result of his trip. “You have come a long ways and should know much.” + +Soon he was sound asleep in his dear old bed while his “secretary” was +pacing up and down the studio talking of Servia, Russia and the Kaiser. +This youth, too, skeptical as he generally was about everything not +connected with his own interests, appeared infected by the general +excitement. + +When Desnoyers awoke he found her note awaiting him, setting their +meeting at five that afternoon and also containing a few words about the +threatened danger which was claiming the attention of all Paris. Upon +going out in search of lunch the concierge, on the pretext of welcoming +him back, had asked him the war news. And in the restaurant, the cafe +and the street, always war . . . the possibility of war with +Germany. . . . + +Julio was an optimist. What did all this restlessness signify to a man +who had just been living more than twenty days among Germans, crossing +the Atlantic under the flag of the Empire? + +He had sailed from Buenos Aires in a steamer of the Hamburg line, the +Koenig Frederic August. The world was in blessed tranquillity when +the boat left port. Only the whites and half-breeds of Mexico were +exterminating each other in conflicts in order that nobody might believe +that man is an animal degenerated by peace. On the rest of the +planet, the people were displaying unusual prudence. Even aboard the +transatlantic liner, the little world of passengers of most diverse +nationalities appeared a fragment of future society implanted by way of +experiment in modern times--a sketch of the hereafter, without frontiers +or race antagonisms. + +One morning the ship band which every Sunday had sounded the Choral of +Luther, awoke those sleeping in the first-class cabins with the most +unheard-of serenade. Desnoyers rubbed his eyes believing himself +under the hallucinations of a dream. The German horns were playing the +Marseillaise through the corridors and decks. The steward, smiling at +his astonishment, said, “The fourteenth of July!” On the German steamers +they celebrate as their own the great festivals of all the nations +represented by their cargo and passengers. Their captains are careful +to observe scrupulously the rites of this religion of the flag and its +historic commemoration. The most insignificant republic saw the ship +decked in its honor, affording one more diversion to help combat the +monotony of the voyage and further the lofty ends of the Germanic +propaganda. For the first time the great festival of France was being +celebrated on a German vessel, and whilst the musicians continued +escorting a racy Marseillaise in double quick time through the different +floors, the morning groups were commenting on the event. + +“What finesse!” exclaimed the South American ladies. “These Germans are +not so phlegmatic as they seem. It is an attention . . . something very +distinguished. . . . And is it possible that some still believe that +they and the French might come to blows?” + +The very few Frenchmen who were travelling on the steamer found +themselves admired as though they had increased immeasurably in public +esteem. There were only three;--an old jeweller who had been visiting +his branch shops in America, and two demi-mondaines from the rue de +la Paix, the most timid and well-behaved persons aboard, vestals with +bright eyes and disdainful noses who held themselves stiffly aloof in +this uncongenial atmosphere. + +At night there was a gala banquet in the dining room at the end of which +the French flag and that of the Empire formed a flaunting, conspicuous +drapery. All the German passengers were in dress suits, and their wives +were wearing low-necked gowns. The uniforms of the attendants were as +resplendent as on a day of a grand review. + +During dessert the tapping of a knife upon a glass reduced the table +to sudden silence. The Commandant was going to speak. And this brave +mariner who united to his nautical functions the obligation of making +harangues at banquets and opening the dance with the lady of most +importance, began unrolling a string of words like the noise of clappers +between long intervals of silence. Desnoyers knew a little German as +a souvenir of a visit to some relatives in Berlin, and so was able +to catch a few words. The Commandant was repeating every few minutes +“peace” and “friends.” A table neighbor, a commercial commissioner, +offered his services as interpreter to Julio, with that obsequiousness +which lives on advertisement. + +“The Commandant asks God to maintain peace between Germany and France +and hopes that the two peoples will become increasingly friendly.” + +Another orator arose at the same table. He was the most influential of +the German passengers, a rich manufacturer from Dusseldorf who had just +been visiting his agents in America. He was never mentioned by name. He +bore the title of Commercial Counsellor, and among his countrymen was +always Herr Comerzienrath and his wife was entitled Frau Rath. The +Counsellor’s Lady, much younger than her important husband, had from +the first attracted the attention of Desnoyers. She, too, had made an +exception in favor of this young Argentinian, abdicating her title from +their first conversation. “Call me Bertha,” she said as condescendingly +as a duchess of Versailles might have spoken to a handsome abbot seated +at her feet. Her husband, also protested upon hearing Desnoyers call him +“Counsellor,” like his compatriots. + +“My friends,” he said, “call me ‘Captain.’ I command a company of the +Landsturm.” And the air with which the manufacturer accompanied these +words, revealed the melancholy of an unappreciated man scorning the +honors he has in order to think only of those he does not possess. + +While he was delivering his discourse, Julio was examining his small +head and thick neck which gave him a certain resemblance to a bull dog. +In imagination he saw the high and oppressive collar of a uniform making +a double roll of fat above its stiff edge. The waxed, upright moustaches +were bristling aggressively. His voice was sharp and dry as though +he were shaking out his words. . . . Thus the Emperor would utter his +harangues, so the martial burgher, with instinctive imitation, was +contracting his left arm, supporting his hand upon the hilt of an +invisible sword. + +In spite of his fierce and oratorical gesture of command, all the +listening Germans laughed uproariously at his first words, like men who +knew how to appreciate the sacrifice of a Herr Comerzienrath when he +deigns to divert a festivity. + +“He is saying very witty things about the French,” volunteered the +interpreter in a low voice, “but they are not offensive.” + +Julio had guessed as much upon hearing repeatedly the word Franzosen. +He almost understood what the orator was saying--“Franzosen--great +children, light-hearted, amusing, improvident. The things that they +might do together if they would only forget past grudges!” The attentive +Germans were no longer laughing. The Counsellor was laying aside his +irony, that grandiloquent, crushing irony, weighing many tons, as +enormous as a ship. Then he began unrolling the serious part of his +harangue, so that he himself, was also greatly affected. + +“He says, sir,” reported Julio’s neighbor, “that he wishes France +to become a very great nation so that some day we may march together +against other enemies . . . against OTHERS!” + +And he winked one eye, smiling maliciously with that smile of common +intelligence which this allusion to the mysterious enemy always +awakened. + +Finally the Captain-Counsellor raised his glass in a toast to France. +“Hoch!” he yelled as though he were commanding an evolution of his +soldierly Reserves. Three times he sounded the cry and all the German +contingent springing to their feet, responded with a lusty Hoch while +the band in the corridor blared forth the Marseillaise. + +Desnoyers was greatly moved. Thrills of enthusiasm were coursing up +and down his spine. His eyes became so moist that, when drinking his +champagne, he almost believed that he had swallowed some tears. He +bore a French name. He had French blood in his veins, and this that the +gringoes were doing--although generally they seemed to him ridiculous +and ordinary--was really worth acknowledging. The subjects of the Kaiser +celebrating the great date of the Revolution! He believed that he was +witnessing a great historic event. + +“Very well done!” he said to the other South Americans at the near +tables. “We must admit that they have done the handsome thing.” + +Then with the vehemence of his twenty-seven years, he accosted the +jeweller in the passage way, reproaching him for his silence. He was +the only French citizen aboard. He should have made a few words of +acknowledgment. The fiesta was ending awkwardly through his fault. + +“And why have you not spoken as a son of France?” retorted the jeweller. + +“I am an Argentinian citizen,” replied Julio. + +And he left the older man believing that he ought to have spoken and +making explanations to those around him. It was a very dangerous thing, +he protested, to meddle in diplomatic affairs. Furthermore, he had not +instructions from his government. And for a few hours he believed that +he had been on the point of playing a great role in history. + +Desnoyers passed the rest of the evening in the smoking room attracted +thither by the presence of the Counsellor’s Lady. The Captain of the +Landsturm, sticking a preposterous cigar between his moustachios, was +playing poker with his countrymen ranking next to him in dignity and +riches. His wife stayed beside him most of the time, watching the goings +and comings of the stewards carrying great bocks, without daring to +share in this tremendous consumption of beer. Her special preoccupation +was to keep vacant near her a seat which Desnoyers might occupy. She +considered him the most distinguished man on board because he was +accustomed to taking champagne with all his meals. He was of medium +height, a decided brunette, with a small foot, which obliged her to tuck +hers under her skirts, and a triangular face under two masses of hair, +straight, black and glossy as lacquer, the very opposite of the type of +men about her. Besides, he was living in Paris, in the city which she +had never seen after numerous trips in both hemispheres. + +“Oh, Paris! Paris!” she sighed, opening her eyes and pursing her lips +in order to express her admiration when she was speaking alone to the +Argentinian. “How I should love to go there!” + +And in order that he might feel free to tell her things about Paris, she +permitted herself certain confidences about the pleasures of Berlin, but +with a blushing modesty, admitting in advance that in the world there +was more--much more--that she wished to become acquainted with. + +While pacing around the Chapelle Expiatoire, Julio recalled with a +certain remorse the wife of Counsellor Erckmann. He who had made the +trip to America for a woman’s sake, in order to collect money and marry +her! Then he immediately began making excuses for his conduct. Nobody +was going to know. Furthermore he did not pretend to be an ascetic, and +Bertha Erckmann was certainly a tempting adventure in mid ocean. Upon +recalling her, his imagination always saw a race horse--large, spare, +roan colored, and with a long stride. She was an up-to-date German who +admitted no defect in her country except the excessive weight of its +women, combating in her person this national menace with every known +system of dieting. For her every meal was a species of torment, and +the procession of bocks in the smoking room a tantalizing agony. +The slenderness achieved and maintained by will power only made more +prominent the size of her frame, the powerful skeleton with heavy jaws +and large teeth, strong and dazzling, which perhaps suggested Desnoyers’ +disrespectful comparison. “She is thin, but enormous, nevertheless!” was +always his conclusion. + +But then, he considered her, notwithstanding, the most distinguished +woman on board--distinguished for the sea--elegant in the style of +Munich, with clothes of indescribable colors that suggested Persian art +and the vignettes of mediaeval manuscripts. The husband admired Bertha’s +elegance, lamenting her childlessness in secret, almost as though it +were a crime of high treason. Germany was magnificent because of the +fertility of its women. The Kaiser, with his artistic hyperbole, had +proclaimed that the true German beauty should have a waist measure of at +least a yard and a half. + +When Desnoyers entered into the smoking room in order to take the +seat which Bertha had reserved for him, her husband and his wealthy +hangers-on had their pack of cards lying idle upon the green felt. Herr +Rath was continuing his discourse and his listeners, taking their cigars +from their mouths, were emitting grunts of approbation. The arrival of +Julio provoked a general smile of amiability. Here was France coming +to fraternize with them. They knew that his father was French, and +that fact made him as welcome as though he came in direct line from the +palace of the Quai d’Orsay, representing the highest diplomacy of the +Republic. The craze for proselyting made them all promptly concede to +him unlimited importance. + +“We,” continued the Counsellor looking fixedly at Desnoyers as if he +were expecting a solemn declaration from him, “we wish to live on good +terms with France.” + +The youth nodded his head so as not to appear inattentive. It appeared +to him a very good thing that these peoples should not be enemies, and +as far as he was concerned, they might affirm this relationship as often +as they wished: the only thing that was interesting him just at +that time was a certain knee that was seeking his under the table, +transmitting its gentle warmth through a double curtain of silk. + +“But France,” complained the manufacturer, “is most unresponsive towards +us. For many years past, our Emperor has been holding out his hand with +noble loyalty, but she pretends not to see it. . . . That, you must +admit, is not as it should be.” + +Just here Desnoyers believed that he ought to say something in order +that the spokesman might not divine his more engrossing occupation. + +“Perhaps you are not doing enough. If, first of all, you would return +that which you took away from France!” . . . + +Stupefied silence followed this remark, as if the alarm signal had +sounded through the boat. Some of those who were about putting their +cigars in their mouths, remained with hands immovable within two inches +of their lips, their eyes almost popping out of their heads. But the +Captain of the Landsturm was there to formulate their mute protest. + +“Return!” he said in a voice almost extinguished by the sudden swelling +of his neck. “We have nothing to return, for we have taken nothing. That +which we possess, we acquire by our heroism.” + +The hidden knee with its agreeable friction made itself more +insinuating, as though counselling the youth to greater prudence. + +“Do not say such things,” breathed Bertha, “thus only the republicans, +corrupted by Paris, talk. A youth so distinguished who has been in +Berlin, and has relatives in Germany!” . . . + +But Desnoyers felt a hereditary impulse of aggressiveness before each +of her husband’s statements, enunciated in haughty tones, and responded +coldly:-- + +“It is as if I should take your watch and then propose that we should be +friends, forgetting the occurrence. Although you might forget, the first +thing for me to do would be to return the watch.” + +Counsellor Erckmann wished to retort with so many things at once that he +stuttered horribly, leaping from one idea to the other. To compare the +reconquest of Alsace to a robbery. A German country! The race . . . the +language . . . the history! . . . + +“But when did they announce their wish to be German?” asked the youth +without losing his calmness. “When have you consulted their opinion?” + +The Counsellor hesitated, not knowing whether to argue with this +insolent fellow or crush him with his scorn. + +“Young man, you do not know what you are talking about,” he finally +blustered with withering contempt. “You are an Argentinian and do not +understand the affairs of Europe.” + +And the others agreed, suddenly repudiating the citizenship which +they had attributed to him a little while before. The Counsellor, with +military rudeness, brusquely turned his back upon him, and taking up +the pack, distributed the cards. The game was renewed. Desnoyers, seeing +himself isolated by the scornful silence, felt greatly tempted to break +up the playing by violence; but the hidden knee continued counselling +self-control, and an invisible hand had sought his right, pressing +it sweetly. That was enough to make him recover his serenity. The +Counsellor’s Lady seemed to be absorbed in the progress of the game. He +also looked on, a malignant smile contracting slightly the lines of his +mouth as he was mentally ejaculating by way of consolation, “Captain, +Captain! . . . You little know what is awaiting you!” + +On terra firma, he would never again have approached these men; but life +on a transatlantic liner, with its inevitable promiscuousness, obliges +forgetfulness. The following day the Counsellor and his friends came in +search of him, flattering his sensibilities by erasing every irritating +memory. He was a distinguished youth belonging to a wealthy family, and +all of them had shops and business in his country. The only thing was +that he should be careful not to mention his French origin. He was an +Argentinian; and thereupon, the entire chorus interested itself in the +grandeur of his country and all the nations of South America where they +had agencies or investments--exaggerating its importance as though its +petty republics were great powers, commenting with gravity upon the +deeds and words of its political leaders and giving him to understand +that in Germany there was no one who was not concerned about the +future of South America, predicting for all its divisions most glorious +prosperity--a reflex of the Empire, always, provided, of course, that +they kept under Germanic influence. + +In spite of these flatteries, Desnoyers was no longer presenting himself +with his former assiduity at the hour of poker. The Counsellor’s wife +was retiring to her stateroom earlier than usual--their approach to the +Equator inducing such an irresistible desire for sleep, that she had +to abandon her husband to his card playing. Julio also had mysterious +occupations which prevented his appearance on deck until after midnight. +With the precipitation of a man who desires to be seen in order to avoid +suspicion, he was accustomed to enter the smoking room talking loudly as +he seated himself near the husband and his boon companions. + +The game had ended, and an orgy of beer and fat cigars from Hamburg +was celebrating the success of the winners. It was the hour of Teutonic +expansion, of intimacy among men, of heavy, sluggish jokes, of off-color +stories. The Counsellor was presiding with much majesty over the +diableries of his chums, prudent business men from the Hanseatic ports +who had big accounts in the Deutsche Bank or were shopkeepers installed +in the republic of the La Plata, with an innumerable family. He was a +warrior, a captain, and on applauding every heavy jest with a laugh that +distended his fat neck, he fancied that he was among his comrades at +arms. + +In honor of the South Americans who, tired of pacing the deck, had +dropped in to hear what the gringoes were saying, they were turning into +Spanish the witticisms and licentious anecdotes awakened in the memory +by a superabundance of beer. Julio was marvelling at the ready laugh of +all these men. While the foreigners were remaining unmoved, they would +break forth into loud horse-laughs throwing themselves back in their +seats. And when the German audience was growing cold, the story-teller +would resort to an infallible expedient to remedy his lack of success:-- + +“They told this yarn to the Kaiser, and when the Kaiser heard it he +laughed heartily.” + +It was not necessary to say more. They all laughed then. Ha, ha, ha! +with a spontaneous roar but a short one, a laugh in three blows, since +to prolong it, might be interpreted as a lack of respect to His Majesty. + +As they neared Europe, a batch of news came to meet the boat. The +employees in the wireless telegraphy office were working incessantly. +One night, on entering the smoking room, Desnoyers saw the German +notables gesticulating with animated countenances. They were no longer +drinking beer. They had had bottles of champagne uncorked, and the +Counsellor’s Lady, much impressed, had not retired to her stateroom. +Captain Erckmann, spying the young Argentinian, offered him a glass. + +“It is war,” he shouted with enthusiasm. “War at last. . . . The hour +has come!” + +Desnoyers made a gesture of astonishment. War! . . . What war? . . . +Like all the others, he had read on the news bulletin outside +a radiogram stating that the Austrian government had just sent an +ultimatum to Servia; but it made not the slightest impression on him, +for he was not at all interested in the Balkan affairs. Those were but +the quarrels of a miserable little nation monopolizing the attention of +the world, distracting it from more worthwhile matters. How could this +event concern the martial Counsellor? The two nations would soon come to +an understanding. Diplomacy sometimes amounted to something. + +“No,” insisted the German ferociously. “It is war, blessed war. Russia +will sustain Servia, and we will support our ally. . . . What will +France do? Do you know what France will do?” . . . + +Julio shrugged his shoulders testily as though asking to be left out of +all international discussions. + +“It is war,” asserted the Counsellor, “the preventive war that we need. +Russia is growing too fast, and is preparing to fight us. Four years +more of peace and she will have finished her strategic railroads, and +her military power, united to that of her allies, will be worth as much +as ours. It is better to strike a powerful blow now. It is necessary to +take advantage of this opportunity. . . . War. Preventive war!” + +All his clan were listening in silence. Some did not appear to feel the +contagion of his enthusiasm. War! . . . In imagination they saw their +business paralyzed, their agencies bankrupt, the banks cutting down +credit . . . a catastrophe more frightful to them than the slaughters +of battles. But they applauded with nods and grunts all of Erckmann’s +ferocious demonstrations. He was a Herr Rath, and an officer besides. +He must be in the secrets of the destiny of his country, and that was +enough to make them drink silently to the success of the war. + +Julio thought that the Counsellor and his admirers must be drunk. “Look +here, Captain,” he said in a conciliatory tone, “what you say lacks +logic. How could war possibly be acceptable to industrial Germany? Every +moment its business is increasing, every month it conquers a new +market and every year its commercial balance soars upward in unheard of +proportions. Sixty years ago, it had to man its boats with Berlin +hack drivers arrested by the police. Now its commercial fleets and war +vessels cross all oceans, and there is no port where the German merchant +marine does not occupy the greatest part of the docks. It would only be +necessary to continue living in this way, to put yourselves beyond the +exigencies of war! Twenty years more of peace, and the Germans would be +lords of the world’s commerce, conquering England, the former mistress +of the seas, in a bloodless struggle. And are they going to risk all +this--like a gambler who stakes his entire fortune on a single card--in +a struggle that might result unfavorably?” . . . + +“No, war,” insisted the Counsellor furiously, “preventive war. We live +surrounded by our enemies, and this state of things cannot go on. It is +best to end it at once. Either they or we! Germany feels herself strong +enough to challenge the world. We’ve got to put an end to this Russian +menace! And if France doesn’t keep herself quiet, so much the worse for +her! . . . And if anyone else . . . ANYONE dares to come in against us, +so much the worse for him! When I set up a new machine in my shops, it +is to make it produce unceasingly. We possess the finest army in the +world, and it is necessary to give it exercise that it may not rust +out.” + +He then continued with heavy emphasis, “They have put a band of iron +around us in order to throttle us. But Germany has a strong chest and +has only to expand in order to burst its bands. We must awake before +they manacle us in our sleep. Woe to those who then oppose us! . . .” + +Desnoyers felt obliged to reply to this arrogance. He had never seen +the iron circle of which the Germans were complaining. The nations were +merely unwilling to continue living, unsuspecting and inactive, +before boundless German ambition. They were simply preparing to defend +themselves against an almost certain attack. They wished to maintain +their dignity, repeatedly violated under most absurd pretexts. + +“I wonder if it is not the others,” he concluded, “who are obliged to +defend themselves because you represent a menace to the world!” + +An invisible hand sought his under the table, as it had some nights +before, to recommend prudence; but now he clasped it forcibly with the +authority of a right acquired. + +“Oh, sir!” sighed the sweet Bertha, “to talk like that, a youth so +distinguished who has . . .” + +She was not able to finish, for her husband interrupted. They were no +longer in American waters, and the Counsellor expressed himself with the +rudeness of a master of his house. + +“I have the honor to inform you, young man,” he said, imitating the +cutting coldness of the diplomats, “that you are merely a South American +and know nothing of the affairs of Europe.” + +He did not call him an “Indian,” but Julio heard the implication as +though he had used the word itself. Ah, if that hidden handclasp had not +held him with its sentimental thrills! . . . But this contact kept him +calm and even made him smile. “Thanks, Captain,” he said to himself. “It +is the least you can do to get even with me!” + +Here his relations with the German and his clientele came to an end. The +merchants, as they approached nearer and nearer to their native land, +began casting off that servile desire of ingratiating themselves which +they had assumed in all their trips to the new world. They now had more +important things to occupy them. The telegraphic service was working +without cessation. The Commandant of the vessel was conferring in his +apartment with the Counsellor as his compatriot of most importance. +His friends were hunting out the most obscure places in order to +talk confidentially with one another. Even Bertha commenced to avoid +Desnoyers. She was still smiling distantly at him, but that smile was +more of a souvenir than a reality. + +Between Lisbon and the coast of England, Julio spoke with her husband +for the last time. Every morning was appearing on the bulletin board the +alarming news transmitted by radiograph. The Empire was arming itself +against its enemies. God would punish them, making all manner of +troubles fall upon them. Desnoyers was motionless with astonishment +before the last piece of news--“Three hundred thousand revolutionists +are now besieging Paris. The suburbs are beginning to burn. The horrors +of the Commune have broken out again.” + +“My, but these Germans have gone mad!” exclaimed the disgusted youth to +the curious group surrounding the radio-sheet. “We are going to lose +the little sense that we have left! . . . What revolutionists are they +talking about? How could a revolution break out in Paris if the men of +the government are not reactionary?” + +A gruff voice sounded behind him, rude, authoritative, as if trying to +banish the doubts of the audience. It was the Herr Comerzienrath who was +speaking. + +“Young man, these notices are sent us by the first agencies of Germany +. . . and Germany never lies.” + +After this affirmation, he turned his back upon them and they saw him no +more. + +On the following morning, the last day of the voyage. Desnoyers’ steward +awoke him in great excitement. “Herr, come up on deck! a most beautiful +spectacle!” + +The sea was veiled by the fog, but behind its hazy curtains could be +distinguished some silhouettes like islands with great towers and sharp, +pointed minarets. The islands were advancing over the oily waters slowly +and majestically, with impressive dignity. Julio counted eighteen. They +appeared to fill the ocean. It was the Channel Fleet which had just left +the English coast by Government order, sailing around simply to show +its strength. Seeing this procession of dreadnoughts for the first +time, Desnoyers was reminded of a flock of marine monsters, and gained +a better idea of the British power. The German ship passed among them, +shrinking, humiliated, quickening its speed. “One might suppose,” mused +the youth, “that she had an uneasy conscience and wished to scud to +safety.” A South American passenger near him was jesting with one of +the Germans, “What if they have already declared war! . . . What if they +should make us prisoners!” + +After midday, they entered Southampton roads. The Frederic August +hurried to get away as soon as possible, and transacted business with +dizzying celerity. The cargo of passengers and baggage was enormous. +Two launches approached the transatlantic and discharged an avalanche of +Germans residents in England who invaded the decks with the joy of those +who tread friendly soil, desiring to see Hamburg as soon as possible. +Then the boat sailed through the Channel with a speed most unusual in +these places. + +The people, leaning on the railing, were commenting on the extraordinary +encounters in this marine boulevard, usually frequented by ships of +peace. Certain smoke lines on the horizon were from the French squadron +carrying President Poincare who was returning from Russia. The European +alarm had interrupted his trip. Then they saw more English vessels +patrolling the coast line like aggressive and vigilant dogs. Two North +American battleships could be distinguished by their mast-heads in the +form of baskets. Then a Russian battleship, white and glistening, passed +at full steam on its way to the Baltic. “Bad!” said the South American +passengers regretfully. “Very bad! It looks this time as if it were +going to be serious!” and they glanced uneasily at the neighboring +coasts on both sides. Although they presented the usual appearance, +behind them, perhaps, a new period of history was in the making. + +The transatlantic was due at Boulogne at midnight where it was supposed +to wait until daybreak to discharge its passengers comfortably. It +arrived, nevertheless, at ten, dropped anchor outside the harbor, and +the Commandant gave orders that the disembarkation should take place +in less than an hour. For this reason they had quickened their speed, +consuming a vast amount of extra coal. It was necessary to get away +as soon as possible, seeking the refuge of Hamburg. The radiographic +apparatus had evidently been working to some purpose. + +By the glare of the bluish searchlights which were spreading a livid +clearness over the sea, began the unloading of passengers and baggage +for Paris, from the transatlantic into the tenders. “Hurry! Hurry!” The +seamen were pushing forward the ladies of slow step who were recounting +their valises, believing that they had lost some. The stewards loaded +themselves up with babies as though they were bundles. The general +precipitation dissipated the usual exaggerated and oily Teutonic +amiability. “They are regular bootlickers,” thought Desnoyers. “They +believe that their hour of triumph has come, and do not think it +necessary to pretend any longer.” . . . + +He was soon in a launch that was bobbing up and down on the waves +near the black and immovable hulk of the great liner, dotted with many +circles of light and filled with people waving handkerchiefs. Julio +recognized Bertha who was waving her hand without seeing him, without +knowing in which tender he was, but feeling obliged to show her +gratefulness for the sweet memories that now were being lost in the +mystery of the sea and the night. “Adieu, Frau Rath!” + +The distance between the departing transatlantic and the lighters was +widening. As though it had been awaiting this moment with impunity, a +stentorian voice on the upper deck shouted with a noisy guffaw, “See you +later! Soon we shall meet you in Paris!” And the marine band, the very +same band that three days before had astonished Desnoyers with its +unexpected Marseillaise, burst forth into a military march of the time +of Frederick the Great--a march of grenadiers with an accompaniment of +trumpets. + +That had been the night before. Although twenty-four hours had not yet +passed by, Desnoyers was already considering it as a distant event of +shadowy reality. His thoughts, always disposed to take the opposite +side, did not share in the general alarm. The insolence of the +Counsellor now appeared to him but the boastings of a burgher turned +into a soldier. The disquietude of the people of Paris, was but the +nervous agitation of a city which lived placidly and became alarmed at +the first hint of danger to its comfort. So many times they had spoken +of an immediate war, always settling things peacefully at the last +moment! . . . Furthermore he did not want war to come because it would +upset all his plans for the future; and the man accepted as logical +and reasonable everything that suited his selfishness, placing it above +reality. + +“No, there will not be war,” he repeated as he continued pacing up and +down the garden. “These people are beside themselves. How could a war +possibly break out in these days?” . . . + +And after disposing of his doubts, which certainly would in a short +time come up again, he thought of the joy of the moment, consulting his +watch. Five o’clock! She might come now at any minute! He thought that +he recognized her afar off in a lady who was passing through the grating +by the rue Pasquier. She seemed to him a little different, but it +occurred to him that possibly the Summer fashions might have altered +her appearance. But soon he saw that he had made a mistake. She was not +alone, another lady was with her. They were perhaps English or North +American women who worshipped the memory of Marie Antoinette and wished +to visit the Chapelle Expiatoire, the old tomb of the executed queen. +Julio watched them as they climbed the flights of steps and crossed the +interior patio in which were interred the eight hundred Swiss soldiers +killed in the attack of the Tenth of August, with other victims of +revolutionary fury. + +Disgusted at his error, he continued his tramp. His ill humor made the +monument with which the Bourbon restoration had adorned the old cemetery +of the Madeleine, appear uglier than ever to him. Time was passing, but +she did not come. Every time that he turned, he looked hungrily at the +entrances of the garden. And then it happened as in all their meetings. +She suddenly appeared as if she had fallen from the sky or risen up from +the ground, like an apparition. A cough, a slight rustling of footsteps, +and as he turned, Julio almost collided with her. + +“Marguerite! Oh, Marguerite!” . . . + +It was she, and yet he was slow to recognize her. He felt a certain +strangeness in seeing in full reality the countenance which had occupied +his imagination for three months, each time more spirituelle and shadowy +with the idealism of absence. But his doubts were of short duration. +Then it seemed as though time and space were eliminated, that he had +not made any voyage, and but a few hours had intervened since their last +interview. + +Marguerite divined the expansion which might follow Julio’s +exclamations, the vehement hand-clasp, perhaps something more, so she +kept herself calm and serene. + +“No; not here,” she said with a grimace of repugnance. “What a +ridiculous idea for us to have met here!” + +They were about to seat themselves on the iron chairs, in the shadow of +some shrubbery, when she rose suddenly. Those who were passing along the +boulevard might see them by merely casting their eyes toward the +garden. At this time, many of her friends might be passing through the +neighborhood because of its proximity to the big shops. . . . They, +therefore, sought refuge at a corner of the monument, placing themselves +between it and the rue des Mathurins. Desnoyers brought two chairs near +the hedge, so that when seated they were invisible to those passing on +the other side of the railing. But this was not solitude. A few steps +away, a fat, nearsighted man was reading his paper, and a group of +women were chatting and embroidering. A woman with a red wig and two +dogs--some housekeeper who had come down into the garden in order to +give her pets an airing--passed several times near the amorous pair, +smiling discreetly. + +“How annoying!” groaned Marguerite. “Why did we ever come to this +place!” + +The two scrutinized each other carefully, wishing to see exactly what +transformation Time had wrought. + +“You are darker than ever,” she said. “You look like a man of the sea.” + +Julio was finding her even lovelier than before, and felt sure that +possessing her was well worth all the contrarieties which had brought +about his trip to South America. She was taller than he, with an +elegantly proportioned slenderness. “She has the musical step,” + Desnoyers had told himself, when seeing her in his imagination; and now, +on beholding her again, the first thing that he admired was her rhythmic +tread, light and graceful as she passed through the garden seeking +another seat. Her features were not regular but they had a piquant +fascination--a true Parisian face. Everything that had been invented for +the embellishment of feminine charm was used about her person with the +most exquisite fastidiousness. She had always lived for herself. Only +a few months before had she abdicated a part of this sweet selfishness, +sacrificing reunions, teas, and calls in order to give Desnoyers some of +the afternoon hours. + +Stylish and painted like a priceless doll, with no loftier ambition +than to be a model, interpreting with personal elegance the latest +confections of the modistes, she was at last experiencing the same +preoccupations and joys as other women, creating for herself an inner +life. The nucleus of this new life, hidden under her former frivolity, +was Desnoyers. Just as she was imagining that she had reorganized +her existence--adjusting the satisfactions of worldly elegance to the +delights of love in intimate secrecy--a fulminating catastrophe (the +intervention of her husband whose possible appearance she seemed to +have overlooked) had disturbed her thoughtless happiness. She who was +accustomed to think herself the centre of the universe, imagining that +events ought to revolve around her desires and tastes, had suffered this +cruel surprise with more astonishment than grief. + +“And you, how do you think I look?” Marguerite queried. + +“I must tell you that the fashion has changed. The sheath skirt has +passed away. Now it is worn short and with more fullness.” + +Desnoyers had to interest himself in her apparel with the same devotion, +mixing his appreciation of the latest freak of the fashion-monger with +his eulogies of Marguerite’s beauty. + +“Have you thought much about me?” she continued. “You have not been +unfaithful to me a single time? Not even once? . . . Tell me the truth; +you know I can always tell when you are lying.” + +“I have always thought of you,” he said putting his hand on his heart, +as if he were swearing before a judge. + +And he said it roundly, with an accent of truth, since in his +infidelities--now completely forgotten--the memory of Marguerite had +always been present. + +“But let us talk about you!” added Julio. “What have you been doing all +the time?” + +He had brought his chair nearer to hers, and their knees touched. He +took one of her hands, patting it and putting his finger in the glove +opening. Oh, that accursed garden which would not permit greater +intimacy and obliged them to speak in a low tone, after three months’ +absence! . . . In spite of his discretion, the man who was reading his +paper raised his head and looked irritably at them over his spectacles +as though a fly were distracting him with its buzzing. . . . The very +idea of talking love-nonsense in a public garden when all Europe was +threatened with calamity! + +Repelling the audacious hand, Marguerite spoke tranquilly of her +existence during the last months. + +“I have passed my life the best I could, but I have been greatly bored. +You know that I am now living with mama, and mama is a lady of the old +regime who does not understand our tastes. I have been to the theatres +with my brother. I have made many calls on the lawyer in order to learn +the progress of my divorce and hurry it along . . . and nothing else.” + +“And your husband?” + +“Don’t let’s talk about him. Do you want to? I pity the poor man! +So good . . . so correct. The lawyer assures me that he agrees to +everything and will not impose any obstacles. They tell me that he does +not come to Paris, that he lives in his factory. Our old home is closed. +There are times when I feel remorseful over the way I have treated him.” + +“And I?” queried Julio, withdrawing his hand. + +“You are right,” she returned smiling. “You are Life. It is cruel but +it is human. We have to live our lives without taking others into +consideration. It is necessary to be selfish in order to be happy.” + +The two remained silent. The remembrance of the husband had swept across +them like a glacial blast. Julio was the first to brighten up. + +“And you have not danced in all this time?” + +“No, how could I? The very idea, a woman in divorce proceedings! . . . +I have not been to a single chic party since you went away. I wanted to +preserve a certain decorous mourning fiesta. How horrible it was! . . . +It needed you, the Master!” + +They had again clasped hands and were smiling. Memories of the previous +months were passing before their eyes, visions of their life from five +to seven in the afternoon, dancing in the hotels of the Champs Elysees +where the tango had been inexorably associated with a cup of tea. + +She appeared to tear herself away from these recollections, impelled +by a tenacious obsession which had slipped from her mind in the first +moments of their meeting. + +“Do you know much about what’s happening? Tell me all. People talk so +much. . . . Do you really believe that there will be war? Don’t you +think that it will all end in some kind of settlement?” + +Desnoyers comforted her with his optimism. He did not believe in the +possibility of a war. That was ridiculous. + +“I say so, too! Ours is not the epoch of savages. I have known some +Germans, chic and well-educated persons who surely must think exactly as +we do. An old professor who comes to the house was explaining yesterday +to mama that wars are no longer possible in these progressive times. In +two months’ time, there would scarcely be any men left, in three, the +world would find itself without money to continue the struggle. I do not +recall exactly how it was, but he explained it all very clearly, in a +manner most delightful to hear.” + +She reflected in silence, trying to co-ordinate her confused +recollections, but dismayed by the effort required, added on her own +account. + +“Just imagine what war would mean--how horrible! Society life paralyzed. +No more parties, nor clothes, nor theatres! Why, it is even possible +that they might not design any more fashions! All the women in mourning. +Can you imagine it? . . . And Paris deserted. . . . How beautiful it +seemed as I came to meet you this afternoon! . . . No, no, it cannot +be! Next month, you know, we go to Vichy. Mama needs the waters. Then to +Biarritz. After that, I shall go to a castle on the Loire. And besides +there are our affairs, my divorce, our marriage which may take place the +next year. . . . And is war to hinder and cut short all this! No, no, +it is not possible. My brother and others like him are foolish enough +to dream of danger from Germany. I am sure that my husband, too, who is +only interested in serious and bothersome matters, is among those +who believe that war is imminent and prepare to take part in it. What +nonsense! Tell me that it is all nonsense. I need to hear you say it.” + +Tranquilized by the affirmations of her lover, she then changed the +trend of the conversation. The possibility of their approaching marriage +brought to mind the object of the voyage which Desnoyers had just made. +There had not been time for them to write to each other during their +brief separation. + +“Did you succeed in getting the money? The joy of seeing you made me +forget all about such things. . . .” + +Adopting the air of a business expert, he replied that he had brought +back less than he expected, for he had found the country in the throes +of one of its periodical panics; but still he had managed to get +together about four hundred thousand francs. In his purse he had a check +for that amount. Later on, they would send him further remittances. +A ranchman in Argentina, a sort of relative, was looking after his +affairs. Marguerite appeared satisfied, and in spite of her frivolity, +adopted the air of a serious woman. + +“Money, money!” she exclaimed sententiously. “And yet there is no +happiness without it! With your four hundred thousand and what I have, +we shall be able to get along. . . . I told you that my husband wishes +to give me back my dowry. He has told my brother so. But the state of +his business, and the increased size of his factory do not permit him to +return it as quickly as he would like. I can’t help but feel sorry for +the poor man . . . so honorable and so upright in every way. If he only +were not so commonplace! . . .” + +Again Marguerite seemed to regret these tardy spontaneous eulogies which +were chilling their interview. So again she changed the trend of her +chatter. + +“And your family? Have you seen them?” . . . + +Desnoyers had been to his father’s home before starting for the Chapelle +Expiatoire. A stealthy entrance into the great house on the avenue +Victor Hugo, and then up to the first floor like a tradesman. Then he +had slipt into the kitchen like a soldier sweetheart of the maids. +His mother had come there to embrace him, poor Dona Luisa, weeping and +kissing him frantically as though she had feared to lose him forever. +Close behind her mother had come Luisita, nicknamed Chichi, who always +surveyed him with sympathetic curiosity as if she wished to know better +a brother so bad and adorable who had led decent women from the paths +of virtue, and committed all kinds of follies. Then Desnoyers had been +greatly surprised to see entering the kitchen with the air of a tragedy +queen, a noble mother of the drama, his Aunt Elena, the one who had +married a German and was living in Berlin surrounded with innumerable +children. + +“She has been in Paris a month. She is going to make a little visit to +our castle. And it appears that her eldest son--my cousin, ‘The Sage,’ +whom I have not seen for years--is also coming here.” + +The home interview had several times been interrupted by fear. “Your +father is at home, be careful,” his mother had said to him each time +that he had spoken above a whisper. And his Aunt Elena had stationed +herself at the door with a dramatic air, like a stage heroine resolved +to plunge a dagger into the tyrant who should dare to cross the +threshold. The entire family was accustomed to submit to the rigid +authority of Don Marcelo Desnoyers. “Oh, that old man!” exclaimed Julio, +referring to his father. “He may live many years yet, but how he weighs +upon us all!” + +His mother, who had never wearied of looking at him, finally had to +bring the interview to an end, frightened by certain approaching sounds. +“Go, he might surprise us, and he would be furious.” So Julio had fled +the paternal home, caressed by the tears of the two ladies and the +admiring glances of Chichi, by turns ashamed and proud of a brother who +had caused such enthusiasm and scandal among her friends. + +Marguerite also spoke of Senor Desnoyers. A terrible tyrant of the old +school with whom they could never come to an understanding. + +The two remained silent, looking fixedly at each other. Now that they +had said the things of greatest urgency, present interests became more +absorbing. More immediate things, unspoken, seemed to well up in their +timid and vacillating eyes, before escaping in the form of words. +They did not dare to talk like lovers here. Every minute the cloud of +witnesses seemed increasing around them. The woman with the dogs and the +red wig was passing with greater frequency, shortening her turns through +the square in order to greet them with a smile of complicity. The +reader of the daily paper was now exchanging views with a friend on a +neighboring bench regarding the possibilities of war. The garden +had become a thoroughfare. The modistes upon going out from their +establishments, and the ladies returning from shopping, were crossing +through the square in order to shorten their walk. The little avenue was +a popular short-cut. All the pedestrians were casting curious glances at +the elegant lady and her companion seated in the shadow of the shrubbery +with the timid yet would-be natural look of those who desire to hide +themselves, yet at the same time feign a casual air. + +“How exasperating!” sighed Marguerite. “They are going to find us out!” + +A girl looked at her so searchingly that she thought she recognized in +her an employee of a celebrated modiste. Besides, some of her personal +friends who had met her in the crowded shops but an hour ago might be +returning home by way of the garden. + +“Let us go,” she said rising hurriedly. “If they should spy us here +together, just think what they might say! . . . and just when they are +becoming a little forgetful!” + +Desnoyers protested crossly. Go away? . . . Paris had become a shrunken +place for them nowadays because Marguerite refused to go to a single +place where there was a possibility of their being surprised. In another +square, in a restaurant, wherever they might go--they would run the same +risk of being recognized. She would only consider meetings in public +places, and yet at the same time, dreaded the curiosity of the people. +If Marguerite would like to go to his studio of such sweet +memories! . . . + +“To your home? No! no indeed!” she replied emphatically “I cannot forget +the last time I was there.” + +But Julio insisted, foreseeing a break in that firm negative. Where +could they be more comfortable? Besides, weren’t they going to marry as +soon as possible? . . . + +“I tell you no,” she repeated. “Who knows but my husband may be watching +me! What a complication for my divorce if he should surprise us in your +house!” + +Now it was he who eulogized the husband, insisting that such +watchfulness was incompatible with his character. The engineer had +accepted the facts, considering them irreparable and was now thinking +only of reconstructing his life. + +“No, it is better for us to separate,” she continued. “Tomorrow we shall +see each other again. You will hunt a more favorable place. Think it +over, and you will find a solution for it all.” + +But he wished an immediate solution. They had abandoned their seats, +going slowly toward the rue des Mathurins. Julio was speaking with a +trembling and persuasive eloquence. To-morrow? No, now. They had only to +call a taxicab. It would be only a matter of a few minutes, and then the +isolation, the mystery, the return to a sweet past--to that intimacy +in the studio where they had passed their happiest hours. They would +believe that no time had elapsed since their first meetings. + +“No,” she faltered with a weakening accent, seeking a last resistance. +“Besides, your secretary might be there, that Spaniard who lives with +you. How ashamed I would be to meet him again!” + +Julio laughed. . . . Argensola! How could that comrade who knew all +about their past be an obstacle? If they should happen to meet him in +the house, he would be sure to leave immediately. More than once, he had +had to go out so as not to be in the way. His discretion was such that +he had foreseen events. Probably he had already left, conjecturing that +a near visit would be the most logical thing. His chum would simply go +wandering through the streets in search of news. + +Marguerite was silent, as though yielding on seeing her pretexts +exhausted. Desnoyers was silent, too, construing her stillness as +assent. They had left the garden and she was looking around uneasily, +terrified to find herself in the open street beside her lover, and +seeking a hiding-place. Suddenly she saw before her the little red door +of an automobile, opened by the hand of her adorer. + +“Get in,” ordered Julio. + +And she climbed in hastily, anxious to hide herself as soon as possible. +The vehicle started at great speed. Marguerite immediately pulled down +the shade of the window on her side, but, before she had finished and +could turn her head, she felt a hungry mouth kissing the nape of her +neck. + +“No, not here,” she said in a pleading tone. “Let us be sensible!” + +And while he, rebellious at these exhortations, persisted in his +advances, the voice of Marguerite again sounded above the noise of the +rattling machinery of the automobile as it bounded over the pavement. + +“Do you really believe that there will be no war? Do you believe that we +will be able to marry? . . . Tell me again. I want you to encourage me +. . . I need to hear it from your lips.” + + + +CHAPTER II + +MADARIAGA, THE CENTAUR + + +In 1870 Marcelo Desnoyers was nineteen years old. He was born in the +suburbs of Paris, an only child; his father, interested in little +building speculations, maintained his family in modest comfort. The +mason wished to make an architect of his son, and Marcelo was in the +midst of his preparatory studies when his father suddenly died, leaving +his affairs greatly involved. In a few months, he and his mother +descended the slopes of ruin, and were obliged to give up their snug, +middle-class quarters and live like laborers. + +When the fourteen-year-old boy had to choose a trade, he learned wood +carving. This craft was an art related to the tastes awakened in Marcelo +by his abandoned studies. His mother retired to the country, living with +some relatives while the lad advanced rapidly in the shops, aiding his +master in all the important orders which he received from the provinces. +The first news of the war with Prussia surprised him in Marseilles, +working on the decorations of a theatre. + +Marcelo was opposed to the Empire like all the youths of his generation. +He was also much influenced by the older workmen who had taken part in +the Republic of ‘48, and who still retained vivid recollections of the +Coup d’Etat of the second of December. + +One day he saw in the streets of Marseilles a popular manifestation in +favor of peace which was practically a protest against the government. +The old republicans in their implacable struggle with the Emperor, the +companies of the International which had just been organized, and a +great number of Italians and Spaniards who had fled their countries on +account of recent insurrections, composed the procession. A long-haired, +consumptive student was carrying the flag. “It is peace that we want--a +peace which may unite all mankind,” chanted the paraders. But on this +earth, the noblest propositions are seldom heard, since Destiny amuses +herself in perverting them and turning them aside. + +Scarcely had the friends of peace entered the rue Cannebiere with their +hymn and standard, when war came to meet them, obliging them to resort +to fist and club. The day before, some battalions of Zouaves from +Algiers had disembarked in order to reinforce the army on the +frontier, and these veterans, accustomed to colonial existence and +undiscriminating as to the cause of disturbances, seized the opportunity +to intervene in this manifestation, some with bayonets and others with +ungirded belts. “Hurrah for War!” and a rain of lashes and blows +fell upon the unarmed singers. Marcelo saw the innocent student, the +standard-bearer of peace, knocked down wrapped in his flag, by the +merry kicks of the Zouaves. Then he knew no more, since he had received +various blows with a leather strap, and a knife thrust in his shoulder; +he had to run the same as the others. + +That day developed for the first time, his fiery, stubborn character, +irritable before contradiction, even to the point of adopting the most +extreme resolution. “Down with War!” Since it was not possible for him +to protest in any other way, he would leave the country. The Emperor +might arrange his affairs as best he could. The struggle was going to +be long and disastrous, according to the enemies of the Empire. If he +stayed, he would in a few months be drawn for the soldiery. Desnoyers +renounced the honor of serving the Emperor. He hesitated a little when +he thought of his mother. But his country relatives would not turn her +out, and he planned to work very hard and send her money. Who knew what +riches might be waiting for him, on the other side of the sea! . . . +Good-bye, France! + +Thanks to his savings, a harbor official found it to his interest to +offer him the choice of three boats. One was sailing to Egypt, another +to Australia, another to Montevideo and Buenos Aires, which made the +strongest appeal to him? . . . Desnoyers, remembering his readings, +wished to consult the wind and follow the course that it indicated, as +he had seen various heroes of novels do. But that day the wind blew from +the sea toward France. He also wished to toss up a coin in order to test +his fate. Finally he decided upon the vessel sailing first. Not until, +with his scanty baggage, he was actually on the deck of the next boat +to anchor, did he take any interest in its course--“For the Rio de la +Plata.” . . . And he accepted these words with a fatalistic shrug. “Very +well, let it be South America!” The country was not distasteful to him, +since he knew it by certain travel publications whose illustrations +represented herds of cattle at liberty, half-naked, plumed Indians, and +hairy cowboys whirling over their heads serpentine lassos tipped with +balls. + +The millionaire Desnoyers never forgot that trip to America--forty-three +days navigating in a little worn-out steamer that rattled like a heap +of old iron, groaned in all its joints at the slightest roughness of the +sea, and had to stop four times for repairs, at the mercy of the winds +and waves. + +In Montevideo, he learned of the reverses suffered by his country and +that the French Empire no longer existed. He felt a little ashamed +when he heard that the nation was now self-governing, defending itself +gallantly behind the walls of Paris. And he had fled! . . . Months +afterwards, the events of the Commune consoled him for his flight. If +he had remained, wrath at the national downfall, his relations with his +co-laborers, the air in which he lived--everything would surely have +dragged him along to revolt. In that case, he would have been shot or +consigned to a colonial prison like so many of his former comrades. + +So his determination crystallized, and he stopped thinking about the +affairs of his mother-country. The necessities of existence in a foreign +land whose language he was beginning to pick up made him think only +of himself. The turbulent and adventurous life of these new nations +compelled him to most absurd expedients and varied occupations. Yet he +felt himself strong with an audacity and self-reliance which he never +had in the old world. “I am equal to everything,” he said, “if they +only give me time to prove it!” Although he had fled from his country +in order not to take up arms, he even led a soldier’s life for a +brief period in his adopted land, receiving a wound in one of the many +hostilities between the whites and reds in the unsettled districts. + +In Buenos Aires, he again worked as a woodcarver. The city was beginning +to expand, breaking its shell as a large village. Desnoyers spent many +years ornamenting salons and facades. It was a laborious existence, +sedentary and remunerative. But one day he became tired of this slow +saving which could only bring him a mediocre fortune after a long time. +He had gone to the new world to become rich like so many others. And +at twenty-seven, he started forth again, a full-fledged adventurer, +avoiding the cities, wishing to snatch money from untapped, natural +sources. He worked farms in the forests of the North, but the locusts +obliterated his crops in a few hours. He was a cattle-driver, with the +aid of only two peons, driving a herd of oxen and mules over the snowy +solitudes of the Andes to Bolivia and Chile. In this life, making +journeys of many months’ duration, across interminable plains, he lost +exact account of time and space. Just as he thought himself on the verge +of winning a fortune, he lost it all by an unfortunate speculation. +And in a moment of failure and despair, being now thirty years old, he +became an employee of Julio Madariaga. + +He knew of this rustic millionaire through his purchases of flocks--a +Spaniard who had come to the country when very young, adapting himself +very easily to its customs, and living like a cowboy after he had +acquired enormous properties. The country folk, wishing to put a title +of respect before his name, called him Don Madariaga. + +“Comrade,” he said to Desnoyers one day when he happened to be in a good +humor--a very rare thing for him--“you must have passed through many ups +and downs. Your lack of silver may be smelled a long ways off. Why lead +such a dog’s life? Trust in me, Frenchy, and remain here! I am growing +old, and I need a man.” + +After the Frenchman had arranged to stay with Madariaga, every landed +proprietor living within fifteen or twenty leagues of the ranch, stopped +the new employee on the road to prophesy all sorts of misfortune. + +“You will not stay long. Nobody can get along with Don Madariaga. We +have lost count of his overseers. He is a man who must be killed or +deserted. Soon you will go, too!” + +Desnoyers did not doubt but that there was some truth in all this. +Madariaga was an impossible character, but feeling a certain sympathy +with the Frenchman, had tried not to annoy him with his irritability. + +“He’s a regular pearl, this Frenchy,” said the plainsman as though +trying to excuse himself for his considerate treatment of his latest +acquisition. “I like him because he is very serious. . . . That is the +way I like a man.” + +Desnoyers did not know exactly what this much-admired seriousness could +be, but he felt a secret pride in seeing him aggressive with everybody +else, even his family, whilst he took with him a tone of paternal +bluffness. + +The family consisted of his wife Misia Petrona (whom he always called +the China) and two grown daughters who had gone to school in Buenos +Aires, but on returning to the ranch had reverted somewhat to their +original rusticity. + +Madariaga’s fortune was enormous. He had lived in the field since his +arrival in America, when the white race had not dared to settle outside +the towns for fear of the Indians. He had gained his first money as a +fearless trader, taking merchandise in a cart from fort to fort. He had +killed Indians, was twice wounded by them, and for a while had lived as +a captive with an Indian chief whom he finally succeeded in making his +staunch friend. With his earnings, he had bought land, much land, almost +worthless because of its insecurity, devoting it to the raising of +cattle that he had to defend, gun in hand, from the pirates of the +plains. + +Then he had married his China, a young half-breed who was running around +barefoot, but owned many of her forefathers’ fields. They had lived in +an almost savage poverty on their property which would have taken many a +day’s journey to go around. Afterwards, when the government was pushing +the Indians towards the frontiers, and offering the abandoned lands +for sale, considering it a patriotic sacrifice on the part of any one +wishing to acquire them, Madariaga bought and bought at the lowest +figure and longest terms. To get possession of vast tracts and populate +it with blooded stock became the mission of his life. At times, +galloping with Desnoyers through his boundless fields, he was not able +to repress his pride. + +“Tell me something, Frenchy! They say that further up the country, there +are some nations about the size of my ranches. Is that so?” . . . + +The Frenchman agreed. . . . The lands of Madariaga were indeed greater +than many principalities. This put the old plainsman in rare good humor +and he exclaimed in the cowboy vernacular which had become second nature +to him--“Then it wouldn’t be absurd to proclaim myself king some day? +Just imagine it, Frenchy;--Don Madariaga, the First. . . . The worst of +it all is that I would also be the last, for the China will not give me +a son. . . . She is a weak cow!” + +The fame of his vast territories and his wealth in stock reached even to +Buenos Aires. Every one knew of Madariaga by name, although very few had +seen him. When he went to the Capital, he passed unnoticed because of +his country aspect--the same leggings that he was used to wearing in the +fields, his poncho wrapped around him like a muffler above which rose +the aggressive points of a necktie, a tormenting ornament imposed by his +daughters, who in vain arranged it with loving hands that he might look +a little more respectable. + +One day he entered the office of the richest merchant of the capital. + +“Sir, I know that you need some young bulls for the European market, and +I have come to sell you a few.” + +The man of affairs looked haughtily at the poor cowboy. He might explain +his errand to one of the employees, he could not waste his time on such +small matters. But the malicious grin on the rustic’s face awoke his +curiosity. + +“And how many are you able to sell, my good man?” + +“About thirty thousand, sir.” + +It was not necessary to hear more. The supercilious merchant sprang from +his desk, and obsequiously offered him a seat. + +“You can be no other than Don Madariaga.” + +“At the service of God and yourself, sir,” he responded in the manner of +a Spanish countryman. + +That was the most glorious moment of his existence. + +In the outer office of the Directors of the Bank, the clerks offered him +a seat until the personage the other side of the door should deign to +receive him. But scarcely was his name announced than that same director +ran to admit him, and the employee was stupefied to hear the ranchman +say, by way of greeting, “I have come to draw out three hundred thousand +dollars. I have abundant pasturage, and I wish to buy a ranch or two in +order to stock them.” + +His arbitrary and contradictory character weighed upon the inhabitants +of his lands with both cruel and good-natured tyranny. No vagabond ever +passed by the ranch without being rudely assailed by its owner from the +outset. + +“Don’t tell me any of your hard-luck stories, friend,” he would yell as +if he were going to beat him. “Under the shed is a skinned beast; +cut and eat as much as you wish and so help yourself to continue your +journey. . . . But no more of your yarns!” + +And he would turn his back upon the tramp, after giving him a few +dollars. + +One day he became infuriated because a peon was nailing the wire fencing +too deliberately on the posts. Everybody was robbing him! The following +day he spoke of a large sum of money that he would have to pay for +having endorsed the note of an acquaintance, completely bankrupt. “Poor +fellow! His luck is worse than mine!” + +Upon finding in the road the skeleton of a recently killed sheep, he was +beside himself with indignation. It was not because of the loss of the +meat. “Hunger knows no law, and God has made meat for mankind to eat. +But they might at least have left the skin!” . . . And he would rage +against such wickedness, always repeating, “Lack of religion and good +habits!” The next time, the bandits stripped the flesh off of three +cows, leaving the skins in full view, and the ranchman said, smiling, +“That is the way I like people, honorable and doing no wrong.” + +His vigor as a tireless centaur had helped him powerfully in his task +of populating his lands. He was capricious, despotic and with the +same paternal instincts as his compatriots who, centuries before when +conquering the new world, had clarified its native blood. Like the +Castilian conquistadors, he had a fancy for copper-colored beauty with +oblique eyes and straight hair. When Desnoyers saw him going off on some +sudden pretext, putting his horse at full gallop toward a neighboring +ranch, he would say to himself, smilingly, “He is going in search of a +new peon who will help work his land fifteen years from now.” + +The personnel of the ranch often used to comment on the resemblance of +certain youths laboring here the same as the others, galloping from the +first streak of dawn over the fields, attending to the various duties +of pasturing. The overseer, Celedonio, a half-breed thirty years old, +generally detested for his hard and avaricious character, also bore a +distant resemblance to the patron. + +Almost every year, some woman from a great distance, dirty and +bad-faced, presented herself at the ranch, leading by the hand a little +mongrel with eyes like live coals. She would ask to speak with the +proprietor alone, and upon being confronted with her, he usually +recalled a trip made ten or twelve years before in order to buy a herd +of cattle. + +“You remember, Patron, that you passed the night on my ranch because the +river had risen?” + +The Patron did not remember anything about it. But a vague instinct +warned him that the woman was probably telling the truth. “Well, what of +it?” + +“Patron, here he is. . . . It is better for him to grow to manhood by +your side than in any other place.” + +And she presented him with the little hybrid. One more, and offered with +such simplicity! . . . “Lack of religion and good habits!” Then with +sudden modesty, he doubted the woman’s veracity. Why must it necessarily +be his? . . . But his wavering was generally short-lived. + +“If it’s mine, put it with the others.” + +The mother went away tranquilly, seeing the youngster’s future assured, +because this man so lavish in violence was equally so in generosity. +In time there would be a bit of land and a good flock of sheep for the +urchin. + +These adoptions at first aroused in Misia Petrona a little +rebellion--the only ones of her life; but the centaur soon reduced her +to terrified silence. + +“And you dare to complain of me, you weak cow! . . . A woman who has +only given me daughters. You ought to be ashamed of yourself.” + +The same hand that negligently extracted from his pocket a wad of bills +rolled into a ball, giving them away capriciously without knowing just +how much, also wore a lash hanging from the wrist. It was supposed to be +for his horse, but it was used with equal facility when any of his peons +incurred his wrath. + +“I strike because I can,” he would say to pacify himself. + +One day, the man receiving the blow, took a step backward, hunting for +the knife in his belt. + +“You are not going to beat me, Patron. I was not born in these parts. +. . . I come from Corrientes.” + +The Patron remained with upraised thong. “Is it true that you were not +born here? . . . Then you are right; I cannot beat you. Here are five +dollars for you.” + +When Desnoyers came on the place, Madariaga was beginning to lose count +of those who were under his dominion in the old Latin sense, and could +take his blows. There were so many that confusion often reigned. + +The Frenchman admired the Patron’s expert eye for his business. It was +enough for him to contemplate for a few moments a herd of cattle, to +know its exact number. He would go galloping along with an indifferent +air, around an immense group of horned and stamping beasts, and +then would suddenly begin to separate the different animals. He had +discovered that they were sick. With a buyer like Madariaga, all the +tricks and sharp practice of the drovers came to naught. + +His serenity before trouble was also admirable. A drought suddenly +strewed his plains with dead cattle, making the land seem like an +abandoned battlefield. Everywhere great black hulks. In the air, great +spirals of crows coming from leagues away. At other times, it was the +cold; an unexpected drop in the thermometer would cover the ground with +dead bodies. Ten thousand animals, fifteen thousand, perhaps more, all +perished! + +“WHAT a knock-out!” Madariaga would exclaim with resignation. “Without +such troubles, this earth would be a paradise. . . . Now, the thing to +do is to save the skins!” + +And he would rail against the false pride of the emigrants, against the +new customs among the poor which prevented his securing enough hands to +strip the victims quickly, so that thousands of hides had to be lost. +Their bones whitened the earth like heaps of snow. The peoncitos (little +peons) went around putting the skulls of cows with crumpled horns on +the posts of the wire fences--a rustic decoration which suggested a +procession of Grecian lyres. + +“It is lucky that the land is left, anyway!” added the ranchman. + +He loved to race around his immense fields when they were beginning to +turn green in the late rains. He had been among the first to convert +these virgin wastes into rich meadow-lands, supplementing the natural +pasturage with alfalfa. Where one beast had found sustenance before, he +now had three. “The table is set,” he would chuckle, “we must now go +in search of the guests.” And he kept on buying, at ridiculous prices, +herds dying of hunger in others’ uncultivated fields, constantly +increasing his opulent lands and stock. + +One morning Desnoyers saved his life. The old ranchman had raised his +lash against a recently arrived peon who returned the attack, knife in +hand. Madariaga was defending himself as best he could, convinced +from one minute to another that he was going to receive the deadly +knife-thrust--when Desnoyers arrived and, drawing his revolver, overcame +and disarmed the adversary. + +“Thanks, Frenchy,” said the ranchman, much touched. “You are an +all-round man, and I am going to reward you. From this day I shall speak +to you as I do to my family.” + +Desnoyers did not know just what this familiar talk might amount to, +for his employer was so peculiar. Certain personal favors, nevertheless, +immediately began to improve his position. He was no longer allowed to +eat in the administration building, the proprietor insisting imperiously +that henceforth Desnoyers should sit at his own table, and thus he was +admitted into the intimate life of the Madariaga family. + +The wife was always silent when her husband was present. She was used to +rising in the middle of the night in order to oversee the breakfasts +of the peons, the distribution of biscuit, and the boiling of the great +black kettles of coffee or shrub tea. She looked after the chattering +and lazy maids who so easily managed to get lost in the nearby groves. +In the kitchen, too, she made her authority felt like a regular +house-mistress, but the minute that she heard her husband’s voice she +shrank into a respectful and timorous silence. Upon sitting down at +table, the China would look at him with devoted submission, her great, +round eyes fixed on him, like an owl’s. Desnoyers felt that in this mute +admiration was mingled great astonishment at the energy with which the +ranchman, already over seventy, was continuing to bring new occupants to +live on his demesne. + +The two daughters, Luisa and Elena, accepted with enthusiasm the new +arrival who came to enliven the monotonous conversations in the dining +room, so often cut short by their father’s wrathful outbursts. Besides, +he was from Paris. “Paris!” sighed Elena, the younger one, rolling her +eyes. And Desnoyers was henceforth consulted in all matters of style +every time they ordered any “confections” from the shops of Buenos +Aires. + +The interior of the house reflected the different tastes of the two +generations. The girls had a parlor with a few handsome pieces of +furniture placed against the cracked walls, and some showy lamps that +were never lighted. The father, with his boorishness, often invaded this +room so cherished and admired by the two sisters, making the carpets +look shabby and faded under his muddy boot-tracks. Upon the gilt +centre-table, he loved to lay his lash. Samples of maize scattered +its grains over a silk sofa which the young ladies tried to keep very +choice, as though they feared it might break. + +Near the entrance to the dining room was a weighing machine, and +Madariaga became furious when his daughters asked him to remove it to +the offices. He was not going to trouble himself to go outside every +time that he wanted to know the weight of a leather skin! . . . A piano +came into the ranch, and Elena passed the hours practising exercises +with desperate good will. “Heavens and earth! She might at least play +the Jota or the Perican, or some other lively Spanish dance!” And +the irate father, at the hour of siesta, betook himself to the nearby +eucalyptus trees, to sleep upon his poncho. + +This younger daughter whom he dubbed La Romantica, was the special +victim of his wrath and ridicule. Where had she picked up so many tastes +which he and his good China never had had? Music books were piled on the +piano. In a corner of the absurd parlor were some wooden boxes that had +held preserves, which the ranch carpenter had been made to press into +service as a bookcase. + +“Look here, Frenchy,” scoffed Madariaga. “All these are novels and +poems! Pure lies! . . . Hot air!” + +He had his private library, vastly more important and glorious, and +occupying less space. In his desk, adorned with guns, thongs, and chaps +studded with silver, was a little compartment containing deeds and +various legal documents which the ranchman surveyed with great pride. + +“Pay attention, now and hear marvellous things,” announced the master to +Desnoyers, as he took out one of his memorandum books. + +This volume contained the pedigree of the famous animals which had +improved his breeds of stock, the genealogical trees, the patents of +nobility of his aristocratic beasts. He would have to read its contents +to him since he did not permit even his family to touch these records. +And with his spectacles on the end of his nose, he would spell out the +credentials of each animal celebrity. “Diamond III, grandson of Diamond +I, owned by the King of England, son of Diamond II, winner in the +races.” His Diamond had cost him many thousands, but the finest horses +on the ranch, those which brought the most marvellous prices, were his +descendants. + +“That horse had more sense than most people. He only lacked the power +to talk. He’s the one that’s stuffed, near the door of the parlor. The +girls wanted him thrown out. . . . Just let them dare to touch him! I’d +chuck them out first!” + +Then he would continue reading the history of a dynasty of bulls +with distinctive names and a succession of Roman numbers, the same as +kings--animals acquired by the stubborn ranchman in the great cattle +fairs of England. He had never been there, but he had used the cable in +order to compete in pounds sterling with the British owners who wished +to keep such valuable stock in their own country. Thanks to these +blue-blooded sires that had crossed the ocean with all the luxury of +millionaire passengers, he had been able to exhibit in the concourses +of Buenos Aires animals which were veritable towers of meat, edible +elephants with their sides as fit and sleek as a table. + +“That book amounts to something! Don’t you think so, Frenchy? It is +worth more than all those pictures of moons, lakes, lovers and other +gewgaws that my Romantica puts on the walls to catch the dust.” + +And he would point out, in contrast, the precious diplomas which were +adorning his desk, the metal vases and other trophies won in the fairs +by the descendants of his blooded stock. + +Luisa, the elder daughter, called Chicha, in the South American fashion, +was much more respected by her father. “She is my poor China right over +again,” he said, “the same good nature, and the same faculty for work, +but more of a lady.” Desnoyers entirely agreed with him, and yet the +father’s description seemed to him weak and incomplete. He could not +admit that the pale, modest girl with the great black eyes and smile +of childish mischief bore the slightest resemblance to the respectable +matron who had brought her into existence. + +The great fiesta for Chicha was the Sunday mass. It represented a +journey of three leagues to the nearest village, a weekly contact with +people unlike those of the ranch. A carriage drawn by four horses took +the senora and the two senoritas in the latest suits and hats arrived, +via Buenos Aires, from Europe. At the suggestion of Chicha, Desnoyers +accompanied them in the capacity of driver. + +The father remained at home, taking advantage of this opportunity +to survey his fields in their Sunday solitude, thus keeping a +closer oversight on the shiftlessness of his hands. He was very +religious--“Religion and good manners, you know.” But had he not given +thousands of dollars toward building the neighboring church? A man +of his fortune should not be submitted to the same obligations as +ragamuffins! + +During the Sunday lunch the young ladies were apt to make comments upon +the persons and merits of the young men of the village and neighboring +ranches, who had lingered at the church door in order to chat with them. + +“Don’t fool yourselves, girls!” observed the father shrewdly. “You +believe that they want you for your elegance, don’t you? . . . What +those shameless fellows really want are the dollars of old Madariaga, +and once they had them, they would probably give you a daily beating.” + +For a while the ranch received numerous visitors. Some were young men of +the neighborhood who arrived on spirited steeds, performing all kinds of +tricks of fancy horsemanship. They wanted to see Don Julio on the most +absurd pretexts, and at the same time improved the opportunity to chat +with Chicha and Luisa. At other times they were youths from Buenos Aires +asking for a lodging at the ranch, as they were just passing by. Don +Madariaga would growl-- + +“Another good-for-nothing scamp who comes in search of the Spanish +ranchman! If he doesn’t move on soon . . . I’ll kick him out!” + +But the suitor did not stand long on the order of his going, intimidated +by the ominous silence of the Patron. This silence, of late, had +persisted in an alarming manner, in spite of the fact that the ranch was +no longer receiving visitors. Madariaga appeared abstracted, and all the +family, including Desnoyers, respected and feared this taciturnity. +He ate, scowling, with lowered head. Suddenly he would raise his eyes, +looking at Chicha, then at Desnoyers, finally fixing them upon his wife +as though asking her to give an account of things. + +His Romantica simply did not exist for him. The only notice that he ever +took of her was to give an ironical snort when he happened to see +her leaning at sunset against the doorway, looking at the reddening +glow--one elbow on the door frame and her cheek in her hand, in +imitation of the posture of a certain white lady that she had seen in a +chromo, awaiting the knight of her dreams. + +Desnoyers had been five years in the house when one day he entered his +master’s private office with the brusque air of a timid person who has +suddenly reached a decision. + +“Don Julio, I am going to leave and I would like our accounts settled.” + +Madariaga looked at him slyly. “Going to leave, eh? . . . What for?” But +in vain he repeated his questions. The Frenchman was floundering through +a series of incoherent explanations--“I’m going; I’ve got to go.” + +“Ah, you thief, you false prophet!” shouted the ranchman in stentorian +tones. + +But Desnoyers did not quail before the insults. He had often heard his +Patron use these same words when holding somebody up to ridicule, or +haggling with certain cattle drovers. + +“Ah, you thief, you false prophet! Do you suppose that I do not know +why you are going? Do you suppose old Madariaga has not seen your +languishing looks and those of my dead fly of a daughter, clasping +each others’ hands in the presence of poor China who is blinded in her +judgment? . . . It’s not such a bad stroke, Frenchy. By it, you would be +able to get possession of half of the old Spaniard’s dollars, and then +say that you had made it in America.” + +And while he was storming, or rather howling, all this, he had grasped +his lash and with the butt end kept poking his manager in the stomach +with such insistence that it might be construed in an affectionate or +hostile way. + +“For this reason I have come to bid you good-bye,” said Desnoyers +haughtily. “I know that my love is absurd, and I wish to leave.” + +“The gentleman would go away,” the ranchman continued spluttering. “The +gentleman believes that here one can do what one pleases! No, siree! +Here nobody commands but old Madariaga, and I order you to stay. . . . +Ah, these women! They only serve to antagonize men. And yet we can’t +live without them!” . . . + +He took several turns up and down the room, as though his last words +were making him think of something very different from what he had just +been saying. Desnoyers looked uneasily at the thong which was still +hanging from his wrist. Suppose he should attempt to whip him as he did +the peons? . . . He was still undecided whether to hold his own against +a man who had always treated him with benevolence or, while his back +was turned, to take refuge in discreet flight, when the ranchman planted +himself before him. + +“You really love her, really?” he asked. “Are you sure that she loves +you? Be careful what you say, for love is blind and deceitful. I, too, +when I married my China was crazy about her. Do you love her, honestly +and truly? . . . Well then, take her, you devilish Frenchy. Somebody has +to take her, and may she not turn out a weak cow like her mother! . . . +Let us have the ranch full of grandchildren!” + +In voicing this stock-raiser’s wish, again appeared the great breeder of +beasts and men. And as though he considered it necessary to explain his +concession, he added--“I do all this because I like you; and I like you +because you are serious.” + +Again the Frenchman was plunged in doubt, not knowing in just what this +greatly appreciated seriousness consisted. + +At his wedding, Desnoyers thought much of his mother. If only the poor +old woman could witness this extraordinary stroke of good fortune! But +she had died the year before, believing her son enormously rich because +he had been sending her sixty dollars every month, taken from the wages +that he had earned on the ranch. + +Desnoyers’ entrance into the family made his father-in-law pay less +attention to business. + +City life, with all its untried enchantments and snares, now attracted +Madariaga, and he began to speak with contempt of country women, poorly +groomed and inspiring him with disgust. He had given up his cowboy +attire, and was displaying with childish satisfaction, the new suits +in which a tailor of the Capital was trying to disguise him. When Elena +wished to accompany him to Buenos Aires, he would wriggle out of it, +trumping up some absorbing business. “No; you go with your mother.” + +The fate of his fields and flocks gave him no uneasiness. His fortune, +managed by Desnoyers, was in good hands. + +“He is very serious,” again affirmed the old Spaniard to his family +assembled in the dining roam--“as serious as I am. . . . Nobody can make +a fool of him!” + +And finally the Frenchman concluded that when his father-in-law spoke of +seriousness he was referring to his strength of character. According to +the spontaneous declaration of Madariaga, he had, from the very first +day that he had dealings with Desnoyers, perceived in him a nature +like his own, more hard and firm perhaps, but without splurges +of eccentricities. On this account he had treated him with such +extraordinary circumspection, foreseeing that a clash between the +two could never be adjusted. Their only disagreements were about +the expenses established by Madariaga during his regime. Since the +son-in-law was managing the ranches, the work was costing less, and +the people working more diligently;--and that, too, without yells, and +without strong words and deeds, with only his presence and brief orders. + +The old man was the only one defending the capricious system of a +blow followed by a gift. He revolted against a minute and mechanical +administration, always the same, without any arbitrary extravagance or +good-natured tyranny. Very frequently some of the half-breed peons whom +a malicious public supposed to be closely related to the ranchman, would +present themselves before Desnoyers with, “Senor Manager, the old Patron +say that you are to give me five dollars.” The Senor Manager would +refuse, and soon after Madariaga would rush in in a furious temper, but +measuring his words, nevertheless, remembering that his son-in-law’s +disposition was as serious as his own. + +“I like you very much, my son, but here no one overrules me. . . . Ah, +Frenchy, you are like all the rest of your countrymen! Once you get your +claws on a penny, it goes into your stocking, and nevermore sees +the light of day, even though they crucify you. . . ! Did I say five +dollars? Give him ten. I command it and that is enough.” + +The Frenchman paid, shrugging his shoulders, whilst his father-in-law, +satisfied with his triumph, fled to Buenos Aires. It was a good thing to +have it well understood that the ranch still belonged to Madariaga, the +Spaniard. + +From one of these trips, he returned with a companion, a young German +who, according to him, knew everything and could do everything. His +son-in-law was working too hard. This Karl Hartrott would assist him +in the bookkeeping. Desnoyers accepted the situation, and in a few days +felt increasing esteem for the new incumbent. + +Although they belonged to two unfriendly nations, it didn’t matter. +There are good people everywhere, and this Karl was a subordinate worth +considering. He kept his distance from his equals, and was hard and +inflexible toward his inferiors. All his faculties seemed concentrated +in service and admiration for those above him. Scarcely would Madariaga +open his lips before the German’s head began nodding in agreement, +anticipating his words. If he said anything funny, his clerk’s laugh +would break forth in scandalous roars. With Desnoyers he appeared more +taciturn, working without stopping for hours at a time. As soon as he +saw the manager entering the office he would leap from his seat, +holding himself erect with military precision. He was always ready to +do anything whatever. Unasked, he spied on the workmen, reporting their +carelessness and mistakes. This last service did not especially please +his superior officer, but he appreciated it as a sign of interest in the +establishment. + +The old man bragged triumphantly of the new acquisition, urging his +son-in-law also to rejoice. + +“A very useful fellow, isn’t he? . . . These gringoes from Germany +work well, know a good many things and cost little. Then, too, so +disciplined! so servile! . . . I am sorry to praise him so to you +because you are a Frenchy, and your nation has in them a very powerful +enemy. His people are a hard-shelled race.” + +Desnoyers replied with a shrug of indifference. His country was far +away, and so was Germany. Who knew if they would ever return! . . . They +were both Argentinians now, and ought to interest themselves in present +affairs and not bother about the past. + +“And how little pride they have!” sneered Madariaga in an ironical tone. +“Every one of these gringoes when he is a clerk at the Capital sweeps +the shop, prepares the meals, keeps the books, sells to the customers, +works the typewriter, translates four or five languages, and dances +attendance on the proprietor’s lady friend, as though she were a grand +senora . . . all for twenty-five dollars a month. Who can compete with +such people! You, Frenchy, you are like me, very serious, and would die +of hunger before passing through certain things. But, mark my words, on +this very account they are going to become a terrible people!” + +After brief reflection, the ranchman added: + +“Perhaps they are not so good as they seem. Just see how they treat +those under them! It may be that they affect this simplicity without +having it, and when they grin at receiving a kick, they are saying +inside, ‘Just wait till my turn comes, and I’ll give you three!’” + +Then he suddenly seemed to repent of his suspicions. + +“At any rate, this Karl is a poor fellow, a mealy-mouthed simpleton who +the minute I say anything opens his jaws like a fly-catcher. He insists +that he comes of a great family, but who knows anything about these +gringoes? . . . All of us, dead with hunger when we reach America, claim +to be sons of princes.” + +Madariaga had placed himself on a familiar footing with his Teutonic +treasure, not through gratitude as with Desnoyers, but in order to make +him feel his inferiority. He had also introduced him on an equal footing +in his home, but only that he might give piano lessons to his younger +daughter. The Romantica was no longer framing herself in the doorway--in +the gloaming watching the sunset reflections. When Karl had finished his +work in the office, he was now coming to the house and seating himself +beside Elena, who was tinkling away with a persistence worthy of a +better fate. At the end of the hour the German, accompanying himself on +the piano, would sing fragments from Wagner in such a way that it +put Madariaga to sleep in his armchair with his great Paraguay cigar +sticking out of his mouth. + +Elena meanwhile was contemplating with increasing interest the singing +gringo. He was not the knight of her dreams awaited by the fair lady. He +was almost a servant, a blond immigrant with reddish hair, fat, heavy, +and with bovine eyes that reflected an eternal fear of disagreeing +with his chiefs. But day by day, she was finding in him something which +rather modified these impressions--his feminine fairness, except +where he was burned by the sun, the increasingly martial aspect of his +moustachios, the agility with which he mounted his horse, his air of a +troubadour, intoning with a rather weak tenor voluptuous romances whose +words she did not understand. + +One night, just before supper, the impressionable girl announced with a +feverish excitement which she could no longer repress that she had made +a grand discovery. + +“Papa, Karl is of noble birth! He belongs to a great family.” + +The plainsman made a gesture of indifference. Other things were vexing +him in those days. But during the evening, feeling the necessity of +venting on somebody the wrath which had been gnawing at his vitals since +his last trip to Buenos Aires, he interrupted the singer. + +“See here, gringo, what is all this nonsense about nobility which you +have been telling my girl?” + +Karl left the piano that he might draw himself up to the approved +military position before responding. Under the influence of his recent +song, his pose suggested Lohengrin about to reveal the secret of his +life. His father had been General von Hartrott, one of the commanders +in the war of ‘70. The Emperor had rewarded his services by giving him +a title. One of his uncles was an intimate councillor of the King +of Prussia. His older brothers were conspicuous in the most select +regiments. He had carried a sword as a lieutenant. + +Bored with all this grandeur, Madariaga interrupted him. “Lies . . . +nonsense . . . hot air!” The very idea of a gringo talking to him about +nobility! . . . He had left Europe when very young in order to cast in +his lot with the revolting democracies of America, and although nobility +now seemed to him something out-of-date and incomprehensible, still +he stoutly maintained that the only true nobility was that of his own +country. He would yield first place to the gringoes for the invention +of machinery and ships, and for breeding priceless animals, but all the +Counts and Marquises of Gringo-land appeared to him to be fictitious +characters. + +“All tomfoolery!” he blustered. “There isn’t any nobility in your +country, nor have you five dollars all told to rub against each other. +If you had, you wouldn’t come over here to play the gallant to women who +are . . . you know what they are as well as I do.” + +To the astonishment of Desnoyers, the German received this onslaught +with much humility, nodding his head in agreement with the Patron’s last +words. + +“If there’s any truth in all this twaddle about titles,” continued +Madariaga implacably, “swords and uniforms, what did you come here for? +What in the devil did you do in your own country that you had to leave +it?” + +Now Karl hung his head, confused and stuttering. + +“Papa, papa,” pleaded Elena. “The poor little fellow! How can you +humiliate him so just because he is poor?” + +And she felt a deep gratitude toward her brother-in-law when he broke +through his usual reserve in order to come to the rescue of the German. + +“Oh, yes, of course, he’s a good-enough fellow,” said Madariaga, +excusing himself. “But he comes from a land that I detest.” + +When Desnoyers made a trip to Buenos Aires a few days afterward, the +cause of the old man’s wrath was explained. It appeared that for some +months past Madariaga had been the financial guarantor and devoted swain +of a German prima donna stranded in South America with an Italian opera +company. It was she who had recommended Karl--an unfortunate countryman, +who after wandering through many parts of the continent, was now +living with her as a sort of gentlemanly singer. Madariaga had joyously +expended upon this courtesan many thousands of dollars. A childish +enthusiasm had accompanied him in this novel existence midst urban +dissipations until he happened to discover that his Fraulein was leading +another life during his absence, laughing at him with the parasites of +her retinue; whereupon he arose in his wrath and bade her farewell to +the accompaniment of blows and broken furniture. + +The last adventure of his life! . . . Desnoyers suspected his abdication +upon hearing him admit his age, for the first time. He did not intend +to return to the capital. It was all false glitter. Existence in the +country, surrounded by all his family and doing good to the poor was +the only sure thing. And the terrible centaur expressed himself with +the idyllic tenderness and firm virtue of seventy-five years, already +insensible to temptation. + +After his scene with Karl, he had increased the German’s salary, trying +as usual, to counteract the effects of his violent outbreaks with +generosity. That which he could not forget was his dependent’s nobility, +constantly making it the subject of new jests. That glorious boast had +brought to his mind the genealogical trees of the illustrious ancestry +of his prize cattle. The German was a pedigreed fellow, and thenceforth +he called him by that nickname. + +Seated on summer nights under the awning, he surveyed his family around +him with a sort of patriarchal ecstasy. In the evening hush could be +heard the buzzing of insects and the croaking of the frogs. From the +distant ranches floated the songs of the peons as they prepared their +suppers. It was harvest time, and great bands of immigrants were +encamped in the fields for the extra work. + +Madariaga had known many of the hard old days of wars and violence. Upon +his arrival in South America, he had witnessed the last years of the +tyranny of Rosas. He loved to enumerate the different provincial and +national revolutions in which he had taken part. But all this had +disappeared and would never return. These were the times of peace, work +and abundance. + +“Just think of it, Frenchy,” he said, driving away the mosquitoes with +the puffs of his cigar. “I am Spanish, you French, Karl German, my +daughters Argentinians, the cook Russian, his assistant Greek, the +stable boy English, the kitchen servants Chinas (natives), Galicians or +Italians, and among the peons there are many castes and laws. . . . And +yet we all live in peace. In Europe, we would have probably been in a +grand fight by this time, but here we are all friends.” + +He took much pleasure in listening to the music of the laborers--laments +from Italian songs to the accompaniment of the accordion, Spanish +guitars and Creole choruses, wild voices chanting of love and death. + +“This is a regular Noah’s ark,” exulted the vainglorious patriarch. + +“He means the tower of Babel,” thought Desnoyers to himself, “but it’s +all the same thing to the old man.” + +“I believe,” he rambled on, “that we live thus because in this part +of the world there are no kings and a very small army--and mankind is +thinking only of enjoying itself as much as possible, thanks to its +work. But I also believe that we live so peacefully because there is +such abundance that everyone gets his share. . . . How quickly we would +spring to arms if the rations were less than the people!” + +Again he fell into reflective silence, shortly after announcing the +result of his meditations. + +“Be that as it may be, we must recognize that here life is more tranquil +than in the other world. Men are taken for what they are worth, and +mingle together without thinking whether they came from one country or +another. Over here, fellows do not come in droves to kill other fellows +whom they do not know and whose only crime is that they were born in an +unfriendly country. . . . Man is a bad beast everywhere, I know that; +but here he eats, owns more land than he needs so that he can stretch +himself, and he is good with the goodness of a well-fed dog. Over there, +there are too many; they live in heaps getting in each other’s way, and +easily run amuck. Hurrah for Peace, Frenchy, and the simple life! Where +a man can live comfortably and runs no danger of being killed for things +he doesn’t understand--there is his real homeland!” + +And as though an echo of the rustic’s reflections, Karl seated at the +piano, began chanting in a low voice one of Beethoven’s hymns-- + + “We sing the joy of life, + We sing of liberty, + We’ll ne’er betray our fellow-man, + Though great the guerdon be.” + +Peace! . . . A few days afterward Desnoyers recalled bitterly the old +man’s illusion, for war--domestic war--broke loose in this idyllic +stage-setting of ranch life. + +“Run, Senor Manager, the old Patron has unsheathed his knife and is +going to kill the German!” And Desnoyers had hurried from his office, +warned by the peon’s summons. Madariaga was chasing Karl, knife in hand, +stumbling over everything that blocked his way. Only his son-in-law +dared to stop him and disarm him. + +“That shameless pedigreed fellow!” bellowed the livid old man as he +writhed in Desnoyers’ firm clutch. “Half famished, all he thinks he has +to do is to come to my house and take away my daughters and dollars. +. . . Let me go, I tell you! Let me loose that I may kill him.” + +And in order to free himself from Desnoyers, he tried further to explain +the difficulty. He had accepted the Frenchman as a husband for his +daughter because he was to his liking, modest, honest . . . and serious. +But this singing Pedigreed Fellow, with all his airs! . . . He was a man +that he had gotten from . . . well, he didn’t wish to say just where! +And the Frenchman, though knowing perfectly well what his introduction +to Karl had been, pretended not to understand him. + +As the German had, by this time, made good his escape, the ranchman +consented to being pushed toward his house, talking all the time about +giving a beating to the Romantica and another to the China for not +having informed him of the courtship. He had surprised his daughter +and the Gringo holding hands and exchanging kisses in a grove near the +house. + +“He’s after my dollars,” howled the irate father. “He wants America to +enrich him quickly at the expense of the old Spaniard, and that is +the reason for so much truckling, so much psalm-singing and so much +nobility! Imposter! . . . Musician!” + +And he repeated the word “musician” with contempt, as though it were the +sum and substance of everything vile. + +Very firmly and with few words, Desnoyers brought the wrangling to an +end. While her brother-in-law protected her retreat, the Romantica, +clinging to her mother, had taken refuge in the top of the house, +sobbing and moaning, “Oh, the poor little fellow! Everybody against +him!” Her sister meanwhile was exerting all the powers of a discreet +daughter with the rampageous old man in the office, and Desnoyers had +gone in search of Karl. Finding that he had not yet recovered from the +shock of his terrible surprise, he gave him a horse, advising him to +betake himself as quickly as possible to the nearest railway station. + +Although the German was soon far from the ranch, he did not long remain +alone. In a few days, the Romantica followed him. . . . Iseult of the +white hands went in search of Tristan, the knight. + +This event did not cause Madariaga’s desperation to break out as +violently as his son-in-law had expected. For the first time, he saw him +weep. His gay and robust old age had suddenly fallen from him, the news +having clapped ten years on to his four score. Like a child, whimpering +and tremulous, he threw his arms around Desnoyers, moistening his neck +with tears. + +“He has taken her away! That son of a great flea . . . has taken her +away!” + +This time he did not lay all the blame on his China. He wept with her, +and as if trying to console her by a public confession, kept saying over +and over: + +“It is my fault. . . . It has all been because of my very, very great +sins.” + +Now began for Desnoyers a period of difficulties and conflicts. The +fugitives, on one of his visits to the Capital, threw themselves on his +mercy, imploring his protection. The Romantica wept, declaring that only +her brother-in-law, “the most knightly man in the world,” could save +her. Karl gazed at him like a faithful hound trusting in his master. +These trying interviews were repeated on all his trips. Then, on +returning to the ranch, he would find the old man ill-humored, moody, +looking fixedly ahead of him as though seeing invisible power and +wailing, “It is my punishment--the punishment for my sins.” + +The memory of the discreditable circumstances under which he had made +Karl’s acquaintance, before bringing him into his home, tormented +the old centaur with remorse. Some afternoons, he would have a horse +saddled, going full gallop toward the neighboring village. But he was +no longer hunting hospitable ranches. He needed to pass some time in +the church, speaking alone with the images that were there only for +him--since he had footed the bills for them. . . . “Through my sin, +through my very great sin!” + +But in spite of his self-reproach, Desnoyers had to work very hard +to get any kind of a settlement out of the old penitent. Whenever he +suggested legalizing the situation and making the necessary arrangements +for their marriage, the old tyrant would not let him go on. “Do what you +think best, but don’t say anything to me about it.” + +Several months passed by. One day the Frenchman approached him with a +certain air of mystery. “Elena has a son and has named him ‘Julio’ after +you.” + +“And you, you great useless hulk,” stormed the ranchman, “and that weak +cow of a wife of yours, you dare to live tranquilly on without giving +me a grandson! . . . Ah, Frenchy, that is why the Germans will finally +overwhelm you. You see it, right here. That bandit has a son, while you, +after four years of marriage . . . nothing. I want a grandson!--do you +understand THAT?” + +And in order to console himself for this lack of little ones around his +own hearth, he betook himself to the ranch of his overseer, Celedonio, +where a band of little half-breeds gathered tremblingly and hopefully +about him. + +Suddenly China died. The poor Misia Petrona passed away as discreetly as +she had lived, trying even in her last hours to avoid all annoyance for +her husband, asking his pardon with an imploring look for any trouble +which her death might cause him. Elena came to the ranch in order to see +her mother’s body for the last time, and Desnoyers who for more than +a year had been supporting them behind his father-in-law’s back, took +advantage of this occasion to overcome the old man’s resentment. + +“Well, I’ll forgive her,” said the ranchman finally. “I’ll do it for the +sake of my poor wife and for you. She may remain on the ranch, and that +shameless gringo may come with her.” + +But he would have nothing to do with him. The German was to be an +employee under Desnoyers, and they could live in the office building as +though they did not belong to the family. He would never say a word to +Karl. + +But scarcely had the German returned before he began giving him orders +rudely as though he were a perfect stranger. At other times he would +pass by him as though he did not know him. Upon finding Elena in the +house with his older daughter, he would go on without speaking to her. + +In vain his Romantica transfigured by maternity, improved all +opportunities for putting her child in his way, calling him loudly by +name: “Julio . . . Julio!” + +“They want that brat of a singing gringo, that carrot top with a face +like a skinned kid to be my grandson? . . . I prefer Celedonio’s.” + +And by way of emphasizing his protest, he entered the dwelling of his +overseer, scattering among his dusky brood handfuls of dollars. + +After seven years of marriage, the wife of Desnoyers found that she, +too, was going to become a mother. Her sister already had three sons. +But what were they worth to Madariaga compared to the grandson that was +going to come? “It will be a boy,” he announced positively, “because I +need one so. It shall be named Julio, and I hope that it will look like +my poor dead wife.” + +Since the death of his wife he no longer called her the China, feeling +something of a posthumous love for the poor woman who in her lifetime +had endured so much, so timidly and silently. Now “my poor dead wife” + cropped out every other instant in the conversation of the remorseful +ranchman. + +His desires were fulfilled. Luisa gave birth to a boy who bore the name +of Julio, and although he did not show in his somewhat sketchy features +any striking resemblance to his grandmother, still he had the black +hair and eyes and olive skin of a brunette. Welcome! . . . This WAS a +grandson! + +In the generosity of his joy, he even permitted the German to enter the +house for the baptismal ceremony. + +When Julio Desnoyers was two years old, his grandfather made the rounds +of his estates, holding him on the saddle in front of him. He went from +ranch to ranch in order to show him to the copper-colored populace, like +an ancient monarch presenting his heir. Later on, when the child was +able to say a few words, he entertained himself for hours at a time +talking with the tot under the shade of the eucalyptus tree. A certain +mental failing was beginning to be noticed in the old man. Although not +exactly in his dotage, his aggressiveness was becoming very childish. +Even in his most affectionate moments, he used to contradict everybody, +and hunt up ways of annoying his relatives. + +“Come here, you false prophet,” he would say to Julio. “You are a +Frenchy.” + +The grandchild protested as though he had been insulted. His mother had +taught him that he was an Argentinian, and his father had suggested that +she also add Spanish, in order to please the grandfather. + +“Very well, then; if you are not a Frenchy, shout, ‘Down with +Napoleon!’” + +And he looked around him to see if Desnoyers might be near, believing +that this would displease him greatly. But his son-in-law pursued the +even tenor of his way, shrugging his shoulders. + +“Down with Napoleon!” repeated Julio. + +And he instantly held out his hand while his grandfather went through +his pockets. + +Karl’s sons, now four in number, used to circle around their grandparent +like a humble chorus kept at a distance, and stare enviously at these +gifts. In order to win his favor, they one day when they saw him alone, +came boldly up to him, shouting in unison, “Down with Napoleon!” + +“You insolent gringoes!” ranted the old man. “That’s what that shameless +father has taught you! If you say that again, I’ll chase you with a +cat-o-nine-tails. . . . The very idea of insulting a great man in that +way!” + +While he tolerated this blond brood, he never would permit the slightest +intimacy. Desnoyers and his wife often had to come to their rescue, +accusing the grandfather of injustice. And in order to pour the vials of +his wrath out on someone, the old plainsman would hunt up Celedonio, the +best of his listeners, who invariably replied, “Yes, Patron. That’s so, +Patron.” + +“They’re not to blame,” agreed the old man, “but I can’t abide them! +Besides, they are so like their father, so fair, with hair like a +shredded carrot, and the two oldest wearing specs as if they were court +clerks! . . . They don’t seem like folks with those glasses; they look +like sharks.” + +Madariaga had never seen any sharks, but he imagined them, without +knowing why, with round, glassy eyes, like the bottoms of bottles. + +By the time he was eight years old, Julio was a famous little +equestrian. “To horse, peoncito,” his grandfather would cry, and away +they would race, streaking like lightning across the fields, midst +thousands and thousands of horned herds. The “peoncito,” proud of his +title, obeyed the master in everything, and so learned to whirl the +lasso over the steers, leaving them bound and conquered. Upon making +his pony take a deep ditch or creep along the edge of the cliffs, he +sometimes fell under his mount, but clambered up gamely. + +“Ah, fine cowboy!” exclaimed the grandfather bursting with pride in his +exploits. “Here are five dollars for you to give a handkerchief to some +china.” + +The old man, in his increasing mental confusion, did not gauge his gifts +exactly with the lad’s years; and the infantile horseman, while keeping +the money, was wondering what china was referred to, and why he should +make her a present. + +Desnoyers finally had to drag his son away from the baleful teachings +of his grandfather. It was simply useless to have masters come to the +house, or to send Julio to the country school. Madariaga would always +steal his grandson away, and then they would scour the plains together. +So when the boy was eleven years old, his father placed him in a big +school in the Capital. + +The grandfather then turned his attention to Julio’s three-year-old +sister, exhibiting her before him as he had her brother, as he took her +from ranch to ranch. Everybody called Chicha’s little girl Chichi, but +the grandfather bestowed on her the same nickname that he had given her +brother, the “peoncito.” And Chichi, who was growing up wild, vigorous +and wilful, breakfasting on meat and talking in her sleep of roast beef, +readily fell in with the old man’s tastes. She was dressed like a boy, +rode astride like a man, and in order to win her grandfather’s praises +as “fine cowboy,” carried a knife in the back of her belt. The two raced +the fields from sun to sun, Madariaga following the flying pigtail of +the little Amazon as though it were a flag. When nine years old she, +too, could lasso the cattle with much dexterity. + +What most irritated the ranchman was that his family would remember his +age. He received as insults his son-in-law’s counsels to remain quietly +at home, becoming more aggressive and reckless as he advanced in years, +exaggerating his activity, as if he wished to drive Death away. He +accepted no help except from his harum-scarum “Peoncito.” When Karl’s +children, great hulking youngsters, hastened to his assistance and +offered to hold his stirrup, he would repel them with snorts of +indignation. + +“So you think I am no longer able to help myself, eh! . . . There’s +still enough life in me to make those who are waiting for me to die, so +as to grab my dollars, chew their disappointment a long while yet!” + +Since the German and his wife were kept pointedly apart from the family +life, they had to put up with these allusions in silence. Karl, +needing protection, constantly shadowed the Frenchman, improving every +opportunity to overwhelm him with his eulogies. He never could thank him +enough for all that he had done for him. He was his only champion. He +longed for a chance to prove his gratitude, to die for him if necessary. +His wife admired him with enthusiasm as “the most gifted knight in the +world.” And Desnoyers received their devotion in gratified silence, +accepting the German as an excellent comrade. As he controlled +absolutely the family fortune, he aided Karl very generously without +arousing the resentment of the old man. He also took the initiative in +bringing about the realization of Karl’s pet ambition--a visit to the +Fatherland. So many years in America! . . . For the very reason that +Desnoyers himself had no desire to return to Europe, he wished to +facilitate Karl’s trip, and gave him the means to make the journey with +his entire family. The father-in-law had no curiosity as to who paid the +expenses. “Let them go!” he said gleefully, “and may they never return!” + +Their absence was not a very long one, for they spent their year’s +allowance in three months. Karl, who had apprised his parents of the +great fortune which his marriage had brought him, wished to make an +impression as a millionaire, in full enjoyment of his riches. Elena +returned radiant, speaking with pride of her relatives--of the baron, +Colonel of Hussars, of the Captain of the Guard, of the Councillor +at Court--asserting that all countries were most insignificant when +compared with her husband’s. She even affected a certain condescension +toward Desnoyers, praising him as “a very worthy man, but without +ancient lineage or distinguished family--and French, besides.” + +Karl, on the other hand, showed the same devotion as before, keeping +himself submissively in the background when with his brother-in-law +who had the keys of the cash box and was his only defense against the +browbeating old Patron. . . . He had left his two older sons in a school +in Germany. Years afterwards they reached an equal footing with the +other grandchildren of the Spaniard who always begrudged them their +existence, “perfect frights, with carroty hair, and eyes like a shark.” + +Suddenly the old man became very lonely, for they had also carried off +his second “Peoncito.” The good Chicha could not tolerate her daughter’s +growing up like a boy, parading ‘round on horseback all the time, and +glibly repeating her grandfather’s vulgarities. So she was now in a +convent in the Capital, where the Sisters had to battle valiantly in +order to tame the mischievous rebellion of their wild little pupil. + +When Julio and Chichi returned to the ranch for their vacations, the +grandfather again concentrated his fondness on the first, as though the +girl had merely been a substitute. Desnoyers was becoming indignant +at his son’s dissipated life. He was no longer at college, and his +existence was that of a student in a rich family who makes up for +parental parsimony with all sorts of imprudent borrowings. + +But Madariaga came to the defense of his grandson. “Ah, the fine +cowboy!” . . . Seeing him again on the ranch, he admired the dash of the +good looking youth, testing his muscles in order to convince himself +of their strength, and making him to recount his nightly escapades as +ringleader of a band of toughs in the Capital. He longed to go to Buenos +Aires himself, just to see the youngster in the midst of this gay, wild +life. But alas! he was not seventeen like his grandson; he had already +passed eighty. + +“Come here, you false prophet! Tell me how many children you have. . . . +You must have a great many children, you know!” + +“Father!” protested Chicha who was always hanging around, fearing her +parent’s bad teachings. + +“Stop nagging at me!” yelled the irate old fellow in a towering temper. +“I know what I’m saying.” + +Paternity figured largely in all his amorous fancies. He was almost +blind, and the loss of his sight was accompanied by an increasing mental +upset. His crazy senility took on a lewd character, expressing itself in +language which scandalized or amused the community. + +“Oh, you rascal, what a pretty fellow you are!” he said, leering at +Julio with eyes which could no longer distinguish things except in a +shadowy way. “You are the living image of my poor dead wife. . . . Have +a good time, for Grandpa is always here with his money! If you could +only count on what your father gives you, you would live like a hermit. +These Frenchies are a close-fisted lot! But I am looking out for you. +Peoncito! Spend and enjoy yourself--that’s what your Granddaddy has +piled up the silver for!” + +When the Desnoyers children returned to the Capital, he spent his +lonesome hours in going from ranch to ranch. A young half-breed would +set the water for his shrub-tea to boiling on the hearth, and the old +man would wonder confusedly if she were his daughter. Another, fifteen +years old, would offer him a gourd filled with the bitter liquid and a +silver pipe with which to sip it. . . . A grandchild, perhaps--he wasn’t +sure. And so he passed the afternoons, silent and sluggish, drinking +gourd after gourd of shrub tea, surrounded by families who stared at him +with admiration and fear. + +Every time he mounted his horse for these excursions, his older daughter +would protest. “At eighty-four years! Would it not be better for him to +remain quietly at home. . . .” Some day something terrible would happen. +. . . And the terrible thing did happen. One evening the Patron’s +horse came slowly home without its rider. The old man had fallen on the +sloping highway, and when they found him, he was dead. Thus died the +centaur as he had lived, with the lash hanging from his wrist, with his +legs bowed by the saddle. + +A Spanish notary, almost as old as he, produced the will. The family +was somewhat alarmed at seeing what a voluminous document it was. What +terrible bequests had Madariaga dictated? The reading of the first part +tranquilized Karl and Elena. The old father had left considerable more +to the wife of Desnoyers, but there still remained an enormous share for +the Romantica and her children. “I do this,” he said, “in memory of my +poor dead wife, and so that people won’t talk.” + +After this, came eighty-six legacies. Eighty-five dark-hued individuals +(women and men), who had lived on the ranch for many years as tenants +and retainers, were to receive the last paternal munificence of the old +patriarch. At the head of these was Celedonio whom Madariaga had greatly +enriched in his lifetime for no heavier work than listening to him and +repeating, “That’s so, Patron, that’s true!” More than a million dollars +were represented by these bequests in lands and herds. The one who +completed the list of beneficiaries was Julio Desnoyers. The grandfather +had made special mention of this namesake, leaving him a plantation “to +meet his private expenses, making up for that which his father would not +give him.” + +“But that represents hundreds of thousands of dollars!” protested Karl, +who had been making himself almost obnoxious in his efforts to assure +himself that his wife had not been overlooked in the will. + +The days following the reading of this will were very trying ones for +the family. Elena and her children kept looking at the other group as +though they had just waked up, contemplating them in an entirely new +light. They seemed to forget what they were going to receive in their +envy of the much larger share of their relatives. + +Desnoyers, benevolent and conciliatory, had a plan. An expert in +administrative affairs, he realized that the distribution among the +heirs was going to double the expenses without increasing the income. He +was calculating, besides, the complications and disbursements necessary +for a judicial division of nine immense ranches, hundreds of thousands +of cattle, deposits in the banks, houses in the city, and debts to +collect. Would it not be better for them all to continue living as +before? . . . Had they not lived most peaceably as a united family? . . . + +The German received this suggestion by drawing himself up haughtily. +No; to each one should be given what was his. Let each live in his own +sphere. He wished to establish himself in Europe, spending his wealth +freely there. It was necessary for him to return to “his world.” + +As they looked squarely at each other, Desnoyers saw an unknown Karl, +a Karl whose existence he had never suspected when he was under his +protection, timid and servile. The Frenchman, too, was beginning to see +things in a new light. + +“Very well,” he assented. “Let each take his own. That seems fair to +me.” + + + +CHAPTER III + +THE DESNOYERS FAMILY + + +The “Madariagan succession,” as it was called in the language of +the legal men interested in prolonging it in order to augment their +fees--was divided into two groups, separated by the ocean. The Desnoyers +moved to Buenos Aires. The Hartrotts moved to Berlin as soon as Karl +could sell all the legacy, to re-invest it in lands and industrial +enterprises in his own country. + +Desnoyers no longer cared to live in the country. For twenty years, +now, he had been the head of an enormous agricultural and stock raising +business, overseeing hundreds of men in the various ranches. The +parcelling out of the old man’s fortune among Elena and the other +legatees had considerably constricted the radius of his authority, +and it angered him to see established on the neighboring lands so many +foreigners, almost all Germans, who had bought of Karl. Furthermore, +he was getting old, his wife’s inheritance amounted to about twenty +millions of dollars, and perhaps his brother-in-law was showing the +better judgment in returning to Europe. + +So he leased some of the plantations, handed over the superintendence +of others to those mentioned in the will who considered themselves +left-handed members of the family--of which Desnoyers as the Patron +received their submissive allegiance--and moved to Buenos Aires. + +By this move, he was able to keep an eye on his son who continued living +a dissipated life without making any headway in his engineering studies. +Then, too, Chichi was now almost a woman--her robust development making +her look older than she was--and it was not expedient to keep her on the +estate to become a rustic senorita like her mother. + +Dona Luisa had also tired of ranch life, the social triumphs of her +sister making her a little restless. She was incapable of feeling +jealous, but material ambitions made her anxious that her children +should not bring up the rear of the procession in which the other +grandchildren were cutting such a dashing figure. + +During the year, most wonderful reports from Germany were finding their +way to the Desnoyers home in the Capital. “The aunt from Berlin,” as the +children called her, kept sending long letters filled with accounts +of dances, dinners, hunting parties and titles--many high-sounding and +military titles;--“our brother, the Colonel,” “our cousin, the Baron,” + “our uncle, the Intimate Councillor,” “our great-uncle, the Truly +Intimate.” All the extravagances of the German social ladder, which +incessantly manufactures new titles in order to satisfy the thirst for +honors of a people divided into castes, were enumerated with delight by +the old Romantica. She even mentioned her husband’s secretary (a nobody) +who, through working in the public offices, had acquired the title of +Rechnungarath, Councillor of Calculations. She also referred with much +pride to the retired Oberpedell which she had in her house, explaining +that that meant “Superior Porter.” + +The news about her children was no less glorious. The oldest was the +wise one of the family. He was devoted to philology and the historical +sciences, but his sight was growing weaker all the time because of his +omnivorous reading. Soon he would be a Doctor, and before he was +thirty, a Herr Professor. The mother lamented that he had not military +aspirations, considering that his tastes had somewhat distorted the +lofty destinies of the family. Professorships, sciences and literature +were more properly the perquisites of the Jews, unable, because of their +race, to obtain preferment in the army; but she was trying to console +herself by keeping in mind that a celebrated professor could, in time, +acquire a social rank almost equal to that of a colonel. + +Her other four sons would become officers. Their father was preparing +the ground so that they might enter the Guard or some aristocratic +regiment without any of the members being able to vote against their +admission. The two daughters would surely marry, when they had reached +a suitable age with officers of the Hussars whose names bore the magic +“von” of petty nobility, haughty and charming gentlemen about whom the +daughter of Misia Petrona waxed most enthusiastic. + +The establishment of the Hartrotts was in keeping with these new +relationships. In the home in Berlin, the servants wore knee-breeches +and white wigs on the nights of great banquets. Karl had bought an old +castle with pointed towers, ghosts in the cellars, and various legends +of assassinations, assaults and abductions which enlivened its history +in an interesting way. An architect, decorated with many foreign orders, +and bearing the title of “Councillor of Construction,” was engaged +to modernize the mediaeval edifice without sacrificing its terrifying +aspect. The Romantica described in anticipation the receptions in the +gloomy salon, the light diffused by electricity, simulating torches, +the crackling of the emblazoned hearth with its imitation logs bristling +with flames of gas, all the splendor of modern luxury combined with the +souvenirs of an epoch of omnipotent nobility--the best, according to +her, in history. And the hunting parties, the future hunting parties! +. . . in an annex of sandy and loose soil with pine woods--in no way +comparable to the rich ground of their native ranch, but which had the +honor of being trodden centuries ago by the Princes of Brandenburg, +founders of the reigning house of Prussia. And all this advancement in a +single year! . . . + +They had, of course, to compete with other oversea families who had +amassed enormous fortunes in the United States, Brazil or the Pacific +coast; but these were Germans “without lineage,” coarse plebeians who +were struggling in vain to force themselves into the great world by +making donations to the imperial works. With all their millions, the +very most that they could ever hope to attain would be to marry their +daughters with ordinary soldiers. Whilst Karl! . . . The relatives of +Karl! . . . and the Romantica let her pen run on, glorifying a family in +whose bosom she fancied she had been born. + +From time to time were enclosed with Elena’s effusions brief, crisp +notes directed to Desnoyers. The brother-in-law continued giving an +account of his operations the same as when living on the ranch under +his protection. But with this deference was now mixed a badly concealed +pride, an evident desire to retaliate for his times of voluntary +humiliation. Everything that he was doing was grand and glorious. He had +invested his millions in the industrial enterprises of modern Germany. +He was stockholder of munition factories as big as towns, and of +navigation companies launching a ship every half year. The Emperor was +interesting himself in these works, looking benevolently on all those +who wished to aid him. Besides this, Karl was buying land. At first +sight, it seemed foolish to have sold the fertile fields of their +inheritance in order to acquire sandy Prussian wastes that yielded only +to much artificial fertilizing; but by becoming a land owner, he now +belonged to the “Agrarian Party,” the aristocratic and conservative +group par excellence, and thus he was living in two different but +equally distinguished worlds--that of the great industrial friends +of the Emperor, and that of the Junkers, knights of the countryside, +guardians of the old traditions and the supply-source of the officials +of the King of Prussia. + +On hearing of these social strides, Desnoyers could not but think of the +pecuniary sacrifices which they must represent. He knew Karl’s past, +for on the ranch, under an impulse of gratitude, the German had one day +revealed to the Frenchman the cause of his coming to America. He was +a former officer in the German army, but the desire of living +ostentatiously without other resources than his salary, had dragged him +into committing such reprehensible acts as abstracting funds belonging +to the regiment, incurring debts of honor and paying for them with +forged signatures. These crimes had not been officially prosecuted +through consideration of his father’s memory, but the members of his +division had submitted him to a tribunal of honor. His brothers and +friends had advised him to shoot himself as the only remedy; but +he loved life and had fled to South America where, in spite of +humiliations, he had finally triumphed. + +Wealth effaces the spots of the past even more rapidly than Time. The +news of his fortune on the other side of the ocean made his family give +him a warm reception on his first voyage home; introducing him again +into their world. Nobody could remember shameful stories about a few +hundred marks concerning a man who was talking about his father-in-law’s +lands, more extensive than many German principalities. Now, upon +installing himself definitely in his country, all was forgotten. But, +oh, the contributions levied upon his vanity . . . Desnoyers shrewdly +guessed at the thousands of marks poured with both hands into the +charitable works of the Empress, into the imperialistic propagandas, +into the societies of veterans, into the clubs of aggression and +expansion organized by German ambition. + +The frugal Frenchman, thrifty in his expenditures and free from social +ambitions, smiled at the grandeurs of his brother-in-law. He considered +Karl an excellent companion although of a childish pride. He recalled +with satisfaction the years that they had passed together in the +country. He could not forget the German who was always hovering around +him, affectionate and submissive as a younger brother. When his family +commented with a somewhat envious vivacity upon the glories of their +Berlin relatives, Desnoyers would say smilingly, “Leave them in peace; +they are paying very dear for their whistle.” + +But the enthusiasm which the letters from Germany breathed finally +created an atmosphere of disquietude and rebellion. Chichi led the +attack. Why were they not going to Europe like other folks? all their +friends had been there. Even the Italian and Spanish shopkeepers were +making the voyage, while she, the daughter of a Frenchman, had never +seen Paris! . . . Oh, Paris. The doctors in attendance on melancholy +ladies were announcing the existence of a new and terrible disease, “the +mania for Paris.” Dona Luisa supported her daughter. Why had she not +gone to live in Europe like her sister, since she was the richer of the +two? Even Julio gravely declared that in the old world he could study to +better advantage. America is not the land of the learned. + +Infected by the general unrest, the father finally began to wonder +why the idea of going to Europe had not occurred to him long before. +Thirty-four years without going to that country which was not his! +. . . It was high time to start! He was living too near to his business. In +vain the retired ranchman had tried to keep himself indifferent to the +money market. Everybody was coining money around him. In the club, in +the theatre, wherever he went, the people were talking about purchases +of lands, of sales of stock, of quick negotiations with a triple profit, +of portentous balances. The amount of money that he was keeping idle in +the banks was beginning to weigh upon him. He finally ended by involving +himself in some speculation; like a gambler who cannot see the roulette +wheel without putting his hand in his pocket. + +His family was right. “To Paris!” For in the Desnoyers’ mind, to go to +Europe meant, of course, to go to Paris. Let the “aunt from Berlin” keep +on chanting the glories of her husband’s country! “It’s sheer nonsense!” + exclaimed Julio who had made grave geographical and ethnic comparisons +in his nightly forays. “There is no place but Paris!” Chichi saluted +with an ironical smile the slightest doubt of it--“Perhaps they make as +elegant fashions in Germany as in Paris? . . . Bah!” Dona Luisa took up +her children’s cry. “Paris!” . . . Never had it even occurred to her to +go to a Lutheran land to be protected by her sister. + +“Let it be Paris, then!” said the Frenchman, as though he were speaking +of an unknown city. + +He had accustomed himself to believe that he would never return to it. +During the first years of his life in America, the trip would have been +an impossibility because of the military service which he had evaded. +Then he had vague news of different amnesties. After the time for +conscription had long since passed, an inertness of will had made him +consider a return to his country as somewhat absurd and useless. On the +other side, nothing remained to attract him. He had even lost track of +those country relatives with whom his mother had lived. In his heaviest +hours he had tried to occupy his activity by planning an enormous +mausoleum, all of marble, in La Recoleta, the cemetery of the rich, +in order to move thither the remains of Madariaga as founder of the +dynasty, following him with all his own when their hour should come. +He was beginning to feel the weight of age. He was nearly seventy years +old, and the rude life of the country, the horseback rides in the rain, +the rivers forded upon his swimming horse, the nights passed in the open +air, had brought on a rheumatism that was torturing his best days. + +His family, however, reawakened his enthusiasm. “To Paris!” . . . He +began to fancy that he was twenty again, and forgetting his habitual +parsimony, wished his household to travel like royalty, in the most +luxurious staterooms, and with personal servants. Two copper-hued +country girls, born on the ranch and elevated to the rank of maids +to the senora and her daughter, accompanied them on the voyage, their +oblique eyes betraying not the slightest astonishment before the +greatest novelties. + +Once in Paris, Desnoyers found himself quite bewildered. He confused +the names of streets, proposed visits to buildings which had long since +disappeared, and all his attempts to prove himself an expert authority +on Paris were attended with disappointment. His children, guided by +recent reading up, knew Paris better than he. He was considered +a foreigner in his own country. At first, he even felt a certain +strangeness in using his native tongue, for he had remained on the ranch +without speaking a word of his language for years at a time. He was used +to thinking in Spanish, and translating his ideas into the speech of his +ancestors spattered his French with all kinds of Creole dialect. + +“Where a man makes his fortune and raises his family, there is his true +country,” he said sententiously, remembering Madariaga. + +The image of that distant country dominated him with insistent obsession +as soon as the impressions of the voyage had worn off. He had no French +friends, and upon going into the street, his feet instinctively took him +to the places where the Argentinians gathered together. It was the same +with them. They had left their country only to feel, with increasing +intensity, the desire to talk about it all the time. There he read the +papers, commenting on the rising prices in the fields, on the prospects +for the next harvests and on the sales of cattle. Returning home, his +thoughts were still in America, and he chuckled with delight as he +recalled the way in which the two chinas had defied the professional +dignity of the French cook, preparing their native stews and other +dishes in Creole style. + +He had settled the family in an ostentatious house in the avenida Victor +Hugo, for which he paid a rental of twenty-eight thousand francs. Dona +Luisa had to go and come many times before she could accustom herself to +the imposing aspect of the concierges--he, decorated with gold trimmings +on his black uniform and wearing white whiskers like a notary in a +comedy, she with a chain of gold upon her exuberant bosom, and receiving +the tenants in a red and gold salon. In the rooms above was ultra-modern +luxury, gilded and glacial, with white walls and glass doors with +tiny panes which exasperated Desnoyers, who longed for the complicated +carvings and rich furniture in vogue during his youth. He himself +directed the arrangement and furnishings of the various rooms which +always seemed empty. + +Chichi protested against her father’s avarice when she saw him buying +slowly and with much calculation and hesitation. “Avarice, no!” he +retorted, “it is because I know the worth of things.” + +Nothing pleased him that he had not acquired at one-third of its value. +Beating down those who overcharged but proved the superiority of the +buyer. Paris offered him one delightful spot which he could not find +anywhere else in the world--the Hotel Drouot. He would go there every +afternoon that he did not find other important auctions advertised in +the papers. For many years, there was no famous failure in Parisian +life, with its consequent liquidation, from which he did not carry +something away. The use and need of these prizes were matters of +secondary interest, the great thing was to get them for ridiculous +prices. So the trophies from the auction-rooms now began to inundate +the apartment which, at the beginning, he had been furnishing with such +desperate slowness. + +His daughter now complained that the home was getting overcrowded. The +furnishings and ornaments were handsome, but too many . . . far too +many! The white walls seemed to scowl at the magnificent sets of chairs +and the overflowing glass cabinets. Rich and velvety carpets over +which had passed many generations, covered all the compartments. Showy +curtains, not finding a vacant frame in the salons, adorned the doors +leading into the kitchen. The wall mouldings gradually disappeared +under an overlay of pictures, placed close together like the scales of +a cuirass. Who now could accuse Desnoyers of avarice? . . . He was +investing far more than a fashionable contractor would have dreamed of +spending. + +The underlying idea still was to acquire all this for a fourth of its +price--an exciting bait which lured the economical man into continuous +dissipation. He could sleep well only when he had driven a good bargain +during the day. He bought at auction thousands of bottles of wine +consigned by bankrupt firms, and he who scarcely ever drank, packed his +wine cellars to overflowing, advising his family to use the champagne as +freely as ordinary wine. The failure of a furrier induced him to buy for +fourteen thousand francs pelts worth ninety thousand. In consequence, +the entire Desnoyers family seemed suddenly to be suffering as +frightfully from cold as though a polar iceberg had invaded the avenida +Victor Hugo. The father kept only one fur coat for himself but ordered +three for his son. Chichi and Dona Luisa appeared arrayed in all kinds +of silky and luxurious skins--one day chinchilla, other days blue fox, +marten or seal. + +The enraptured buyer would permit no one but himself to adorn the +walls with his new acquisitions, using the hammer from the top of a +step-ladder in order to save the expense of a professional picture +hanger. He wished to set his children the example of economy. In his +idle hours, he would change the position of the heaviest pieces of +furniture, trying every kind of combination. This employment reminded +him of those happy days when he handled great sacks of wheat and bundles +of hides on the ranch. Whenever his son noticed that he was looking +thoughtfully at a monumental sideboard or heavy piece, he prudently +betook himself to other haunts. + +Desnoyers stood a little in awe of the two house-men, very solemn, +correct creatures always in dress suit, who could not hide their +astonishment at seeing a man with an income of more than a million +francs engaged in such work. Finally it was the two coppery maids +who aided their Patron, the three working contentedly together like +companions in exile. + +Four automobiles completed the luxuriousness of the family. The children +would have been more content with one--small and dashing, in the very +latest style. But Desnoyers was not the man to let a bargain slip past +him, so one after the other, he had picked up the four, tempted by the +price. They were as enormous and majestic as coaches of state. Their +entrance into a street made the passers-by turn and stare. The chauffeur +needed two assistants to help him keep this flock of mastodons in order, +but the proud owner thought only of the skill with which he had gotten +the best of the salesmen, anxious to get such monuments out of their +sight. + +To his children he was always recommending simplicity and economy. “We +are not as rich as you suppose. We own a good deal of property, but it +produces a scanty income.” + +And then, after refusing a domestic expenditure of two hundred francs, +he would put five thousand into an unnecessary purchase just because +it would mean a great loss to the seller. Julio and his sister kept +protesting to their mother, Dona Luisa--Chichi even going so far as to +announce that she would never marry a man like her father. + +“Hush, hush!” exclaimed the scandalized Creole. “He has his little +peculiarities, but he is very good. Never has he given me any cause for +complaint. I only hope that you may be lucky enough to find his equal.” + +Her husband’s quarrelsomeness, his irritable character and his masterful +will all sank into insignificance when she thought of his unvarying +fidelity. In so many years of married life . . . nothing! His +faithfulness had been unexceptional even in the country where many, +surrounded by beasts, and intent on increasing their flocks, had seemed +to become contaminated by the general animalism. She remembered her +father only too well! . . . Even her sister was obliged to live +in apparent calmness with the vainglorious Karl, quite capable of +disloyalty not because of any special lust, but just to imitate the +doings of his superiors. + +Desnoyers and his wife were plodding through life in a routine +affection, reminding Dona Luisa, in her limited imagination, of the +yokes of oxen on the ranch who refused to budge whenever another animal +was substituted for the regular companion. Her husband certainly was +quick tempered, holding her responsible for all the whims with which he +exasperated his children, yet he could never bear to have her out of his +sight. The afternoons at the hotel Drouot would be most insipid for him +unless she was at his side, the confidante of his plans and wrathful +outbursts. + +“To-day there is to be a sale of jewels; shall we go?” + +He would make this proposition in such a gentle and coaxing voice--the +voice that Dona Luisa remembered in their first talks around the old +home. And so they would go together, but by different routes;--she in +one of the monumental vehicles because, accustomed to the leisurely +carriage rides of the ranch, she no longer cared to walk; and +Desnoyers--although owner of the four automobiles, heartily abominating +them because he was conservative and uneasy with the complications of +new machinery--on foot under the pretext that, through lack of work, his +body needed the exercise. When they met in the crowded salesrooms, they +proceeded to examine the jewels together, fixing beforehand, the price +they would offer. But he, quick to become exasperated by opposition, +always went further, hurling numbers at his competitors as though they +were blows. After such excursions, the senora would appear as majestic +and dazzling as a basilica of Byzantium--ears and neck decorated +with great pearls, her bosom a constellation of brilliants, her hands +radiating points of light of all colors of the rainbow. + +“Too much, mama,” Chichi would protest. “They will take you for a +pawnbroker’s lady!” But the Creole, satisfied with her splendor, the +crowning glory of a humble life, attributed her daughter’s faultfinding +to envy. Chichi was only a girl now, but later on she would thank her +for having collected all these gems for her. + +Already the home was unable to accommodate so many purchases. In +the cellars were piled up enough paintings, furniture, statues, and +draperies to equip several other dwellings. Don Marcelo began to +complain of the cramped space in an apartment costing twenty-eight +thousand francs a year--in reality large enough for a family four times +the size of his. He was beginning to deplore being obliged to renounce +some very tempting furniture bargains when a real estate agent smelled +out the foreigner and relieved him of his embarrassment. Why not buy a +castle? . . . + +The entire family was delighted with the idea. An historic castle, the +most historic that could be found, would supplement their luxurious +establishment. Chichi paled with pride. Some of her friends had castles. +Others, of old colonial family, who were accustomed to look down upon +her for her country bringing up, would now cry with envy upon learning +of this acquisition which was almost a patent of nobility. The mother +smiled in the hope of months in the country which would recall the +simple and happy life of her youth. Julio was less enthusiastic. The +“old man” would expect him to spend much time away from Paris, but he +consoled himself by reflecting that the suburban place would provide +excuse for frequent automobile trips. + +Desnoyers thought of the relatives in Berlin. Why should he not have +his castle like the others? . . . The bargains were alluring. Historic +mansions by the dozen were offered him. Their owners, exhausted by +the expense of maintaining them, were more than anxious to sell. So he +bought the castle of Villeblanche-sur-Marne, built in the time of +the religious wars--a mixture of palace and fortress with an Italian +Renaissance facade, gloomy towers with pointed hoods, and moats in which +swans were swimming. + +He could now live with some tracts of land over which to exercise his +authority, struggling again with the resistance of men and things. +Besides, the vast proportions of the rooms of the castle were very +tempting and bare of furniture. This opportunity for placing the +overflow from his cellars plunged him again into buying. With this +atmosphere of lordly gloom, the antiques would harmonize beautifully, +without that cry of protest which they always seemed to make when placed +in contact with the glaring white walls of modern habitations. The +historic residence required an endless outlay; on that account it had +changed owners so many times. + +But he and the land understood each other beautifully. . . . So at the +same time that he was filling the salons, he was going to begin farming +and stock-raising in the extensive parks--a reproduction in miniature +of his enterprises in South America. The property ought to be made +self-supporting. Not that he had any fear of the expenses, but he did +not intend to lose money on the proposition. + +The acquisition of the castle brought Desnoyers a true friendship--the +chief advantage in the transaction. He became acquainted with a +neighbor, Senator Lacour, who twice had been Minister of State, and was +now vegetating in the senate, silent during its sessions, but restless +and voluble in the corridors in order to maintain his influence. He was +a prominent figure of the republican nobility, an aristocrat of the new +regime that had sprung from the agitations of the Revolution, just +as the titled nobility had won their spurs in the Crusades. His +great-grandfather had belonged to the Convention. His father had figured +in the Republic of 1848. He, as the son of an exile who had died in +banishment, had when very young marched behind the grandiloquent figure +of Gambetta, and always spoke in glowing terms of the Master, in the +hope that some of his rays might be reflected on his disciple. His son +Rene, a pupil of the Ecole Centrale regarded his father as “a rare +old sport,” laughing a little at his romantic and humanitarian +republicanism. He, nevertheless, was counting much on that same official +protection treasured by four generations of Lacours dedicated to the +service of the Republic, to assist him when he became an engineer. + +Don Marcelo who used to look uneasily upon any new friendship, fearing a +demand for a loan, gave himself up with enthusiasm to intimacy with this +“grand man.” The personage admired riches and recognized, besides, +a certain genius in this millionaire from the other side of the sea +accustomed to speaking of limitless pastures and immense herds. +Their intercourse was more than the mere friendliness of a country +neighborhood, and continued on after their return to Paris. Finally Rene +visited the home on the avenida Victor Hugo as though it were his own. + +The only disappointments in Desnoyers’ new life came from his children. +Chichi irritated him because of the independence of her tastes. She did +not like antiques, no matter how substantial and magnificent they might +be, much preferring the frivolities of the latest fashion. She accepted +all her father’s gifts with great indifference. Before an exquisite +blonde piece of lace, centuries old, picked up at auction, she made +a wry face, saying, “I would much rather have had a new dress costing +three hundred francs.” She and her brother were solidly opposed to +everything old. + +Now that his daughter was already a woman, he had confided her +absolutely to the care of Dona Luisa. But the former “Peoncito” was not +showing much respect for the advice and commands of the good natured +Creole. She had taken up roller-skating with enthusiasm, regarding it as +the most elegant of diversions. She would go every afternoon to the Ice +Palace, Dona Luisa chaperoning her, although to do this she was obliged +to give up accompanying her husband to his sales. Oh, the hours of +deadly weariness before that frozen oval ring, watching the white circle +of balancing human monkeys gliding by on runners to the sound of an +organ! . . . Her daughter would pass and repass before her tired eyes, +rosy from the exercise, spirals of hair escaped from her hat, streaming +out behind, the folds of her skirt swinging above her skates--handsome, +athletic and Amazonian, with the rude health of a child who, according +to her father, “had been weaned on beefsteaks.” + +Finally Dona Luisa rebelled against this troublesome vigilance, +preferring to accompany her husband on his hunt for underpriced riches. +Chichi went to the skating rink with one of the dark-skinned maids, +passing the afternoons with her sporty friends of the new world. +Together they ventilated their ideas under the glare of the easy life +of Paris, freed from the scruples and conventions of their native land. +They all thought themselves older than they were, delighting to discover +in each other unsuspected charms. The change from the other hemisphere +had altered their sense of values. Some were even writing verses in +French. And Desnoyers became alarmed, giving free rein to his bad humor, +when Chichi of evenings, would bring forth as aphorisms that which she +and her friends had been discussing, as a summary of their readings and +observations.--“Life is life, and one must live! . . . I will marry the +man I love, no matter who he may be. . . .” + +But the daughter’s independence was as nothing compared to the worry +which the other child gave the Desnoyers. Ay, that other one! . . . +Julio, upon arriving in Paris, had changed the bent of his aspirations. +He no longer thought of becoming an engineer; he wished to become +an artist. Don Marcelo objected in great consternation, but finally +yielded. Let it be painting! The important thing was to have some +regular profession. The father, while he considered property and wealth +as sacred rights, felt that no one should enjoy them who had not worked +to acquire them. + +Recalling his apprenticeship as a wood carver, he began to hope that the +artistic instincts which poverty had extinguished in him were, perhaps, +reappearing in his son. What if this lazy boy, this lively genius, +hesitating before taking up his walk in life, should turn out to be +a famous painter, after all! . . . So he agreed to all of Julio’s +caprices, the budding artist insisting that for his first efforts in +drawing and coloring, he needed a separate apartment where he could work +with more freedom. His father, therefore, established him near his home, +in the rue de la Pompe in the former studio of a well-known foreign +painter. The workroom and its annexes were far too large for an amateur, +but the owner had died, and Desnoyers improved the opportunity offered +by the heirs, and bought at a remarkable bargain, the entire plant, +pictures and furnishings. + +Dona Luisa at first visited the studio daily like a good mother, caring +for the well-being of her son that he may work to better advantage. +Taking off her gloves, she emptied the brass trays filled with cigar +stubs and dusted the furniture powdered with the ashes fallen from the +pipes. Julio’s visitors, long-haired young men who spoke of things +that she could not understand, seemed to her rather careless in their +manners. . . . Later on she also met there women, very lightly clad, and +was received with scowls by her son. Wasn’t his mother ever going to let +him work in peace? . . . So the poor lady, starting out in the morning +toward the rue de la Pompe, stopped midway and went instead to the +church of Saint Honore d’Eylau. + +The father displayed more prudence. A man of his years could not expect +to mingle with the chums of a young artist. In a few months’ time, Julio +passed entire weeks without going to sleep under the paternal roof. +Finally he installed himself permanently in his studio, occasionally +making a flying trip home that his family might know that he was still +in existence. . . . Some mornings, Desnoyers would arrive at the rue de +la Pompe in order to ask a few questions of the concierge. It was ten +o’clock; the artist was sleeping. Upon returning at midday, he learned +that the heavy sleep still continued. Soon after lunch, another visit +to get better news. It was two o’clock, the young gentleman was just +arising. So the father would retire, muttering stormily--“But when does +this painter ever paint?” . . . + +At first Julio had tried to win renown with his brush, believing that +it would prove an easy task. In true artist fashion, he collected his +friends around him, South American boys with nothing to do but enjoy +life, scattering money ostentatiously so that everybody might know +of their generosity. With serene audacity, the young canvas-dauber +undertook to paint portraits. He loved good painting, “distinctive” + painting, with the cloying sweetness of a romance, that copied only the +forms of women. He had money, a good studio, his father was standing +behind him ready to help--why shouldn’t he accomplish as much as many +others who lacked his opportunities? . . . + +So he began his work by coloring a canvas entitled, “The Dance of the +Hours,” a mere pretext for copying pretty girls and selecting buxom +models. These he would sketch at a mad speed, filling in the outlines +with blobs of multi-colored paint, and up to this point all went well. +Then he would begin to vacillate, remaining idle before the picture only +to put it in the corner in hope of later inspiration. It was the same +way with his various studies of feminine heads. Finding that he was +never able to finish anything, he soon became resigned, like one +who pants with fatigue before an obstacle waiting for a providential +interposition to save him. The important thing was to be a painter . . . +even though he might not paint anything. This afforded him the +opportunity, on the plea of lofty aestheticism, of sending out cards +of invitation and asking light women to his studio. He lived during +the night. Don Marcelo, upon investigating the artist’s work, could not +contain his indignation. Every morning the two Desnoyers were accustomed +to greet the first hours of dawn--the father leaping from his bed, the +son, on his way home to his studio to throw himself upon his couch not +to wake till midday. + +The credulous Dona Luisa would invent the most absurd explanations to +defend her son. Who could tell? Perhaps he had the habit of painting +during the night, utilizing it for original work. Men resort to so many +devilish things! . . . + +Desnoyers knew very well what these nocturnal gusts of genius were +amounting to--scandals in the restaurants of Montmartre, and scrimmages, +many scrimmages. He and his gang, who believed that at seven a full +dress or Tuxedo was indispensable, were like a band of Indians, bringing +to Paris the wild customs of the plains. Champagne always made them +quarrelsome. So they broke and paid, but their generosities were almost +invariably followed by a scuffle. No one could surpass Julio in the +quick slap and the ready card. His father heard with a heavy heart the +news brought him by some friends thinking to flatter his vanity--his +son was always victorious in these gentlemanly encounters; he it was who +always scratched the enemy’s skin. The painter knew more about fencing +than art. He was a champion with various weapons; he could box, and was +even skilled in the favorite blows of the prize fighters of the slums. +“Useless as a drone, and as dangerous, too,” fretted his father. And +yet in the back of his troubled mind fluttered an irresistible +satisfaction--an animal pride in the thought that this hare-brained +terror was his own. + +For a while, he thought that he had hit upon a way of withdrawing his +son from such an existence. The relatives in Berlin had visited +the Desnoyers in their castle of Villeblanche. With good-natured +superiority, Karl von Hartrott had appreciated the rich and rather +absurd accumulations of his brother-in-law. They were not bad; he +admitted that they gave a certain cachet to the home in Paris and to the +castle. They smacked of the possessions of titled nobility. But Germany! +. . . The comforts and luxuries in his country! . . . He just wished his +brother-in-law to admire the way he lived and the noble friendships that +embellished his opulence. And so he insisted in his letters that the +Desnoyers family should return their visit. This change of environment +might tone Julio down a little. Perhaps his ambition might waken on +seeing the diligence of his cousins, each with a career. The Frenchman +had, besides, an underlying belief in the more corrupt influence of +Paris as compared with the purity of the customs in Patriarchal Germany. + +They were there four months. In a little while Desnoyers felt ready to +retreat. Each to his own kind; he would never be able to understand +such people. Exceedingly amiable, with an abject amiability and evident +desire to please, but constantly blundering through a tactless desire to +make their grandeur felt. The high-toned friends of Hartrott emphasized +their love for France, but it was the pious love that a weak and +mischievous child inspires, needing protection. And they would accompany +their affability with all manner of inopportune memories of the wars in +which France had been conquered. Everything in Germany--a monument, a +railroad station, a simple dining-room device, instantly gave rise to +glorious comparisons. “In France, you do not have this,” “Of course, you +never saw anything like this in America.” + +Don Marcelo came away fatigued by so much condescension, and his wife +and daughter refused to be convinced that the elegance of Berlin could +be superior to Paris. Chichi, with audacious sacrilege, scandalized her +cousins by declaring that she could not abide the corseted officers with +immovable monocle, who bowed to the women with such automatic rigidity, +blending their gallantries with an air of superiority. + +Julio, guided by his cousins, was saturated in the virtuous atmosphere +of Berlin. With the oldest, “The Sage,” he had nothing to do. He was a +poor creature devoted to his books who patronized all the family with +a protecting air. It was the others, the sub-lieutenants or military +students, who proudly showed him the rounds of German joy. + +Julio was accordingly introduced to all the night +restaurants--imitations of those in Paris, but on a much larger scale. +The women who in Paris might be counted by the dozens appeared here +in hundreds. The scandalous drunkenness here never came by chance, +but always by design as an indispensable part of the gaiety. All was +grandiose, glittering, colossal. The libertines diverted themselves +in platoons, the public got drunk in companies, the harlots presented +themselves in regiments. He felt a sensation of disgust before these +timid and servile females, accustomed to blows, who were so eagerly +trying to reimburse themselves for the losses and exposures of their +business. For him, it was impossible to celebrate with hoarse ha-has, +like his cousins, the discomfiture of these women when they realized +that they had wasted so many hours without accomplishing more than +abundant drinking. The gross obscenity, so public and noisy, like a +parade of riches, was loathsome to Julio. “There is nothing like this +in Paris,” his cousins repeatedly exulted as they admired the stupendous +salons, the hundreds of men and women in pairs, the thousands of +tipplers. “No, there certainly was nothing like that in Paris.” He was +sick of such boundless pretension. He seemed to be attending a fiesta +of hungry mariners anxious at one swoop to make amends for all former +privations. Like his father, he longed to get away. It offended his +aesthetic sense. + +Don Marcelo returned from this visit with melancholy resignation. Those +people had undoubtedly made great strides. He was not such a blind +patriot that he could not admit what was so evident. Within a few years +they had transformed their country, and their industry was astonishing +. . . but, well . . . it was simply impossible to have anything to do +with them. Each to his own, but may they never take a notion to envy +their neighbor! . . . Then he immediately repelled this last suspicion +with the optimism of a business man. + +“They are going to be very rich,” he thought. “Their affairs are +prospering, and he that is rich does not hunt quarrels. That war of +which some crazy fools are always dreaming would be an impossible +thing.” + +Young Desnoyers renewed his Parisian existence, living entirely in the +studio and going less and less to his father’s home. Dona Luisa began to +speak of a certain Argensola, a very learned young Spaniard, believing +that his counsels might prove most helpful to Julio. She did not know +exactly whether this new companion was friend, master or servant. The +studio habitues also had their doubts. The literary ones always spoke +of Argensola as a painter. The painters recognized only his ability as a +man of letters. He was among those who used to come up to the studio +of winter afternoons, attracted by the ruddy glow of the stove and the +wines secretly provided by the mother, holding forth authoritatively +before the often-renewed bottle and the box of cigars lying open on the +table. One night, he slept on the divan, as he had no regular quarters. +After that first night, he lived entirely in the studio. + +Julio soon discovered in him an admirable reflex of his own personality. +He knew that Argensola had come third-class from Madrid with twenty +francs in his pocket, in order to “capture glory,” to use his own words. +Upon observing that the Spaniard was painting with as much difficulty +as himself, with the same wooden and childish strokes, which are so +characteristic of the make-believe artists and pot-boilers, the routine +workers concerned themselves with color and other rank fads. Argensola +was a psychological artist, a painter of souls. And his disciple, felt +astonished and almost displeased on learning what a comparatively simple +thing it was to paint a soul. Upon a bloodless countenance, with a chin +as sharp as a dagger, the gifted Spaniard would trace a pair of nearly +round eyes, and at the centre of each pupil he would aim a white brush +stroke, a point of light . . . the soul. Then, planting himself +before the canvas, he would proceed to classify this soul with his +inexhaustible imagination, attributing to it almost every kind of stress +and extremity. So great was the sway of his rapture that Julio, too, was +able to see all that the artist flattered himself into believing that he +had put into the owlish eyes. He, also, would paint souls . . . souls of +women. + +In spite of the ease with which he developed his psychological +creations, Argensola preferred to talk, stretched on a divan, or to +read, hugging the fire while his friend and protector was outside. +Another advantage this fondness for reading gave young Desnoyers was +that he was no longer obliged to open a volume, scanning the index and +last pages “just to get the idea.” Formerly when frequenting society +functions, he had been guilty of coolly asking an author which was his +best book--his smile of a clever man--giving the writer to understand +that he merely enquired so as not to waste time on the other volumes. +Now it was no longer necessary to do this; Argensola would read for him. +As soon as Julio would see him absorbed in a book, he would demand an +immediate share: “Tell me the story.” So the “secretary,” not only gave +him the plots of comedies and novels, but also detailed the argument of +Schopenhauer or of Nietzsche . . . Dona Luisa almost wept on hearing her +visitors--with that benevolence which wealth always inspires--speak of +her son as “a rather gay young man, but wonderfully well read!” + +In exchange for his lessons, Argensola received, much the same treatment +as did the Greek slaves who taught rhetoric to the young patricians of +decadent Rome. In the midst of a dissertation, his lord and friend would +interrupt him with--“Get my dress suit ready. I am invited out this +evening.” + +At other times, when the instructor was luxuriating in bodily comfort, +with a book in one hand near the roaring stove, seeing through the +windows the gray and rainy afternoon, his disciple would suddenly appear +saying, “Quick, get out! . . . There’s a woman coming!” + +And Argensola, like a dog who gets up and shakes himself, would +disappear to continue his reading in some miserable little coffee house +in the neighborhood. + +In his official capacity, this widely gifted man often descended from +the peaks of intellectuality to the vulgarities of everyday life. He +was the steward of the lord of the manor, the intermediary between the +pocketbook and those who appeared bill in hand. “Money!” he would say +laconically at the end of the month, and Desnoyers would break out into +complaints and curses. Where on earth was he to get it, he would like to +know. His father was as regular as a machine, and would never allow the +slightest advance upon the following month. He had to submit to a rule +of misery. Three thousand francs a month!--what could any decent person +do with that? . . . He was even trying to cut THAT down, to tighten the +band, interfering in the running of his house, so that Dona Luisa could +not make presents to her son. In vain he had appealed to the various +usurers of Paris, telling them of his property beyond the ocean. These +gentlemen had the youth of their own country in the hollow of their hand +and were not obliged to risk their capital in other lands. The same hard +luck pursued him when, with sudden demonstrations of affection, he had +tried to convince Don Marcelo that three thousand francs a month was but +a niggardly trifle. + +The millionaire fairly snorted with indignation. “Three thousand francs +a trifle!” And the debts besides, that he often had to pay for his son! +. . . + +“Why, when I was your age,” . . . he would begin saying--but Julio would +suddenly bring the dialogue to a close. He had heard his father’s story +too many times. Ah, the stingy old miser! What he had been giving him +all these months was no more than the interest on his grandfather’s +legacy. . . . And by the advice of Argensola he ventured to get control +of the field. He was planning to hand over the management of his land to +Celedonio, the old overseer, who was now such a grandee in his country +that Julio ironically called him “my uncle.” + +Desnoyers accepted this rebellion coldly. “It appears just to me. You +are now of age!” Then he promptly reduced to extremes his oversight +of his home, forbidding Dona Luisa to handle any money. Henceforth he +regarded his son as an adversary, treating him during his lightning +apparitions at the avenue Victor Hugo with glacial courtesy as though he +were a stranger. + +For a while a transitory opulence enlivened the studio. Julio had +increased his expenses, considering himself rich. But the letters from +his uncle in America soon dissipated these illusions. At first the +remittances exceeded very slightly the monthly allowance that his father +had made him. Then it began to diminish in an alarming manner. According +to Celedonio, all the calamities on earth seemed to be falling upon his +plantation. The pasture land was yielding scantily, sometimes for lack +of rain, sometimes because of floods, and the herds were perishing by +hundreds. Julio required more income, and the crafty half-breed sent him +what he asked for, but simply as a loan, reserving the return until they +should adjust their accounts. + +In spite of such aid, young Desnoyers was suffering great want. He was +gambling now in an elegant circle, thinking thus to compensate for his +periodical scrimpings; but this resort was only making the remittances +from America disappear with greater rapidity. . . . That such a man as +he was should be tormented so for the lack of a few thousand francs! +What else was a millionaire father for? + +If the creditors began threatening, the poor youth had to bring the +secretary into play, ordering him to see the mother immediately; he +himself wished to avoid her tears and reproaches. So Argensola would +slip like a pickpocket up the service stairway of the great house on the +avenue Victor Hugo. The place in which he transacted his ambassadorial +business was the kitchen, with great danger that the terrible Desnoyers +might happen in there, on one of his perambulations as a laboring man, +and surprise the intruder. + +Dona Luisa would weep, touched by the heartrending tales of the +messenger. What could she do! She was as poor as her maids; she had +jewels, many jewels, but not a franc. Then Argensola came to the rescue +with a solution worthy of his experience. He would smooth the way for +the good mother, leaving some of her jewels at the Mont-de-Piete. He +knew the way to raise money on them. So the lady accepted his advice, +giving him, however, only jewels of medium value as she suspected that +she might never see them again. Later scruples made her at times refuse +flatly. Suppose Don Marcelo should ever find it out, what a scene! . . . +But the Spaniard deemed it unseemly to return empty-handed, and always +bore away a basket of bottles from the well-stocked wine-cellar of the +Desnoyers. + +Every morning Dona Luisa went to Saint-Honore-d’Eylau to pray for her +son. She felt that this was her own church. It was a hospitable and +familiar island in the unexplored ocean of Paris. Here she could +exchange discreet salutations with her neighbors from the different +republics of the new world. She felt nearer to God and the saints when +she could hear in the vestibule conversations in her language. + +It was, moreover, a sort of salon in which took place the great events +of the South American colony. One day was a wedding with flowers, +orchestra and chanting chorals. With Chichi beside her, she greeted +those she knew, congratulating the bride and groom. Another day it was +the funeral of an ex-president of some republic, or some other foreign +dignitary ending in Paris his turbulent existence. Poor President! Poor +General! . . . + +Dona Luisa remembered the dead man. She had seen him many times in that +church devoutly attending mass and she was indignant at the evil tongues +which, under the cover of a funeral oration, recalled the shootings and +bank failures in his country. Such a good and religious gentleman! May +God receive his soul in glory! . . . And upon going out into the +square, she would look with tender eyes upon the young men and women on +horseback going to the Bois de Boulogne, the luxurious automobiles, the +morning radiant in the sunshine, all the primeval freshness of the early +hours--realizing what a beautiful thing it is to live. + +Her devout expression of gratitude for mere existence usually included +the monument in the centre of the square, all bristling with wings as if +about to fly away from the ground. Victor Hugo! . . . It was enough +for her to have heard this name on the lips of her son to make her +contemplate the statue with a family interest. The only thing that she +knew about the poet was that he had died. Of this she was almost sure, +and she imagined that in life, he was a great friend of Julio’s because +she had so often heard her son repeat his name. + +Ay, her son! . . . All her thoughts, her conjectures, her desires, +converged on him and her strong-willed husband. She longed for the men +to come to an understanding and put an end to a struggle in which she +was the principal victim. Would not God work this miracle? . . . Like +an invalid who goes from one sanitarium to another in pursuit of health, +she gave up the church on her street to attend the Spanish chapel on the +avenue Friedland. Here she considered herself even more among her own. + +In the midst of the fine and elegant South American ladies who looked +as if they had just escaped from a fashion sheet, her eyes sought other +women, not so well dressed, fat, with theatrical ermine and antique +jewelry. When these high-born dames met each other in the vestibule, +they spoke with heavy voices and expressive gestures, emphasizing their +words energetically. The daughter of the ranch ventured to salute them +because she had subscribed to all their pet charities, and upon +seeing her greeting returned, she felt a satisfaction which made her +momentarily forget her woes. They belonged to those families which her +father had so greatly admired without knowing why. They came from the +“mother country,” and to the good Chicha were all Excelentisimas or +Altisimas, related to kings. She did not know whether to give them her +hand or bend the knee, as she had vaguely heard was the custom at court. +But soon she recalled her preoccupation and went forward to wrestle +in prayer with God. Ay, that he would mercifully remember her! That he +would not long forget her son! . . . + +It was Glory that remembered Julio, stretching out to him her arms of +light, so that he suddenly awoke to find himself surrounded by all the +honors and advantages of celebrity. Fame cunningly surprises mankind on +the most crooked and unexpected of roads. Neither the painting of souls +nor a fitful existence full of extravagant love affairs and complicated +duels had brought Desnoyers this renown. It was Glory that put him on +his feet. + +A new pleasure for the delight of humanity had come from the other side +of the seas. People were asking one another in the mysterious tones of +the initiated who wish to recognize a familiar spirit, “Do you know how +to tango? . . .” The tango had taken possession of the world. It was +the heroic hymn of a humanity that was suddenly concentrating its +aspirations on the harmonious rhythm of the thigh joints, measuring its +intelligence by the agility of its feet. An incoherent and monotonous +music of African inspiration was satisfying the artistic ideals of +a society that required nothing better. The world was dancing . . . +dancing . . . dancing. + +A negro dance from Cuba introduced into South America by mariners who +shipped jerked beef to the Antilles, conquered the entire earth in a few +months, completely encircling it, bounding victoriously from nation to +nation . . . like the Marseillaise. It was even penetrating into the +most ceremonious courts, overturning all traditions of conservation and +etiquette like a song of the Revolution--the revolution of frivolity. +The Pope even had to become a master of the dance, recommending the +“Furlana” instead of the “Tango,” since all the Christian world, +regardless of sects, was united in the common desire to agitate its feet +with the tireless frenzy of the “possessed” of the Middle Ages. + +Julio Desnoyers, upon meeting this dance of his childhood in full swing +in Paris, devoted himself to it with the confidence that an old love +inspires. Who could have foretold that when as a student, he was +frequenting the lowest dance halls in Buenos Aires, watched by the +police, that he was really serving an apprenticeship to Glory? . . . + +From five to seven, in the salons of the Champs d’Elysees where it cost +five francs for a cup of tea and the privilege of joining in the sacred +dance, hundreds of eyes followed him with admiration. “He has the key,” + said the women, appraising his slender elegance, medium stature, and +muscular springs. And he, in abbreviated jacket and expansive shirt +bosom, with his small, girlish feet encased in high-heeled patent +leathers with white tops, danced gravely, thoughtfully, silently, like +a mathematician working out a problem, under the lights that shed bluish +tones upon his plastered, glossy locks. Ladies asked to be presented +to him in the sweet hope that their friends might envy them when they +beheld them in the arms of the master. Invitations simply rained upon +Julio. The most exclusive salons were thrown open to him so that every +afternoon he made a dozen new acquaintances. The fashion had brought +over professors from the other side of the sea, compatriots from the +slums of Buenos Aires, haughty and confused at being applauded like +famous lecturers or tenors; but Julio triumphed over these vulgarians +who danced for money, and the incidents of his former life were +considered by the women as deeds of romantic gallantry. + +“You are killing yourself,” Argensola would say. “You are dancing too +much.” + +The glory of his friend and master was only making more trouble for +him. His placid readings before the fire were now subject to daily +interruptions. It was impossible to read more than a chapter. The +celebrated man was continually ordering him to betake himself to the +street. “A new lesson,” sighed the parasite. And when he was alone in +the studio numerous callers--all women, some inquisitive and aggressive, +others sad, with a deserted air--were constantly interrupting his +thoughtful pursuits. + +One of them terrified the occupants of the studio with her insistence. +She was a North American of uncertain age, somewhere between thirty-two +and fifty-nine, with short skirts that whenever she sat down, seemed +to fly up as if moved by a spring. Various dances with Desnoyers and +a visit to the rue de la Pompe she seemed to consider as her sacred +rights, and she pursued the master with the desperation of an abandoned +zealot. Julio had made good his escape upon learning that this beauty +of youthful elegance--when seen from the back--had two grandchildren. +“MASTER Desnoyers has gone out,” Argensola would invariably say upon +receiving her. And, thereupon she would burst into tears and threats, +longing to kill herself then and there that her corpse might frighten +away those other women who would come to rob her of what she considered +her special privilege. Now it was Argensola who sped his companion to +the street when he wished to be alone. He had only to remark casually, +“I believe that Yankee is coming,” and the great man would beat a hasty +retreat, oftentimes in his desperate flight availing himself of the back +stairs. + +At this time began to develop the most important event in Julio’s +existence. The Desnoyers family was to be united with that of Senator +Lacour. Rene, his only son, had succeeded in awakening in Chichi a +certain interest that was almost love. The dignitary enjoyed thinking +of his son allied to the boundless plains and immense herds whose +description always affected him like a marvellous tale. He was a +widower, but he enjoyed giving at his home famous banquets and parties. +Every new celebrity immediately suggested to him the idea of giving a +dinner. No illustrious person passing through Paris, polar explorer +or famous singer, could escape being exhibited in the dining room +of Lacour. The son of Desnoyers--at whom he had scarcely glanced +before--now inspired him with sudden interest. The senator was a +thoroughly up-to-date man who did not classify glory nor distinguish +reputations. It was enough for him that a name should be on everybody’s +lips for him to accept it with enthusiasm. When Julio responded to his +invitation, he presented him with pride to his friends, and came very +near to calling him “dear master.” The tango was monopolizing all +conversation nowadays. Even in the Academy they were taking it up in +order to demonstrate that the youth of ancient Athens had diverted +itself in a somewhat similar way. . . . And Lacour had dreamed all his +life of an Athenian republic. + +At these reunions, Desnoyers became acquainted with the Lauriers. He was +an engineer who owned a motor-factory for automobiles in the outskirts +of Paris--a man about thirty-five, tall, rather heavy and silent, with +a deliberate air as though he wished to see deeply into men and +things. She was of a light, frivolous character, loving life for the +satisfactions and pleasures which it brought her, appearing to accept +with smiling conformity the silent and grave adoration of her husband. +She could not well do less with a man of his merits. Besides, she had +brought to the marriage a dowry of three hundred thousand francs, a +capital which had enabled the engineer to enlarge his business. The +senator had been instrumental in arranging this marriage. He was +interested in Laurier because he was the son of an old friend. + +Upon Marguerite Laurier the presence of Julio flashed like a ray of +sunlight in the tiresome salon of Lacour. She was dancing the fad of the +hour and frequenting the tango teas where reigned the adored Desnoyers. +And to think that she was being entertained with this celebrated and +interesting man that the other women were raving about! . . . In order +that he might not take her for a mere middle-class woman like the other +guests at the senator’s party, she spoke of her modistes, all from the +rue de la Paix, declaring gravely that no woman who had any self-respect +could possibly walk through the streets wearing a gown costing less than +eight hundred francs, and that the hat of a thousand francs--but a few +years ago, an astonishing novelty--was nowadays a very ordinary affair. + +This acquaintanceship made the “little Laurier,” as her friends called +her notwithstanding her tallness, much sought by the master of the +dance, in spite of the looks of wrath and envy hurled at her by the +others. What a triumph for the wife of a simple engineer who was used +to going everywhere in her mother’s automobile! . . . Julio at first +had supposed her like all the others who were languishing in his arms, +following the rhythmic complications of the dance, but he soon found +that she was very different. Her coquetry after the first confidential +words, but increased his admiration. He really had never before been +thrown with a woman of her class. Those of his first social period were +the habituees of the night restaurants paid for their witchery. Now +Glory was tossing into his arms ladies of high position but with an +unconfessable past, anxious for novelties although exceedingly mature. +This middle class woman who would advance so confidently toward him and +then retreat with such capricious outbursts of modesty, was a new type +for him. + +The tango salons soon began to suffer a great loss. Desnoyers was +permitting himself to be seen there with less frequency, handing Glory +over to the professionals. Sometimes entire weeks slipped by without the +five-to-seven devotees being able to admire his black locks and his tiny +patent leathers twinkling under the lights in time with his graceful +movements. + +Marguerite was also avoiding these places. The meetings of the two were +taking place in accordance with what she had read in the love stories +of Paris. She was going in search of Julio, fearing to be recognized, +tremulous with emotion, selecting her most inconspicuous suit, and +covering her face with a close veil--“the veil of adultery,” as her +friends called it. They had their trysts in the least-frequented squares +of the district, frequently changing the places, like timid birds +that at the slightest disturbance fly to perch a little further away. +Sometimes they would meet in the Buttes Chaumont, at others they +preferred the gardens on the left bank of the Seine, the Luxembourg, and +even the distant Parc de Montsouris. She was always in tremors of terror +lest her husband might surprise them, although she well knew that the +industrious engineer was in his factory a great distance away. Her +agitated aspect, her excessive precautions in order to slip by unseen, +only served to attract the attention of the passers-by. Although Julio +was waxing impatient with the annoyance of this wandering love affair +which only amounted to a few fugitive kisses, he finally held his peace, +dominated by Marguerite’s pleadings. + +She did not wish merely to be one in the procession of his sweethearts; +it was necessary to convince herself first that this love was going to +last forever. It was her first slip and she wanted it to be the last. +Ay, her former spotless reputation! . . . What would people say! . . . +The two returned to their adolescent period, loving each other as they +had never loved before, with the confident and childish passion of +fifteen-year-olds. + +Julio had leaped from childhood to libertinism, taking his initiation +into life at a single bound. She had desired marriage in order to +acquire the respect and liberty of a married woman, but feeling towards +her husband only a vague gratitude. “We end where others begin,” she had +said to Desnoyers. + +Their passion took the form of an intense, reciprocal and vulgar love. +They felt a romantic sentimentality in clasping hands or exchanging +kisses on a garden bench in the twilight. He was treasuring a ringlet +of Marguerite’s--although he doubted its genuineness, with a vague +suspicion that it might be one of the latest wisps of fashion. She +would cuddle down with her head on his shoulder, as though imploring +his protection, although always in the open air. If Julio ever attempted +greater intimacy in a carriage, madame would repel him most vigorously. +A contradictory duality appeared to inspire her actions. Every morning, +on awaking, she would decide to yield, but then when near him, her +middle-class respectability, jealous of its reputation, kept her +faithful to her mother’s teachings. + +One day she agreed to visit his studio with the interest that the +haunts of the loved one always inspires. “Promise that you will not take +advantage of me.” He readily promised, swearing that everything should +be as Marguerite wished. . . . But from that day they were no longer +seen in the gardens, nor wandering around persecuted by the winter +winds. They preferred the studio, and Argensola had to rearrange his +existence, seeking the stove of another artist friend, in order to +continue his reading. + +This state of things lasted two months. They never knew what secret +force suddenly disturbed their tranquility. Perhaps one of her friends, +guessing at the truth, had told the husband anonymously. Perhaps it was +she herself unconsciously, with her inexpressible happiness, her tardy +returns home when dinner was already served, and the sudden aversion +which she showed toward the engineer in their hours alone, trying to +keep her heart faithful to her lover. To divide her interest between her +legal companion and the man she loved was a torment that her simple and +vehement enthusiasm could not tolerate. + +While she was hurrying one night through the rue de la Pompe, looking at +her watch and trembling with impatience at not finding an automobile +or even a cab, a man stood in front of her. . . . Etienne Laurier! She +always shuddered with fear on recalling that hour. For a moment +she believed that he was going to kill her. Serious men, quiet and +diffident, are most terrible in their explosions of wrath. Her husband +knew everything. With the same patience that he employed in solving his +industrial problems, he had been studying her day by day, without her +ever suspecting the watchfulness behind that impassive countenance. Then +he had followed her in order to complete the evidence of his misfortune. + +Marguerite had never supposed that he could be so common and noisy in +his anger. She had expected that he would accept the facts coldly with +that slight tinge of philosophical irony usually shown by distinguished +men, as the husbands of her friends had done. But the poor engineer +who, outside of his work, saw only his wife, loving her as a woman, +and adoring her as a dainty and superior being, a model of grace and +elegance, could not endure the thought of her downfall, and cried and +threatened without reserve, so that the scandal became known throughout +their entire circle of friends. The senator felt greatly annoyed in +remembering that it was in his exclusive home that the guilty ones had +become acquainted; but his displeasure was visited upon the husband. +What lack of good taste! . . . Women will be women, and everything +is capable of adjustment. But before the imprudent outbursts of this +frantic devil no elegant solution was possible, and there was now +nothing to do but to begin divorce proceedings. + +Desnoyers, senior, was very indignant upon learning of this last +escapade of his son. He had always had a great liking for Laurier. +That instinctive bond which exists between men of industry, patient and +silent, had made them very congenial. At the senator’s receptions he +had always talked with the engineer about the progress of his business, +interesting himself in the development of that factory of which he +always spoke with the affection of a father. The millionaire, in +spite of his reputation for miserliness, had even volunteered his +disinterested support if at any time it should become necessary to +enlarge the plant. And it was this good man’s happiness that his son, a +frivolous and useless dancer, was going to steal! . . . + +At first Laurier spoke of a duel. His wrath was that of a work horse who +breaks the tight reins of his laboring outfit, tosses his mane, neighs +wildly and bites. The father was greatly distressed at the possibility +of such an outcome. . . . One scandal more! Julio had dedicated the +greater part of his existence to the handling of arms. + +“He will kill the poor man!” he said to the senator. “I am sure that he +will kill him. It is the logic of life; the good-for-nothing always kill +those who amount to anything.” + +But there was no killing. The Father of the Republic knew how to handle +the clashing parties, with the same skill that he always employed in +the corridors of the Senate during a ministerial crisis. The scandal was +hushed up. Marguerite went to live with her mother and took the first +steps for a divorce. + +Some evenings, when the studio clock was striking seven, she would yawn +and say sadly: “I must go. . . . I have to go, although this is my true +home. . . . Ah, what a pity that we are not married!” + +And he, feeling a whole garden of bourgeois virtues, hitherto ignored, +bursting into bloom, repeated in a tone of conviction: + +“That’s so; why are we not married!” + +Their wishes could be realized. The husband was facilitating the step +by his unexpected intervention. So young Desnoyers set forth for South +America in order to raise the money and marry Marguerite. + + + +CHAPTER IV + +THE COUSIN FROM BERLIN + + +The studio of Julio Desnoyers was on the top floor, both the stairway +and the elevator stopping before his door. The two tiny apartments +at the back were lighted by an interior court, their only means of +communication being the service stairway which went on up to the +garrets. + +While his comrade was away, Argensola had made the acquaintance of those +in the neighboring lodgings. The largest of the apartments was empty +during the day, its occupants not returning till after they had taken +their evening meal in a restaurant. As both husband and wife were +employed outside, they could not remain at home except on holidays. +The man, vigorous and of a martial aspect, was superintendent in a big +department store. . . . He had been a soldier in Africa, wore a military +decoration, and had the rank of sub-lieutenant in the Reserves. She was +a blonde, heavy and rather anaemic, with bright eyes and a sentimental +expression. On holidays she spent long hours at the piano, playing +musical reveries, always the same. At other times Argensola saw +her through the interior window working in the kitchen aided by her +companion, the two laughing over their clumsiness and inexperience in +preparing the Sunday dinner. + +The concierge thought that this woman was a German, but she herself said +that she was Swiss. She was a cashier in a shop--not the one in which +her husband was employed. In the mornings they left home together, +separating in the Place d’Etoile. At seven in the evening they met here, +greeting each other with a kiss, like lovers who meet for the first +time; and then after supper, they returned to their nest in the rue de +la Pompe. All Argensola’s attempts at friendliness with these neighbors +were repulsed because of their self-centredness. They responded with +freezing courtesy; they lived only for themselves. + +The other apartment of two rooms was occupied by a single man. He was a +Russian or Pole who almost always returned with a package of books, and +passed many hours writing near the patio window. From the very first the +Spaniard took him to be a mysterious man, probably a very distinguished +one--a true hero of a novel. The foreign appearance of this Tchernoff +made a great impression upon him--his dishevelled beard, and oily +locks, his spectacles upon a large nose that seemed deformed by a +dagger-thrust. There emanated from him, like an invisible nimbus, an +odor of cheap wine and soiled clothing. + +When Argensola caught a glimpse of him through the service door he would +say to himself, “Ah, Friend Tchernoff is returning,” and thereupon +he would saunter out to the stairway in order to have a chat with his +neighbor. For a long time the stranger discouraged all approach to his +quarters, which fact led the Spaniard to infer that he devoted himself +to alchemy and kindred mysteries. When he finally was allowed to enter +he saw only books, many books, books everywhere--scattered on the floor, +heaped upon benches, piled in corners, overflowing on to broken-down +chairs, old tables, and a bed that was only made up now and then when +the owner, alarmed by the increasing invasion of dust and cobwebs, was +obliged to call in the aid of his friend, the concierge. + +Argensola finally realized, not without a certain disenchantment, that +there was nothing mysterious in the life of the man. What he was writing +near the window were merely translations, some of them ordered, others +volunteer work for the socialist periodicals. The only marvellous thing +about him was the quantity of languages that he knew. + +“He knows them all,” said the Spaniard, when describing their neighbor +to Desnoyers. “He has only to hear of a new one to master it. He +holds the key, the secret of all languages, living or dead. He +speaks Castilian as well as we do, and yet he has never been in a +Spanish-speaking country.” + +Argensola again felt a thrill of mystery upon reading the titles of many +of the volumes. The majority were old books, many of them in languages +that he was not able to decipher, picked up for a song at second-hand +shops or on the book stands installed upon the parapets of the Seine. +Only a man holding the key of tongues could get together such volumes. +An atmosphere of mysticism, of superhuman insight, of secrets intact +for many centuries appeared to emanate from these heaps of dusty volumes +with worm-eaten leaves. And mixed with these ancient tomes were others +red and conspicuous, pamphlets of socialistic propaganda, leaflets in +all the languages of Europe and periodicals--many periodicals, with +revolutionary titles. + +Tchernoff did not appear to enjoy visits and conversation. He would +smile enigmatically into his black beard, and was very sparing with his +words so as to shorten the interview. But Argensola possessed the means +of winning over this sullen personage. It was only necessary for him +to wink one eye with the expressive invitation, “Do we go?” and the two +would soon be settled on a bench in the kitchen of Desnoyers’ studio, +opposite a bottle which had come from the avenue Victor Hugo. The costly +wines of Don Marcelo made the Russian more communicative, although, in +spite of this aid, the Spaniard learned little of his neighbor’s real +existence. Sometimes he would mention Jaures and other socialistic +orators. His surest means of existence was the translation of +periodicals or party papers. On various occasions the name of Siberia +escaped from his lips, and he admitted that he had been there a long +time; but he did not care to talk about a country visited against his +will. He would merely smile modestly, showing plainly that he did not +wish to make any further revelations. + +The morning after the return of Julio Desnoyers, while Argensola was +talking on the stairway with Tchernoff, the bell rang. How annoying! The +Russian, who was well up in advanced politics, was just explaining the +plans advanced by Jaures. There were still many who hoped that war might +be averted. He had his motives for doubting it. . . . He, Tchernoff, was +commenting on these illusions with the smile of a flat-nosed sphinx when +the bell rang for a second time, so that Argensola was obliged to break +away from his interesting friend, and run to open the main door. + +A gentleman wished to see Julio. He spoke very correct French, though +his accent was a revelation for Argensola. Upon going into the bedroom +in search of his master, who was just arising, he said confidently, +“It’s the cousin from Berlin who has come to say good-bye. It could not +be anyone else.” + +When the three came together in the studio, Desnoyers presented his +comrade, in order that the visitor might not make any mistake in regard +to his social status. + +“I have heard him spoken of. The gentleman is Argensola, a very +deserving youth.” + +Doctor Julius von Hartrott said this with the self-sufficiency of a +man who knows everything and wishes to be agreeable to an inferior, +conceding him the alms of his attention. + +The two cousins confronted each other with a curiosity not altogether +free from distrust. Although closely related, they knew each other very +slightly, tacitly admitting complete divergence in opinions and tastes. + +After slowly examining the Sage, Argensola came to the conclusion that +he looked like an officer dressed as a civilian. He noticed in his +person an effort to imitate the soldierly when occasionally discarding +uniform--the ambition of every German burgher wishing to be taken for +the superior class. His trousers were narrow, as though intended to be +tucked into cavalry boots. His coat with two rows of buttons had the +contracted waist with very full skirt and upstanding lapels, suggesting +vaguely a military great coat. The reddish moustachios, strong jaw and +shaved head completed his would-be martial appearance; but his eyes, +large, dark-circled and near-sighted, were the eyes of a student taking +refuge behind great thick glasses which gave him the aspect of a man of +peace. + +Desnoyers knew that he was an assistant professor of the University, +that he had published a few volumes, fat and heavy as bricks, and that +he was a member of an academic society collaborating in documentary +research directed by a famous historian. In his lapel he was wearing the +badge of a foreign order. + +Julio’s respect for the learned member of the family was not unmixed +with contempt. He and his sister Chichi had from childhood felt an +instinctive hostility toward the cousins from Berlin. It annoyed him, +too, to have his family everlastingly holding up as a model this +pedant who only knew life as it is in books, and passed his existence +investigating what men had done in other epochs, in order to draw +conclusions in harmony with Germany’s views. While young Desnoyers +had great facility for admiration, and reverenced all those whose +“arguments” Argensola had doled out to him, he drew the line at +accepting the intellectual grandeur of this illustrious relative. + +During his stay in Berlin, a German word of vulgar invention had enabled +him to classify this prig. Heavy books of minute investigation were +every month being published by the dozens in the Fatherland. There was +not a professor who could resist the temptation of constructing from the +simplest detail an enormous volume written in a dull, involved style. +The people, therefore, appreciating that these near-sighted authors were +incapable of any genial vision of comradeship, called them Sitzfleisch +haben, because of the very long sittings which their works represented. +That was what this cousin was for him, a mere Sitzfleisch haben. + +Doctor von Hartrott, on explaining his visit, spoke in Spanish. +He availed himself of this language used by the family during his +childhood, as a precaution, looking around repeatedly as if he feared +to be heard. He had come to bid his cousin farewell. His mother had told +him of his return, and he had not wished to leave Paris without seeing +him. He was leaving in a few hours, since matters were growing more +strained. + +“But do you really believe that there will be war?” asked Desnoyers. + +“War will be declared to-morrow or the day after. Nothing can prevent it +now. It is necessary for the welfare of humanity.” + +Silence followed this speech, Julio and Argensola looking with +astonishment at this peaceable-looking man who had just spoken with such +martial arrogance. The two suspected that the professor was making this +visit in order to give vent to his opinions and enthusiasms. At the same +time, perhaps, he was trying to find out what they might think and know, +as one of the many viewpoints of the people in Paris. + +“You are not French,” he added looking at his cousin. “You were born in +Argentina, so before you I may speak the truth.” + +“And were you not born there?” asked Julio smiling. + +The Doctor made a gesture of protest, as though he had just heard +something insulting. “No, I am a German. No matter where a German may +be born, he always belongs to his mother country.” Then turning to +Argensola--“This gentleman, too, is a foreigner. He comes from noble +Spain, which owes to us the best that it has--the worship of honor, the +knightly spirit.” + +The Spaniard wished to remonstrate, but the Sage would not permit, +adding in an oracular tone: + +“You were miserable Celts, sunk in the vileness of an inferior and +mongrel race whose domination by Rome but made your situation worse. +Fortunately you were conquered by the Goths and others of our race who +implanted in you a sense of personal dignity. Do not forget, young man, +that the Vandals were the ancestors of the Prussians of to-day.” + +Again Argensola tried to speak, but his friend signed to him not to +interrupt the professor who appeared to have forgotten his former +reserve and was working up to an enthusiastic pitch with his own words. + +“We are going to witness great events,” he continued. “Fortunate are +those born in this epoch, the most interesting in history! At this +very moment, humanity is changing its course. Now the true civilization +begins.” + +The war, according to him, was going to be of a brevity hitherto unseen. +Germany had been preparing herself to bring about this event without +any long, economic world-disturbance. A single month would be enough +to crush France, the most to be feared of their adversaries. Then they +would march against Russia, who with her slow, clumsy movements could +not oppose an immediate defense. Finally they would attack haughty +England, so isolated in its archipelago that it could not obstruct the +sweep of German progress. This would make a series of rapid blows and +overwhelming victories, requiring only a summer in which to play this +magnificent role. The fall of the leaves in the following autumn would +greet the definite triumph of Germany. + +With the assurance of a professor who does not expect his dictum to be +refuted by his hearers, he explained the superiority of the German +race. All mankind was divided into two groups--dolicephalous and the +brachicephalous, according to the shape of the skull. Another scientific +classification divided men into the light-haired and dark-haired. The +dolicephalous (arched heads) represented purity of race and superior +mentality. The brachicephalous (flat heads) were mongrels with all the +stigma of degeneration. The German, dolicephalous par excellence, was +the only descendant of the primitive Aryans. All the other nations, +especially those of the south of Europe called “latins,” belonged to a +degenerate humanity. + +The Spaniard could not contain himself any longer. “But no person with +any intelligence believes any more in those antique theories of race! +What if there no longer existed a people of absolutely pure blood, owing +to thousands of admixtures due to historical conquests!” . . . Many +Germans bore the identical ethnic marks which the professor was +attributing to the inferior races. + +“There is something in that,” admitted Hartrott, “but although the +German race may not be perfectly pure, it is the least impure of all +races and, therefore, should have dominion over the world.” + +His voice took on an ironic and cutting edge when speaking of the Celts, +inhabitants of the lands of the South. They had retarded the progress +of Humanity, deflecting it in the wrong direction. The Celt is +individualistic and consequently an ungovernable revolutionary who tends +to socialism. Furthermore, he is a humanitarian and makes a virtue +of mercy, defending the existence of the weak who do not amount to +anything. + +The illustrious German places above everything else, Method and Power. +Elected by Nature to command the impotent races, he possesses all +the qualifications that distinguish the superior leader. The French +Revolution was merely a clash between Teutons and Celts. The nobility of +France were descended from Germanic warriors established in the country +after the so-called invasion of the barbarians. The middle and lower +classes were the Gallic-Celtic element. The inferior race had conquered +the superior, disorganizing the country and perturbing the world. +Celtism was the inventor of Democracy, of the doctrines of Socialism and +Anarchy. Now the hour of Germanic retaliation was about to strike, and +the Northern race would re-establish order, since God had favored it by +demonstrating its indisputable superiority. + +“A nation,” he added, “can aspire to great destinies only when it is +fundamentally Teutonic. The less German it is, the less its civilization +amounts to. We represent ‘the aristocracy of humanity,’ ‘the salt of the +earth,’ as our William said.” + +Argensola was listening with astonishment to this outpouring of conceit. +All the great nations had passed through the fever of Imperialism. The +Greeks aspired to world-rule because they were the most civilized and +believed themselves the most fit to give civilization to the rest of +mankind. The Romans, upon conquering countries, implanted law and the +rule of justice. The French of the Revolution and the Empire justified +their invasions on the plea that they wished to liberate mankind and +spread abroad new ideas. Even the Spaniards of the sixteenth century, +when battling with half of Europe for religious unity and the +extermination of heresy, were working toward their ideals obscure and +perhaps erroneous, but disinterested. + +All the nations of history had been struggling for something which they +had considered generous and above their own interests. Germany alone, +according to this professor, was trying to impose itself upon the +world in the name of racial superiority--a superiority that nobody had +recognized, that she was arrogating to herself, coating her affirmations +with a varnish of false science. + +“Until now wars have been carried on by the soldiery,” continued +Hartrott. “That which is now going to begin will be waged by a +combination of soldiers and professors. In its preparation the +University has taken as much part as the military staff. German +science, leader of all sciences, is united forever with what the Latin +revolutionists disdainfully term militarism. Force, mistress of the +world, is what creates right, that which our truly unique civilization +imposes. Our armies are the representatives of our culture, and in a +few weeks we shall free the world from its decadence, completely +rejuvenating it.” + +The vision of the immense future of his race was leading him on to +expose himself with lyrical enthusiasm. William I, Bismarck, all the +heroes of past victories, inspired his veneration, but he spoke of them +as dying gods whose hour had passed. They were glorious ancestors of +modest pretensions who had confined their activities to enlarging the +frontiers, and to establishing the unity of the Empire, afterwards +opposing themselves with the prudence of valetudinarians to the +daring of the new generation. Their ambitions went no further than a +continental hegemony . . . but now William II had leaped into the arena, +the complex hero that the country required. + +“Lamprecht, my master, has pictured his greatness. It is tradition and +the future, method and audacity. Like his grandfather, the Emperor holds +the conviction of what monarchy by the grace of God represents, but his +vivid and modern intelligence recognizes and accepts modern conditions. +At the same time that he is romantic, feudal and a supporter of the +agrarian conservatives, he is also an up-to-date man who seeks practical +solutions and shows a utilitarian spirit. In him are correctly balanced +instinct and reason.” + +Germany, guided by this hero, had, according to Hartrott, been +concentrating its strength, and recognizing its true path. The +Universities supported him even more unanimously than the army. Why +store up so much power and maintain it without employment? . . . The +empire of the world belongs to the German people. The historians and +philosophers, disciples of Treitschke, were taking it upon themselves +to frame the rights that would justify this universal domination. And +Lamprecht, the psychological historian, like the other professors, was +launching the belief in the absolute superiority of the Germanic race. +It was just that it should rule the world, since it only had the power +to do so. This “telurian germanization” was to be of immense benefit +to mankind. The earth was going to be happy under the dictatorship of a +people born for mastery. The German state, “tentacular potency,” would +eclipse with its glory the most imposing empire of the past and present. +Gott mit uns! + +“Who will be able to deny, as my master says, that there exists a +Christian, German God, the ‘Great Ally,’ who is showing himself to our +enemies, the foreigners, as a strong and jealous divinity?” . . . + +Desnoyers was listening to his cousin with astonishment and at the same +time looking at Argensola who, with a flutter of his eyes, seemed to be +saying to him, “He is mad! These Germans are simply mad with pride.” + +Meanwhile, the professor, unable to curb his enthusiasm, continued +expounding the grandeur of his race. From his viewpoint, the +providential Kaiser had shown inexplicable weakenings. He was too good +and too kind. “Deliciae generis humani,” as had said Professor Lasson, +another of Hartrott’s masters. Able to overthrow everything with +his annihilating power, the Emperor was limiting himself merely to +maintaining peace. But the nation did not wish to stop there, and was +pushing its leader until it had him started. It was useless now to put +on the brakes. “He who does not advance recedes”;--that was the cry of +PanGermanism to the Emperor. He must press on in order to conquer the +entire world. + +“And now war comes,” continued the pedant. “We need the colonies of the +others, even though Bismarck, through an error of his stubborn old age, +exacted nothing at the time of universal distribution, letting England +and France get possession of the best lands. We must control all +countries that have Germanic blood and have been civilized by our +forbears.” + +Hartrott enumerated these countries. Holland and Belgium were German. +France, through the Franks, was one-third Teutonic blood. Italy. . . . +Here the professor hesitated, recalling the fact that this nation +was still an ally, certainly a little insecure, but still united by +diplomatic bonds. He mentioned, nevertheless, the Longobards and other +races coming from the North. Spain and Portugal had been populated by +the ruddy Goth and also belonged to the dominant race. And since the +majority of the nations of America were of Spanish and Portuguese +origin, they should also be included in this recovery. + +“It is a little premature to think of these last nations just yet,” + added the Doctor modestly, “but some day the hour of justice will sound. +After our continental triumph, we shall have time to think of their +fate. . . . North America also should receive our civilizing influence, +for there are living millions of Germans who have created its +greatness.” + +He was talking of the future conquests as though they were marks of +distinction with which his country was going to favor other countries. +These were to continue living politically the same as before with +their individual governments, but subject to the Teutons, like minors +requiring the strong hand of a master. They would form the Universal +United States, with an hereditary and all-powerful president--the +Emperor of Germany--receiving all the benefits of Germanic culture, +working disciplined under his industrial direction. . . . But the world +is ungrateful, and human badness always opposes itself to progress. + +“We have no illusions,” sighed the professor, with lofty sadness. “We +have no friends. All look upon us with jealousy, as dangerous beings, +because we are the most intelligent, the most active, and have proved +ourselves superior to all others. . . . But since they no longer love +us, let them fear us! As my friend Mann says, although Kultur is the +spiritual organization of the world, it does not exclude bloody savagery +when that becomes necessary. Kultur sanctifies the demon within us, and +is above morality, reason and science. We are going to impose Kultur by +force of the cannon.” + +Argensola continued, saying with his eyes, “They are crazy, crazy with +pride! . . . What can the world expect of such people!” + +Desnoyers here intervened in order to brighten this gloomy monologue +with a little optimism. War had not yet been positively declared. The +diplomats were still trying to arrange matters. Perhaps it might all +turn out peaceably at the last minute, as had so often happened before. +His cousin was seeing things entirely distorted by an aggressive +enthusiasm. + +Oh, the ironical, ferocious and cutting smile of the Doctor! Argensola +had never known old Madariaga, but it, nevertheless, occurred to him +that in this fashion sharks must smile, although he, too, had never seen +a shark. + +“It is war,” boomed Hartrott. “When I left Germany, fifteen days ago, I +knew that war was inevitable.” + +The certainty with which he said this dissipated all Julio’s hope. +Moreover, this man’s trip, on the pretext of seeing his mother, +disquieted him. . . . On what mission had Doctor Julius von Hartrott +come to Paris? . . . + +“Well, then,” asked Desnoyers, “why so many diplomatic interviews? Why +does the German government intervene at all--although in such a lukewarm +way--in the struggle between Austria and Servia. . . . Would it not be +better to declare war right out?” + +The professor replied with simplicity: “Our government undoubtedly +wishes that the others should declare the war. The role of outraged +dignity is always the most pleasing one and justifies all ulterior +resolutions, however extreme they may seem. There are some of our people +who are living comfortably and do not desire war. It is expedient to +make them believe that those who impose it upon us are our enemies so +that they may feel the necessity of defending themselves. Only superior +minds reach the conviction of the great advancement that can be +accomplished by the sword alone, and that war, as our grand Treitschke +says, is the highest form of progress.” + +Again he smiled with a ferocious expression. Morality, from his point of +view, should exist among individuals only to make them more obedient +and disciplined, for morality per se impedes governments and should be +suppressed as a useless obstacle. For the State there exists neither +truth nor falsehood; it only recognizes the utility of things. The +glorious Bismarck, in order to consummate the war with France, the base +of German grandeur, had not hesitated to falsify a telegraphic despatch. + +“And remember, that he is the most glorious hero of our time! History +looks leniently upon his heroic feat. Who would accuse the one who +triumphs? . . . Professor Hans Delbruck has written with reason, +‘Blessed be the hand that falsified the telegram of Ems!’” + +It was convenient to have the war break out immediately, in order that +events might result favorably for Germany, whose enemies are totally +unprepared. Preventive war was recommended by General Bernhardi and +other illustrious patriots. It would be dangerous indeed to defer the +declaration of war until the enemies had fortified themselves so that +they should be the ones to make war. Besides, to the Germans what kind +of deterrents could law and other fictions invented by weak nations +possibly be? . . . No; they had the Power, and Power creates new laws. +If they proved to be the victors, History would not investigate too +closely the means by which they had conquered. It was Germany that was +going to win, and the priests of all cults would finally sanctify with +their chants the blessed war--if it led to triumph. + +“We are not making war in order to punish the Servian regicides, nor to +free the Poles, nor the others oppressed by Russia, stopping there in +admiration of our disinterested magnanimity. We wish to wage it because +we are the first people of the earth and should extend our activity over +the entire planet. Germany’s hour has sounded. We are going to take +our place as the powerful Mistress of the World, the place which Spain +occupied in former centuries, afterwards France, and England to-day. +What those people accomplished in a struggle of many years we are going +to bring about in four months. The storm-flag of the Empire is now going +to wave over nations and oceans; the sun is going to shine on a great +slaughter. . . . + +“Old Rome, sick unto death, called ‘barbarians’ the Germans who opened +the grave. The world to-day also smells death and will surely call us +barbarians. . . . So be it! When Tangiers and Toulouse, Amberes and +Calais have become submissive to German barbarism . . . then we will +speak further of this matter. We have the power, and who has that +needs neither to hesitate nor to argue. . . . Power! . . . That is the +beautiful word--the only word that rings true and clear. . . . Power! +One sure stab and all argument is answered forever!” + +“But are you so sure of victory?” asked Desnoyers. “Sometimes Destiny +gives us great surprises. There are hidden forces that we must take into +consideration or they may overturn the best-laid plans.” + +The smile of the Doctor became increasingly scornful and arrogant. +Everything had been foreseen and studied out long ago with the most +minute Germanic method. What had they to fear? . . . The enemy most to +be reckoned with was France, incapable of resisting the enervating moral +influences, the sufferings, the strain and the privations of war;--a +nation physically debilitated and so poisoned by revolutionary spirit +that it had laid aside the use of arms through an exaggerated love of +comfort. + +“Our generals,” he announced, “are going to leave her in such a state +that she will never again cross our path.” + +There was Russia, too, to consider, but her amorphous masses were slow +to assemble and unwieldy to move. The Executive Staff of Berlin had +timed everything by measure for crushing France in four weeks, and would +then lead its enormous forces against the Russian empire before it could +begin action. + +“We shall finish with the bear after killing the cock,” affirmed the +professor triumphantly. + +But guessing at some objection from his cousin, he hastened on--“I know +what you are going to tell me. There remains another enemy, one that has +not yet leaped into the lists but which all the Germans are waiting for. +That one inspires more hatred than all the others put together, because +it is of our blood, because it is a traitor to the race. . . . Ah, how +we loathe it!” + +And in the tone in which these words were uttered throbbed an expression +of hatred and a thirst for vengeance which astonished both listeners. + +“Even though England attack us,” continued Hartrott, “we shall conquer, +notwithstanding. This adversary is not more terrible than the others. +For the past century she has ruled the world. Upon the fall of Napoleon +she seized the continental hegemony, and will fight to keep it. But +what does her energy amount to? . . . As our Bernhardi says, the English +people are merely a nation of renters and sportsmen. Their army is +formed from the dregs of the nation. The country lacks military spirit. +We are a people of warriors, and it will be an easy thing for us to +conquer the English, debilitated by a false conception of life.” + +The Doctor paused and then added: “We are counting on the internal +corruption of our enemies, on their lack of unity. God will aid us by +sowing confusion among these detested people. In a few days you will see +His hand. Revolution is going to break out in France at the same time +as war. The people of Paris will build barricades in the streets and +the scenes of the Commune will repeat themselves. Tunis, Algiers and all +their other possessions are about to rise against the metropolis.” + +Argensola seized the opportunity to smile with an aggressive +incredulity. + +“I repeat it,” insisted Hartrott, “that this country is going to have +internal revolution and colonial insurrection. I know perfectly +well what I am talking about. . . . Russia also will break out into +revolution with a red flag that will force the Czar to beg for mercy on +his knees. You have only to read in the papers of the recent strikes +in Saint Petersburg, and the manifestations of the strikers with the +pretext of President Poincare’s visit. . . . England will see her +appeals to her colonies completely ignored. India is going to rise +against her, and Egypt, too, will seize this opportunity for her +emancipation.” + +Julio was beginning to be impressed by these affirmations enunciated +with such oracular certainty, and he felt almost irritated at the +incredulous Argensola, who continued looking insolently at the seer, +repeating with his winking eyes, “He is insane--insane with pride.” The +man certainly must have strong reasons for making such awful prophecies. +His presence in Paris just at this time was difficult for Desnoyers to +understand, and gave to his words a mysterious authority. + +“But the nations will defend themselves,” he protested to his cousin. +“Victory will not be such a very simple thing as you imagine.” + +“Yes, they will defend themselves, and the struggle will be fiercely +contested. It appears that, of late years, France has been paying some +attention to her army. We shall undoubtedly encounter some resistance; +triumph may be somewhat difficult, but we are going to prevail. . . . +You have no idea to what extent the offensive power of Germany has +attained. Nobody knows with certainty beyond the frontiers. If our foes +should comprehend it in all its immensity, they would fall on their +knees beforehand to beg for mercy, thus obviating the necessity for +useless sacrifices.” + +There was a long silence. Julius von Hartrott appeared lost in reverie. +The very thought of the accumulated strength of his race submerged him +in a species of mystic adoration. + +“The preliminary victory,” he suddenly exclaimed, “we gained some time +ago. Our enemies, therefore, hate us, and yet they imitate us. All that +bears the stamp of Germany is in demand throughout the world. The very +countries that are trying to resist our arms copy our methods in their +universities and admire our theories, even those which do not attain +success in Germany. Oftentimes we laugh among ourselves, like the Roman +augurs, upon seeing the servility with which they follow us! . . . And +yet they will not admit our superiority!” + +For the first time, Argensola’s eyes and general expression approved the +words of Hartrott. What he had just said was only too true--the world +was a victim of “the German superstition.” An intellectual cowardice, +the fear of Force had made it admire en masse and indiscriminately, +everything of Teutonic origin, just because of the intensity of its +glitter--gold mixed with talcum. The so-called Latins, dazed with +admiration, were, with unreasonable pessimism, becoming doubtful of +their ability, and thus were the first to decree their own death. And +the conceited Germans merely had to repeat the words of these pessimists +in order to strengthen their belief in their own superiority. + +With that Southern temperament, which leaps rapidly from one extreme +to another, many Latins had proclaimed that in the world of the +future, there would be no place for the Latin peoples, now in their +death-agony--adding that Germany alone preserved the latent forces +of civilization. The French who declaimed among themselves, with the +greatest exaggeration, unconscious that folks were listening the other +side of the door, had proclaimed repeatedly for many years past, that +France was degenerating rapidly and would soon vanish from the earth. +. . . Then why should they resent the scorn of their enemies. . . . Why +shouldn’t the Germans share in their beliefs? + +The professor, misinterpreting the silent agreement of the Spaniard who +until then had been listening with such a hostile smile, added: + +“Now is the time to try out in France the German culture, implanting it +there as conquerors.” + +Here Argensola interrupted, “And what if there is no such thing as +German culture, as a celebrated Teuton says?” It had become necessary +to contradict this pedant who had become insufferable with his egotism. +Hartrott almost jumped from his chair on hearing such a doubt. + +“What German is that?” + +“Nietzsche.” + +The professor looked at him pityingly. Nietzsche had said to mankind, +“Be harsh!” affirming that “a righteous war sanctifies every cause.” + He had exalted Bismarck; he had taken part in the war of ‘70; he was +glorifying Germany when he spoke of “the smiling lion,” and “the blond +beast.” But Argensola listened with the tranquillity of one sure of his +ground. Oh, hours of placid reading near the studio chimney, listening +to the rain beating against the pane! . . . + +“The philosopher did say that,” he admitted, “and he said many other +very different things, like all great thinkers. His doctrine is one of +pride, but of individual pride, not that of a nation or race. He always +spoke against ‘the insidious fallacy of race.’” + +Argensola recalled his philosophy word for word. Culture, according +to Nietzsche, was “unity of style in all the manifestations of life.” + Science did not necessarily include culture. Great knowledge might be +accompanied with great barbarity, by the absence of style or by the +chaotic confusion of all styles. Germany, according to the philosopher, +had no genuine culture owing to its lack of style. “The French,” he had +said, “were at the head of an authentic and fruitful culture, whatever +their valor might be, and until now everybody had drawn upon it.” Their +hatreds were concentrated within their own country. “I cannot endure +Germany. The spirit of servility and pettiness penetrates everywhere. +. . . I believe only in French culture, and what the rest of Europe calls +culture appears to me to be a mistake. The few individual cases of lofty +culture that I met in Germany were of French origin.” + +“You know,” continued Argensola, “that in quarrelling with Wagner about +the excess of Germanism in his art, Nietzsche proclaimed the necessity +of mediterraneanizing music. His ideal was a culture for all Europe, but +with a Latin base.” + +Julius von Hartrott replied most disdainfully to this, repeating the +Spaniard’s very words. Men who thought much said many things. Besides, +Nietzsche was a poet, completely demented at his death, and was no +authority among the University sages. His fame had only been recognized +in foreign lands. . . . And he paid no further attention to the youth, +ignoring him as though he had evaporated into thin air after his +presumption. All the professor’s attention was now concentrated on +Desnoyers. + +“This country,” he resumed, “is dying from within. How can you doubt +that revolution will break out the minute war is declared? . . . +Have you not noticed the agitation of the boulevard on account of the +Caillaux trial? Reactionaries and revolutionists have been assaulting +each other for the past three days. I have seen them challenging one +another with shouts and songs as if they were going to come to blows +right in the middle of the street. This division of opinion will become +accentuated when our troops cross the frontier. It will then be civil +war. The anti-militarists are clamoring mournfully, believing that it +is in the power of the government to prevent the clash. . . . A country +degenerated by democracy and by the inferiority of the triumphant Celt, +greedy for full liberty! . . . We are the only free people on earth +because we know how to obey.” + +This paradox made Julio smile. Germany the only free people! . . . + +“It is so,” persisted Hartrott energetically. “We have the liberty best +suited to a great people--economical and intellectual liberty.” + +“And political liberty?” + +The professor received this question with a scornful shrug. + +“Political liberty! . . . Only decadent and ungovernable people, +inferior races anxious for equality and democratic confusion, talk about +political liberty. We Germans do not need it. We are a nation of masters +who recognize the sacredness of government, and we wish to be commanded +by those of superior birth. We possess the genius of organization.” + +That, according to the Doctor, was the grand German secret, and the +Teutonic race upon taking possession of the world, would share its +discovery with all. The nations would then be so organized that each +individual would give the maximum of service to society. Humanity, +banded in regiments for every class of production, obeying a superior +officer, like machines contributing the greatest possible output of +labor--there you have the perfect state! Liberty was a purely negative +idea if not accompanied with a positive concept which would make it +useful. + +The two friends listened with astonishment to this description of the +future which Teutonic superiority was offering to the world. Every +individual submitted to intensive production, the same as a bit of land +from which its owner wishes to get the greatest number of vegetables. +. . . Mankind reduced to mechanics. . . . No useless operations that would +not produce immediate results. . . . And the people who heralded this +awful idea were the very philosophers and idealists who had once given +contemplation and reflection the first place in their existence! . . . + +Hartrott again harked back to the inferiority of their racial enemies. +In order to combat successfully, it required self-assurance, an +unquenchable confidence in the superiority of their own powers. + +“At this very hour in Berlin, everyone is accepting war, everyone is +believing that victory is sure, while HERE! . . . I do not say that +the French are afraid; they have a brave past that galvanizes them at +certain times--but they are so depressed that it is easy to guess that +they will make almost any sacrifices in order to evade what is coming +upon them. The people first will shout with enthusiasm, as it always +cheers that which carries it to perdition. The upper classes have no +faith in the future; they are keeping quiet, but the presentiment of +disaster may easily be conjectured. Yesterday I was talking with your +father. He is French, and he is rich. He was indignant against the +government of his country for involving the nation in the European +conflict in order to defend a distant and uninteresting people. He +complains of the exalted patriots who have opened the abyss between +Germany and France, preventing a reconciliation. He says that Alsace and +Lorraine are not worth what a war would cost in men and money. . . . +He recognizes our greatness and is convinced that we have progressed so +rapidly that the other countries cannot come up to us. . . . And as your +father thinks, so do many others--all those who are wrapped in creature +comfort, and fear to lose it. Believe me, a country that hesitates and +fears war is conquered before the first battle.” + +Julio evinced a certain disquietude, as though he would like to cut +short the conversation. + +“Just leave my father out of it! He speaks that way to-day because war +is not yet an accomplished fact, and he has to contradict and vent his +indignation on whoever comes near him. To-morrow he will say just the +opposite. . . . My father is a Latin.” + +The professor looked at his watch. He must go; there were still many +things which he had to do before going to the station. The Germans +living in Paris had fled in great bands as though a secret order had +been circulating among them. That afternoon the last of those who had +been living ostensibly in the Capital would depart. + +“I have come to see you because of our family interest, because it was +my duty to give you fair warning. You are a foreigner, and nothing holds +you here. If you are desirous of witnessing a great historic event, +remain--but it will be better for you to go. The war is going to be +ruthless, very ruthless, and if Paris attempts resistance, as formerly, +we shall see terrible things. Modes of offense have greatly changed.” + +Desnoyers made a gesture of indifference. + +“The same as your father,” observed the professor. “Last night he and +all your family responded in the same way. Even my mother prefers to +remain with her sister, saying that the Germans are very good, very +civilized and there is nothing to apprehend in their triumph.” + +This good opinion seemed to be troubling the Doctor. + +“They don’t understand what modern warfare means. They ignore the fact +that our generals have studied the art of overcoming the enemy and they +will apply it mercilessly. Ruthlessness is the only means, since +it perturbs the intelligence of the enemy, paralyzes his action and +pulverizes his resistance. The more ferocious the war, the more +quickly it is concluded. To punish with cruelty is to proceed humanely. +Therefore, Germany is going to be cruel with a cruelty hitherto unseen, +in order that the conflict may not be prolonged.” + +He had risen and was standing, cane and straw hat in hand. Argensola was +looking at him with frank hostility. The professor, obliged to pass near +him, did so with a stiff and disdainful nod. + +Then he started toward the door, accompanied by his cousin. The farewell +was brief. + +“I repeat my counsel. If you do not like danger, go! It may be that I am +mistaken, and that this nation, convinced of the uselessness of defense, +may give itself up voluntarily. . . . At any rate, we shall soon see. +I shall take great pleasure in returning to Paris when the flag of the +Empire is floating over the Eiffel Tower, a mere matter of three or four +weeks, certainly by the beginning of September.” + +France was going to disappear from the map. To the Doctor, her death was +a foregone conclusion. + +“Paris will remain,” he admitted benevolently, “the French will remain, +because a nation is not easily suppressed; but they will not retain +their former place. We shall govern the world; they will continue to +occupy themselves in inventing fashions, in making life agreeable for +visiting foreigners; and in the intellectual world, we shall encourage +them to educate good actresses, to produce entertaining novels and to +write witty comedies. . . . Nothing more.” + +Desnoyers laughed as he shook his cousin’s hand, pretending to take his +words as a paradox. + +“I mean it,” insisted Hartrott. “The last hour of the French Republic as +an important nation has sounded. I have studied it at close range, +and it deserves no better fate. License and lack of confidence +above--sterile enthusiasm below.” + +Upon turning his head, he again caught Argensola’s malicious smile. + +“We know all about that kind of study,” he added aggressively. “We are +accustomed to examine the nations of the past, to dissect them fibre by +fibre, so that we recognize at a glance the psychology of the living.” + +The Bohemian fancied that he saw a surgeon talking self-sufficiently +about the mysteries of the will before a corpse. What did this pedantic +interpreter of dead documents know about life? . . . + +When the door closed, he approached his friend who was returning +somewhat dismayed. Argensola no longer considered Doctor Julius von +Hartrott crazy. + +“What a brute!” he exclaimed, throwing up his hands. “And to think that +they are at large, these originators of gloomy errors! . . . Who would +ever believe that they belong to the same land that produced Kant, the +pacifist, the serene Goethe and Beethoven! . . . To think that for so +many years, we have believed that they were forming a nation of dreamers +and philosophers occupied in working disinterestedly for all +mankind! . . .” + +The sentence of a German geographer recurred to him: “The German is +bicephalous; with one head he dreams and poetizes while with the other +he thinks and executes.” + +Desnoyers was now beginning to feel depressed at the certainty of war. +This professor seemed to him even worse than the Herr Counsellor and the +other Germans that he had met on the steamer. His distress was not only +because of his selfish thought as to how the catastrophe was going to +affect his plans with Marguerite. He was suddenly discovering that +in this hour of uncertainty he loved France. He recognized it as his +father’s native land and the scene of the great Revolution. . . . +Although he had never mixed in political campaigns, he was a republican +at heart, and had often ridiculed certain of his friends who adored +kings and emperors, thinking it a great sign of distinction. + +Argensola tried to cheer him up. + +“Who knows? . . . This is a country of surprises. One must see the +Frenchman when he tries to remedy his want of foresight. Let that +barbarian of a cousin of yours say what he will--there is order, there +is enthusiasm. . . . Worse off than we were those who lived in the days +before Valmy. Entirely disorganized, their only defense battalions of +laborers and countrymen handling a gun for the first time. . . . But, +nevertheless, the Europe of the old monarchies could not for twenty +years free themselves from these improvised warriors!” + + + +CHAPTER V + +IN WHICH APPEAR THE FOUR HORSEMEN + + +The two friends now lived a feverish life, considerably accelerated by +the rapidity with which events succeeded each other. Every hour brought +forth an astonishing bit of news--generally false--which changed +opinions very suddenly. As soon as the danger of war seemed arrested, +the report would spread that mobilization was going to be ordered within +a few minutes. + +Within each twenty-four hours were compressed the disquietude, anxiety +and nervous waste of a normal year. And that which was aggravating the +situation still more was the uncertainty, the expectation of the +event, feared but still invisible, the distress on account of a danger +continually threatening but never arriving. + +History in the making was like a stream overflowing its banks, events +overlapping each other like the waves of an inundation. Austria was +declaring war with Servia while the diplomats of the great powers were +continuing their efforts to stem the tide. The electric web girdling the +planet was vibrating incessantly in the depths of the ocean and on the +peaks of the continents, transmitting alternate hopes and fears. + +Russia was mobilizing a part of its army. Germany, with its troops in +readiness under the pretext of manoeuvres, was decreeing the state of +“threatened war.” The Austrians, regardless of the efforts of diplomacy, +were beginning the bombardment of Belgrade. William II, fearing that the +intervention of the Powers might settle the differences between the +Czar and the Emperor of Austria, was forcing the course of events by +declaring war upon Russia. Then Germany began isolating herself, cutting +off railroad and telegraphic communications in order to shroud in +mystery her invading forces. + +France was watching this avalanche of events, temperate in its words and +enthusiasm. A cool and grave resolution was noticeable everywhere. Two +generations had come into the world, informed as soon as they reached +a reasonable age, that some day there would undoubtedly be war. Nobody +wanted it; the adversary imposed it. . . . But all were accepting it +with the firm intention of fulfilling their duty. + +During the daytime Paris was very quiet, concentrating the mind on +the work in hand. Only a few groups of exalted patriots, following the +tricolored flag, were passing through the place de la Concorde, in order +to salute the statue of Strasbourg. The people were accosting each other +in a friendly way in the streets. Everybody seemed to know everybody +else, although they might not have met before. Eye attracted eye, +and smiles appeared to broaden mutually with the sympathy of a common +interest. The women were sad but speaking cheerily in order to hide +their emotions. In the long summer twilight, the boulevards were filling +with crowds. Those from the outlying districts were converging toward +the centre of the city, as in the remote revolutionary days, banding +together in groups, forming an endless multitude from which came shouts +and songs. These manifestations were passing through the centre under +the electric lights that were just being turned on, the processions +generally lasting until midnight, with the national banner floating +above the walking crowds, escorted by the flags of other nations. + +It was on one of these nights of sincere enthusiasm that the two friends +heard an unexpected, astonishing piece of news. “They have killed +Jaures!” The groups were repeating it from one to another with an +amazement which seemed to overpower their grief. “Jaures assassinated! +And what for?” The best popular element, which instinctively seeks an +explanation of every proceeding, remained in suspense, not knowing +which way to turn. The tribune dead, at the very moment that his word as +welder of the people was most needed! . . . + +Argensola thought immediately of Tchernoff. “What will our neighbors +say?” . . . The quiet, orderly people of Paris were fearing a +revolution, and for a few moments Desnoyers believed that his cousin’s +auguries were about to be fulfilled. This assassination, with its +retaliations, might be the signal for civil war. But the masses of the +people, worn out with grief at the death of their hero, were waiting in +tragic silence. All were seeing, beyond his dead body, the image of the +country. + +By the following morning, the danger had vanished. The laboring classes +were talking of generals and war, showing each other their little +military memorandums, announcing the date of their departure as soon as +the order of mobilization should be published. “I go the second day.” “I +the first.” Those of the standing army who were on leave were recalled +individually to the barracks. All these events were tending in the same +direction--war. + +The Germans were invading Luxembourg; the Germans were ordering their +armies to invade the French frontier when their ambassador was still in +Paris making promises of peace. On the day after the death of Jaures, +the first of August, the people were crowding around some pieces of +paper, written by hand and in evident haste. These papers were copies of +other larger printed sheets, headed by two crossed flags. “It has come; +it is now a fact!”. . . It was the order for general mobilization. All +France was about to take up arms, and chests seemed to expand with a +sigh of relief. Eyes were sparkling with excitement. The nightmare was +at last over! . . . Cruel reality was preferable to the uncertainty of +days and days, each as long as a week. + +In vain President Poincare, animated by a last hope, was explaining to +the French that “mobilization is not necessarily war, that a call to +arms may be simply a preventive measure.” “It is war, inevitable war,” + said the populace with a fatalistic expression. And those who were going +to start that very night or the following day were the most eager and +enthusiastic.--“Now those who seek us are going to find us! Vive la +France!” The Chant du Depart, the martial hymn of the volunteers of the +first Republic, had been exhumed by the instinct of a people which +seek the voice of Art in its most critical moments. The stanzas of the +conservative Chenier, adapted to a music of warlike solemnity, were +resounding through the streets, at the same time as the Marseillaise: + + La Republique nous appelle. + Sachons vaincre ou sachons perir; + Un francais doit vivre pour elle. + Pour elle un francais doit mourir. + +The mobilization began at midnight to the minute. At dusk, groups of men +began moving through the streets towards the stations. Their families +were walking beside them, carrying the valise or bundle of clothes. +They were escorted by the friends of their district, the tricolored flag +borne aloft at the head of these platoons. The Reserves were donning +their old uniforms which presented all the difficulties of suits long +ago forgotten. With new leather belts and their revolvers at their +sides, they were betaking themselves to the railway which was to carry +them to the point of concentration. One of their children was carrying +the old sword in its cloth sheath. The wife was hanging on his arm, +sad and proud at the same time, giving her last counsels in a loving +whisper. + +Street cars, automobiles and cabs rolled by with crazy velocity. Nobody +had ever seen so many vehicles in the Paris streets, yet if anybody +needed one, he called in vain to the conductors, for none wished to +serve mere civilians. All means of transportation were for military +men, all roads ended at the railroad stations. The heavy trucks of the +administration, filled with sacks, were saluted with general enthusiasm. +“Hurrah for the army!” The soldiers in mechanic’s garb, on top of the +swaying pyramid, replied to the cheers, waving their arms and uttering +shouts that nobody pretended to understand. + +Fraternity had created a tolerance hitherto unknown. The crowds were +pressing forward, but in their encounters, invariably preserved good +order. Vehicles were running into each other, and when the conductors +resorted to the customary threats, the crowds would intervene and make +them shake hands. “Three cheers for France!” The pedestrians, escaping +between the wheels of the automobiles were laughing and good-naturedly +reproaching the chauffeur with, “Would you kill a Frenchman on his way +to his regiment?” and the conductor would reply, “I, too, am going in +a few hours. This is my last trip.” As night approached, cars and cabs +were running with increasing irregularity, many of the employees having +abandoned their posts to take leave of their families and make the +train. All the life of Paris was concentrating itself in a half-dozen +human rivers emptying in the stations. + +Desnoyers and Argensola met in a boulevard cafe toward midnight. Both +were exhausted by the day’s emotions and under that nervous depression +which follows noisy and violent spectacles. They needed to rest. War +was a fact, and now that it was a certainty, they felt no anxiety to get +further news. Remaining in the cafe proved impossible. In the hot and +smoky atmosphere, the occupants were singing and shouting and waving +tiny flags. All the battle hymns of the past and present were here +intoned in chorus, to an accompaniment of glasses and plates. The +rather cosmopolitan clientele was reviewing the European nations. All, +absolutely all, were going to enroll themselves on the side of France. +“Hurrah! . . . Hurrah!” . . . An old man and his wife were seated at a +table near the two friends. They were tenants, of an orderly, humdrum +walk in life, who perhaps in all their existence had never been awake at +such an hour. In the general enthusiasm they had come to the boulevards +“in order to see war a little closer.” The foreign tongue used by his +neighbors gave the husband a lofty idea of their importance. + +“Do you believe that England is going to join us?” . . . + +Argensola knew as much about it as he, but he replied authoritatively, +“Of course she will. That’s a sure thing!” The old man rose to his feet: +“Hurrah for England!” and he began chanting a forgotten patriotic song, +marking time with his arms in a spirited way, to the great admiration +of his old wife, and urging all to join in the chorus that very few were +able to follow. + +The two friends had to take themselves home on foot. They could not find +a vehicle that would stop for them; all were hurrying in the opposite +direction toward the stations. They were both in a bad humor, but +Argensola couldn’t keep his to himself. + +“Ah, these women!” Desnoyers knew all about his relations (so far +honorable) with a midinette from the rue Taitbout. Sunday strolls in the +suburbs of Paris, various trips to the moving picture shows, comments +upon the fine points of the latest novel published in the sheets of a +popular paper, kisses of farewell when she took the night train from +Bois Colombes in order to sleep at home--that was all. But Argensola was +wickedly counting on Father Time to mellow the sharpest virtues. That +evening they had taken some refreshment with a French friend who was +going the next morning to join his regiment. The girl had sometimes +seen him with Argensola without noticing him particularly, but now she +suddenly began admiring him as though he were another person. She had +given up the idea of returning home that night; she wanted to see how +a war begins. The three had dined together, and all her interest had +centred upon the one who was going away. She even took offense, with +sudden modesty, when Argensola tried as he had often done before, to +squeeze her hand under the table. Meanwhile she was almost leaning her +head on the shoulder of the future hero, enveloping him with admiring +gaze. + +“And they have gone. . . . They have gone away together!” said the +Spaniard bitterly. “I had to leave them in order not to make my hard +luck any worse. To have worked so long . . . for another!” + +He was silent for a few minutes, then changing the trend of his ideas, +he added: “I recognize, nevertheless, that her behavior is beautiful. +The generosity of these women when they believe that the moment for +sacrifice has come! She is terribly afraid of her father, and yet she +stays away from home all night with a person whom she hardly knows, and +whom she was not even thinking of in the middle of the afternoon! . . . +The entire nation feels gratitude toward those who are going to imperil +their lives, and she, poor child, wishing to do something, too, for +those destined for death, to give them a little pleasure in their last +hour . . . is giving the best she has, that which she can never recover. +I have sketched her role poorly, perhaps. . . . Laugh at me if you want +to, but admit that it is beautiful.” + +Desnoyers laughed heartily at his friend’s discomfiture, in spite of the +fact that he, too, was suffering a good deal of secret annoyance. He had +seen Marguerite but once since the day of his return. The only news of +her that he had received was by letter. . . . This cursed war! What an +upset for happy people! Marguerite’s mother was ill. She was brooding +over the departure of her son, an officer, on the first day of the +mobilization. Marguerite, too, was uneasy about her brother and did not +think it expedient to come to the studio while her mother was grieving +at home. When was this situation ever to end? . . . + +That check for four hundred thousand francs which he had brought from +America was also worrying him. The day before, the bank had declined to +pay it for lack of the customary official advice. Afterward they said +that they had received the advice, but did not give him the money. That +very afternoon, when the trust companies had closed their doors, the +government had already declared a moratorium, in order to prevent a +general bankruptcy due to the general panic. When would they pay him? +. . . Perhaps when the war which had not yet begun was ended--perhaps +never. He had no other money available except the two thousand francs +left over from his travelling expenses. All of his friends were in the +same distressing situation, unable to draw on the sums which they had in +the banks. Those who had any money were obliged to go from shop to shop, +or form in line at the bank doors, in order to get a bill changed. Oh, +this war! This stupid war! + +In the Champs Elysees, they saw a man with a broad-brimmed hat who +was walking slowly ahead of them and talking to himself. Argensola +recognized him as he passed near the street lamp, “Friend Tchernoff.” + Upon returning their greeting, the Russian betrayed a slight odor of +wine. Uninvited, he had adjusted his steps to theirs, accompanying them +toward the Arc de Triomphe. + +Julio had merely exchanged silent nods with Argensola’s new acquaintance +when encountering him in the vestibule; but sadness softens the heart +and makes us seek the friendship of the humble as a refreshing shelter. +Tchernoff, on the contrary, looked at Desnoyers as though he had known +him all his life. + +The man had interrupted his monologue, heard only by the black masses +of vegetation, the blue shadows perforated by the reddish tremors of +the street lights, the summer night with its cupola of warm breezes and +twinkling stars. He took a few steps without saying anything, as a mark +of consideration to his companions, and then renewed his arguments, +taking them up where he had broken off, without offering any +explanation, as though he were still talking to himself. . . . + +“And at this very minute, they are shouting with enthusiasm the same as +they are doing here, honestly believing that they are going to defend +their outraged country, wishing to die for their families and firesides +that nobody has threatened.” + +“Who are ‘they,’ Tchernoff?” asked Argensola. + +The Russian stared at him as though surprised at such a question. + +“They,” he said laconically. + +The two understood. . . . THEY! It could not be anyone else. + +“I have lived ten years in Germany,” he continued, connecting up his +words, now that he found himself listened to. “I was daily correspondent +for a paper in Berlin and I know these people. Passing along these +thronged boulevards, I have been seeing in my imagination what must be +happening there at this hour. They, too, are singing and shouting with +enthusiasm as they wave their flags. On the outside, they seem just +alike--but oh, what a difference within! . . . Last night the people +beset a few babblers in the boulevard who were yelling, ‘To Berlin!’--a +slogan of bad memories and worse taste. France does not wish +conquests; her only desire is to be respected, to live in peace without +humiliations or disturbances. To-night two of the mobilized men said on +leaving, ‘When we enter Germany we are going to make it a republic!’ +. . . A republic is not a perfect thing, but it is better than living +under an irresponsible monarchy by the grace of God. It at least +presupposes tranquillity and absence of the personal ambitions that +disturb life. I was impressed by the generous thought of these laboring +men who, instead of wishing to exterminate their enemies, were planning +to give them something better.” + +Tchernoff remained silent a few minutes, smiling ironically at the +picture which his imagination was calling forth. + +“In Berlin, the masses are expressing their enthusiasm in the lofty +phraseology befitting a superior people. Those in the lowest classes, +accustomed to console themselves for humiliations with a gross +materialism, are now crying ‘Nach Paris! We are going to drink champagne +gratis!’ The pietistic burgher, ready to do anything to attain a new +honor, and the aristocracy which has given the world the greatest +scandals of recent years, are also shouting, ‘Nach Paris!’ To them Paris +is the Babylon of the deadly sin, the city of the Moulin Rouge and the +restaurants of Montmartre, the only places that they know. . . . And my +comrades of the Social-Democracy, they are also cheering, but to another +tune.--‘To-morrow! To St. Petersburg! Russian ascendency, the menace +of civilization, must be obliterated!’ The Kaiser waving the tyranny of +another country as a scarecrow to his people! . . . What a joke!” + +And the loud laugh of the Russian sounded through the night like the +noise of wooden clappers. + +“We are more civilized than the Germans,” he said, regaining his +self-control. + +Desnoyers, who had been listening with great interest, now gave a start +of surprise, saying to himself, “This Tchernoff has been drinking.” + +“Civilization,” continued the Socialist, “does not consist merely in +great industry, in many ships, armies and numerous universities that +only teach science. That is material civilization. There is another, a +superior one, that elevates the soul and does not permit human dignity +to suffer without protesting against continual humiliations. A Swiss +living in his wooden chalet and considering himself the equal of the +other men of his country, is more civilized than the Herr Professor who +gives precedence to a lieutenant, or to a Hamburg millionaire who, in +turn, bends his neck like a lackey before those whose names are prefixed +by a von.” + +Here the Spaniard assented as though he could guess what Tchernoff was +going to say. + +“We Russians endure great tyranny. I know something about that. I know +the hunger and cold of Siberia. . . . But opposed to our tyranny +has always existed a revolutionary protest. Part of the nation is +half-barbarian, but the rest has a superior mentality, a lofty moral +spirit which faces danger and sacrifice because of liberty and truth. +. . . And Germany? Who there has ever raised a protest in order to defend +human rights? What revolutions have ever broken out in Prussia, the land +of the great despots? + +“Frederick William, the founder of militarism, when he was tired of +beating his wife and spitting in his children’s plates, used to sally +forth, thong in hand, in order to cowhide those subjects who did not get +out of his way in time. His son, Frederick the Great, declared that he +died, bored to death with governing a nation of slaves. In two centuries +of Prussian history, one single revolution--the barricades of 1848--a +bad Berlinish copy of the Paris revolution, and without any result. +Bismarck corrected with a heavy hand so as to crush completely the last +attempts at protest--if such ever really existed. And when his friends +were threatening him with revolution, the ferocious Junker, merely put +his hands on his hips and roared with the most insolent of horse laughs. +A revolution in Prussia! . . . Nothing at all, as he knew his people!” + +Tchernoff was not a patriot. Many a time Argensola had heard him railing +against his country, but now he was indignant in view of the contempt +with which Teutonic haughtiness was treating the Russian nation. +Where, in the last forty years of imperial grandeur, was that universal +supremacy of which the Germans were everlastingly boasting? . . . + +Excellent workers in science; tenacious and short-sighted academicians, +each wrapped in his specialty!--Benedictines of the laboratory who +experimented painstakingly and occasionally hit upon something, in spite +of enormous blunders given out as truths, because they were their own +. . . that was all! And side by side with such patient laboriosity, really +worthy of respect--what charlatanism! What great names exploited as a +shop sample! How many sages turned into proprietors of sanatoriums! +. . . A Herr Professor discovers the cure of tuberculosis, and the +tubercular keep on dying as before. Another labels with a number the +invincible remedy for the most unconfessable of diseases, and the +genital scourge continues afflicting the world. And all these errors +were representing great fortunes, each saving panacea bringing into +existence an industrial corporation selling its products at high +prices--as though suffering were a privilege of the rich. How different +from the bluff Pasteur and other clever men of the inferior races who +have given their discoveries to the world without stooping to form +monopolies! + +“German science,” continued Tchernoff, “has given much to humanity, I +admit that; but the science of other nations has done as much. Only a +nation puffed up with conceit could imagine that it has done everything +for civilization, and the others nothing. . . . Apart from their learned +specialists, what genius has been produced in our day by this Germany +which believes itself so transcendent? Wagner, the last of the +romanticists, closes an epoch and belongs to the past. Nietzsche took +pains to proclaim his Polish origin and abominated Germany, a country, +according to him, of middle-class pedants. His Slavism was so pronounced +that he even prophesied the overthrow of the Prussians by the Slavs. +. . . And there are others. We, although a savage people, have given +the world of modern times an admirable moral grandeur. Tolstoi and +Dostoievsky are world-geniuses. What names can the Germany of William II +put ahead of these? . . . His country was the country of music, but the +Russian musicians of to-day are more original than the mere followers +of Wagner, the copyists who take refuge in orchestral exasperations in +order to hide their mediocrity. . . . In its time of stress the German +nation had men of genius, before Pan-Germanism had been born, when +the Empire did not exist. Goethe, Schiller, Beethoven were subjects of +little principalities. They received influence from other countries and +contributed their share to the universal civilization like citizens of +the world, without insisting that the world should, therefore, become +Germanized.” + +Czarism had committed atrocities. Tchernoff knew that by experience, and +did not need the Germans to assure him of it. But all the illustrious +classes of Russia were enemies of that tyranny and were protesting +against it. Where in Germany were the intellectual enemies of Prussian +Czarism? They were either holding their peace, or breaking forth into +adulation of the anointed of the Lord--a musician and comedian like +Nero, of a sharp and superficial intelligence, who believed that by +merely skimming through anything he knew it all. Eager to strike a +spectacular pose in history, he had finally afflicted the world with the +greatest of calamities. + +“Why must the tyranny that weighs upon my country necessarily be +Russian? The worst Czars were imitators of Prussia. Every time that the +Russian people of our day have attempted to revindicate their rights, +the reactionaries have used the Kaiser as a threat, proclaiming that he +would come to their aid. One-half of the Russian aristocracy is German; +the functionaries who advise and support despotism are Germans; German, +too, are the generals who have distinguished themselves by massacring +the people; German are the officials who undertake to punish the +laborers’ strikes and the rebellion of their allies. The reactionary +Slav is brutal, but he has the fine sensibility of a race in which many +princes have become Nihilists. He raises the lash with facility, but +then he repents and oftentimes weeps. I have seen Russian officials kill +themselves rather than march against the people, or through remorse +for slaughter committed. The German in the service of the Czar feels no +scruples, nor laments his conduct. He kills coldly, with the minuteness +and exactitude with which he does everything. The Russian is a barbarian +who strikes and regrets; German civilization shoots without hesitation. +Our Slav Czar, in a humanitarian dream, favored the Utopian idea of +universal peace, organizing the Conference of The Hague. The Kaiser of +culture, meanwhile, has been working years and years in the erection and +establishment of a destructive organ of an immensity heretofore unknown, +in order to crush all Europe. The Russian is a humble Christian, +socialistic, democratic, thirsting for justice; the German prides +himself upon his Christianity, but is an idolator like the German of +other centuries. His religion loves blood and maintains castes; his true +worship is that of Odin;--only that nowadays, the god of slaughter has +changed his name and calls himself, ‘The State’!” + +Tchernoff paused an instant--perhaps in order to increase the wonder of +his companions--and then said with simplicity: + +“I am a Christian.” + +Argensola, who already knew the ideas and history of the Russian, +started with astonishment, and Julio persisted in his suspicion, “Surely +Tchernoff is drunk.” + +“It is true,” declared the Russian earnestly, “that I do not worry about +God, nor do I believe in dogmas, but my soul is Christian as is that +of all revolutionists. The philosophy of modern democracy is lay +Christianity. We Socialists love the humble, the needy, the weak. We +defend their right to life and well-being, as did the greatest lights +of the religious world who saw a brother in every unfortunate. We exact +respect for the poor in the name of justice; the others ask for it in +the name of charity. That only separates us. But we strive that +mankind may, by common consent, lead a better life, that the strong may +sacrifice for the weak, the lofty for the lowly, and the world be ruled +by brotherliness, seeking the greatest equality possible.” + +The Slav reviewed the history of human aspirations. Greek thought had +brought comfort, a sense of well-being on the earth--but only for the +few, for the citizens of the little democracies, for the free men, +leaving the slaves and barbarians who constituted the majority, in their +misery. Christianity, the religion of the lowly, had recognized the +right of happiness for all mankind, but this happiness was placed in +heaven, far from this world, this “vale of tears.” The Revolution +and its heirs, the Socialists, were trying to place happiness in the +immediate realities of earth, like the ancients, but making all humanity +participants in it like the Christians. + +“Where is the ‘Christianity of modern Germany? . . . There is far more +genuine Christian spirit in the fraternal laity of the French Republic, +defender of the weak, than in the religiosity of the conservative +Junkers. Germany has made a god in her own image, believing that she +adores it, but in reality adoring her own image. The German God is a +reflex of the German State which considers war as the first activity of +a nation and the noblest of occupations. Other Christian peoples, when +they have to go to war, feel the contradiction that exists between +their conduct and the teachings of the Gospel, and excuse themselves by +showing the cruel necessity which impels them. Germany declares that war +is acceptable to God. I have heard German sermons proving that Jesus was +in favor of Militarism. + +“Teutonic pride, the conviction that its race is providentially destined +to dominate the world, brings into working unity their Protestants, +Catholics and Jews. + +“Far above their differences of dogma is that God of the State which +is German--the Warrior God to whom William is probably referring as ‘my +worthy Ally.’ Religions always tend toward universality. Their aim is to +place humanity in relationship with God, and to sustain these relations +among mankind. Prussia has retrograded to barbarism, creating for its +personal use a second Jehovah, a divinity hostile to the greater part of +the human race who makes his own the grudges and ambitions of the German +people.” + +Tchernoff then explained in his own way the creation of this Teutonic +God, ambitious, cruel and vengeful. The Germans were comparatively +recent Christians. Their Christianity was not more than six centuries +old. When the Crusades were drawing to a close, the Prussians were still +living in paganism. Pride of race, impelling them to war, had revived +these dead divinities. The God of the Gospel was now adorned by the +Germans with lance and shield like the old Teutonic god who was a +military chief. + +“Christianity in Berlin wears helmet and riding boots. God at this +moment is seeing Himself mobilized the same as Otto, Fritz and Franz, +in order to punish the enemies of His chosen people. That the Lord has +commanded, ‘Thou shalt not kill,’ and His Son has said to the world, +‘Blessed are the peacemakers,’ no longer matters. Christianity, +according to its German priests of all creeds, can only influence the +individual betterment of mankind, and should not mix itself in affairs +of state. The Prussian God of the State is ‘the old German God,’ the +lineal descendant of the ferocious Germanic mythology, a mixture of +divinities hungry for war.” + +In the silence of the avenue, the Russian evoked the ruddy figures of +the implacable gods, that were going to awake that night upon hearing +the hum of arms and smelling the acrid odor of blood. Thor, the brutal +god with the little head, was stretching his biceps and clutching the +hammer that crushed cities. Wotan was sharpening his lance which had the +lightning for its handle, the thunder for its blade. Odin, the one-eyed, +was gaping with gluttony on the mountain-tops, awaiting the dead +warriors that would crowd around his throne. The dishevelled Valkyries, +fat and perspiring, were beginning to gallop from cloud to cloud, +hallooing to humanity that they might carry off the corpses doubled like +saddle bags, over the haunches of their flying nags. + +“German religiosity,” continued the Russian, “is the disavowal of +Christianity. In its eyes, men are no longer equal before God. Their God +is interested only in the strong, and favors them with his support +so that they may dare anything. Those born weak must either submit or +disappear. Neither are nations equal, but are divided into leaders and +inferior races whose destiny is to be sifted out and absorbed by their +superiors. Since God has thus ordained, it is unnecessary to state that +the grand world-leader is Germany.” + +Argensola here interrupted to observe that German pride believed itself +championed not only by God but by science, too. + +“I know that,” interposed the Russian without letting him +finish--“generalization, inequality, selection, the struggle for life, +and all that. . . . The Germans, so conceited about their special worth, +erect upon distant ground their intellectual monuments, borrowing of the +foreigner their foundation material whenever they undertake a new line +of work. A Frenchman and an Englishman, Gobineau and Chamberlain, have +given them the arguments with which to defend the superiority of their +race. With the rubbish left over from Darwin and Spencer, their +old Haeckel has built up his doctrine of ‘Monism’ which, applied to +politics, scientifically consecrates Prussian pride and recognizes its +right to rule the world by force.” + +“No, a thousand times no!” he exclaimed after a brief silence. “The +struggle for existence with its procession of cruelties may be +true among the lower species, but it should not be true among human +creatures. We are rational beings and ought to free ourselves from the +fatality of environment, moulding it to our convenience. The animal does +not know law, justice or compassion; he lives enslaved in the obscurity +of his instincts. We think, and thought signifies liberty. Force does +not necessarily have to be cruel; it is strongest when it does not take +advantage of its power, and is kindly. All have a right to the life into +which they are born, and since among individuals there exist the haughty +and the humble, the mighty and the weak, so should exist nations, large +and small, old and young. The end of our existence is not combat nor +killing in order that others may afterwards kill us, and, perhaps, be +killed themselves. Civilized peoples ought unanimously to adopt the idea +of southern Europe, striving for the most peaceful and sweetest form of +life possible.” + +A cruel smile played over the Russian’s beard. + +“But there exists that Kultur, diametrically opposed to civilization, +which the Germans wish to palm off upon us. Civilization is refinement +of spirit, respect of one’s neighbor, tolerance of foreign opinion, +courtesy of manner. Kultur is the action of a State that organizes and +assimilates individuals and communities in order to utilize them for +its own ends; and these ends consist mainly in placing ‘The State’ above +other states, overwhelming them with their grandeur--or what is the same +thing--with their haughty and violent pride.” + +By this time, the three had reached the place de l’Etoile. The dark +outline of the Arc de Triomphe stood forth clearly in the starry +expanse. The avenues extended in all directions, a double file of +lights. Those around the monument illuminated its gigantic bases and the +feet of the sculptured groups. Further up, the vaulted spaces were so +locked in shadow that they had the black density of ebony. + +Upon passing under the Arch, which greatly intensified the echo of their +footsteps, they came to a standstill. The night breeze had a wintry +chill as it whistled past, and the curved masses seemed melting into the +diffused blue of space. Instinctively the three turned to glance back +at the Champs Elysees. They saw only a river of shadow on which were +floating rosaries of red stars among the two long, black scarfs formed +by the buildings. But they were so well acquainted with this panorama +that in imagination they mentally saw the majestic sweep of the avenue, +the double row of palaces, the place de la Concorde in the background +with the Egyptian obelisk, and the trees of the Tuileries. + +“How beautiful it is!” exclaimed Tchernoff who was seeing something +beyond the shadows. “An entire civilization, loving peace and pleasure, +has passed through here.” + +A memory greatly affected the Russian. Many an afternoon, after lunch, +he had met in this very spot a robust man, stocky, with reddish beard +and kindly eyes--a man who looked like a giant who had just stopped +growing. He was always accompanied by a dog. It was Jaures, his friend +Jaures, who before going to the senate was accustomed to taking a walk +toward the Arch from his home in Passy. + +“He liked to come just where we are now! He loved to look at the +avenues, the distant gardens, all of Paris which can be seen from this +height; and filled with admiration, he would often say to me, ‘This is +magnificent--one of the most beautiful perspectives that can be found in +the entire world.’ . . . Poor Jaures!” + +Through association of ideas, the Russian evoked the image of his +compatriot, Michael Bakounine, another revolutionist, the father of +anarchy, weeping with emotion at a concert after hearing the symphony +with Beethoven chorals directed by a young friend of his, named Richard +Wagner. “When our revolution comes,” he cried, clasping the hand of the +master, “whatever else may perish, this must be saved at any cost!” + +Tchernoff roused himself from his reveries to look around him and say +with sadness: + +“THEY have passed through here!” + +Every time that he walked through the Arch, the same vision would spring +up in his mind. THEY were thousands of helmets glistening in the sun, +thousands of heavy boots lifted with mechanical rigidity at the same +time; horns, fifes, drums large and small, clashing against the majestic +silence of these stones--the warlike march from Lohengrin sounding in +the deserted avenues before the closed houses. + +He, who was a foreigner, always felt attracted by the spell exerted by +venerable buildings guarding the glory of a bygone day. He did not wish +to know who had erected it. As soon as its pride is flattered, mankind +tries immediately to solidify it. Then Humanity intervenes with a +broader vision that changes the original significance of the work, +enlarges it and strips it of its first egotistical import. The Greek +statues, models of the highest beauty, had been originally mere images +of the temple, donated by the piety of the devotees of those times. +Upon evoking Roman grandeur, everybody sees in imagination the enormous +Coliseum, circle of butcheries, or the arches erected to the glory +of the inept Caesars. The representative works of nations have two +significations--the interior or immediate one which their creators gave +them, and the exterior or universal interest, the symbolic value which +the centuries have given them. + +“This Arch,” continued Tchernoff, “is French within, with its names +of battles and generals open to criticism. On the outside, it is the +monument of the people who carried through the greatest revolution +for liberty ever known. The glorification of man is there below in +the column of the place Vendome. Here there is nothing individual. Its +builders erected it to the memory of la Grande Armee and that Grand +Army was the people in arms who spread revolution throughout Europe. The +artists, great inventors, foresaw the true significance of this work. +The warriors of Rude who are chanting the Marseillaise in the group +at the left are not professional soldiers, they are armed citizens, +marching to work out their sublime and violent mission. Their nudity +makes them appear to me like sans-culottes in Grecian helmets. . . . +Here there is more than the glory and egoism of a great nation. All +Europe is awake to new life, thanks to these Crusaders of Liberty. . . . +The nations call to mind certain images. If I think of Greece, I see the +columns of the Parthenon; Rome, Mistress of the World, is the Coliseum +and the Arch of Trajan; and revolutionary France is the Arc de +Triomphe.” + +The Arch was even more, according to the Russian. It represented a +great historical retaliation; the nations of the South, called the +Latin races, replying, after many centuries, to the invasion which had +destroyed the Roman jurisdiction--the Mediterranean peoples spreading +themselves as conquerors through the lands of the ancient barbarians. +Retreating immediately, they had swept away the past like a tidal +wave--the great surf depositing all that it contained. Like the waters +of certain rivers which fructify by overflowing, this recession of the +human tide had left the soil enriched with new and generous ideas. + +“If THEY should return!” added Tchernoff with a look of uneasiness. +“If they again should tread these stones! . . . Before, they were +simple-minded folk, stunned by their rapid good-fortune, who passed +through here like a farmer through a salon. They were content with money +for the pocket and two provinces which should perpetuate the memory +of their victory. . . . But now they will not be the soldiers only +who march against Paris. At the tail of the armies come the maddened +canteen-keepers, the Herr Professors, carrying at the side the little +keg of wine with the powder which crazes the barbarian, the wine +of Kultur. And in the vans come also an enormous load of scientific +savagery, a new philosophy which glorifies Force as a principle and +sanctifier of everything, denies liberty, suppresses the weak and places +the entire world under the charge of a minority chosen by God, just +because it possesses the surest and most rapid methods of slaughter. +Humanity may well tremble for the future if again resounds under this +archway the tramp of boots following a march of Wagner or any other +Kapellmeister.” + +They left the Arch, following the avenue Victor Hugo. Tchernoff +walking along in dogged silence as though the vision of this imaginary +procession had overwhelmed him. Suddenly he continued aloud the course +of his reflections. + +“And if they should enter, what does it matter? . . . On that account, +the cause of Right will not die. It suffers eclipses, but is born again; +it may be ignored and trampled under foot, but it does not, therefore, +cease to exist, and all good souls recognize it as the only rule of +life. A nation of madmen wishes to place might upon the pedestal that +others have raised to Right. Useless endeavor! The eternal hope +of mankind will ever be the increasing power of more liberty, more +brotherliness, more justice.” + +The Russian appeared to calm himself with this statement. He and +his friends spoke of the spectacle which Paris was presenting in its +preparation for war. Tchernoff bemoaned the great suffering produced by +the catastrophe, the thousands and thousands of domestic tragedies that +were unrolling at that moment. Apparently nothing had changed. In the +centre of the city and around the stations, there was unusual agitation, +but the rest of the immense city did not appear affected by the great +overthrow of its existence. The solitary street was presenting its usual +aspect, the breeze was gently moving the leaves. A solemn peace seemed +to be spreading itself through space. The houses appeared wrapped in +slumber, but behind the closed windows might be surmised the insomnia +of the reddened eyes, the sighs from hearts anguished by the threatened +danger, the tremulous agility of the hands preparing the war outfit, +perhaps the last loving greetings exchanged without pleasure, with +kisses ending in sobs. + +Tchernoff thought of his neighbors, the husband and wife who occupied +the other interior apartment behind the studio. She was no longer +playing the piano. The Russian had overheard disputes, the banging of +doors locked with violence, and the footsteps of a man in the middle of +the night, fleeing from a woman’s cries. There had begun to develop on +the other side of the wall a regulation drama--a repetition of hundreds +of others, all taking place at the same time. + +“She is a German,” volunteered the Russian. “Our concierge has ferreted +out her nationality. He must have gone by this time to join his +regiment. Last night I could hardly sleep. I heard the lamentations +through the thin wall partition, the steady, desperate weeping of an +abandoned child, and the voice of a man who was vainly trying to quiet +her! . . . Ah, what a rain of sorrows is now falling upon the world!” + +That same evening, on leaving the house, he had met her by her door. +She appeared like another woman, with an old look as though in these +agonizing hours she had been suffering for fifteen years. In vain the +kindly Tchernoff had tried to cheer her up, urging her to accept quietly +her husband’s absence so as not to harm the little one who was coming. + +“For the unhappy creature is going to be a mother,” he said sadly. “She +hides her condition with a certain modesty, but from my window, I have +often seen her making the dainty layette.” + +The woman had listened to him as though she did not understand. Words +were useless before her desperation. She could only sob as though +talking to herself, “I am a German. . . . He has gone; he has to go +away. . . . Alone! . . . Alone forever!” . . . + +“She is thinking all the time of her nationality which is separating +her from her husband; she is thinking of the concentration camp to +which they will take her with her compatriots. She is fearful of being +abandoned in the enemy’s country obliged to defend itself against the +attack of her own country. . . . And all this when she is about to +become a mother. What miseries! What agonies!” + +The three reached the rue de la Pompe and on entering the house, +Tchernoff began to take leave of his companions in order to climb the +service stairs; but Desnoyers wished to prolong the conversation. He +dreaded being alone with his friend, still chagrined over the evening’s +events. The conversation with the Russian interested him, so they all +went up in the elevator together. Argensola suggested that this would +be a good opportunity to uncork one of the many bottles which he was +keeping in the kitchen. Tchernoff could go home through the studio door +that opened on the stairway. + +The great window had its glass doors wide open; the transoms on the +patio side were also open; a breeze kept the curtains swaying, moving, +too, the old lanterns, moth-eaten flags and other adornments of the +romantic studio. They seated themselves around the table, near a window +some distance from the light which was illuminating the other end of +the big room. They were in the shadow, with their backs to the interior +court. Opposite them were tiled roofs and an enormous rectangle of blue +shadow, perforated by the sharp-pointed stars. The city lights were +coloring the shadowy space with a bloody reflection. + +Tchernoff drank two glasses, testifying to the excellence of the liquid +by smacking his lips. The three were silent with the wondering and +thoughtful silence which the grandeur of the night imposes. Their +eyes were glancing from star to star, grouping them in fanciful lines, +forming them into triangles or squares of varying irregularity. At +times, the twinkling radiance of a heavenly body appeared to broaden the +rays of light, almost hypnotizing them. + +The Russian, without coming out of his revery, availed himself of +another glass. Then he smiled with cruel irony, his bearded face taking +on the semblance of a tragic mask peeping between the curtains of the +night. + +“I wonder what those men up there are thinking!” he muttered. “I wonder +if any star knows that Bismarck ever existed! . . . I wonder if the +planets are aware of the divine mission of the German nation!” + +And he continued laughing. + +Some far-away and uncertain noise disturbed the stillness of the night, +slipping through some of the chinks that cut the immense plain of roofs. +The three turned their heads so as to hear better. . . . The sound +of voices cut through the thick silence of night--a masculine chorus +chanting a hymn, simple, monotonous and solemn. They guessed at what it +must be, although they could not hear very well. Various single notes +floating with greater intensity on the night wind, enabled Argensola to +piece together the short song, ending in a melodious, triumphant yell--a +true war song: + + C’est l’Alsace et la Lorraine, + C’est l’Alsace qu’il nous faut, + Oh, oh, oh, oh. + +A new band of men was going away through the streets below, toward the +railway station, the gateway of the war. They must be from the outlying +districts, perhaps from the country, and passing through silence-wrapped +Paris, they felt like singing of the great national hope, that those who +were watching behind the dark facades might feel comforted, knowing that +they were not alone. + +“Just as it is in the opera,” said Julio listening to the last notes of +the invisible chorus dying away into the night. + +Tchernoff continued drinking, but with a distracted air, his eyes fixed +on the red cloud that floated over the roofs. + +The two friends conjectured his mental labor from his concentrated look, +and the low exclamations which were escaping him like the echoes of an +interior monologue. Suddenly he leaped from thought to word without any +forewarning, continuing aloud the course of his reasoning. + +“And when the sun arises in a few hours, the world will see coursing +through its fields the four horsemen, enemies of mankind. . . . Already +their wild steeds are pawing the ground with impatience; already the +ill-omened riders have come together and are exchanging the last words +before leaping into the saddle.” + +“What horsemen are these?” asked Argensola. + +“Those which go before the Beast.” + +The two friends thought this reply as unintelligible as the preceding +words. Desnoyers again said mentally, “He is drunk,” but his curiosity +forced him to ask, “What beast is that?” + +“That of the Apocalypse.” + +There was a brief silence, but the Russian’s terseness of speech did not +last long. He felt the necessity of expressing his enthusiasm for the +dreamer on the island rock of Patmos. The poet of great and mystic +vision was exerting, across two thousand years, his influence over this +mysterious revolutionary, tucked away on the top floor of a house in +Paris. John had foreseen it all. His visions, unintelligible to the +masses, nevertheless held within them the mystery of great human events. + +Tchernoff described the Apocalyptic beast rising from the depths of the +sea. He was like a leopard, his feet like those of a bear, his mouth +like the snout of a lion. He had seven heads and ten horns. And upon +the horns were ten crowns, and upon each of his heads the name of a +blasphemy. The evangelist did not say just what these blasphemies were, +perhaps they differed according to the epochs, modified every thousand +years when the beast made a new apparition. The Russian seemed to be +reading those that were flaming on the heads of the monster--blasphemies +against humanity, against justice, against all that makes life sweet +and bearable. “Might is superior to Right!” . . . “The weak should not +exist.” . . . “Be harsh in order to be great.” . . . And the Beast in +all its hideousness was attempting to govern the world and make mankind +render him homage! + +“But the four horsemen?” persisted Desnoyers. + +The four horsemen were preceding the appearance of the monster in John’s +vision. + +The seven seals of the book of mystery were broken by the Lamb in the +presence of the great throne where was seated one who shone like jasper. +The rainbow round about the throne was in sight like unto an emerald. +Twenty-four thrones were in a semicircle around the great throne, and +upon them twenty-four elders with white robes and crowns of gold. Four +enormous animals, covered with eyes and each having six wings, seemed +to be guarding the throne. The sounding of trumpets was greeting the +breaking of the first seal. + +“Come and see,” cried one of the beasts in a stentorian tone to the +vision-seeing poet. . . . And the first horseman appeared on a white +horse. In his hand he carried a bow, and a crown was given unto him. +He was Conquest, according to some, the Plague according to others. He +might be both things at the same time. He wore a crown, and that was +enough for Tchernoff. + +“Come forth,” shouted the second animal, removing his thousand eyes. And +from the broken seal leaped a flame-colored steed. His rider brandished +over his head an enormous sword. He was War. Peace fled from the world +before his furious gallop; humanity was going to be exterminated. + +And when the third seal was broken, another of the winged animals +bellowed like a thunder clap, “Come and see!” And John saw a black +horse. He who mounted it held in his hand a scale in order to weigh the +maintenance of mankind. He was Famine. + +The fourth animal saluted the breaking of the fourth seal with a great +roaring--“Come and see!” And there appeared a pale-colored horse. His +rider was called Death, and power was given him to destroy with the +sword and with hunger and with death, and with the beasts of the earth. + +The four horsemen were beginning their mad, desolating course over the +heads of terrified humanity. + +Tchernoff was describing the four scourges of the earth exactly as +though he were seeing them. The horseman on the white horse was clad in +a showy and barbarous attire. His Oriental countenance was contracted +with hatred as if smelling out his victims. While his horse continued +galloping, he was bending his bow in order to spread pestilence +abroad. At his back swung the brass quiver filled with poisoned arrows, +containing the germs of all diseases--those of private life as well as +those which envenom the wounded soldier on the battlefield. + +The second horseman on the red steed was waving the enormous, two-edged +sword over his hair bristling with the swiftness of his course. He was +young, but the fierce scowl and the scornful mouth gave him a look of +implacable ferocity. His garments, blown open by the motion of his wild +race, disclosed the form of a muscular athlete. + +Bald, old and horribly skinny was the third horseman bouncing up and +down on the rawboned back of his black steed. His shrunken legs clanked +against the thin flanks of the lean beast. In one withered hand he was +holding the scales, symbol of the scarcity of food that was going to +become as valuable as gold. + +The knees of the fourth horseman, sharp as spurs, were pricking the +ribs of the pale horse. His parchment-like skin betrayed the lines and +hollows of his skeleton. The front of his skull-like face was twisted +with the sardonic laugh of destruction. His cane-like arms were whirling +aloft a gigantic sickle. From his angular shoulders was hanging a +ragged, filthy shroud. + +And the furious cavalcade was passing like a hurricane over the immense +assemblage of human beings. The heavens showed above their heads, a +livid, dark-edged cloud from the west. Horrible monsters and deformities +were swarming in spirals above the furious horde, like a repulsive +escort. Poor Humanity, crazed with fear, was fleeing in all directions +on hearing the thundering pace of the Plague, War, Hunger and Death. Men +and women, young and old, were knocking each other down and falling to +the ground overwhelmed by terror, astonishment and desperation. And the +white horse, the red, the black and the pale, were crushing all with +their relentless, iron tread--the athletic man was hearing the crashing +of his broken ribs, the nursing babe was writhing at its mother’s +breast, and the aged and feeble were closing their eyes forever with a +childlike sob. + +“God is asleep, forgetting the world,” continued the Russian. “It will +be a long time before he awakes, and while he sleeps the four feudal +horsemen of the Beast will course through the land as its only lords.” + +Tchernoff was overpowered by the intensity of his dramatic vision. +Springing from his seat, he paced up and down with great strides; but +his picture of the fourfold catastrophe revealed by the gloomy poet’s +trance, seemed to him very weak indeed. A great painter had given +corporeal form to these terrible dreams. + +“I have a book,” he murmured, “a rare book.” . . . + +And suddenly he left the studio and went to his own quarters. He wanted +to bring the book to show to his friends. Argensola accompanied him, and +they returned in a few minutes with the volume, leaving the doors open +behind them, so as to make a stronger current of air among the hollows +of the facades and the interior patio. + +Tchernoff placed his precious book under the light. It was a volume +printed in 1511, with Latin text and engravings. Desnoyers read the +title, “The Apocalypse Illustrated.” The engravings were by Albert +Durer, a youthful effort, when the master was only twenty-seven years +old. The three were fascinated by the picture portraying the wild career +of the Apocalyptic horsemen. The quadruple scourge, on fantastic mounts, +seemed to be precipitating itself with a realistic sweep, crushing +panic-stricken humanity. + +Suddenly something happened which startled the three men from their +contemplative admiration--something unusual, indefinable, a dreadful +sound which seemed to enter directly into their brains without passing +through their ears--a clutch at the heart. Instinctively they knew that +something very grave had just happened. + +They stared at each other silently for a few interminable seconds. + +Through the open door, a cry of alarm came up from the patio. + +With a common impulse, the three ran to the interior window, but before +reaching them, the Russian had a presentiment. + +“My neighbor! . . . It must be my neighbor. Perhaps she has killed +herself!” + +Looking down, they could see lights below, people moving around a form +stretched out on the tiled floor. The alarm had instantly filled all +the court windows, for it was a sleepless night--a night of nervous +apprehension when everyone was keeping a sad vigil. + +“She has killed herself,” said a voice which seemed to come up from a +well. “The German woman has committed suicide.” + +The explanation of the concierge leaped from window to window up to the +top floor. + +The Russian was shaking his head with a fatalistic expression. The +unhappy woman had not taken the death-leap of her own accord. Someone +had intensified her desperation, someone had pushed her. . . . The +horsemen! The four horsemen of the Apocalypse! . . . Already they were +in the saddle! Already they were beginning their merciless gallop of +destruction! + +The blind forces of evil were about to be let loose throughout the +world. + +The agony of humanity, under the brutal sweep of the four horsemen, was +already begun! + + + + +PART II + + + +CHAPTER I + +WHAT DON MARCELO ENVIED + + +Upon being convinced that war really was inevitable, the elder Desnoyers +was filled with amazement. Humanity had gone crazy. Was it possible that +war could happen in these days of so many railroads, so many merchant +marines, so many inventions, so much activity developed above and below +the earth? . . . The nations would ruin themselves forever. They were +now accustomed to luxuries and necessities unknown a century ago. +Capital was master of the world, and war was going to wipe it out. In +its turn, war would be wiped out in a few months’ time through lack +of funds to sustain it. His soul of a business man revolted before the +hundreds of thousands of millions that this foolhardy event was going to +convert into smoke and slaughter. + +As his indignation had to fix upon something close at hand, he made his +own countrymen responsible for this insanity. Too much talk about la +revanche! The very idea of worrying for forty-four years over the two +lost provinces when the nation was mistress of enormous and undeveloped +lands in other countries! . . . Now they were going to pay the penalty +for such exasperating and clamorous foolishness. + +For him war meant disaster writ large. He had no faith in his country. +France’s day had passed. Now the victors were of the Northern peoples, +and especially that Germany which he had seen so close, admiring with a +certain terror its discipline and its rigorous organization. The former +working-man felt the conservative and selfish instinct of all those who +have amassed millions. He scorned political ideals, but through class +interest he had of late years accepted the declarations against the +scandals of the government. What could a corrupt and disorganized +Republic do against the solidest and strongest empire in the +world? . . . + +“We are going to our deaths,” he said to himself. “Worse than ‘70! . . . +We are going to see horrible things!” + +The good order and enthusiasm with which the French responded to their +country’s call and transformed themselves into soldiers were most +astonishing to him. This moral shock made his national faith begin to +revive. The great majority of Frenchmen were good after all; the nation +was as valiant as in former times. Forty-four years of suffering and +alarm had developed their old bravery. But the leaders? Where were they +going to get leaders to march to victory? . . . + +Many others were asking themselves the same question. The silence of the +democratic government was keeping the country in complete ignorance of +their future commanders. Everybody saw the army increasing from hour to +hour: very few knew the generals. One name was beginning to be repeated +from mouth to mouth, “Joffre . . . Joffre.” His first pictures made the +curious crowds struggle to get a glimpse of them. Desnoyers studied them +very carefully. “He looks like a very capable person.” His methodical +instincts were gratified by the grave and confident look of the +general of the Republic. Suddenly he felt the great confidence that +efficient-looking bank directors always inspired in him. He could +entrust his interests to this gentleman, sure that he would not act +impulsively. + +Finally, against his will, Desnoyers was drawn into the whirlpool of +enthusiasm and emotion. Like everyone around him, he lived minutes that +were hours, and hours that were years. Events kept on overlapping each +other; within a week the world seemed to have made up for its long +period of peace. + +The old man fairly lived in the street, attracted by the spectacle +of the multitude of civilians saluting the multitude of uniformed men +departing for the seat of war. + +At night he saw the processions passing through the boulevards. The +tricolored flag was fluttering its colors under the electric lights. The +cafes were overflowing with people, sending forth from doors and windows +the excited, musical notes of patriotic songs. Suddenly, amidst applause +and cheers, the crowd would make an opening in the street. All Europe +was passing here; all Europe--less the arrogant enemy--and was saluting +France in her hour of danger with hearty spontaneity. Flags of different +nations were filing by, of all tints of the rainbow, and behind them +were the Russians with bright and mystical eyes; the English, with +heads uncovered, intoning songs of religious gravity; the Greeks and +Roumanians of aquiline profile; the Scandinavians, white and red; the +North Americans, with the noisiness of a somewhat puerile enthusiasm; +the Hebrews without a country, friends of the nation of socialistic +revolutions; the Italians, as spirited as a choir of heroic tenors; +the Spanish and South Americans, tireless in their huzzas. They were +students and apprentices who were completing their courses in the +schools and workshops, and refugees who, like shipwrecked mariners, had +sought shelter on the hospitable strand of Paris. Their cheers had no +special significance, but they were all moved by their desire to show +their love for the Republic. And Desnoyers, touched by the sight, +felt that France was still of some account in the world, that she yet +exercised a moral force among the nations, and that her joys and sorrows +were still of interest to humanity. + +“In Berlin and Vienna, too,” he said to himself, “they must also be +cheering enthusiastically at this moment . . . but Germans only, no +others. Assuredly no foreigner is joining in their demonstrations.” + +The nation of the Revolution, legislator of the rights of mankind, was +harvesting the gratitude of the throngs, but was beginning to feel +a certain remorse before the enthusiasm of the foreigners who were +offering their blood for France. Many were lamenting that the government +should delay twenty days, until after they had finished the operations +of mobilization, in admitting the volunteers. And he, a Frenchman born, +a few hours before, had been mistrusting his country! . . . + +In the daytime the popular current was running toward the Gare de l’Est. +Crowded against the gratings was a surging mass of humanity stretching +its tentacles through the nearby streets. The station that was acquiring +the importance of a historic spot appeared like a narrow tunnel +through which a great human river was trying to flow with many rippling +encounters and much heavy pressure against its banks. A large part of +France in arms was coursing through this exit from Paris toward the +battlefields at the frontier. + +Desnoyers had been in the station only twice, when going and coming from +Germany. Others were now taking the same road. The crowds were swarming +in from the environs of the city in order to see the masses of human +beings in geometric bodies, uniformly clad, disappearing within the +entrance with flash of steel and the rhythm of clanking metal. The +crystal archways that were glistening in the sun like fiery mouths were +swallowing and swallowing people. When night fell the processions were +still coming on, by light of the electric lamps. Through the iron grills +were passing thousands and thousands of draught horses; men with their +breasts crossed with metal and bunches of horsehair hanging from their +helmets, like paladins of bygone centuries; enormous cases that were +serving as cages for the aeronautic condors; strings of cannon, long +and narrow, painted grey and protected, by metal screens, more like +astronomical instruments than mouths of death; masses and masses of +red kepis (military caps) moving in marching rhythm, rows and rows of +muskets, some black and stark like reed plantations, others ending in +bayonets like shining spikes. And over all these restless fields of +seething throngs, the flags of the regiments were fluttering in the air +like colored birds; a white body, a blue wing, or a red one, a cravat of +gold on the neck, and above, the metal tip pointing toward the clouds. + +Don Marcelo would return home from these send-offs vibrating with +nervous fatigue, as one who had just participated in a scene of racking +emotion. In spite of his tenacious character which always stood out +against admitting a mistake, the old man began to feel ashamed of his +former doubts. The nation was quivering with life; France was a grand +nation; appearances had deceived him as well as many others. Perhaps the +most of his countrymen were of a light and flippant character, given to +excessive interest in the sensuous side of life; but when danger came +they were fulfilling their duty simply, without the necessity of the +harsh force to which the iron-clad organizations were submitting their +people. + +On leaving home on the morning of the fourth day of the mobilization +Desnoyers, instead of betaking himself to the centre of the city, went +in the opposite direction toward the rue de la Pompe. Some imprudent +words dropped by Chichi, and the uneasy looks of his wife and +sister-in-law made him suspect that Julio had returned from his trip. He +felt the necessity of seeing at least the outside of the studio windows, +as if they might give him news. And in order to justify a trip so at +variance with his policy of ignoring his son, he remembered that the +carpenter lived in the same street. + +“I must hunt up Robert. He promised a week ago that he would come here.” + +This Robert was a husky young fellow who, to use his own words, was +“emancipated from boss tyranny,” and was working independently in his +own home. A tiny, almost subterranean room was serving him for dwelling +and workshop. A woman he called “my affinity” was looking carefully +after his hearth and home, with a baby boy clinging to her skirts. +Desnoyers was accustomed to humor Robert’s tirades against his fellow +citizens because the man had always humored his whimseys about the +incessant rearrangement of his furniture. In the luxurious apartment in +the avenue Victor Hugo the carpenter would sing La Internacional while +using hammer and saw, and his employer would overlook his audacity of +speech because of the cheapness of his work. + +Upon arriving at the shop he found the man with cap over one ear, broad +trousers like a mameluke’s, hobnailed boots and various pennants and +rosettes fastened to the lapels of his jacket. + +“You’ve come too late, Boss,” he said cheerily. “I am just going to +close the factory. The Proprietor has been mobilized, and in a few hours +will join his regiment.” + +And he pointed to a written paper posted on the door of his dwelling +like the printed cards on all establishments, signifying that employer +and employees had obeyed the order of mobilization. + +It had never occurred to Desnoyers that his carpenter might become a +soldier, since he was so opposed to all kinds of authority. He hated +the flics, the Paris police, with whom he had, more than once, exchanged +fisticuffs and clubbings. Militarism was his special aversion. In the +meetings against the despotism of the barracks he had always been one +of the noisiest participants. And was this revolutionary fellow going to +war naturally and voluntarily? . . . + +Robert spoke enthusiastically of his regiment, of life among comrades +with Death but four steps away. + +“I believe in my ideas, Boss, the same as before,” he explained as +though guessing the other’s thought. “But war is war and teaches many +things--among others that Liberty must be accompanied with order +and authority. It is necessary that someone direct that the rest may +follow--willingly, by common consent . . . but they must follow. When +war actually comes one sees things very differently from when living at +home doing as one pleases.” + +The night that they assassinated Jaures he howled with rage, announcing +that the following morning the murder would be avenged. He had hunted up +his associates in the district in order to inform them what retaliation +was being planned against the malefactors. But war was about to break +out. There was something in the air that was opposing civil strife, that +was placing private grievances in momentary abeyance, concentrating all +minds on the common weal. + +“A week ago,” he exclaimed, “I was an anti-militarist! How far away that +seems now--as if a year had gone by! I keep thinking as before! I +love peace and hate war like all my comrades. But the French have not +offended anybody, and yet they threaten us, wishing to enslave us. . . . +But we French can be fierce, since they oblige us to be, and in order +to defend ourselves it is just that nobody should shirk, that all should +obey. Discipline does not quarrel with Revolution. Remember the armies +of the first Republic--all citizens, Generals as well as soldiers, but +Hoche, Kleber and the others were rough-hewn, unpolished benefactors who +knew how to command and exact obedience.” + +The carpenter was well read. Besides the papers and pamphlets of “the +Idea,” he had also read on stray sheets the views of Michelet and other +liberal actors on the stage of history. + +“We are going to make war on War,” he added. “We are going to fight so +that this war will be the last.” + +This statement did not seem to be expressed with sufficient clearness, +so he recast his thought. + +“We are going to fight for the future; we are going to die in order +that our grandchildren may not have to endure a similar calamity. If +the enemy triumphs, the war-habit will triumph, and conquest will be the +only means of growth. First they will overcome Europe, then the rest of +the world. Later on, those who have been pillaged will rise up in their +wrath. More wars! . . . We do not want conquests. We desire to regain +Alsace and Lorraine, for their inhabitants wish to return to us . . . +and nothing more. We shall not imitate the enemy, appropriating +territory and jeopardizing the peace of the world. We had enough of that +with Napoleon; we must not repeat that experience. We are going to fight +for our immediate security, and at the same time for the security of +the world--for the life of the weaker nations. If this were a war +of aggression, of mere vanity, of conquest, then we Socialists would +bethink ourselves of our anti-militarism. But this is self-defense, and +the government has not been at fault. Since we are attacked, we must be +united in our defensive.” + +The carpenter, who was also anti-clerical, was now showing a more +generous tolerance, an amplitude of ideas that embraced all mankind. The +day before he had met at the administration office a Reservist who was +just leaving to join his regiment. At a glance he saw that this man was +a priest. + +“I am a carpenter,” he had said to him, by way of introduction, “and +you, comrade, are working in the churches?” + +He employed this figure of speech in order that the priest might not +suspect him of anything offensive. The two had clasped hands. + +“I do not take much stock in the clerical cowl,” Robert explained +to Desnoyers. “For some time I have not been on friendly terms with +religion. But in every walk of life there must be good people, and the +good people ought to understand each other in a crisis like this. Don’t +you think so, Boss?” + +The war coincided with his socialistic tendencies. Before this, +when speaking of future revolution, he had felt a malign pleasure in +imagining all the rich deprived of their fortunes and having to work in +order to exist. Now he was equally enthusiastic at the thought that all +Frenchmen would share the same fate without class distinction. + +“All with knapsacks on their backs and eating at mess.” + +And he was even extending this military sobriety to those who remained +behind the army. War was going to cause great scarcity of provisions, +and all would have to come down to very plain fare. + +“You, too, Boss, who are too old to go to war--you, with all your +millions, will have to eat the same as I. . . . Admit that it is a +beautiful thing.” + +Desnoyers was not offended by the malicious satisfaction that his future +privations seemed to inspire in the carpenter. He was very thoughtful. +A man of his stamp, an enemy of existing conditions, who had no property +to defend, was going to war--to death, perhaps--because of a generous +and distant ideal, in order that future generations might never know +the actual horrors of war! To do this, he was not hesitating at the +sacrifice of his former cherished beliefs, all that he had held sacred +till now. . . . And he who belonged to the privileged class, who +possessed so many tempting things, requiring defense, had given himself +up to doubt and criticism! . . . + +Hours after, he again saw the carpenter, near the Arc de Triomphe. He +was one of a group of workmen looking much as he did, and this group +was joining others and still others that represented every social +class--well-dressed citizens, stylish and anaemic young men, graduate +students with worn jackets, pale faces and thick glasses, and youthful +priests who were smiling rather shamefacedly as though they had been +caught at some ridiculous escapade. At the head of this human herd was +a sergeant, and as a rear guard, various soldiers with guns on their +shoulders. Forward march, Reservists! . . . + +And a musical cry, a solemn harmony like a Greek chant, menacing and +monotonous, surged up from this mass with open mouths, swinging arms, +and legs that were opening and shutting like compasses. + +Robert was singing the martial chorus with such great + +energy that his eyes and Gallic moustachios were fairly trembling. In +spite of his corduroy suit and his bulging linen hand bag, he had +the same grand and heroic aspect as the figures by Rude in the Arc de +Triomphe. The “affinity” and the boy were trudging along the sidewalk so +as to accompany him to the station. For a moment he took his eyes from +them to speak with a companion in the line, shaven and serious-looking, +undoubtedly the priest whom he had met the day before. Now they were +talking confidentially, intimately, with that brotherliness which +contact with death inspires in mankind. + +The millionaire followed the carpenter with a look of respect, +immeasurably increased since he had taken his part in this human +avalanche. And this respect had in it something of envy, the envy that +springs from an uneasy conscience. + +Whenever Don Marcelo passed a bad night, suffering from nightmare, a +certain terrible thing--always the same--would torment his imagination. +Rarely did he dream of mortal peril to his family or self. The frightful +vision was always that certain notes bearing his signature were +presented for collection which he, Marcelo Desnoyers, the man always +faithful to his bond, with a past of immaculate probity, was not able +to pay. Such a possibility made him tremble, and long after waking his +heart would be oppressed with terror. To his imagination this was the +greatest disgrace that a man could suffer. + +Now that war was overturning his existence with its agitations, the +same agonies were reappearing. Completely awake, with full powers of +reasoning, he was suffering exactly the same distress as when in his +horrible dreams he saw his dishonored signature on a protested document. + +All his past was looming up before his eyes with such extraordinary +clearness that it seemed as though until then his mind must have been +in hopeless confusion. The threatened land of France was his native +country. Fifteen centuries of history had been working for him, in +order that his opening eyes might survey progress and comforts that his +ancestors did not even know. Many generations of Desnoyers had prepared +for his advent into life by struggling with the land and defending it +that he might be born into a free family and fireside. . . . And when +his turn had come for continuing this effort, when his time had arrived +in the rosary of generations--he had fled like a debtor evading payment! +. . . On coming into his fatherland he had contracted obligations with +the human group to whom he owed his existence. This obligation should be +paid with his arms, with any sacrifice that would repel danger . . . and +he had eluded the acknowledgment of his signature, fleeing his country +and betraying his trust to his forefathers! Ah, miserable coward! The +material success of his life, the riches acquired in a remote country, +were comparatively of no importance. There are failures that millions +cannot blot out. The uneasiness of his conscience was proving it now. +Proof, too, was in the envy and respect inspired by this poor mechanic +marching to meet his death with others equally humble, all kindled with +the satisfaction of duty fulfilled, of sacrifice accepted. + +The memory of Madariaga came to his memory. + +“Where we make our riches, and found a family--there is our country.” + +No, the statement of the centaur was not correct. In normal times, +perhaps. Far from one’s native land when it is not exposed to danger, +one may forget it for a few years. But he was living now in France, and +France was being obliged to defend herself against enemies wishing to +overpower her. The sight of all her people rising en masse was becoming +an increasingly shameful torture for Desnoyers, making him think all the +time of what he should have done in his youth, of what he had dodged. + +The veterans of ‘70 were passing through the streets, with the green and +black ribbon in their lapel, souvenirs of the privations of the Siege of +Paris, and of heroic and disastrous campaigns. The sight of these men, +satisfied with their past, made him turn pale. Nobody was recalling his, +but he knew it, and that was enough. In vain his reason would try to +lull this interior tempest. . . . Those times were different; then +there was none of the present unanimity; the Empire was unpopular . . . +everything was lost. . . . But the recollection of a celebrated sentence +was fixing itself in his mind as an obsession--“France still remained!” + Many had thought as he did in his youth, but they had not, therefore, +evaded military service. They had stood by their country in a last and +desperate resistance. + +Useless was his excuse-making reasoning. Nobler thoughts showed him the +fallacy of this beating around the bush. Explanations and demonstrations +are unnecessary to the understanding of patriotic and religious ideals; +true patriotism does not need them. One’s country . . . is one’s +country. And the laboring man, skeptical and jesting, the self-centred +farmer, the solitary pastor, all had sprung to action at the sound +of this conjuring word, comprehending it instantly, without previous +instruction. + +“It is necessary to pay,” Don Marcelo kept repeating mentally. “I ought +to pay my debt.” + +As in his dreams, he was constantly feeling the anguish of an upright +and desperate man who wishes to meet his obligations. + +Pay! . . . and how? It was now very late. For a moment the heroic +resolution came into his head of offering himself as a volunteer, of +marching with his bag at his side in some one of the groups of future +combatants, the same as the carpenter. But the uselessness of the +sacrifice came immediately into his mind. Of what use would it be? +. . . He looked robust and was well-preserved for his age, but he was +over seventy, and only the young make good soldiers. Combat is but +one incident in the struggle. Equally necessary are the hardship +and self-denial in the form of interminable marches, extremes of +temperature, nights in the open air, shoveling earth, digging trenches, +loading carts, suffering hunger. . . . No; it was too late. He could not +even leave an illustrious name that might serve as an example. + +Instinctively he glanced behind. He was not alone in the world; he had a +son who could assume his father’s debt . . . but that hope only lasted +a minute. His son was not French; he belonged to another people; half +of his blood was from another source. Besides, how could the boy be +expected to feel as he did? Would he even understand if his father +should explain it to him? . . . It was useless to expect anything from +this lady-killing, dancing clown, from this fellow of senseless bravado, +who was constantly exposing his life in duels in order to satisfy a +silly sense of honor. + +Oh, the meekness of the bluff Senor Desnoyers after these reflections! +. . . His family felt alarmed at seeing the humility and gentleness with +which he moved around the house. The two men-servants had gone to +join their regiments, and to them the most surprising result of +the declaration of war was the sudden kindness of their master, the +lavishness of his farewell gifts, the paternal care with which he +supervised their preparations for departure. The terrible Don Marcelo +embraced them with moist eyes, and the two had to exert themselves to +prevent his accompanying them to the station. + +Outside of his home he was slipping about humbly as though mutely asking +pardon of the many people around him. To him they all appeared his +superiors. It was a period of economic crisis; for the time being, the +rich also were experiencing what it was to be poor and worried; the +banks had suspended operations and were paying only a small part of +their deposits. For some weeks the millionaire was deprived of his +wealth, and felt restless before the uncertain future. How long would it +be before they could send him money from South America? Was war going to +take away fortunes as well as lives? . . . And yet Desnoyers had never +appreciated money less, nor disposed of it with greater generosity. + +Numberless mobilized men of the lower classes who were going alone +toward the station met a gentleman who would timidly stop them, put +his hand in his pocket and leave in their right hand a bill of +twenty francs, fleeing immediately before their astonished eyes. The +working-women who were returning weeping from saying good-bye to their +husbands saw this same gentleman smiling at the children who were with +them, patting their cheeks and hastening away, leaving a five-franc +piece in their hands. + +Don Marcelo, who had never smoked, was now frequenting the tobacco +shops, coming out with hands and pockets filled in order that he might, +with lavish generosity, press the packages upon the first soldier he +met. At times the recipient, smiling courteously, would thank him with a +few words, revealing his superior breeding--afterwards passing the gift +on to others clad in cloaks as coarse and badly cut as his own. The +mobilization, universally obligatory, often caused him to make these +mistakes. + +The rough hands pressing his with a grateful clasp, left him satisfied +for a few moments. Ah, if he could only do more! . . . The Government +in mobilizing its vehicles had appropriated three of his monumental +automobiles, and Desnoyers felt very sorry that they were not also +taking the fourth mastodon. Of what use were they to him? The shepherds +of this monstrous herd, the chauffeur and his assistants, were now in +the army. Everybody was marching away. Finally he and his son would be +the only ones left--two useless creatures. + +He roared with wrath on learning of the enemy’s entrance into Belgium, +considering this the most unheard-of treason in history. He suffered +agonies of shame at remembering that at first he had held the exalted +patriots of his country responsible for the war. . . . What perfidy, +methodically carried out after long years of preparation! The accounts +of the sackings, fires and butcheries made him turn pale and gnash his +teeth. To him, to Marcelo Desnoyers, might happen the very same thing +that Belgium was enduring, if the barbarians should invade France. He +had a home in the city, a castle in the country, and a family. Through +association of ideas, the women assaulted by the soldiery, made him +think of Chichi and the dear Dona Luisa. The mansions in flames called +to his mind the rare and costly furnishings accumulated in his expensive +dwellings--the armorial bearings of his social elevation. The old folk +that were shot, the women foully mutilated, the children with their +hands cut off, all the horrors of a war of terror, aroused the violence +of his character. + +And such things could happen with impunity in this day and +generation! . . . + +In order to convince himself that punishment was near, that vengeance +was overtaking the guilty ones, he felt the necessity of mingling daily +with the people crowding around the Gare de l’Est. + +Although the greater part of the troops were operating on the frontiers, +that was not diminishing the activity in Paris. Entire battalions were +no longer going off, but day and night soldiers were coming to the +station singly or in groups. These were Reserves without uniform on +their way to enroll themselves with their companies, officials who until +then had been busy with the work of the mobilization, platoons in arms +destined to fill the great gaps opened by death. + +The multitude, pressed against the railing, was greeting those who were +going off, following them with their eyes while they were crossing the +large square. The latest editions of the daily papers were announced +with hoarse yells, and instantly the dark throng would be spotted with +white, all reading with avidity the printed sheets. Good news: “Vive +la France!” A doubtful despatch, foreshadowing calamity: “No matter! We +must press on at all costs! The Russians will close in behind them!” And +while these dialogues, inspired by the latest news were taking place, +many young girls were going among the groups offering little flags and +tricolored cockades--and passing through the patio, men and still more +men were disappearing behind the glass doors, on their way to the war. + +A sub-lieutenant of the Reserves, with his bag on his shoulder, was +accompanied by his father toward the file of policemen keeping the +crowds back. Desnoyers saw in the young officer a certain resemblance to +his son. The father was wearing in his lapel the black and green ribbon +of 1870--a decoration which always filled Desnoyers with remorse. He was +tall and gaunt, but was still trying to hold himself erect, with a heavy +frown. He wanted to show himself fierce, inhuman, in order to hide his +emotion. + +“Good-bye, my boy! Do your best.” + +“Good-bye, father.” + +They did not clasp hands, and each was avoiding looking at the other. +The official was smiling like an automaton. The father turned his back +brusquely, and threading his way through the throng, entered a cafe, +where for some time he needed the most retired seat in the darkest +earner to hide his emotion. + +AND DON MARCELO ENVIED HIS GRIEF. + +Some of the Reservists came along singing, preceded by a flag. They were +joking and jostling each other, betraying in excited actions, long halts +at all the taverns along the way. One of them, without interrupting +his song, was pressing the hand of an old woman marching beside him, +cheerful and dry-eyed. The mother was concentrating all her strength in +order, with feigned happiness, to accompany this strapping lad to the +last minute. + +Others were coming along singly, separated from their companies, but not +on that account alone. The gun was hanging from the shoulder, the back +overlaid by the hump of the knapsack, the red legs shooting in and out +of the turned-back folds of the blue cloak, and the smoke of a pipe +under the visor of the kepis. In front of one of these men, four +children were walking along, lined up according to size. They kept +turning their heads to admire their father, suddenly glorified by his +military trappings. At his side was marching his wife, affable and +resigned, feeling in her simple soul a revival of love, an ephemeral +Spring, born of the contact with danger. The man, a laborer of Paris, +who a few months before was singing La Internacional, demanding the +abolishment of armies and the brotherhood of all mankind, was now going +in quest of death. His wife, choking back her sobs, was admiring him +greatly. Affection and commiseration made her insist upon giving him a +few last counsels. In his knapsack she had put his best handkerchiefs, +the few provisions in the house and all the money. Her man was not to be +uneasy about her and the children; they would get along all right. The +government and kind neighbors would look after them. + +The soldier in reply was jesting over the somewhat misshapen figure of +his wife, saluting the coming citizen, and prophesying that he would +be born in a time of great victory. A kiss to the wife, an affectionate +hair-pull for his offspring, and then he had joined his comrades. . . . +No tears. Courage! . . . Vive la France! + +The final injunctions of the departing were now heard. Nobody was +crying. But as the last red pantaloons disappeared, many hands grasped +the iron railing convulsively, many handkerchiefs were bitten with +gnashing teeth, many faces were hidden in the arms with sobs of anguish. + +AND DON MARCELO ENVIED THESE TEARS. + +The old woman, on losing the warm contact of her son’s hand from her +withered one, turned in the direction which she believed to be that of +the hostile country, waving her arms with threatening fury. + +“Ah, the assassin! . . . the bandit!” + +In her wrathful imagination she was again seeing the countenance so +often displayed in the illustrated pages of the periodicals--moustaches +insolently aggressive, a mouth with the jaw and teeth of a wolf, that +laughed . . . and laughed as men must have laughed in the time of the +cave-men. + +AND DON MARCELO ENVIED THIS WRATH! + + + +CHAPTER II + +NEW LIFE + + +When Marguerite was able to return to the studio in the rue de la Pompe, +Julio, who had been living in a perpetual bad humor, seeing everything +in the blackest colors, suddenly felt a return of his old optimism. + +The war was not going to be so cruel as they all had at first imagined. +The days had passed by, and the movements of the troops were beginning +to be less noticeable. As the number of men diminished in the streets, +the feminine population seemed to have increased. Although there was +great scarcity of money, the banks still remaining closed, the necessity +for it was increasingly great, in order to secure provisions. Memories +of the famine of the siege of ‘70 tormented the imagination. Since war +had broken out with the same enemy, it seemed but logical to everybody +to expect a repetition of the same happenings. The storehouses were +besieged by women who were securing stale food at exorbitant prices +in order to store it in their homes. Future hunger was producing more +terror than immediate dangers. + +For young Desnoyers these were about all the transformations that war +was creating around him. People would finally become accustomed to the +new existence. Humanity has a certain reserve force of adaptation which +enables it to mould itself to circumstances and continue existing. He +was hoping to continue his life as though nothing had happened. It was +enough for him that Marguerite should continue faithful to their +past. Together they would see events slipping by them with the cruel +luxuriousness of those who, from an inaccessible height, contemplate a +flood without the slightest risk to themselves. + +This selfish attitude had also become habitual to Argensola. + +“Let us be neutral,” the Bohemian would say. “Neutrality does not +necessarily mean indifference. Let us enjoy the great spectacle, since +nothing like it will ever happen again in our lifetime.” + +It was unfortunate that war should happen to come when they had so +little money. Argensola was hating the banks even more than the Central +Powers, distinguishing with special antipathy the trust company which +was delaying payment of Julio’s check. How lovely it would have been +with this sum available, to have forestalled events by laying in every +class of commodity! In order to supplement the domestic scrimping, +he again had to solicit the aid of Dona Luisa. War had lessened Don +Marcelo’s precautions, and the family was now living in generous +unconcern. The mother, like other house mistresses, had stored up +provisions for months and months to come, buying whatever eatables she +was able to lay hands on. Argensola took advantage of this abundance, +repeating his visits to the home in the avenue Victor Hugo, descending +its service stairway with great packages which were swelling the +supplies in the studio. + +He felt all the joys of a good housekeeper in surveying the treasures +piled up in the kitchen--great tins of canned meat, pyramids of butter +crocks, and bags of dried vegetables. He had accumulated enough there to +maintain a large family. The war had now offered a new pretext for him +to visit Don Marcelo’s wine-vaults. + +“Let them come!” he would say with a heroic gesture as he took stock +of his treasure trove. “Let them come when they will! We are ready for +them!” + +The care and increase of his provisions, and the investigation of news +were the two functions of his existence. It seemed necessary to procure +ten, twelve, fifteen papers a day; some because they were reactionary, +and the novelty of seeing all the French united filled him with +enthusiasm; others because they were radical and must be better informed +of the news received from the government. They generally appeared at +midday, at three, at four and at five in the afternoon. An half hour’s +delay in the publication of the sheet raised great hopes in the public, +on the qui vive for stupendous news. All the last supplements were +snatched up; everybody had his pockets stuffed with papers, waiting +anxiously the issue of extras in order to buy them, too. Yet all the +sheets were saying approximately the same thing. + +Argensola was developing a credulous, enthusiastic soul, capable of +admitting many improbable things. He presumed that this same spirit +was probably animating everybody around him. At times, his old critical +attitude would threaten to rebel, but doubt was repulsed as something +dishonorable. He was living in a new world, and it was but natural that +extraordinary things should occur that could be neither measured nor +explained by the old processes of reasoning. So he commented with +infantile joy on the marvellous accounts in the daily papers--of combats +between a single Belgian platoon and entire regiments of enemies, +putting them to disorderly flight; of the German fear of the bayonet +that made them run like hares the instant that the charge sounded; of +the inefficiency of the German artillery whose projectiles always missed +fire. + +It was logical and natural that little Belgium should conquer gigantic +Germany--a repetition of David and Goliath--with all the metaphors and +images that this unequal contest had inspired across so many centuries. +Like the greater part of the nation, he had the mentality of a reader +of tales of chivalry who feels himself defrauded if the hero, +single-handed, fails to cleave a thousand enemies with one fell stroke. +He purposely chose the most sensational papers, those which published +many stories of single encounters, of individual deeds about which +nobody could know with any degree of certainty. + +The intervention of England on the seas made him imagine a frightful +famine, coming providentially like a thunder-clap to torture the enemy. +He honestly believed that ten days of this maritime blockade would +convert Germany into a group of shipwrecked sailors floating on a raft. +This vision made him repeat his visits to the kitchen to gloat over his +packages of provisions. + +“Ah, what they would give in Berlin for my treasures!” . . . + +Never had Argensola eaten with greater avidity. Consideration of the +great privations suffered by the adversary was sharpening his appetite +to a monstrous capacity. White bread, golden brown and crusty, was +stimulating him to an almost religious ecstasy. + +“If friend William could only get his claws on this!” he would chuckle +to his companion. + +So he chewed and swallowed with increasing relish; solids and liquids on +passing through his mouth seemed to be acquiring a new flavor, rare +and divine. Distant hunger for him was a stimulant, a sauce of endless +delight. + +While France was inspiring his enthusiasm, he was conceding greater +credit to Russia. “Ah, those Cossacks!” . . . He was accustomed to speak +of them as intimate friends. He loved to describe the unbridled gallop +of the wild horsemen, impalpable as phantoms, and so terrible in their +wrath that the enemy could not look them in the face. The concierge and +the stay-at-homes used to listen to him with all the respect due to a +foreign gentleman, knowing much of the great outside world with which +they were not familiar. + +“The Cossacks will adjust the accounts of these bandits!” he would +conclude with absolute assurance. “Within a month they will have entered +Berlin.” + +And his public composed of women--wives and mothers of those who had +gone to war--would modestly agree with him, with that irresistible +desire which we all feel of placing our hopes on something distant and +mysterious. The French would defend the country, reconquering, besides +the lost territories, but the Cossacks--of whom so many were speaking +but so few had seen--were going to give the death blow. The only +person who knew them at first hand was Tchernoff, and to Argensola’s +astonishment, he listened to his words without showing any enthusiasm. +The Cossacks were for him simply one body of the Russian army--good +enough soldiers, but incapable of working the miracles that everybody +was expecting from them. + +“That Tchernoff!” exclaimed Argensola. “Since he hates the Czar, he +thinks the entire country mad. He is a revolutionary fanatic. . . . And +I am opposed to all fanaticisms.” + +Julio was listening absent-mindedly to the news brought by his +companion, the vibrating statements recited in declamatory tones, the +plans of the campaign traced out on an enormous map fastened to the wall +of the studio and bristling with tiny flags that marked the camps of the +belligerent armies. Every issue of the papers obliged the Spaniard to +arrange a new dance of the pins on the map, followed by his comments of +bomb-proof optimism. + +“We have entered into Alsace; very good! . . . It appears now that we +abandon Alsace. Splendid! I suspect the cause. It is in order to enter +again in a better place, getting at the enemy from behind. . . . They +say that Liege has fallen. What a lie! . . . And if it does fall, it +doesn’t matter. Just an incident, nothing more! The others remain . . . +the others! . . . that are advancing on the Eastern side, and are going +to enter Berlin.” + +The news from the Russian front was his favorite, but obliged him to +remain in suspense every time that he tried to find on the map the +obscure names of the places where the admired Cossacks were exhibiting +their wonderful exploits. + +Meanwhile Julio was continuing the course of his own reflections. +Marguerite! . . . She had come back at last, and yet each time seemed to +be drifting further away from him. . . . + +In the first days of the mobilization, he had haunted her neighborhood, +trying to appease his longing by this illusory proximity. Marguerite +had written to him, urging patience. How fortunate it was that he was a +foreigner and would not have to endure the hardship of war! Her brother, +an officer in the artillery Reserves, was going at almost any minute. +Her mother, who made her home with this bachelor son, had kept an +astonishing serenity up to the last minute, although she had wept much +while the war was still but a possibility. She herself had prepared the +soldier’s outfit so that the small valise might contain all that was +indispensable for campaign life. But Marguerite had divined her poor +mother’s secret struggles not to reveal her despair, in moist eyes and +trembling hands. It was impossible to leave her alone at such a time. +. . . Then had come the farewell. “God be with you, my son! Do your duty, +but be prudent.” Not a tear nor a sign of weakness. All her family had +advised her not to accompany her son to the railway station, so his +sister had gone with him. And upon returning home, Marguerite had found +her mother rigid in her arm chair, with a set face, avoiding all mention +of her son, speaking of the friends who also had sent their boys to the +war, as if they only could comprehend her torture. “Poor Mama! I ought +to be with her now more than ever. . . . To-morrow, if I can, I shall +come to see you.” + +When at last she returned to the rue de la Pompe, her first care was to +explain to Julio the conservatism of her tailored suit, the absence of +jewels in the adornment of her person. “The war, my dear! Now it is the +chic thing to adapt oneself to the depressing conditions, to be frugal +and inconspicuous like soldiers. Who knows what we may expect!” Her +infatuation with dress still accompanied her in every moment of her +life. + +Julio noticed a persistent absent-mindedness about her. It seemed +as though her spirit, abandoning her body, was wandering to far-away +places. Her eyes were looking at him, but she seldom saw him. She would +speak very slowly, as though wishing to weigh every word, fearful of +betraying some secret. This spiritual alienation did not, however, +prevent her slipping bodily along the smooth path of custom, although +afterwards she would seem to feel a vague remorse. “I wonder if it is +right to do this! . . . Is it not wrong to live like this when so many +sorrows are falling on the world?” Julio hushed her scruples with: + +“But if we are going to marry as soon as possible! . . . If we are +already the same as husband and wife!” + +She replied with a gesture of strangeness and dismay. To marry! . . . +Ten days ago she had had no other wish. Now the possibility of marriage +was recurring less and less in her thoughts. Why think about such remote +and uncertain events? More immediate things were occupying her mind. + +The farewell to her brother in the station was a scene which had fixed +itself ineradicably in her memory. Upon going to the studio she had +planned not to speak about it, foreseeing that she might annoy her lover +with this account; but alas, she had only to vow not to mention a thing, +to feel an irresistible impulse to talk about it. + +She had never suspected that she could love her brother so dearly. Her +former affection for him had been mingled with a silent sentiment of +jealousy because her mother had preferred the older child. Besides, +he was the one who had introduced Laurier to his home; the two held +diplomas as industrial engineers and had been close friends from their +school days. . . . But upon seeing the boy ready to depart, Marguerite +suddenly discovered that this brother, who had always been of +secondary interest to her, was now occupying a pre-eminent place in her +affections. + +“He was so handsome, so interesting in his lieutenant’s uniform! . . . +He looked like another person. I will admit to you that I was very proud +to walk beside him, leaning on his arm. People thought that we were +married. Seeing me weep, some poor women tried to console me saying, +‘Courage, Madame. . . . Your man will come back.’ He just laughed at +hearing these mistakes. The only thing that was really saddening him was +thinking about our mother.” + +They had separated at the door of the station. The sentries would not +let her go any further, so she had handed over his sword that she had +wished to carry till the last moment. + +“It is lovely to be a man!” she exclaimed enthusiastically. “I would +love to wear a uniform, to go to war, to be of some real use!” + +She tried not to say more about it, as though she suddenly realized +the inopportuneness of her last words. Perhaps she noticed the scowl on +Julio’s face. + +She was, however, so wrought up by the memory of that farewell that, +after a long pause, she was unable to resist the temptation of again +putting her thought into words. + +At the station entrance, while she was kissing her brother for the last +time, she had an encounter, a great surprise. “He” had approached, also +clad as an artillery officer, but alone, having to entrust his valise to +a good-natured man from the crowd. + +Julio shot her a questioning look. Who was “he”? He suspected, but +feigned ignorance, as though fearing to learn the truth. + +“Laurier,” she replied laconically, “my former husband.” + +The lover displayed a cruel irony. It was a cowardly thing to ridicule +this man who had responded to the call of duty. He recognized his +vileness, but a malign and irresistible instinct made him keep on with +his sneers in order to discredit the man before Marguerite. Laurier a +soldier!--He must cut a pretty figure dressed in uniform! + +“Laurier, the warrior!” he continued in a voice so sarcastic and strange +that it seemed to be coming from somebody else. . . . “Poor creature!” + +She hesitated in her response, not wishing to exasperate Desnoyers any +further. But the truth was uppermost in her mind, and she said simply: + +“No . . . no, he didn’t look so bad. Quite the contrary. Perhaps it was +the uniform, perhaps it was his sadness at going away alone, completely +alone, without a single hand to clasp his. I didn’t recognize him at +first. Seeing my brother, he started toward us; but then when he saw me, +he went his own way . . . Poor man! I feel sorry for him!” + +Her feminine instinct must have told her that she was talking too much, +and she cut her chatter suddenly short. The same instinct warned her +that Julio’s countenance was growing more and more saturnine, and his +mouth taking a very bitter curve. She wanted to console him and added: + +“What luck that you are a foreigner and will not have to go to the war! +How horrible it would be for me to lose you!” . . . + +She said it sincerely. . . . A few moments before she had been envying +men, admiring the gallantry with which they were exposing their lives, +and now she was trembling before the idea that her lover might have been +one of these. + +This did not please his amorous egoism--to be placed apart from the +rest as a delicate and fragile being only fit for feminine adoration. He +preferred to inspire the envy that she had felt on beholding her brother +decked out in his warlike accoutrement. It seemed to him that something +was coming between him and Marguerite that would never disappear, that +would go on expanding, repelling them in contrary directions . . . far +. . . very far, even to the point of not recognizing each other when +their glances met. + +He continued to be conscious of this impalpable obstacle in their +following interviews. Marguerite was extremely affectionate in her +speech, and would look at him with moist and loving eyes. But her +caressing hands appeared more like those of a mother than a lover, and +her tenderness was accompanied with a certain disinterestedness and +extraordinary modesty. She seemed to prefer remaining obstinately in the +studio, declining to go into the other rooms. + +“We are so comfortable here. . . . I would rather not. . . . It is not +worth while. I should feel remorse afterwards. . . . Why think of such +things in these anxious times!” + +The world around her seemed saturated with love, but it was a new +love--a love for the man who is suffering, desire for abnegation, for +sacrifice. This love called forth visions of white caps, of tremulous +hands healing shell-riddled and bleeding flesh. + +Every advance on Julio’s part but aroused in Marguerite a vehement and +modest protest as though they were meeting for the first time. + +“It is impossible,” she protested. “I keep thinking of my brother, and +of so many that I know that may be dying at this very minute.” + +News of battles were beginning to arrive, and blood was beginning to +flow in great quantities. + +“No, no, I cannot,” she kept repeating. + +And when Julio finally triumphed, he found that her thoughts were still +following independently the same line of mental stress. + +One afternoon, Marguerite announced that henceforth she would see him +less frequently. She was attending classes now, and had only two free +days. + +Desnoyers listened, dumbfounded. Classes? . . . What were her +studies? . . . + +She seemed a little irritated at his mocking expression. . . . Yes, she +was studying; for the past week she had been attending classes. Now the +lessons were going to be more regular; the course of instruction had +been fully organized, and there were many more instructors. + +“I wish to be a trained nurse. I am distressed over my uselessness. +. . . Of what good have I ever been till now?” . . . + +She was silent for a few moments as though reviewing her past. + +“At times I almost think,” she mused, “that war, with all its horrors, +still has some good in it. It helps to make us useful to our fellowmen. +We look at life more seriously; trouble makes us realize that we have +come into the world for some purpose. . . . I believe that we must not +love life only for the pleasures that it brings us. We ought to find +satisfaction in sacrifice, in dedicating ourselves to others, and this +satisfaction--I don’t know just why, perhaps because it is new--appears +to me superior to all other things.” + +Julio looked at her in surprise, trying to imagine what was going on in +that idolized and frivolous head. What ideas were forming back of that +thoughtful forehead which until then had merely reflected the slightest +shadow of thoughts as swift and flitting as birds? . . . + +But the former Marguerite was still alive. He saw her constantly +reappearing in a funny way among the sombre preoccupations with which +war was overshadowing all lives. + +“We have to study very hard in order to earn our diplomas as nurses. +Have you noticed our uniform? . . . It is most distinctive, and the +white is so becoming both to blondes and brunettes. Then the cap which +allows little curls over the ears--the fashionable coiffure--and the +blue cape over the white suit, make a splendid contrast. With this +outfit, a woman well shod, and with few jewels, may present a truly +chic appearance. It is a mixture of nun and great lady which is vastly +becoming.” + +She was going to study with a regular fury in order to become really +useful . . . and sooner to wear the admired uniform. + +Poor Desnoyers! . . . The longing to see her, and the lack of occupation +in these interminable afternoons which hitherto had been employed so +delightfully, compelled him to haunt the neighborhood of the unoccupied +palace where the government had just established the training school for +nurses. Stationing himself at the corner, watching the fluttering skirts +and quick steps of the feminine feet on the sidewalk, he imagined that +the course of time must have turned backward, and that he was still but +eighteen--the same as when he used to hang around the establishments of +some celebrated modiste. The groups of women that at certain hours +came out of the palace suggested these former days. They were dressed +extremely quietly, the aspect of many of them as humble as that of the +seamstresses. But they were ladies of the well-to-do class, some even +coming in automobiles driven by chauffeurs in military uniform, because +they were ministerial vehicles. + +These long waits often brought him unexpected encounters with the +elegant students who were going and coming. + +“Desnoyers!” some feminine voices would exclaim behind him. “Isn’t it +Desnoyers?” + +And he would find himself obliged to relieve their doubts, saluting +the ladies who were looking at him as though he were a ghost. They were +friends of a remote epoch, of six months ago--ladies who had admired +and pursued him, trusting sweetly to his masterly wisdom to guide them +through the seven circles of the science of the tango. They were now +scrutinizing him as if between their last encounter and the present +moment had occurred a great cataclysm, transforming all the laws of +existence--as if he were the sole survivor of a vanished race. + +Eventually they all asked the same questions--“Are you not going to the +war? . . . How is it that you are not wearing a uniform?” + +He would attempt to explain, but at his first words, they would +interrupt him: + +“That’s so. . . . You are a foreigner.” + +They would say it with a certain envy, doubtless thinking of their loved +ones now suffering the privations and dangers of war. . . . But the fact +that he was a foreigner would instantly create a vague atmosphere of +spiritual aloofness, an alienation that Julio had not known in the good +old days when people sought each other without considering nationality, +without feeling that disavowal of danger which isolates and concentrates +human groups. + +The ladies generally bade him adieu with malicious suspicion. What was +he doing hanging around there? In search of his usual lucky adventure? +. . . And their smiles were rather grave, the smiles of older folk who +know the true significance of life and commiserate the deluded ones +still seeking diversion in frivolities. + +This attitude was as annoying to Julio as though it were a manifestation +of pity. They were supposing him still exercising the only function of +which he was capable; he wasn’t good for anything else. On the +other hand, these empty heads, still keeping something of their +old appearance, now appeared animated by the grand sentiment of +maternity--an abstract maternity which seemed to be extending to all the +men of the nation--a desire for self-sacrifice, of knowing first-hand +the privations of the lowly, and aiding all the ills that flesh is heir +to. + +This same yearning was inspiring Marguerite when she came away from +her lessons. She was advancing from one overpowering dread to another, +accepting the first rudiments of surgery as the greatest of scientific +marvels. At the same time, she was astonished at the avidity with which +she was assimilating these hitherto unsuspected mysteries. Sometimes +with a funny assumption of assurance, she would even believe she had +mistaken her vocation. + +“Who knows but what I was born to be a famous doctor?” she would +exclaim. + +Her great fear was that she might lose her self-control when the time +came to put her newly acquired knowledge into practice. To see herself +before the foul odors of decomposing flesh, to contemplate the flow +of blood--a horrible thing for her who had always felt an invincible +repugnance toward all the unpleasant conditions of ordinary life! But +these hesitations were short, and she was suddenly animated by a dashing +energy. These were times of sacrifice. Were not the men snatched every +day from the comforts of sensuous existence to endure the rude life of +a soldier? . . . She would be, a soldier in petticoats, facing pain, +battling with it, plunging her hands into putrefaction, flashing like +a ray of sunlight into the places where soldiers were expecting the +approach of death. + +She proudly narrated to Desnoyers all the progress that she was making +in the training school, the complicated bandages that she was learning +to adjust, sometimes over a mannikin, at others over the flesh of an +employee, trying to play the part of a sorely wounded patient. She, so +dainty, so incapable in her own home of the slightest physical effort, +was learning the most skilful ways of lifting a human body from the +ground and carrying it on her back. Who knew but that she might render +this very service some day on the battlefield! She was ready for the +greatest risks, with the ignorant audacity of women impelled by flashes +of heroism. All her admiration was for the English army nurses, slender +women of nervous vigor whose photographs were appearing in the papers, +wearing pantaloons, riding boots and white helmets. + +Julio listened to her with astonishment. Was this woman really +Marguerite? . . . War was obliterating all her winning vanities. She was +no longer fluttering about in bird-like fashion. Her feet were treading +the earth with resolute firmness, calm and secure in the new strength +which was developing within. When one of his caresses would remind her +that she was a woman, she would always say the same thing, + +“What luck that you are a foreigner! . . . What happiness to know that +you do not have to go to war!” + +In her anxiety for sacrifice, she wanted to go to the battlefields, and +yet at the same time, she was rejoicing to see her lover exempt from +military duty. This preposterous lack of logic was not gratefully +received by Julio but irritated him as an unconscious offense. + +“One might suppose that she was protecting me!” he thought. “She is +the man and rejoices that I, the weak comrade, should be protected from +danger. . . . What a grotesque situation!” . . . + +Fortunately, at times when Marguerite presented herself at the studio, +she was again her old self, making him temporarily forget his annoyance. +She would arrive with the same joy in a vacation that the college +student or the employee feels on a holiday. Responsibility was teaching +her to know the value of time. + +“No classes to-day!” she would call out on entering; and tossing her +hat on a divan, she would begin a dance-step, retreating with infantile +coquetry from the arms of her lover. + +But in a few minutes she would recover her customary gravity, the +serious look that had become habitual with her since the outbreak of +hostilities. She spoke often of her mother, always sad, but striving to +hide her grief and keeping herself up in the hope of a letter from her +son; she spoke, too, of the war, commenting on the latest events with +the rhetorical optimism of the official dispatches. She could describe +the first flag taken from the enemy as minutely as though it were +a garment of unparalleled elegance. From a window, she had seen the +Minister of War. She was very much affected when repeating the story of +some fugitive Belgians recently arrived at the hospital. They were the +only patients that she had been able to assist until now. Paris was not +receiving the soldiers wounded in battle; by order of the Government, +they were being sent from the front to the hospitals in the South. + +She no longer evinced toward Julio the resistance of the first few days. +Her training as a nurse was giving her a certain passivity. She seemed +to be ignoring material attractions, stripping them of the spiritual +importance which she had hitherto attributed to them. She wanted to make +Julio happy, although her mind was concentrated on other matters. + +One afternoon, she felt the necessity of communicating certain news +which had been filling her mind since the day before. Springing up from +the couch, she hunted for her handbag which contained a letter. She +wanted to read it again to tell its contents to somebody with that +irresistible impulse which forestalls confession. + +It was a letter which her brother had sent her from the Vosges. In it +he spoke of Laurier more than of himself. They belonged to different +batteries, but were in the same division and had taken part in the +same combats. The officer was filled with admiration for his former +brother-in-law. Who could have guessed that a future hero was hidden +within that silent and tranquil engineer! . . . But he was a genuine +hero, just the same! All the officials had agreed with Marguerite’s +brother on seeing how calmly he fulfilled his duty, facing death with +the same coolness as though he were in his factory near Paris. + +He had asked for the dangerous post of lookout, slipping as near as +possible to the enemy’s lines in order to verify the exactitude of the +artillery discharge, rectifying it by telephone. A German shell had +demolished the house on the roof of which he was concealed, and Laurier, +on crawling out unhurt from the ruins, had readjusted his telephone and +gone tranquilly on, continuing the same work in the shelter of a nearby +grove. His battery, picked out by the enemy’s aeroplanes, had received +the concentrated fire of the artillery opposite. In a few minutes all +the force were rolling on the ground--the captain and many soldiers +dead, officers wounded and almost all the gunners. There only remained +as chief, Laurier, the Impassive (as his comrades nicknamed him), and +aided by the few artillerymen still on their feet, he continued +firing under a rain of iron and fire, so as to cover the retreat of a +battalion. + +“He has been mentioned twice in dispatches,” Marguerite continued +reading. “I do not believe that it will be long before they give him the +cross. He is valiant in every way. Who would have supposed all this a +few weeks ago?” . . . + +She did not share the general astonishment. Living with Laurier had +many times shown her the intrepidity of his character, the fearlessness +concealed under that placid exterior. On that account, her instincts had +warned her against rousing her husband’s wrath in the first days of +her infidelity. She still remembered the way he looked the night he +surprised her leaving Julio’s home. His was the passion that kills, and, +nevertheless, he had not attempted the least violence with her. . . . +The memory of his consideration was awakening in Marguerite a sentiment +of gratitude. Perhaps he had loved her as no other man had. + +Her eyes, with an irresistible desire for comparison, sought Julio’s, +admiring his youthful grace and distinction. The image of Laurier, heavy +and ordinary, came into her mind as a consolation. Certainly the officer +whom she had seen at the station when saying good-bye to her brother, +did not seem to her like her old husband. But Marguerite wished to +forget the pallid lieutenant with the sad countenance who had passed +before her eyes, preferring to remember him only as the manufacturer +preoccupied with profits and incapable of comprehending what she was +accustomed to call “the delicate refinements of a chic woman.” Decidedly +Julio was the more fascinating. She did not repent of her past. She did +not wish to repent of it. + +And her loving selfishness made her repeat once more the same old +exclamation--“How fortunate that you are a foreigner! . . . What a +relief to know that you are safe from the dangers of war!” + +Julio felt the usual exasperation at hearing this. He came very near to +closing his beloved’s mouth with his hand. Was she trying to make fun of +him? . . . It was fairly insulting to place him apart from other men. + +Meanwhile, with blind irrelevance, she persisted in talking about +Laurier, commenting upon his achievements. + +“I do not love him, I never have loved him. Do not look so cross! How +could the poor man ever be compared with you? You must admit, though, +that his new existence is rather interesting. I rejoice in his brave +deeds as though an old friend had done them, a family visitor whom I had +not seen for a long time. . . . The poor man deserved a better fate. He +ought to have married some other woman, some companion more on a level +with his ideals. . . . I tell you that I really pity him!” + +And this pity was so intense that her eyes filled with tears, awakening +the tortures of jealousy in her lover. After these interviews, Desnoyers +was more ill-tempered and despondent than ever. + +“I am beginning to realize that we are in a false position,” he said one +morning to Argensola. “Life is going to become increasingly painful. It +is difficult to remain tranquil, continuing the same old existence in +the midst of a people at war.” + +His companion had about come to the same conclusion. He, too, was +beginning to feel that the life of a young foreigner in Paris was +insufferable, now that it was so upset by war. + +“One has to keep showing passports all the time in order that the police +may be sure that they have not discovered a deserter. In the street +car, the other afternoon, I had to explain that I was a Spaniard to some +girls who were wondering why I was not at the front. . . . One of them, +as soon as she learned my nationality, asked me with great simplicity +why I did not offer myself as a volunteer. . . . Now they have invented +a word for the stay-at-homes, calling them Les Embusques, the hidden +ones. . . . I am sick and tired of the ironical looks shot at me +wherever I go; it makes me wild to be taken for an Embusque.” + +A flash of heroism was galvanizing the impressionable Bohemian. Now that +everybody was going to the war, he was wishing to do the same thing. He +was not afraid of death; the only thing that was disturbing him was the +military service, the uniform, the mechanical obedience to bugle-call, +the blind subservience to the chiefs. Fighting was not offering any +difficulties for him but his nature capriciously resented everything +in the form of discipline. The foreign groups in Paris were trying to +organize each its own legion of volunteers and he, too, was planning +his--a battalion of Spaniards and South Americans, reserving naturally +the presidency of the organizing committee for himself, and later the +command of the body. + +He had inserted notices in the papers, making the studio in the rue +de la Pompe the recruiting office. In ten days, two volunteers had +presented themselves; a clerk, shivering in midsummer, who stipulated +that he should be an officer because he was wearing a suitable jacket, +and a Spanish tavern-keeper who at the very outset had wished to rob +Argensola of his command on the futile pretext that he was a soldier +in his youth while the Bohemian was only an artist. Twenty Spanish +battalions were attempted with the same result in different parts of +Paris. Each enthusiast wished to be commander of the others, with the +individual haughtiness and aversion to discipline so characteristic of +the race. Finally the future generalissimos, decided to enlist as simple +volunteers . . . but in a French regiment. + +“I am waiting to see what the Garibaldis do,” said Argensola modestly. +“Perhaps I may go with them.” + +This glorious name made military service conceivable to him. But then +he vacillated; he would certainly have to obey somebody in this body of +volunteers, and he did not believe in an obedience that was not preceded +by long discussions. . . . What next! + +“Life has changed in a fortnight,” he continued. “It seems as if we were +living in another planet; our former achievements are not appreciated. +Others, most obscure and poor, those who formerly had the least +consideration, are now promoted to the first ranks. The refined man of +complex spirituality has disappeared for who knows how many years! +. . . Now the simple-minded man climbs triumphantly to the top, because, +though his ideas are limited, they are sure and he knows how to obey. We +are no longer the style.” + +Desnoyers assented. It was so; they were no longer fashionable. None +knew that better than he, for he who was once the sensation of the day, +was now passing as a stranger among the very people who a few months +before had raved over him. + +“Your reign is over,” laughed Argensola. “The fact that you are a +handsome fellow doesn’t help you one bit nowadays. In a uniform and with +a cross on my breast, I could soon get the best of you in a rival +love affair. In times of peace, the officers only set the girls of the +provinces to dreaming; but now that we are at war, there has awakened in +every woman the ancestral enthusiasm that her remote grandmothers used +to feel for the strong and aggressive beast. . . . The high-born dames +who a few months ago were complicating their desires with psychological +subtleties, are now admiring the military man with the same simplicity +that the maid has for the common soldier. Before a uniform, they feel +the humble and servile enthusiasm of the female of the lower animals +before the crests, foretops and gay plumes of the fighting males. Look +out, master! . . . We shall have to follow the new course of events or +resign ourselves to everlasting obscurity. The tango is dead.” + +And Desnoyers agreed that truly they were two beings on the other side +of the river of life which at one bound had changed its course. There +was no longer any place in the new existence for that poor painter of +souls, nor for that hero of a frivolous life who, from five to seven +every afternoon, had attained the triumphs most envied by mankind. + + + +CHAPTER III + +THE RETREAT + + +War had extended one of its antennae even to the avenue Victor Hugo. It +was a silent war in which the enemy, bland, shapeless and gelatinous, +seemed constantly to be escaping from the hands only to renew +hostilities a little later on. + +“I have Germany in my own house,” growled Marcelo Desnoyers. + +“Germany” was Dona Elena, the wife of von Hartrott. Why had not her +son--that professor of inexhaustible sufficiency whom he now believed to +have been a spy--taken her home with him? For what sentimental caprice +had she wished to stay with her sister, losing the opportunity of +returning to Berlin before the frontiers were closed? + +The presence of this woman in his home was the cause of many +compunctions and alarms. Fortunately, the chauffeur and all the +men-servants were in the army. The two chinas received an order in a +threatening tone. They must be very careful when talking to the French +maids--not the slightest allusion to the nationality of Dona Elena’s +husband nor to the residence of her family. Dona Elena was an +Argentinian. But in spite of the silence of the maids, Don Marcelo was +always in fear of some outburst of exalted patriotism, and that his +wife’s sister might suddenly find herself confined in a concentration +camp under suspicion of having dealings with the enemy. + +Frau von Hartrott made his uneasiness worse. Instead of keeping a +discreet silence, she was constantly introducing discord into the home +with her opinions. + +During the first days of the war, she kept herself locked in her room, +joining the family only when summoned to the dining room. With tightly +puckered mouth and an absent-minded air, she would then seat herself at +the table, pretending not to hear Don Marcelo’s verbal outpourings +of enthusiasm. He enjoyed describing the departure of the troops, the +moving scenes in the streets and at the stations, commenting on events +with an optimism sure of the first news of the war. Two things were +beyond all discussion. The bayonet was the secret of the French, and the +Germans were shuddering with terror before its fatal, glistening point. +. . . The ‘75 cannon had proved itself a unique jewel, its shots being +absolutely sure. He was really feeling sorry for the enemy’s artillery +since its projectiles so seldom exploded even when well aimed. . . . +Furthermore, the French troops had entered victoriously into Alsace; +many little towns were already theirs. + +“Now it is as it was in the ‘70’s,” he would exult, brandishing his fork +and waving his napkin. “We are going to kick them back to the other side +of the Rhine--kick them! . . . That’s the word.” + +Chichi always agreed gleefully while Dona Elena was raising her eyes to +heaven, as though silently calling upon somebody hidden in the ceiling +to bear witness to such errors and blasphemies. + +The kind Dona Luisa always sought her out afterwards in the retirement +of her room, believing it necessary to give sisterly counsel to one +living so far from home. The Romantica did not maintain her austere +silence before the sister who had always venerated her superior +instruction; so now the poor lady was overwhelmed with accounts of the +stupendous forces of Germany, enunciated with all the authority of a +wife of a great Teutonic patriot, and a mother of an almost celebrated +professor. According to her graphic picture, millions of men were now +surging forth in enormous streams, thousands of cannons were filing by, +and tremendous mortars like monstrous turrets. And towering above all +this vast machinery of destruction was a man who alone was worth an +army, a being who knew everything and could do everything, handsome, +intelligent, and infallible as a god--the Emperor. + +“The French just don’t know what’s ahead of them,” declared Dona Elena. +“We are going to annihilate them. It is merely a matter of two weeks. +Before August is ended, the Emperor will have entered Paris.” + +Senora Desnoyers was so greatly impressed by these dire prophecies that +she could not hide them from her family. Chichi waxed indignant at her +mother’s credulity and her aunt’s Germanism. Martial fervor was flaming +up in the former Peoncito. Ay, if the women could only go to war! . . . +She enjoyed picturing herself on horseback in command of a regiment of +dragoons, charging the enemy with other Amazons as dashing and buxom as +she. Then her fondness for skating would predominate over her tastes for +the cavalry, and she would long to be an Alpine hunter, a diable bleu +among those who slid on long runners, with musket slung across the back +and alpenstock in hand, over the snowy slopes of the Vosges. + +But the government did not appreciate the valorous women, and she +could obtain no other part in the war but to admire the uniform of her +true-love, Rene Lacour, converted into a soldier. The senator’s son +certainly looked beautiful. He was tall and fair, of a rather feminine +type recalling his dead mother. In his fiancee’s opinion, Rene was just +“a little sugar soldier.” At first she had been very proud to walk the +streets by the side of this warrior, believing that his uniform had +greatly augmented his personal charm, but little by little a revulsion +of feeling was clouding her joy. The senatorial prince was nothing but +a common soldier. His illustrious father, fearful that the war might cut +off forever the dynasty of the Lacours, indispensable to the welfare of +the State, had had his son mustered into the auxiliary service of the +army. By this arrangement, his heir need not leave Paris, ranking about +as high as those who were kneading the bread or mending the soldiers’ +cloaks. Only by going to the front could he claim--as a student of the +Ecole Centrale--his title of sub-lieutenant in the Artillery Reserves. + +“What happiness for me that you have to stay in Paris! How delighted I +am that you are just a private! . . .” + +And yet, at the same time, Chichi was thinking enviously of her friends +whose lovers and brothers were officers. They could parade the streets, +escorted by a gold-trimmed kepis that attracted the notice of the +passers-by and the respectful salute of the lower ranks. + +Each time that Dona Luisa, terrified by the forecasts of her sister, +undertook to communicate her dismay to her daughter, the girl would rage +up and down, exclaiming:-- + +“What lies my aunt tells you! . . . Since her husband is a German, she +sees everything as he wishes it to be. Papa knows more; Rene’s father is +better informed about these things. We are going to give them a thorough +hiding! What fun it will be when they hit my uncle and all my snippy +cousins in Berlin! . . .” + +“Hush,” groaned her mother. “Do not talk such nonsense. The war has +turned you as crazy as your father.” + +The good lady was scandalized at hearing the outburst of savage desires +that the mere mention of the Kaiser always aroused in her daughter. In +times of peace, Chichi had rather admired this personage. “He’s not so +bad-looking,” she had commented, “but with a very ordinary smile.” Now +all her wrath was concentrated upon him. The thousands of women that +were weeping through his fault! The mothers without sons, the wives +without husbands, the poor children left in the burning towns! . . . +Ah, the vile wretch! . . . And she would brandish her knife of the old +Peoncito days--a dagger with silver handle and sheath richly chased, a +gift that her grandfather had exhumed from some forgotten souvenirs +of his childhood in an old valise. The very first German that she +came across was doomed to death. Dona Luisa was terrified to find her +flourishing this weapon before her dressing mirror. She was no longer +yearning to be a cavalryman nor a diable bleu. She would be entirely +content if they would leave her, alone in some closed space with the +detested monster. In just five minutes she would settle the universal +conflict. + +“Defend yourself, Boche,” she would shriek, standing at guard as in her +childhood she had seen the peons doing on the ranch. + +And with a knife-thrust above and below, she would pierce his imperial +vitals. Immediately there resounded in her imagination, shouts of joy, +the gigantic sigh of millions of women freed at last from the bloody +nightmare--thanks to her playing the role of Judith or Charlotte Corday, +or a blend of all the heroic women who had killed for the common weal. +Her savage fury made her continue her imaginary slaughter, dagger in +hand. Second stroke!--the Crown Prince rolling to one side and his head +to the other. A rain of dagger thrusts!--all the invincible generals +of whom her aunt had been boasting fleeing with their insides in their +hands--and bringing up the rear, that fawning lackey who wished to +receive the same things as those of highest rank--the uncle from Berlin. +. . . Ay, if she could only get the chance to make these longings a +reality! + +“You are mad,” protested her mother. “Completely mad! How can a ladylike +girl talk in such a way?” . . . + +Surprising her niece in the ecstasy of these delirious ravings, Dona +Elena would raise her eyes to heaven, abstaining thenceforth from +communicating her opinions, reserving them wholly for the mother. + +Don Marcelo’s indignation took another bound when his wife repeated to +him the news from her sister. All a lie! . . . The war was progressing +finely. On the Eastern frontier the French troops had advanced through +the interior of Alsace and Lorraine. + +“But--Belgium is invaded, isn’t it?” asked Dona Luisa. “And those poor +Belgians?” + +Desnoyers retorted indignantly. + +“That invasion of Belgium is treason. . . . And a treason never amounts +to anything among decent people.” + +He said it in all good faith as though war were a duel in which the +traitor was henceforth ruled out and unable to continue his outrages. +Besides, the heroic resistance of Belgium was nourishing the most absurd +illusions in his heart. The Belgians were certainly supernatural men +destined to the most stupendous achievements. . . . And to think that +heretofore he had never taken this plucky little nation into account! +. . . For several days, he considered Liege a holy city before whose +walls the Teutonic power would be completely confounded. Upon the fall +of Liege, his unquenchable faith sought another handle. There were still +remaining many other Lieges in the interior. The Germans might force +their way further in; then we would see how many of them ever succeeded +in getting out. The entry into Brussels did not disquiet him. An +unprotected city! . . . Its surrender was a foregone conclusion. Now the +Belgians would be better able to defend Antwerp. Neither did the advance +of the Germans toward the French frontier alarm him at all. In vain his +sister-in-law, with malicious brevity, mentioned in the dining-room the +progress of the invasion, so confusedly outlined in the daily papers. +The Germans were already at the frontier. + +“And what of that?” yelled Don Marcelo. “Soon they will meet someone to +talk to! Joffre is going to meet them. Our armies are in the East, in +the very place where they ought to be, on the true frontier, at the door +of their home. But they have to deal with a treacherous and cowardly +opponent that instead of marching face to face, leaps the walls of the +corral like sheep-stealers. . . . Their underhand tricks won’t do them +any good, though! The French are already in Belgium and adjusting the +accounts of the Germans. We shall smash them so effectually that never +again will they be able to disturb the peace of the world. And that +accursed individual with the rampant moustache we are going to put in a +cage, and exhibit in the place de la Concorde!” + +Inspired by the paternal braggadocio, Chichi also launched forth +exultingly an imaginary series of avenging torments and insults as a +complement to this Imperial Exhibition. + +These allusions to the Emperor aggravated Frau von Hartrott more than +anything else. In the first days of the war, her sister had surprised +her weeping before the newspaper caricatures and leaflets sold in the +streets. + +“Such an excellent man . . . so knightly . . . such a good father to his +family! He wasn’t to blame for anything. It was his enemies who forced +him to assume the offensive.” + +Her veneration for exalted personages was making her take the attacks +upon this admired grandee as though they were directed against her own +family. + +One night in the dining room, she abandoned her tragic silence. Certain +sarcasms, shot by Desnoyers at her hero, brought the tears to her eyes, +and this sentimental indulgence turned her thoughts upon her sons who +were undoubtedly taking part in the invasion. + +Her brother-in-law was longing for the extermination of all the enemy. +“May every barbarian be exterminated! . . . every one of the bandits in +pointed helmets who have just burned Louvain and other towns, shooting +defenceless peasants, old men, women and children!” + +“You forget that I am a mother,” sobbed Frau von Hartrott. “You forget +that among those whose extermination you are imploring, are my sons.” + +Her violent weeping made Desnoyers realize more than ever the abyss +yawning between him and this woman lodged in his own house. His +resentment, however, overleapt family considerations. . . . She might +weep for her sons all she wanted to; that was her right. But these sons +were aggressors and wantonly doing evil. It was the other mothers who +were inspiring his pity--those who were living tranquilly in their +smiling little Belgian towns when their sons were suddenly shot down, +their daughters violated and their houses burned to the ground. + +As though this description of the horrors of war were a fresh insult to +her, Dona Elena wept harder than ever. What falsehoods! The Kaiser was +an excellent man. His soldiers were gentlemen, the German army was a +model of civilization and goodness. Her husband had belonged to +this army, her sons were marching in its ranks. And she knew her +sons--well-bred and incapable of wrong-doing. These Belgian calumnies +she could no longer listen to . . . and, with dramatic abandon, she +flung herself into the arms of her sister. + +Senor Desnoyers raged against the fate that condemned him to live under +the same roof with this woman. What an unfortunate complication for the +family! . . . and the frontiers were closed, making it impossible to get +rid of her! + +“Very well, then,” he thundered. “Let us talk no more about it. We shall +never reach an understanding, for we belong to two different worlds. +It’s a great pity that you can’t go back to your own people.” + +After that, he refrained from mentioning the war in his sister-in-law’s +presence. Chichi was the only one keeping up her aggressive and noisy +enthusiasm. Upon reading in the papers the news of the shootings, +sackings, burning of cities, and the dolorous flight of those who +had seen their all reduced to ashes, she again felt the necessity of +assuming the role of lady-assassin. Ay, if she could only once get her +hands on one of those bandits! . . . What did the men amount to anyway +if they couldn’t exterminate the whole lot? . . . + +Then she would look at Rene in his exquisitely fresh uniform, +sweet-mannered and smiling as though all war meant to him was a mere +change of attire, and she would exclaim enigmatically: + +“What luck that you will never have to go to the front! . . . How fine +that you don’t run any risks!” + +And her lover would accept these words as but another proof of her +affectionate interest. + +One day Don Marcelo was able to appreciate the horrors of the war +without leaving Paris. Three thousand Belgian refugees were quartered +provisionally in the circus before being distributed among the +provinces. When Desnoyers entered this place, he saw in the vestibule +the same posters which had been flaunting their spectacular gayeties +when he had visited it a few months before with his family. + +Now he noticed the odor from a sick and miserable multitude crowded +together--like the exhalation from a prison or poorhouse infirmary. He +saw a throng that seemed crazy or stupefied with grief. They did not +know exactly where they were; they had come thither, they didn’t know +how. The terrible spectacle of the invasion was still so persistent in +their minds that it left room for no other impression. They were still +seeing the helmeted men in their peaceful hamlets, their homes in +flames, the soldiery firing upon those who were fleeing, the mutilated +women done to death by incessant adulterous assault, the old men burned +alive, the children stabbed in their cradles by human beasts inflamed +by alcohol and license. . . . Some of the octogenarians were weeping as +they told how the soldiers of a civilized nation were cutting off the +breasts from the women in order to nail them to the doors, how they had +passed around as a trophy a new-born babe spiked on a bayonet, how they +had shot aged men in the very armchair in which they were huddled in +their sorrowful weakness, torturing them first with their jests and +taunts. + +They had fled blindly, pursued by fire and shot, as crazed with terror +as the people of the middle ages trying not to be ridden down by the +hordes of galloping Huns and Mongols. And this flight had been across +the country in its loveliest festal array, in the most productive of +months, when the earth was bristling with ears of grain, when the August +sky was most brilliant, and when the birds were greeting the opulent +harvest with their glad songs! + +In that circus, filled with the wandering crowds, the immense crime was +living again. The children were crying with a sound like the bleating +of lambs; the men were looking wildly around with terrified eyes; +the frenzied women were howling like the insane. Families had become +separated in the terror of flight. A mother of five little ones now had +but one. The parents, as they realized the number missing, were thinking +with anguish of those who had disappeared. Would they ever find them +again? . . . Or were they already dead? . . . + +Don Marcelo returned home, grinding his teeth and waving his cane in an +alarming manner. Ah, the bandits! . . . If only his sister-in-law could +change her sex! Why wasn’t she a man? . . . It would be better still if +she could suddenly assume the form of her husband, von Hartrott. What an +interesting interview the two brothers-in-law would have! . . . + +The war was awakening religious sentiment in the men and increasing +the devotion of the women. The churches were filled. Dona Luisa was no +longer confining herself to those of her neighborhood. With the courage +induced by extraordinary events, she was traversing Paris afoot and +going from the Madeleine to Notre Dame, or to the Sacre Coeur on the +heights of Montmartre. Religious festivals were now thronged like +popular assemblies. The preachers were tribunes. Patriotic enthusiasm +interrupted many sermon with applause. + +Each morning on opening the papers, before reading the war news, Senora +Desnoyers would hunt other notices. “Where was Father Amette going to +be to-day?” Then, under the arched vaultings of that temple, would +she unite her voice with the devout chorus imploring supernatural +intervention. “Lord, save France!” Patriotic religiosity was putting +Sainte Genevieve at the head of the favored ones, so from all these +fiestas, Dona Luisa, tremulous with faith, would return in expectation +of a miracle similar to that which the patron saint of Paris had worked +before the invading hordes of Attila. + +Dona Elena was also visiting the churches, but those nearest the house. +Her brother-in-law saw her one afternoon entering Saint-Honoree d’Eylau. +The building was filled with the faithful, and on the altar was a sheaf +of flags--France and the allied nations. The imploring crowd was not +composed entirely of women. Desnoyers saw men of his age, pompous and +grave, moving their lips and fixing steadfast eyes on the altar on which +were reflected like lost stars, the flames of the candles. And again he +felt envy. They were fathers who were recalling their childhood prayers, +thinking of their sons in battle. Don Marcelo, who had always considered +religion with indifference, suddenly recognized the necessity of +faith. He wanted to pray like the others, with a vague, indefinite +supplication, including all beings who were struggling and dying for a +land that he had not tried to defend. + +He was scandalized to see von Hartrott’s wife kneeling among these +people raising her eyes to the cross in a look of anguished entreaty. +She was begging heaven to protect her husband, the German who perhaps +at this moment was concentrating all his devilish faculties on the +best organization for crushing the weak; she was praying for her sons, +officers of the King of Prussia, who revolver in hand were entering +villages and farmlands, driving before them a horror-stricken crowd, +leaving behind them fire and death. And these orisons were going to +mingle with those of the mothers who were praying for the youth trying +to check the onslaught of the barbarians--with the petitions of these +earnest men, rigid in their tragic grief! . . . + +He had to make a great effort not to protest aloud, and he left the +church. His sister-in-law had no right to kneel there among those +people. + +“They ought to put her out!” he growled indignantly. “She is +compromising God with her absurd entreaties.” + +But in spite of his annoyance, he had to endure her living in his +household, and at the same time had taken great pains to prevent her +nationality being known outside. + +It was a severe trial for Don Marcelo to be obliged to keep silent +when at table with his family. He had to avoid the hysterics of his +sister-in-law who promptly burst into sighs and sobs at the slightest +allusion to her hero; and he feared equally the complaints of his wife, +always ready to defend her sister, as though she were the victim. . . . +That a man in his own home should have to curb his tongue and speak +tactfully! . . . + +The only satisfaction permitted him was to announce the military moves. +The French had entered Belgium. “It appears that the Boches have had a +good set-back.” The slightest clash of cavalry, a simple encounter +with the advance troops, he would glorify as a decisive victory. “In +Lorraine, too, we are making great headway!” . . . But suddenly the +fountain of his bubbling optimism seemed to become choked up. To +judge from the periodicals, nothing extraordinary was occurring. They +continued publishing war-stories so as to keep enthusiasm at fever-heat, +but nothing definite. The Government, too, was issuing communications of +vague and rhetorical verbosity. Desnoyers became alarmed, his instinct +warning him of danger. “There is something wrong,” he thought. “There’s +a spring broken somewhere!” + +This lack of encouraging news coincided exactly with the sudden rise in +Dona Elena’s spirits. With whom had that woman been talking? Whom did +she meet when she was on the street? . . . Without dropping her pose +as a martyr, with the same woebegone look and drooping mouth, she was +talking, and talking treacherously. The torment of Don Marcelo in being +obliged to listen to the enemy harbored within his gates! . . . The +French had been vanquished in Lorraine and in Belgium at the same time. +A body of the army had deserted the colors; many prisoners, many cannon +were captured. “Lies! German exaggerations!” howled Desnoyers. And +Chichi with the derisive ha-ha’s of an insolent girl, drowned out the +triumphant communications of the aunt from Berlin. “I don’t know, of +course,” said the unwelcome lodger with mock humility. “Perhaps it is +not authentic. I have heard it said.” Her host was furious. Where had +she heard it said? Who was giving her such news? . . . + +And in order to ventilate his wrath, he broke forth into tirades against +the enemy’s espionage, against the carelessness of the police force in +permitting so many Germans to remain hidden in Paris. Then he suddenly +became quiet, thinking of his own behavior in this line. He, too, was +involuntarily contributing toward the maintenance and support of the +foe. + +The fall of the ministry and the constitution of a government of +national defense made it apparent that something very important must +have taken place. The alarms and tears of Dona Luisa increased his +nervousness. The good lady was no longer returning from the churches, +cheered and strengthened. Her confidential talks with her sister were +filling her with a terror that she tried in vain to communicate to +her husband. “All is lost. . . . Elena is the only one that knows the +truth.” + +Desnoyers went in search of Senator Lacour. He would know all the +ministers; no one could be better informed. “Yes, my friend,” said the +important man sadly. “Two great losses at Morhange and Charleroi, at the +East and the North. The enemy is going to invade French soil! . . . But +our army is intact, and will retreat in good order. Good fortune may +still be ours. A great calamity, but all is not lost.” + +Preparations for the defense of Paris were being pushed forward . . . +rather late. The forts were supplying themselves with new cannon. +Houses, built in the danger zone in the piping times of peace, were now +disappearing under the blows of the official demolition. The trees on +the outer avenues were being felled in order to enlarge the horizon. +Barricades of sacks of earth and tree trunks were heaped at the doors of +the old walls. The curious were skirting the suburbs in order to gaze +at the recently dug trenches and the barbed wire fences. The Bois de +Boulogne was filled with herds of cattle. Near heaps of dry alfalfa +steers and sheep were grouped in the green meadows. Protection against +famine was uppermost in the minds of a people still remembering the +suffering of 1870. Every night, the street lighting was less and less. +The sky, on the other hand, was streaked incessantly by the shafts from +the searchlights. Fear of aerial invasion was increasing the public +uneasiness. Timid people were speaking of Zeppelins, attributing to +them irresistible powers, with all the exaggeration that accompanies +mysterious dangers. + +In her panic, Dona Luisa greatly distressed her husband, who was passing +the days in continual alarm, yet trying to put heart into his trembling +and anxious wife. “They are going to come, Marcelo; my heart tells +me so. The girl! . . . the girl!” She was accepting blindly all the +statements made by her sister, the only thing that comforted her +being the chivalry and discipline of those troops to which her nephews +belonged. The news of the atrocities committed against the women of +Belgium were received with the same credulity as the enemy’s advances +announced by Elena. “Our girl, Marcelo. . . . Our girl!” And the girl, +object of so much solicitude, would laugh with the assurance of vigorous +youth on hearing of her mother’s anxiety. “Just let the shameless +fellows come! I shall take great pleasure in seeing them face to face!” + And she clenched her right hand as though it already clutched the +avenging knife. + +The father became tired of this situation. He still had one of his +monumental automobiles that an outside chauffeur could manage. Senator +Lacour obtained the necessary passports and Desnoyers gave his wife +her orders in a tone that admitted of no remonstrance. They must go to +Biarritz or to some of the summer resorts in the north of Spain. Almost +all the South American families had already gone in the same direction. +Dona Luisa tried to object. It was impossible for her to separate +herself from her husband. Never before, in their many years of married +life, had they once been separated. But a harsh negative from Don +Marcelo cut her pleadings short. He would remain. Then the poor senora +ran to the rue de la Pompe. Her son! . . . Julio scarcely listened to +his mother. Ay! he, too, would stay. So finally the imposing automobile +lumbered toward the South carrying Dona Luisa, her sister who hailed +with delight this withdrawal before the admired troops of the Emperor, +and Chichi, pleased that the war was necessitating an excursion to the +fashionable beaches frequented by her friends. + +Don Marcelo was at last alone. The two coppery maids had followed by +rail the flight of their mistresses. At first the old man felt a little +bewildered by this solitude, which obliged him to eat uncomfortable +meals in a restaurant and pass the nights in enormous and deserted rooms +still bearing traces of their former occupants. The other apartments in +the building had also been vacated. All the tenants were foreigners, who +had discreetly decamped, or French families surprised by the war when +summering at their country seats. + +Instinctively he turned his steps toward the rue de la Pompe gazing from +afar at the studio windows. What was his son doing? . . . Undoubtedly +continuing his gay and useless life. Such men only existed for their own +selfish folly. + +Desnoyers felt satisfied with the stand he had taken. To follow the +family would be sheer cowardice. The memory of his youthful flight to +South America was sufficient martyrdom; he would finish his life with +all the compensating bravery that he could muster. “No, they will not +come,” he said repeatedly, with the optimism of enthusiasm. “I have +a presentiment that they will never reach Paris. And even if they DO +come!” . . . The absence of his family brought him a joyous valor and a +sense of bold youthfulness. Although his age might prevent his going to +war in the open air, he could still fire a gun, immovable in a trench, +without fear of death. Let them come! . . . He was longing for the +struggle with the anxiety of a punctilious business man wishing to +cancel a former debt as soon as possible. + +In the streets of Paris he met many groups of fugitives. They were from +the North and East of France, and had escaped before the German advance. +Of all the tales told by this despondent crowd--not knowing where to go +and dependent upon the charity of the people--he was most impressed +with those dealing with the disregard of property. Shootings and +assassinations made him clench his fists, with threats of vengeance; +but the robberies authorized by the heads, the wholesale sackings by +superior order, followed by fire, appeared to him so unheard-of that +he was silent with stupefaction, his speech seeming to be temporarily +paralyzed. And a people with laws could wage war in this fashion, like a +tribe of Indians going to combat in order to rob! . . . His adoration of +property rights made him beside himself with wrath at these sacrileges. + +He began to worry about his castle at Villeblanche. All that he owned in +Paris suddenly seemed to him of slight importance to what he had in his +historic mansion. His best paintings were there, adorning the gloomy +salons; there, too, the furnishings captured from the antiquarians after +an auctioneering battle, and the crystal cabinets, the tapestries, the +silver services. + +He mentally reviewed all of these objects, not letting a single one +escape his inventory. Things that he had forgotten came surging up in +his memory, and the fear of losing them seemed to give them greater +lustre, increasing their size, and intensifying their value. All the +riches of Villeblanche were concentrated in one certain acquisition +which Desnoyers admired most of all; for, to his mind, it stood for +all the glory of his immense fortune--in fact, the most luxurious +appointment that even a millionaire could possess. + +“My golden bath,” he thought. “I have there my tub of gold.” + +This bath of priceless metal he had procured, after much financial +wrestling, from an auction, and he considered the purchase the +culminating achievement of his wealth. No one knew exactly its origin; +perhaps it had been the property of luxurious princes; perhaps it owed +its existence to the caprice of a demi-mondaine fond of display. He and +his had woven a legend around this golden cavity adorned with lions’ +claws, dolphins and busts of naiads. Undoubtedly it was once a king’s! +Chichi gravely affirmed that it had been Marie Antoinette’s, and the +entire family thought that the home on the avenue Victor Hugo was +altogether too modest and plebeian to enshrine such a jewel. They +therefore agreed to put it in the castle, where it was greatly +venerated, although it was useless and solemn as a museum piece. . . . +And was he to permit the enemy in their advance toward the Marne to +carry off this priceless treasure, as well as the other gorgeous things +which he had accumulated with such patience Ah, no! His soul of a +collector would be capable of the greatest heroism before he would let +that go. + +Each day was bringing a fresh sheaf of bad news. The papers were saying +little, and the Government was so veiling its communications that +the mind was left in great perplexity. Nevertheless, the truth +was mysteriously forcing its way, impelled by the pessimism of the +alarmists, and the manipulation of the enemy’s spies who were remaining +hidden in Paris. The fatal news was being passed along in whispers. +“They have already crossed the frontier. . . .” “They are already in +Lille.” . . . They were advancing at the rate of thirty-five miles +a day. The name of von Kluck was beginning to have a familiar ring. +English and French were retreating before the enveloping progression of +the invaders. Some were expecting another Sedan. Desnoyers was following +the advance of the Germans, going daily to the Gare du Nord. Every +twenty-four hours was lessening the radius of travel. Bulletins +announcing that tickets would not be sold for the Northern districts +served to indicate how these places were falling, one after the other, +into the power of the invader. The shrinkage of national territory was +going on with such methodical regularity that, with watch in hand, and +allowing an advance of thirty-five miles daily, one might gauge the hour +when the lances of the first Uhlans would salute the Eiffel tower. The +trains were running full, great bunches of people overflowing from their +coaches. + +In this time of greatest anxiety, Desnoyers again visited his friend, +Senator Lacour, in order to astound him with the most unheard-of +petitions. He wished to go immediately to his castle. While everybody +else was fleeing toward Paris he earnestly desired to go in the opposite +direction. The senator couldn’t believe his ears. + +“You are beside yourself!” he exclaimed. “It is necessary to leave +Paris, but toward the South. I will tell you confidentially, and you +must not tell because it is a secret--we are leaving at any minute; we +are all going, the President, the Government, the Chambers. We are +going to establish ourselves at Bordeaux as in 1870. The enemy is surely +approaching; it is only a matter of days . . . of hours. We know little +of just what is happening, but all the news is bad. The army still +holds firm, is yet intact, but retreating . . . retreating, all the time +yielding ground. . . . Believe me, it will be better for you to leave +Paris. Gallieni will defend it, but the defense is going to be hard +and horrible. . . . Although Paris may surrender, France will not +necessarily surrender. The war will go on if necessary even to the +frontiers of Spain . . . but it is sad . . . very sad!” + +And he offered to take his friend with him in that flight to Bordeaux of +which so few yet knew. Desnoyers shook his head. No; he wanted to go the +castle of Villeblanche. His furniture . . . his riches . . . his parks. + +“But you will be taken prisoner!” protested the senator. “Perhaps they +will kill you!” + +A shrug of indifference was the only response. He considered himself +energetic enough to struggle against the entire German army in the +defense of his property. The important thing was to get there, and +then--just let anybody dare to touch his things! . . . The senator +looked with astonishment at this civilian infuriated by the lust of +possession. It reminded him of some Arab merchants that he had once +known, ordinarily mild and pacific, who quarrelled and killed like wild +beasts when Bedouin thieves seized their wares. This was not the moment +for discussion, and each must map out his own course. So the influential +senator finally yielded to the desire of his friend. If such was +his pleasure, let him carry it through! So he arranged that his mad +petitioner should depart that very night on a military train that was +going to meet the army. + +That journey put Don Marcelo in touch with the extraordinary movement +which the war had developed on the railroads. His train took fourteen +hours to cover the distance normally made in two. It was made up of +freight cars filled with provisions and cartridges, with the doors +stamped and sealed. A third-class car was occupied by the train escort, +a detachment of provincial guards. He was installed in a second-class +compartment with the lieutenant in command of this guard and certain +officials on their way to join their regiments after having completed +the business of mobilization in the small towns in which they were +stationed before the war. The crowd, habituated to long detentions, +was accustomed to getting out and settling down before the motionless +locomotive, or scattering through the nearby fields. + +In the stations of any importance all the tracks were occupied by rows +of cars. High-pressure engines were whistling, impatient to be off. +Groups of soldiers were hesitating before the different trains, making +mistakes, getting out of one coach to enter others. The employees, calm +but weary-looking, were going from side to side, giving explanations +about mountains of all sorts of freight and arranging them for +transport. In the convoy in which Desnoyers was placed the Territorials +were sleeping, accustomed to the monotony of acting as guard. Those in +charge of the horses had opened the sliding doors, seating themselves +on the floor with their legs hanging over the edge. The train went very +slowly during the night, across shadowy fields, stopping here and there +before red lanterns and announcing its presence by prolonged whistling. + +In some stations appeared young girls clad in white with cockades and +pennants on their breasts. Day and night they were there, in relays, +so that no train should pass through without a visit. They offered, in +baskets and trays, their gifts to the soldiers--bread, chocolate, fruit. +Many, already surfeited, tried to resist, but had to yield eventually +before the pleading countenance of the maidens. Even Desnoyers was laden +down with these gifts of patriotic enthusiasm. + +He passed a great part of the night talking with his travelling +companions. Only the officers had vague directions as to where they were +to meet their regiments, for the operations of war were daily changing +the situation. Faithful to duty, they were passing on, hoping to arrive +in time for the decisive combat. The Chief of the Guard had been +over the ground, and was the only one able to give any account of +the retreat. After each stop the train made less progress. Everybody +appeared confused. Why the retreat? . . . The army had undoubtedly +suffered reverses, but it was still united and, in his opinion, ought to +seek an engagement where it was. The retreat was leaving the advance +of the enemy unopposed. To what point were they going to retreat? . . . +They who two weeks before were discussing in their garrisons the place +in Belgium where their adversaries were going to receive their death +blow and through what places their victorious troops would invade +Germany! . . . + +Their admission of the change of tactics did not reveal the slightest +discouragement. An indefinite but firm hope was hovering triumphantly +above their vacillations. The Generalissimo was the only one who +possessed the secret of events. And Desnoyers approved with the blind +enthusiasm inspired by those in whom we have confidence. Joffre! . . . +That serious and calm leader would finally bring things out all right. +Nobody ought to doubt his ability; he was the kind of man who always +says the decisive word. + +At daybreak Don Marcelo left the train. “Good luck to you!” And he +clasped the hands of the brave young fellows who were going to die, +perhaps in a very short time. Finding the road unexpectedly open, the +train started immediately and Desnoyers found himself alone in the +station. In normal times a branch road would have taken him on to +Villeblanche, but the service was now suspended for lack of a train +crew. The employees had been transferred to the lines crowded with the +war transportation. + +In vain he sought, with most generous offers, a horse, a simple cart +drawn by any kind of old beast, in order to continue his trip. +The mobilization had appropriated the best, and all other means of +transportation had disappeared with the flight of the terrified. He +would have to walk the eight miles. The old man did not hesitate. +Forward March! And he began his course along the dusty, straight, white +highway running between an endless succession of plains. Some groups +of trees, some green hedges and the roofs of various farms broke the +monotony of the countryside. The fields were covered with stubble from +the recent harvest. The haycocks dotted the ground with their yellowish +cones, now beginning to darken and take on a tone of oxidized gold. In +the valleys the birds were flitting about, shaking off the dew of dawn. + +The first rays of the sun announced a very hot day. Around the hay +stacks Desnoyers saw knots of people who were getting up, shaking out +their clothes, and awaking those who were still sleeping. They were +fugitives camping near the station in the hope that some train would +carry them further on, they knew not where. Some had come from far-away +districts; they had heard the cannon, had seen war approaching, and +for several days had been going forward, directed by chance. Others, +infected with the contagion of panic, had fled, fearing to know the same +horrors. . . . Among them he saw mothers with their little ones in their +arms, and old men who could only walk with a cane in one hand and the +other arm in that of some member of the family, and a few old women, +withered and motionless as mummies, who were sleeping as they were +trundled along in wheelbarrows. When the sun awoke this miserable band +they gathered themselves together with heavy step, still stiffened by +the night. Many were going toward the station in the hope of a train +which never came, thinking that, perhaps, they might have better luck +during the day that was just dawning. Some were continuing their way +down the track, hoping that fate might be more propitious in some other +place. + +Don Marcelo walked all the morning long. The white, rectilinear ribbon +of roadway was spotted with approaching groups that on the horizon line +looked like a file of ants. He did not see a single person going in his +direction. All were fleeing toward the South, and on meeting this city +gentleman, well-shod, with walking stick and straw hat, going on alone +toward the country which they were abandoning in terror, they showed the +greatest astonishment. They concluded that he must be some functionary, +some celebrity from the Government. + +At midday he was able to get a bit of bread, a little cheese and a +bottle of white wine from a tavern near the road. The proprietor was at +the front, his wife sick and moaning in her bed. The mother, a rather +deaf old woman surrounded by her grandchildren, was watching from the +doorway the procession of fugitives which had been filing by for the +last three days. “Monsieur, why do they flee?” she said to Desnoyers. +“War only concerns the soldiers. We countryfolk have done no wrong to +anybody, and we ought not to be afraid.” + +Four hours later, on descending one of the hills that bounded the valley +of the Marne, he saw afar the roofs of Villeblanche clustered around the +church, and further on, beyond a little grove, the slatey points of the +round towers of his castle. + +The streets of the village were deserted. Only on the outer edges of the +square did he see some old women sitting as in the placid evenings +of bygone summers. Half of the neighborhood had fled; the others were +staying by their firesides through sedentary routine, or deceiving +themselves with a blind optimism. If the Prussians should approach, +what could they do to them? . . . They would obey their orders without +attempting any resistance, and it is impossible to punish people who +obey. . . . Anything would be preferable to losing the homes built by +their forefathers which they had never left. + +In the square he saw the mayor and the principal inhabitants grouped +together. Like the women, they all stared in astonishment at the owner +of the castle. He was the most unexpected of apparitions. While so many +were fleeing toward Paris, this Parisian had come to join them and share +in their fate. A smile of affection, a look of sympathy began to appear +on the rough, bark-like countenances of the suspicious rustics. For a +long time Desnoyers had been on bad terms with the entire village. He +had harshly insisted on his rights, showing no tolerance in matters +touching his property. He had spoken many times of bringing suit against +the mayor and sending half of the neighborhood to prison, so his enemies +had retaliated by treacherously invading his lands, poaching in his +hunting preserves, and causing him great trouble with counter-suits and +involved claims. His hatred of the community had even united him with +the priest because he was on terms of permanent hostility with the +mayor. But his relations with the Church turned out as fruitless as his +struggles with the State. The priest was a kindly old soul who bore a +certain resemblance to Renan, and seemed interested only in getting alms +for his poor out of Don Marcelo, even carrying his good-natured boldness +so far as to try to excuse the marauders on his property. + +How remote these struggles of a few months ago now seemed to him! . . . +The millionaire was greatly surprised to see the priest, on leaving his +house to enter the church, greet the mayor as he passed, with a friendly +smile. + +After long years of hostile silence they had met on the evening of +August first at the foot of the church tower. The bell was ringing the +alarm, announcing the mobilization to the men who were in the field--and +the two enemies had instinctively clasped hands. All French! This +affectionate unanimity also came to meet the detested owner of the +castle. He had to exchange greetings first on one side, then on the +other, grasping many a horny hand. Behind his back the people broke +out into kindly excuses--“A good man, with no fault except a little bad +temper. . . .” And in a few minutes Monsieur Desnoyers was basking in +the delightful atmosphere of popularity. + +As the iron-willed old gentleman approached his castle he concluded +that, although the fatigue of the long walk was making his knees +tremble, the trip had been well worth while. Never had his park appeared +to him so extensive and so majestic as in that summer twilight, never +so glistening white the swans that were gliding double over the quiet +waters, never so imposing the great group of towers whose inverted +images were repeated in the glassy green of the moats. He felt eager to +see at once the stables with their herds of animals; then a brief glance +showed him that the stalls were comparatively empty. Mobilization had +carried off his best work horses; the driving and riding horses also had +disappeared. Those in charge of the grounds and the various stable +boys were also in the army. The Warden, a man upwards of fifty and +consumptive, was the only one of the personnel left at the castle. With +his wife and daughter he was keeping the mangers filled, and from time +to time was milking the neglected cows. + +Within the noble edifice he again congratulated himself on the +adamantine will which had brought him thither. How could he ever give +up such riches! . . . He gloated over the paintings, the crystals, the +draperies, all bathed in gold by the splendor of the dying day, and he +felt more than proud to be their possessor. This pride awakened in him +an absurd, impossible courage, as though he were a gigantic being from +another planet, and all humanity merely an ant hill that he could grind +under foot. Just let the enemy come! He could hold his own against the +whole lot! . . . Then, when his common sense brought him out of his +heroic delirium, he tried to calm himself with an equally illogical +optimism. They would not come. He did not know why it was, but his heart +told him that they would not get that far. + +He passed the following morning reconnoitering the artificial meadows +that he had made behind the park, lamenting their neglected condition +due to the departure of the men, trying himself to open the sluice gates +so as to give some water to the pasture lands which were beginning to +dry up. The grape vines were extending their branches the length of +their supports, and the full bunches, nearly ripe, were beginning to +show their triangular lusciousness among the leaves. Ay, who would +gather this abundant fruit! . . . + +By afternoon he noted an extraordinary amount of movement in the +village. Georgette, the Warden’s daughter, brought the news that many +enormous automobiles and soldiers, French soldiers, were beginning +to pass through the main street. In a little while a procession began +filing past on the high road near the castle, leading to the bridge +over the Marne. This was composed of motor trucks, open and closed, that +still had their old commercial signs under their covering of dust and +spots of mud. Many of them displayed the names of business firms +in Paris, others the names of provincial establishments. With these +industrial vehicles requisitioned by mobilization were others from the +public service which produced in Desnoyers the same effect as a familiar +face in a throng of strangers. On their upper parts were the names of +their old routes:--“Madeleine-Bastille, Passy-Bourne,” etc. Probably he +had travelled many times in these very vehicles, now shabby and aged by +twenty days of intense activity, with dented planks and twisted metal, +perforated like sieves, but rattling crazily on. + +Some of the conveyances displayed white discs with a red cross in the +center; others had certain letters and figures comprehensible only to +those initiates in the secrets of military administration. Within +these vehicles--the only new and strong motors--he saw soldiers, many +soldiers, but all wounded, with head and legs bandaged, ashy faces made +still more tragic by their growing beards, feverish eyes looking fixedly +ahead, mouths so sadly immobile that they seemed carven by agonizing +groans. Doctors and nurses were occupying various carriages in this +convoy escorted by several platoons of horsemen. And mingled with +the slowly moving horses and automobiles were marching groups of +foot-soldiers, with cloaks unbuttoned or hanging from their shoulders +like capes--wounded men who were able to walk and joke and sing, some +with arms in splints across their breasts, others with bandaged heads +with clotted blood showing through the thin white strips. + +The millionaire longed to do something for these brave fellows, but he +had hardly begun to distribute some bottles of wine and loaves of bread +before a doctor interposed, upbraiding him as though he had committed +a crime. His gifts might result fatally. So he had to stand beside the +road, sad and helpless, looking after the sorrowful convoy. . . . By +nightfall the vehicles filled with the sick were no longer filing by. + +He now saw hundreds of drays, some hermetically sealed with the prudence +that explosive material requires, others with bundles and boxes that +were sending out a stale odor of provisions. Then came great herds of +cattle raising thick, whirling clouds of dust in the narrow parts of the +road, prodded on by the sticks and yells of the shepherds in kepis. + +His thoughts kept him wakeful all night. This, then, was the retreat of +which the people of Paris were talking, but in which many wished not to +believe--the retreat reaching even there and continuing its indefinite +retirement, since nobody knew what its end might be. . . . His optimism +aroused a ridiculous hope. Perhaps this was only the retreat of the +hospitals and stores which always follows an army. The troops, wishing +to be rid of impedimenta, were sending them forward by railway and +highway. That must be it. So all through the night, he interpreted the +incessant bustle as the passing of vehicles filled with the wounded, +with munitions and eatables, like those which had filed by in the +afternoon. + +Toward morning he fell asleep through sheer weariness, and when he awoke +late in the day his first glance was toward the road. He saw it filled +with men and horses dragging some rolling objects. But these men were +carrying guns and were formed in battalions and regiments. The animals +were pulling the pieces of artillery. It was an army. . . . It was the +retreat! + +Desnoyers ran to the edge of the road to be more convinced of the truth. + +Alas, they were regiments such as he had seen leaving the stations of +Paris. . . . But with what a very different aspect! The blue cloaks were +now ragged and yellowing garments, the trousers faded to the color of +a half-baked brick, the shoes great cakes of mud. The faces had a +desperate expression, with layers of dust and sweat in all their grooves +and openings, with beards of recent growth, sharp as spikes, with an air +of great weariness showing the longing to drop down somewhere forever, +killing or dying, but without going a step further. They were tramping +. . . tramping . . . tramping! Some marches had lasted thirty hours at +a stretch. The enemy was on their tracks, and the order was to go on +and not to fight, freeing themselves by their fleet-footedness from the +involved movements of the invader. + +The chiefs suspected the discouraged exhaustion of their men. They might +exact of them complete sacrifice of life--but to order them to march day +and night, forever fleeing before the enemy when they did not consider +themselves vanquished, when they were animated by that ferocious wrath +which is the mother of heroism! . . . Their despairing expressions +mutely sought the nearest officers, the leaders, even the colonel. They +simply could go no further! Such a long, devastating march in such a few +days, and what for? . . . The superior officers, who knew no more +than their men, seemed to be replying with their eyes, as though they +possessed a secret--“Courage! One more effort! . . . This is going to +come to an end very soon.” + +The vigorous beasts, having no imagination, were resisting less than the +men, but their aspect was deplorable. How could these be the same strong +horses with glossy coats that he had seen in the Paris processions at +the beginning of the previous month? A campaign of twenty days had aged +and exhausted them; their dull gaze seemed to be imploring pity. They +were weak and emaciated, the outline of their skeletons so plainly +apparent that it made their eyes look larger. Their harness, as they +moved, showed the skin raw and bleeding. Yet they were pushing on with a +mighty effort, concentrating their last powers, as though human demands +were beyond their obscure instincts. Some could go no further and +suddenly collapsed from sheer fatigue. Desnoyers noticed that the +artillerymen rapidly unharnessed them, pushing them out of the road +so as to leave the way open for the rest. There lay the skeleton-like +frames with stiffened legs and glassy eyes staring fixedly at the first +flies already attracted by their miserable carrion. + +The cannons painted gray, the gun-carriages, the artillery equipment, +all that Don Marcelo had seen clean and shining with the enthusiastic +friction that man has given to arms from remote epochs--even more +persistent than that which woman gives to household utensils--were now +dirty, overlaid with the marks of endless use, with the wreckage of +unavoidable neglect. The wheels were deformed with mud, the metal +darkened by the smoke of explosion, the gray paint spotted with mossy +dampness. + +In the free spaces in this file, in the parentheses opened between +battery and regiment, were sandwiched crowds of civilians--miserable +groups driven on by the invasion, populations of entire towns that had +disintegrated, following the army in its retreat. The approach of a new +division would make them leave the road temporarily, continuing their +march in the adjoining fields. Then at the slightest opening in the +troops they would again slip along the white and even surface of the +highway. They were mothers who were pushing hand-carts heaped high with +pyramids of furniture and tiny babies, the sick who could hardly drag +themselves along, old men carried on the shoulders of their grandsons, +old women with little children clinging to their skirts--a pitiful, +silent brood. + +Nobody now opposed the liberality of the owner of the castle. His entire +vintage seemed to be overflowing on the highway. Casks from the last +grape-gathering were rolled out to the roadside, and the soldiers filled +the metal ladles hanging from their belts with the red stream. Then +the bottled wine began making its appearance by order of date, and was +instantly lost in the river of men continually flowing by. Desnoyers +observed with much satisfaction the effects of his munificence. The +smiles were reappearing on the despairing faces, the French jest was +leaping from row to row, and on resuming their march the groups began to +sing. + +Then he went to see the officers who in the village square were giving +their horses a brief rest before rejoining their columns. With perplexed +countenances and heavy eyes they were talking among themselves about +this retreat, so incomprehensible to them all. Days before in Guise they +had routed their pursuers, and yet now they were continually withdrawing +in obedience to a severe and endless order. “We do not understand it,” + they were saying. “We do not understand.” An ordered and methodical tide +was dragging back these men who wanted to fight, yet had to retreat. All +were suffering the same cruel doubt. “We do not understand.” + +And doubt was making still more distressing this day-and-night march +with only the briefest rests--because the heads of the divisions were +in hourly fear of being cut off from the rest of the army. “One +effort more, boys! Courage! Soon we shall rest!” The columns in their +retirement were extending hundreds of miles. Desnoyers was seeing only +one division. Others and still others were doing exactly this same thing +at that very hour, their recessional extending across half of France. +All, with the same disheartened obedience, were falling back, the men +exclaiming the same as the officials, “We don’t understand. We don’t +understand!” + +Don Marcelo soon felt the same sadness and bewilderment as these +soldiers. He didn’t understand, either. He saw the obvious thing, +what all were able to see--the territory invaded without the Germans +encountering any stubborn resistance;--entire counties, cities, +villages, hamlets remaining in the power of the enemy, at the back of an +army that was constantly withdrawing. His enthusiasm suddenly collapsed +like a pricked balloon, and all his former pessimism returned. The +troops were displaying energy and discipline; but what did that amount +to if they had to keep retreating all the time, unable on account +of strict orders to fight or defend the land? “Just as it was in the +‘70’s,” he sighed. “Outwardly there is more order, but the result is +going to be the same.” + +As though a negative reply to his faint-heartedness, he overheard the +voice of a soldier reassuring a farmer: “We are retreating, yes--only +that we may pounce upon the Boches with more strength. Grandpa Joffre is +going to put them in his pocket when and where he will.” + +The mere sound of the Marshal’s name revived Don Marcelo’s hope. +Perhaps this soldier, who was keeping his faith intact in spite of the +interminable and demoralizing marches, was nearer the truth than the +reasoning and studious officers. + +He passed the rest of the day making presents to the last detachments of +the column. His wine cellars were gradually emptying. By order of +dates, he continued distributing thousands of bottles stored in the +subterranean parts of the castle. By evening he was giving to those who +appeared weakest bottles covered with the dust of many years. As the +lines filed by the men seemed weaker and more exhausted. Stragglers were +now passing, painfully drawing their raw and bleeding feet from their +shoes. Some had already freed themselves from these torture cases +and were marching barefoot, with their heavy boots hanging from their +shoulders, and staining the highway with drops of blood. Although +staggering with deadly fatigue, they kept their arms and outfits, +believing that the enemy was near. + +Desnoyers’ liberality stupefied many of them. They were accustomed to +crossing their native soil, having to struggle with the selfishness of +the producer. Nobody had been offering anything. Fear of danger had made +the country folk hide their eatables and refuse to lend the slightest +aid to their compatriots who were fighting for them. + +The millionaire slept badly this second night in his pompous bed with +columns and plushes that had belonged to Henry IV--according to the +declarations of the salesmen. The troops no longer were marching past. +From time to time there straggled by a single battalion, a battery, +a group of horsemen--the last forces of the rear guard that had taken +their position on the outskirts of the village in order to cover +the retreat. The profound silence that followed the turmoil of +transportation awoke in his mind a sense of doubt and disquietude. +What was he doing there when the soldiers had gone? Was he not crazy to +remain there? . . . But immediately there came galloping into his mind +the great riches which the castle contained. If he could only take it +all away! . . . That was impossible now through want of means and +time. Besides, his stubborn will looked upon such flight as a shameful +concession. “We must finish what we have begun!” he said to himself. He +had made the trip on purpose to guard his own, and he must not flee at +the approach of danger. . . . + +The following morning, when he went down into the village, he saw hardly +any soldiers. Only a single detachment of dragoons was still in the +neighborhood; the horsemen were scouring the woods and pushing forward +the stragglers at the same time that they were opposing the advance of +the enemy. The troopers had obstructed the street with a barricade +of carts and furniture. Standing behind this crude barrier, they were +watching the white strip of roadway which ran between the two hills +covered with trees. Occasionally there sounded stray shots like the +snapping of cords. “Ours,” said the troopers. These were the last +detachments of sharpshooters firing at the advancing Uhlans. The cavalry +of the rear guard had the task of opposing a continual resistance to the +enemy, repelling the squads of Germans who were trying to work their way +along to the retreating columns. + +Desnoyers saw approaching along the highroad the last stragglers from +the infantry. They were not walking, they rather appeared to be dragging +themselves forward, with the firm intention of advancing, but were +betrayed by emaciated legs and bleeding feet. Some had sunk down for +a moment by the roadside, agonized with weariness, in order to breathe +without the weight of their knapsacks, and draw their swollen feet from +their leather prisons, and wipe off the sweat; but upon trying to renew +their march, they found it impossible to rise. Their bodies seemed made +of stone. Fatigue had brought them to a condition bordering on catalepsy +so, unable to move, they were seeing dimly the rest of the army passing +on as a fantastic file--battalions, more battalions, batteries, troops +of horses. Then the silence, the night, the sleep on the stones and +dust, shaken by most terrible nightmare. At daybreak they were awakened +by bodies of horsemen exploring the ground, rounding up the remnants of +the retreat. Ay, it was impossible to move! The dragoons, revolver +in hand, had to resort to threats in order to rouse them! Only the +certainty that the pursuer was near and might make them prisoners gave +them a momentary vigor. So they were forcing themselves up by superhuman +effort, staggering, dragging their legs, and supporting themselves on +their guns as though they were canes. + +Many of these were young men who had aged in an hour and changed into +confirmed invalids. Poor fellows! They would not go very far! Their +intention was to follow on, to join the column, but on entering the +village they looked at the houses with supplicating eyes, desiring to +enter them, feeling such a craving for immediate relief that they forgot +even the nearness of the enemy. + +Villeblanche was now more military than before the arrival of the +troops. The night before a great part of the inhabitants had fled, +having become infected with the same fear that was driving on the crowds +following the army. The mayor and the priest remained. Reconciled with +the owner of the castle through his unexpected presence in their midst, +and admiring his liberality, the municipal official approached to give +him some news. The engineers were mining the bridge over the Marne. They +were only waiting for the dragoons to cross before blowing it up. If he +wished to go, there was still time. + +Again Desnoyers hesitated. Certainly it was foolhardy to remain there. +But a glance at the woods over whose branches rose the towers of his +castle, settled his doubts. No, no. . . . “We must finish what we have +begun!” + +The very last band of troopers now made their appearance, coming out of +the woods by different paths. They were riding their horses slowly, as +though they deplored this retreat. They kept looking behind, carbine +in hand, ready to halt and shoot. The others who had been occupying +the barricade were already on their mounts. The division reformed, the +commands of the officers were heard and a quick trot, accompanied by the +clanking of metal, told Don Marcelo that the last of the army had left. + +He remained near the barricade in a solitude of intense silence, as +though the world were suddenly depopulated. Two dogs, abandoned by the +flight of their masters, leaped and sniffed around him, coaxing him +for protection. They were unable to get the desired scent in that land +trodden down and disfigured by the transit of thousands of men. A +family cat was watching the birds that were beginning to return to their +haunts. With timid flutterings they were picking at what the horses had +left, and an ownerless hen was disputing the banquet with the winged +band, until then hidden in the trees and roofs. The silence intensified +the rustling of the leaves, the hum of the insects, the summer +respiration of the sunburnt soil which appeared to have contracted +timorously under the weight of the men in arms. + +Desnoyers was losing exact track of the passing of time. He was +beginning to believe that all which had gone before must have been a bad +dream. The calm surrounding him made what had been happening here seem +most improbable. + +Suddenly he saw something moving at the far end of the road, at the very +highest point where the white ribbon of the highway touched the blue of +the horizon. There were two men on horseback, two little tin soldiers +who appeared to have escaped from a box of toys. He had brought with +him a pair of field glasses that had often surprised marauders on his +property, and by their aid he saw more clearly the two riders clad in +greenish gray! They were carrying lances and wearing helmets ending in a +horizontal plate . . . They! He could not doubt it: before his eyes were +the first Uhlans! + +For some time they remained motionless, as though exploring the horizon. +Then, from the obscure masses of vegetation that bordered the roadside, +others and still others came sallying forth in groups. The little tin +soldiers no longer were showing their silhouettes against the horizon’s +blue; the whiteness of the highway was now making their background, +ascending behind their heads. They came slowly down, like a band that +fears ambush, examining carefully everything around. + +The advisability of prompt retirement made Don Marcelo bring his +investigations to a close. It would be most disastrous for him if they +surprised him here. But on lowering his glasses something extraordinary +passed across his field of vision. A short distance away, so that he +could almost touch them with his hand, he saw many men skulking along +in the shadow of the trees on both sides of the road. His surprise +increased as he became convinced that they were Frenchmen, wearing +kepis. Where were they coming from? . . . He examined more closely with +his spy glass. They were stragglers in a lamentable state of body and +a picturesque variety of uniforms--infantry, Zouaves, dragoons without +their horses. And with them were forest guards and officers from the +villages that had received too late the news of the retreat--altogether +about fifty. A few were fresh and vigorous, others were keeping +themselves up by supernatural effort. All were carrying arms. + +They finally made the barricade, looking continually behind them, in +order to watch, in the shelter of the trees, the slow advance of the +Uhlans. At the head of this heterogeneous troop was an official of the +police, old and fat, with a revolver in his right hand, his moustache +bristling with excitement, and a murderous glitter in his heavy-lidded +blue eyes. The band was continuing its advance through the village, +slipping over to the other side of the barricade of carts without paying +much attention to their curious countryman, when suddenly sounded a loud +detonation, making the horizon vibrate and the houses tremble. + +“What is that?” asked the officer, looking at Desnoyers for the first +time. He explained that it was the bridge which had just been blown up. +The leader received the news with an oath, but his confused followers, +brought together by chance, remained as indifferent as though they had +lost all contact with reality. + +“Might as well die here as anywhere,” continued the official. Many of +the fugitives acknowledged this decision with prompt obedience, since +it saved them the torture of continuing their march. They were +almost rejoicing at the explosion which had cut off their progress. +Instinctively they were gathering in the places most sheltered by the +barricade. Some entered the abandoned houses whose doors the dragoons +had forced in order to utilize the upper floors. All seemed satisfied to +be able to rest, even though they might soon have to fight. The officer +went from group to group giving his orders. They must not fire till he +gave the word. + +Don Marcelo watched these preparations with the immovability of +surprise. So rapid and noiseless had been the apparition of the +stragglers that he imagined he must still be dreaming. There could be +no danger in this unreal situation; it was all a lie. And he remained +in his place without understanding the deputy who was ordering his +departure with roughest words. Obstinate civilian! . . . + +The reverberation of the explosion had filled the highway with horsemen. +They were coming from all directions, forming themselves into the +advance group. The Uhlans were galloping around under the impression +that the village was abandoned. + +“Fire!” + +Desnoyers was enveloped in a rain of crackling noises, as though the +trunks of all the trees had split before his eyes. + +The impetuous band halted suddenly. Some of their men were rolling on +the ground. Some were bending themselves double, trying to get across +the road without being seen. Others remained stretched out on their +backs or face downward with their arms in front. The riderless horses +were racing wildly across the fields with reins dragging, urged on by +the loose stirrups. + +And after this rude shock which had brought them surprise and death, the +band disappeared, instantly swallowed up by the trees. + + + +CHAPTER IV + +NEAR THE SACRED GROTTO + + +Argensola had found a new occupation even more exciting than marking out +on the map the manoeuvres of the armies. + +“I am now devoting myself to the taube,” he announced. “It appears from +four to five with the precision a punctilious guest coming to take tea.” + +Every afternoon at the appointed hour, a German aeroplane was flying +over Paris dropping bombs. This would-be intimidation was producing +no terror, the people accepting the visit as an interesting and +extraordinary spectacle. In vain the aviators were flinging in the city +streets German flags bearing ironic messages, giving accounts of the +defeat of the retreating army and the failures of the Russian offensive. +Lies, all lies! In vain they were dropping bombs, destroying garrets, +killing or wounding old men, women and babes. “Ah, the bandits!” The +crowds would threaten with their fists the malign mosquito, scarcely +visible 6,000 feet above them, and after this outburst, they would +follow it with straining eyes from street to street, or stand motionless +in the square in order to study its evolutions. + +The most punctual of all the spectators was Argensola. At four o’clock +he was in the place de la Concorde with upturned face and wide-open +eyes, in most cordial good-fellowship with all the bystanders. It was +as though they were holding season tickets at the same theatre, becoming +acquainted through seeing each other so often. “Will it come? . . . Will +it not come to-day?” The women appeared to be the most vehement, some +of them rushing up, flushed and breathless, fearing that they might have +arrived too late for the show. . . . A great cry--“There it comes! . . . +There it is!” And thousands of hands were pointing to a vague spot on +the horizon. With field glasses and telescopes they were aiding their +vision, the popular venders offering every kind of optical instruments +and for an hour the thrilling spectacle of an aerial hunt was played +out, noisy and useless. + +The great insect was trying to reach the Eiffel Tower, and from its base +would come sharp reports, at the same time that the different platforms +spit out a fierce stream of shrapnel. As it zigzagged over the city, the +discharge of rifles would crackle from roof and street. Everyone that +had arms in his house was firing--the soldiers of the guard, and the +English and Belgians on their way through Paris. They knew that their +shots were perfectly useless, but they were firing for the fun of +retorting, hoping at the same time that one of their chance shots might +achieve a miracle; but the only miracle was that the shooters did not +kill each other with their precipitate and ineffectual fire. As it was, +a few passers-by did fall, wounded by balls from unknown sources. + +Argensola would tear from street to street following the evolutions of +the inimical bird, trying to guess where its projectiles would fall, +anxious to be the first to reach the bombarded house, excited by the +shots that were answering from below. And to think that he had no gun +like those khaki-clad Englishmen or those Belgians in barrick cap, with +tassel over the front! . . . Finally the taube tired of manoeuvering, +would disappear. “Until to-morrow!” ejaculated the Spaniard. “Perhaps +to-morrow’s show may be even more interesting!” + +He employed his free hours between his geographical observations and his +aerial contemplations in making the rounds of the stations, watching the +crowds of travellers making their escape from Paris. The sudden vision +of the truth--after the illusion which the Government had been creating +with its optimistic dispatches, the certainty that the Germans were +actually near when a week before they had imagined them completely +routed, the taubes flying over Paris, the mysterious threat of the +Zeppelins--all these dangerous signs were filling a part of the +community with frenzied desperation. The railroad stations, guarded +by the soldiery, were only admitting those who had secured tickets in +advance. Some had been waiting entire days for their turn to depart. The +most impatient were starting to walk, eager to get outside of the city +as soon as possible. The roads were black with the crowds all going in +the same directions. Toward the South they were fleeing by automobile, +in carriages, in gardeners’ carts, on foot. + +Argensola surveyed this hegira with serenity. He would remain because he +had always admired those men who witnessed the Siege of Paris in 1870. +Now it was going to be his good fortune to observe an historical drama, +perhaps even more interesting. The wonders that he would be able to +relate in the future! . . . But the distraction and indifference of his +present audience were annoying him greatly. He would hasten back to the +studio, in feverish excitement, to communicate the latest gratifying +news to Desnoyers who would listen as though he did not hear him. +The night that he informed him that the Government, the Chambers, the +Diplomatic Corps, and even the actors of the Comedie Francaise were +going that very hour on special trains for Bordeaux, his companion +merely replied with a shrug of indifference. + +Desnoyers was worrying about other things. That morning he had received +a note from Marguerite--only two lines scrawled in great haste. She was +leaving, starting immediately, accompanied by her mother. Adieu! . . . +and nothing more. The panic had caused many love-affairs to be +forgotten, had broken off long intimacies, but Marguerite’s temperament +was above such incoherencies from mere flight. Julio felt that her +terseness was very ominous. Why not mention the place to which she was +going? . . . + +In the afternoon, he took a bold step which she had always forbidden. He +went to her home and talked a long time with the concierge in order +to get some news. The good woman was delighted to work off on him the +loquacity so brusquely cut short by the flight of tenants and servants. +The lady on the first floor (Marguerite’s mother) had been the last to +abandon the house in spite of the fact that she was really sick over her +son’s departure. They had left the day before without saying where they +were going. The only thing that she knew was that they took the train in +the Gare d’Orsay. They were going toward the South like all the rest of +the rich. + +And she supplemented her revelations with the vague news that the +daughter had seemed very much upset by the information that she had +received from the front. Someone in the family was wounded. Perhaps it +was the brother, but she really didn’t know. With so many surprises and +strange things happening, it was difficult to keep track of everything. +Her husband, too, was in the army and she had her own affairs to worry +about. + +“Where can she have gone?” Julio asked himself all day long. “Why does +she wish to keep me in ignorance of her whereabouts?” + +When his comrade told him that night about the transfer of the seat of +government, with all the mystery of news not yet made public, Desnoyers +merely replied: + +“They are doing the best thing. . . . I, too, will go tomorrow if I +can.” + +Why remain longer in Paris? His family was away. His father, according +to Argensola’s investigations, also had gone off without saying whither. +Now Marguerite’s mysterious flight was leaving him entirely alone, in a +solitude that was filling him with remorse. + +That afternoon, when strolling through the boulevards, he had stumbled +across a friend considerably older than himself, an acquaintance in the +fencing club which he used to frequent. This was the first time they had +met since the beginning of the war, and they ran over the list of their +companions in the army. Desnoyers’ inquiries were answered by the older +man. So-and-so? . . . He had been wounded in Lorraine and was now in +a hospital in the South. Another friend? . . . Dead in the Vosges. +Another? . . . Disappeared at Charleroi. And thus had continued the +heroic and mournful roll-call. The others were still living, doing brave +things. The members of foreign birth, young Poles, English residents in +Paris and South Americans, had finally enlisted as volunteers. The club +might well be proud of its young men who had practised arms in times of +peace, for now they were all jeopardizing their existence at the front. +Desnoyers turned his face away as though he feared to meet in the eyes +of his friend, an ironical and questioning expression. Why had he not +gone with the others to defend the land in which he was living? . . . + +“To-morrow I will go,” repeated Julio, depressed by this recollection. + +But he went toward the South like all those who were fleeing from the +war. The following morning Argensola was charged to get him a railroad +ticket for Bordeaux. The value of money had greatly increased, but fifty +francs, opportunely bestowed, wrought the miracle and procured a bit of +numbered cardboard whose conquest represented many days of waiting. + +“It is good only for to-day,” said the Spaniard, “you will have to take +the night train.” + +Packing was not a very serious matter, as the trains were refusing to +admit anything more than hand-luggage. Argensola did not wish to accept +the liberality of Julio who tried to leave all his money with him. +Heroes need very little and the painter of souls was inspired with +heroic resolution, The brief harangue of Gallieni in taking charge of +the defense of Paris, he had adopted as his own. He intended to keep up +his courage to the last, just like the hardy general. + +“Let them come,” he exclaimed with a tragic expression. “They will find +me at my post!” . . . + +His post was the studio from which he could witness the happenings which +he proposed relating to coming generations. He would entrench himself +there with the eatables and wines. Besides he had the plan--just as +soon as his partner should disappear--of bringing to live there with +him certain lady-friends who were wandering around in search of a +problematical dinner, and feeling timid in the solitude of their own +quarters. Danger often gathers congenial folk together and adds a new +attractiveness to the pleasures of a community. The tender affections of +the prisoners of the Terror, when they were expecting momentarily to +be conducted to the guillotine, flashed through his mind. Let us drain +Life’s goblet at one draught since we have to die! . . . The studio of +the rue de la Pompe was about to witness the mad and desperate revels of +a castaway bark well-stocked with provisions. + +Desnoyers left the Gare d’Orsay in a first-class compartment, mentally +praising the good order with which the authorities had arranged +everything, so that every traveller could have his own seat. At the +Austerlitz station, however, a human avalanche assaulted the train. +The doors were broken open, packages and children came in through the +windows like projectiles. The people pushed with the unreason of a crowd +fleeing before a fire. In the space reserved for eight persons, fourteen +installed themselves; the passageways were heaped with mountains of +bags and valises that served later travellers for seats. All class +distinctions had disappeared. The villagers invaded by preference the +best coaches, believing that they would there find more room. Those +holding first-class tickets hunted up the plainer coaches in the vain +hope of travelling without being crowded. On the cross roads were +waiting from the day before long trains made up of cattle cars. All the +stables on wheels were filled with people seated on the wooden floor or +in chairs brought from their homes. Every train load was an encampment +eager to take up its march; whenever it halted, layers of greasy papers, +hulls and fruit skins collected along its entire length. + +The invaders, pushing their way in, put up with many annoyances and +pardoned one another in a brotherly way. “In war times, war measures,” + they would always say as a last excuse. And each one was pressing closer +to his neighbor in order to make a few more inches of room, and helping +to wedge his scanty baggage among the other bundles swaying most +precariously above. Little by little, Desnoyers was losing all his +advantage as a first comer. These poor people who had been waiting for +the train from four in the morning till eight at night, awakened +his pity. The women, groaning with weariness, were standing in the +corridors, looking with ferocious envy at those who had seats. The +children were bleating like hungry kids. Julio finally gave up his +place, sharing with the needy and improvident the bountiful supply of +eatables with which Argensola had provided him. The station restaurants +had all been emptied of food. + +During the train’s long wait, soldiers only were seen on the platform, +soldiers who were hastening at the call of the trumpet, to take their +places again in the strings of cars which were constantly steaming +toward Paris. At the signal stations, long war trains were waiting +for the road to be clear that they might continue their journey. The +cuirassiers, wearing a yellow vest over their steel breastplate, were +seated with hanging legs in the doorways of the stable cars, from whose +interior came repeated neighing. Upon the flat cars were rows of gun +carriages. The slender throats of the cannon of ‘75 were pointed upwards +like telescopes. + +Young Desnoyers passed the night in the aisle, seated on a valise, +noting the sodden sleep of those around him, worn out by weariness and +exhaustion. It was a cruel and endless night of jerks, shrieks and +stops punctuated by snores. At every station, the trumpets were sounding +precipitously as though the enemy were right upon them. The soldiers +from the South were hurrying to their posts, and at brief intervals +another detachment of men was dragged along the rails toward Paris. They +all appeared gay, and anxious to reach the scene of slaughter as soon +as possible. Many were regretting the delays, fearing that they might +arrive too late. Leaning out of the window, Julio heard the dialogues +and shouts on the platforms impregnated with the acrid odor of men and +mules. All were evincing an unquenchable confidence. “The Boches! very +numerous, with huge cannons, with many mitrailleuse . . . but we only +have to charge with our bayonets to make them run like rabbits!” + +The attitude of those going to meet death was in sharp contrast to +the panic and doubt of those who were deserting Paris. An old +and much-decorated gentleman, type of a jubilee functionary, kept +questioning Desnoyers whenever the train started on again--“Do you +believe that they will get as far as Tours?” Before receiving his reply, +he would fall asleep. Brutish sleep was marching down the aisles with +leaden feet. At every junction, the old man would start up and suddenly +ask, “Do you believe that we will get as far as Bordeaux?” . . . And +his great desire not to halt until, with his family, he had reached +an absolutely secure refuge, made him accept as oracles all the vague +responses. + +At daybreak, they saw the Territorialists guarding the roads. They were +armed with old muskets, and were wearing the red kepis as their only +military distinction. They were following the opposite course of the +military trains. + +In the station at Bordeaux, the civilian crowds struggling to get out +or to enter other cars, were mingling with the troops. The trumpets were +incessantly sounding their brazen notes, calling the soldiers together. +Many were men of darkest coloring, natives with wide gray breeches and +red caps above their black or bronzed faces. + +Julio saw a train bearing wounded from the battles of Flanders and +Lorraine. Their worn and dirty uniforms were enlivened by the whiteness +of the bandages sustaining the wounded limbs or protecting the broken +heads. All were trying to smile, although with livid mouths and feverish +eyes, at their first glimpse of the land of the South as it emerged from +the mist bathed in the sunlight, and covered with the regal vestures of +its vineyards. The men from the North stretched out their hands for the +fruit that the women were offering them, tasting with delight the sweet +grapes of the country. + +For four days the distracted lover lived in Bordeaux, stunned and +bewildered by the agitation of a provincial city suddenly converted +into a capital. The hotels were overcrowded, many notables contenting +themselves with servants’ quarters. There was not a vacant seat in the +cafes; the sidewalks could not accommodate the extraordinary assemblage. +The President was installed in the Prefecture; the State Departments +were established in the schools and museums; two theatres were fitted up +for the future reunions of the Senate and the Chamber of Deputies. Julio +was lodged in a filthy, disreputable hotel at the end of a foul-smelling +alley. A little Cupid adorned the crystals of the door, and the +looking-glass in his room was scratched with names and unspeakable +phrases--souvenirs of the occupants of an hour . . . and yet many grand +ladies, hunting in vain for temporary residence, would have envied him +his good fortune. + +All his investigations proved fruitless. The friends whom he encountered +in the fugitive crowd were thinking only of their own affairs. They +could talk of nothing but incidents of the installation, repeating the +news gathered from the ministers with whom they were living on familiar +terms, or mentioning with a mysterious air, the great battle which was +going on stretching from the vicinity of Paris to Verdun. A pupil of his +days of glory, whose former elegance was now attired in the uniform of a +nurse, gave him some vague information. “The little Madame Laurier? +. . . I remember hearing that she was living somewhere near here. . . . +Perhaps in Biarritz.” Julio needed no more than this to continue his +journey. To Biarritz! + +The first person that he encountered on his arrival was Chichi. She +declared that the town was impossible because of the families of rich +Spaniards who were summering there. “The Boches are in the majority, +and I pass a miserable existence quarrelling with them. . . . I shall +finally have to live alone.” Then he met his mother--embraces and tears. +Afterwards he saw his Aunt Elena in the hotel parlors, most enthusiastic +over the country and the summer colony. + +She could talk at great length with many of them about the decadence of +France. They were all expecting to receive the news from one moment to +another, that the Kaiser had entered the Capital. Ponderous men who had +never done anything in all their lives, were criticizing the defects +and indolence of the Republic. Young men whose aristocracy aroused Dona +Elena’s enthusiasm, broke forth into apostrophes against the corruption +of Paris, corruption that they had studied thoroughly, from sunset to +sunrise, in the virtuous schools of Montmartre. They all adored Germany +where they had never been, or which they knew only through the reels +of the moving picture films. They criticized events as though they were +witnessing a bull fight. “The Germans have the snap! You can’t fool with +them! They are fine brutes!” And they appeared to admire this inhumanity +as the most admirable characteristic. “Why will they not say that in +their own home on the other side of the frontier?” Chichi would +protest. “Why do they come into their neighbor’s country to ridicule +his troubles? . . . Possibly they consider it a sign of their wonderful +good-breeding!” + +But Julio had not gone to Biarritz to live with his family. . . . The +very day of his arrival, he saw Marguerite’s mother in the distance. She +was alone. His inquiries developed the information that her daughter was +living in Pau. She was a trained nurse taking care of a wounded member +of the family. “Her brother . . . undoubtedly it is her brother,” + thought Julio. And he again continued his trip, this time going to Pau. + +His visits to the hospitals there were also unavailing. Nobody seemed +to know Marguerite. Every day a train was arriving with a new load of +bleeding flesh, but her brother was not among the wounded. A Sister of +Charity, believing that he was in search of someone of his family, took +pity on him and gave him some helpful directions. He ought to go to +Lourdes; there were many of the wounded there and many of the military +nurses. So Desnoyers immediately took the short cut between Pau and +Lourdes. + +He had never visited the sacred city whose name was so frequently on +his mother’s lips. For Dona Luisa, the French nation was Lourdes. In her +discussions with her sister and other foreign ladies who were praying +that France might be exterminated for its impiety, the good senora +always summed up her opinions in the same words:--“When the Virgin +wished to make her appearance in our day, she chose France. This +country, therefore, cannot be as bad as you say. . . . When I see that +she appears in Berlin, we will then re-discuss the matter.” + +But Desnoyers was not there to confirm his mother’s artless opinions. +Just as soon as he had found a room in a hotel near the river, he had +hastened to the big hostelry, now converted into a hospital. The guard +told him that he could not speak to the Director until the afternoon. In +order to curb his impatience he walked through the street leading to +the basilica, past all the booths and shops with pictures and pious +souvenirs which have converted the place into a big bazaar. Here and +in the gardens adjoining the church, he saw wounded convalescents with +uniforms stained with traces of the combat. Their cloaks were greatly +soiled in spite of repeated brushings. The mud, the blood and the rain +had left indelible spots and made them as stiff as cardboard. Some of +the wounded had cut their sleeves in order to avoid the cruel friction +on their shattered arms, others still showed on their trousers the rents +made by the devastating shells. + +They were fighters of all ranks and of many races--infantry, cavalry, +artillerymen; soldiers from the metropolis and from the colonies; French +farmers and African sharpshooters; red heads, faces of Mohammedan olive +and the black countenances of the Sengalese, with eyes of fire, and +thick, bluish blubber lips; some showing the good-nature and sedentary +obesity of the middle-class man suddenly converted into a warrior; +others sinewy, alert, with the aggressive profile of men born to fight, +and experienced in foreign fields. + +The city, formerly visited by the hopeful, Catholic sick, was now +invaded by a crowd no less dolorous but clad in carnival colors. All, +in spite of their physical distress, had a certain air of good cheer and +satisfaction. They had seen Death very near, slipping out from his bony +claws into a new joy and zest in life. With their cloaks adorned with +medals, their theatrical Moorish garments, their kepis and their African +headdresses, this heroic band presented, nevertheless, a lamentable +aspect. + +Very few still preserved the noble vertical carriage, the pride of +the superior human being. They were walking along bent almost double, +limping, dragging themselves forward by the help of a staff or friendly +arm. Others had to let themselves be pushed along, stretched out on the +hand-carts which had so often conducted the devout sick from the station +to the Grotto of the Virgin. Some were feeling their way along, blindly, +leaning on a child or nurse. The first encounters in Belgium and in +the East, a mere half-dozen battles, had been enough to produce these +physical wrecks still showing a manly nobility in spite of the most +horrible outrages. These organisms, struggling so tenaciously to regain +their hold on life, bringing their reviving energies out into the +sunlight, represented but the most minute part of the number mowed down +by the scythe of Death. Back of them were thousands and thousands of +comrades groaning on hospital beds from which they would probably never +rise. Thousands and thousands were hidden forever in the bosom of the +Earth moistened by their death agony--fatal land which, upon receiving a +hail of projectiles, brought forth a harvest of bristling crosses! + +War now showed itself to Desnoyers with all its cruel hideousness. He +had been accustomed to speak of it heretofore as those in robust health +speak of death, knowing that it exists and is horrible, but seeing it +afar off . . . so far off that it arouses no real emotion. The explosion +of the shells were accompanying their destructive brutality with a +ferocious mockery, grotesquely disfiguring the human body. He saw +wounded objects just beginning to recover their vital force who were but +rough skeletons of men, frightful caricatures, human rags, saved from +the tomb by the audacities of science--trunks with heads which were +dragged along on wheeled platforms; fragments of skulls whose brains +were throbbing under an artificial cap; beings without arms and without +legs, resting in the bottom of little wagons, like bits of plaster +models or scraps from the dissecting room; faces without noses that +looked like skulls with great, black nasal openings. And these half-men +were talking, smoking, laughing, satisfied to see the sky, to feel +the caress of the sun, to have come back to life, dominated by that +sovereign desire to live which trustingly forgets present misery in the +confident hope of something better. + +So strongly was Julio impressed that for a little while he forgot the +purpose which had brought him thither. . . . If those who provoke war +from diplomatic chambers or from the tables of the Military Staff could +but see it--not in the field of battle fired with the enthusiasm which +prejudices judgments--but in cold blood, as it is seen in the hospitals +and cemeteries, in the wrecks left in its trail! . . . + +To Julio’s imagination this terrestrial globe appeared like an enormous +ship sailing through infinity. Its crews--poor humanity--had spent +century after century in exterminating each other on the deck. They did +not even know what existed under their feet, in the hold of the vessel. +To occupy the same portion of the surface in the sunlight seemed to be +the ruling desire of each group. Men, considered superior human beings, +were pushing these masses to extermination in order to scale the last +bridge and hold the helm, controlling the course of the boat. And all +those who felt the overmastering ambition for absolute command knew the +same thing . . . nothing. Not one of them could say with certainty what +lay beyond the visible horizon, nor whither the ship was drifting. +The sullen hostility of mystery surrounded them all; their life was +precarious, necessitating incessant care in order to maintain it, yet in +spite of that, the crew for ages and ages, had never known an instant +of agreement, of team work, of clear reason. Periodically half of them +would clash with the other half. They killed each other that they might +enslave the vanquished on the rolling deck floating over the abyss; they +fought that they might cast their victims from the vessel, filling +its wake with cadavers. And from the demented throng there were still +springing up gloomy sophistries to prove that a state of war was the +perfect state, that it ought to go on forever, that it was a bad dream +on the part of the crew to wish to regard each other as brothers with a +common destiny, enveloped in the same unsteady environment of mystery. +. . . Ah, human misery! + +Julio was drawn out of these pessimistic reflections by the childish +glee which many of the convalescents were evincing. Some were +Mussulmans, sharpshooters from Algeria and Morocco. In Lourdes, as they +might be anywhere, they were interested only in the gifts which the +people were showering upon them with patriotic affection. They all +surveyed with indifference the basilica inhabited by “the white lady,” + their only preoccupation being to beg for cigars and sweets. + +Finding themselves regaled by the dominant race, they became greatly +puffed up, daring everything like mischievous children. What pleased +them most was the fact that the ladies would take them by the hand. +Blessed war that permitted them to approach and touch these white women, +perfumed and smiling as they appeared in their dreams of the paradise +of the blest! “Lady . . . Lady,” they would sigh, looking at them with +dark, sparkling eyes. And not content with the hand, their dark paws +would venture the length of the entire arm while the ladies laughed at +this tremulous adoration. Others would go through the crowds, offering +their right hand to all the women. “We touch hands.” . . . And then they +would go away satisfied after receiving the hand clasp. + +Desnoyers wandered a long time around the basilica where, in the shadow +of the trees, were long rows of wheeled chairs occupied by the wounded. +Officers and soldiers rested many hours in the blue shade, watching +their comrades who were able to use their legs. The sacred grotto was +resplendent with the lights from hundreds of candles. Devout crowds +were kneeling in the open air, fixing their eyes in supplication on the +sacred stones whilst their thoughts were flying far away to the fields +of battle, making their petitions with that confidence in divinity which +accompanies every distress. Among the kneeling mass were many soldiers +with bandaged heads, kepis in hand and tearful eyes. + +Up and down the double staircase of the basilica were flitting women, +clad in white, with spotless headdresses that fluttered in such a way +that they appeared like flying doves. These were the nurses and Sisters +of Charity guiding the steps of the injured. Desnoyers thought he +recognized Marguerite in every one of them, but the prompt disillusion +following each of these discoveries soon made him doubtful about the +outcome of his journey. She was not in Lourdes, either. He would never +find her in that France so immeasurably expanded by the war that it had +converted every town into a hospital. + +His afternoon explorations were no more successful. The employees +listened to his interrogations with a distraught air. He could come back +again; just now they were taken up with the announcement that another +hospital train was on the way. The great battle was still going on +near Paris. They had to improvise lodgings for the new consignment of +mutilated humanity. In order to pass away the time until his return, +Desnoyers went back to the garden near the grotto. He was planning to +return to Pau that night; there was evidently nothing more to do at +Lourdes. In what direction should he now continue his search? + +Suddenly he felt a thrill down his back--the same indefinable sensation +which used to warn him of her presence when they were meeting in the +gardens of Paris. Marguerite was going to present herself unexpectedly +as in the old days without his knowing from exactly what spot--as though +she came up out of the earth or descended from the clouds. + +After a second’s thought he smiled bitterly. Mere tricks of his desire! +Illusions! . . . Upon turning his head he recognized the falsity of his +hope. Nobody was following his footsteps; he was the only being going +down the center of the avenue. Near him, in the diaphanous white of a +guardian angel, was a nurse. Poor blind man! . . . Desnoyers was passing +on when a quick movement on the part of the white-clad woman, an evident +desire to escape notice, to hide her face by looking at the plants, +attracted his attention. He was slow in recognizing her. Two little +ringlets escaping from the band of her cap made him guess the hidden +head of hair; the feet shod in white were the signs which enabled him +to reconstruct the person somewhat disfigured by the severe uniform. +Her face was pale and sad. There wasn’t a trace left in it of the old +vanities that used to give it its childish, doll-like beauty. In the +depths of those great, dark-circled eyes life seemed to be reflected in +new forms. . . . Marguerite! + +They stared at one another for a long while, as though hypnotized with +surprise. She looked alarmed when Desnoyers advanced a step toward her. +No . . . No! Her eyes, her hands, her entire body seemed to protest, to +repel his approach, to hold him motionless. Fear that he might come near +her, made her go toward him. She said a few words to the soldier who +remained on the bench, receiving across the bandage on his face a ray of +sunlight which he did not appear to feel. Then she rose, going to meet +Julio, and continued forward, indicating by a gesture that they must +find some place further on where the wounded man could not hear them. + +She led the way to a side path from which she could see the blind man +confided to her care. They stood motionless, face to face. Desnoyers +wished to say many things; many . . . but he hesitated, not knowing how +to frame his complaints, his pleadings, his endearments. Far above all +these thoughts towered one, fatal, dominant and wrathful. + +“Who is that man?” + +The spiteful accent, the harsh voice with which he said these words +surprised him as though they came from someone else’s mouth. + +The nurse looked at him with her great limpid eyes, eyes that seemed +forever freed from contractions of surprise or fear. Her response +slipped from her with equal directness. + +“It is Laurier. . . . It is my husband.” + +Laurier! . . . Julio looked doubtfully and for a long time at the +soldier before he could be convinced. That blind officer motionless +on the bench, that figure of heroic grief, was Laurier! . . . At first +glance, he appeared prematurely old with roughened and bronzed skin +so furrowed with lines that they converged like rays around all the +openings of his face. His hair was beginning to whiten on the temples +and in the beard which covered his cheeks. He had lived twenty years +in that one month. . . . At the same time he appeared younger, with a +youthfulness that was radiating an inward vigor, with the strength of a +soul which has suffered the most violent emotions and, firm and serene +in the satisfaction of duty fulfilled, can no longer know fear. + +As Desnoyers contemplated him, he felt both admiration and jealousy. He +was ashamed to admit the aversion inspired by the wounded man, so sorely +wounded that he was unable to see what was going on around him. His +hatred was a form of cowardice, terrifying in its persistence. How +pensive were Marguerite’s eyes if she took them off her patient for a +few seconds! . . . She had never looked at him in that way. He knew all +the amorous gradations of her glance, but her fixed gaze at this injured +man was something entirely different, something that he had never seen +before. + +He spoke with the fury of a lover who discovers an infidelity. + +“And for this thing you have run away without warning, without a word! +. . . You have abandoned me in order to go in search of him. . . . Tell +me, why did you come? . . . Why did you come?”. . . + +“I came because it was my duty.” + +Then she spoke like a mother who takes advantage of a parenthesis +of surprise in an irascible child’s temper, in order to counsel +self-control, and explained how it had all happened. She had received +the news of Laurier’s wounding just as she and her mother were preparing +to leave Paris. She had not hesitated an instant; her duty was to hasten +to the aid of this man. She had been doing a great deal of thinking in +the last few weeks; the war had made her ponder much on the values in +life. Her eyes had been getting glimpses of new horizons; our destiny is +not mere pleasure and selfish satisfaction; we ought to take our part in +pain and sacrifice. + +She had wanted to work for her country, to share the general stress, to +serve as other women did; and since she was disposed to devote herself +to strangers, was it not natural that she should prefer to help this man +whom she had so greatly wronged? . . . There still lived in her memory +the moment in which she had seen him approach the station, completely +alone among so many who had the consolation of loving arms when +departing in search of death. Her pity had become still more acute on +hearing of his misfortune. A shell had exploded near him, killing all +those around him. Of his many wounds, the only serious one was that on +his face. He had completely lost the sight of one eye; and the doctors +were keeping the other bound up hoping to save it. But she was very +doubtful about it; she was almost sure that Laurier would be blind. + +Marguerite’s voice trembled when saying this as if she were going +to cry, although her eyes were tearless. They did not now feel +the irresistible necessity for tears. Weeping had become something +superfluous, like many other luxuries of peaceful days. Her eyes had +seen so much in so few days! . . . + +“How you love him!” exclaimed Julio. + +Fearing that they might be overheard and in order to keep him at a +distance, she had been speaking as though to a friend. But her lover’s +sadness broke down her reserve. + +“No, I love you. . . . I shall always love you.” + +The simplicity with which she said this and her sudden tenderness of +tone revived Desnoyers’ hopes. + +“And the other one?” he asked anxiously. + +Upon receiving her reply, it seemed to him as though something had just +passed across the sun, veiling its light temporarily. It was as though +a cloud had drifted over the land and over his thoughts, enveloping them +in an unbearable chill. + +“I love him, too.” + +She said it with a look that seemed to implore pardon, with the sad +sincerity of one who has given up lying and weeps in foreseeing the +injury that the truth must inflict. + +He felt his hard wrath suddenly dwindling like a crumbling mountain. Ah, +Marguerite! His voice was tremulous and despairing. Could it be possible +that everything between these two was going to end thus simply? Were her +former vows mere lies? . . . They had been attracted to each other by an +irresistible affinity in order to be together forever, to be one. . . . +And now, suddenly hardened by indifference, were they to drift apart +like two unfriendly bodies? . . . What did this absurdity about loving +him at the same time that she loved her former husband mean, anyway? + +Marguerite hung her head, murmuring desperately: + +“You are a man, I am a woman. You would never understand me, no +matter what I might say. Men are not able to comprehend certain of +our mysteries. . . . A woman would be better able to appreciate the +complexity.” + +Desnoyers felt that he must know his fate in all its cruelty. She might +speak without fear. He felt strong enough to bear the blow. . . . What +had Laurier said when he found that he was being so tenderly cared for +by Marguerite? . . . + +“He does not know who I am. . . . He believes me to be a war-nurse, like +the rest, who pities him seeing him alone and blind with no relatives +to write to him or visit him. . . . At certain times, I have almost +suspected that he guesses the truth. My voice, the touch of my hands +made him shiver at first, as though with an unpleasant sensation. I have +told him that I am a Beigian lady who has lost her loved ones and is +alone in the world. He has told me his life story very sketchily, as +if he desired to forget a hated past. . . . Never one disagreeable word +about his former wife. There are nights when I think that he knows me, +that he takes advantage of his blindness in order to prolong his feigned +ignorance, and that distresses me. I long for him to recover his sight, +for the doctors to save that doubtful eye--and yet at the same time, I +feel afraid. What will he say when he recognizes me? . . . But no; it +is better that he should see, no matter what may result. You cannot +understand my anxiety, you cannot know what I am suffering.” + +She was silent for an instant, trying to regain her self-control, again +tortured with the agony of her soul. + +“Oh, the war!” she resumed. “What changes in our life! Two months ago, +my present situation would have appeared impossible, unimaginable. . . . +I caring for my husband, fearing that he would discover my identity and +leave me, yet at the same time, wishing that he would recognize me +and pardon me. . . . It is only one week that I have been with him. I +disguise my voice when I can, and avoid words that may reveal the truth +. . . but this cannot keep up much longer. It is only in novels that +such painful situations turn out happily.” + +Doubt suddenly overwhelmed her. + +“I believe,” she continued, “that he has recognized me from the first. +. . . He is silent and feigns ignorance because he despises me . . . +because he can never bring himself to pardon me. I have been so bad! +. . . I have wronged him so!”. . . + +She was recalling the long and reflective silences of the wounded man +after she had dropped some imprudent words. After two days of submission +to her care, he had been somewhat rebellious, avoiding going out with +her for a walk. Because of his blind helplessness, and comprehending +the uselessness of his resistance, he had finally yielded in passive +silence. + +“Let him think what he will!” concluded Marguerite courageously. “Let +him despise me! I am here where I ought to be. I need his forgiveness, +but if he does not pardon me, I shall stay with him just the same. +. . . There are moments when I wish that he may never recover his sight, +so that he may always need me, so that I may pass my life at his side, +sacrificing everything for him.” + +“And I?” said Desnoyers. + +Marguerite looked at him with clouded eyes as though she were just +awaking. It was true--and the other one? . . . Kindled by the proposed +sacrifice which was to be her expiation, she had forgotten the man +before her. + +“You!” she said after a long pause. “You must leave me. . . . Life is +not what we have thought it. Had it not been for the war, we might, +perhaps, have realized our dream, but now! . . . Listen carefully and +try to understand. For the remainder of my life, I shall carry the +heaviest burden, and yet at the same time it will be sweet, since the +more it weighs me down the greater will my atonement be. Never will I +leave this man whom I have so grievously wronged, now that he is more +alone in the world and will need protection like a child. Why do you +come to share my fate? How could it be possible for you to live with +a nurse constantly at the side of a blind and worthy man whom we would +constantly offend with our passion? . . . No, it is better for us to +part. Go your way, alone and untrammelled. Leave me; you will meet other +women who will make you more happy than I. Yours is the temperament that +finds new pleasures at every step.” + +She stood firmly to her decision. Her voice was calm, but back of it +trembled the emotion of a last farewell to a joy which was going from +her forever. The man would be loved by others . . . and she was giving +him up! . . . But the noble sadness of the sacrifice restored her +courage. Only by this renunciation could she expiate her sins. + +Julio dropped his eyes, vanquished and perplexed. The picture of the +future outlined by Marguerite terrified him. To live with her as a nurse +taking advantage of her patient’s blindness would be to offer him fresh +insult every day. . . . Ah, no! That would be villainy, indeed! He was +now ashamed to recall the malignity with which, a little while before, +he had regarded this innocent unfortunate. He realized that he was +powerless to contend with him. Weak and helpless as he was sitting there +on the garden bench, he was stronger and more deserving of respect than +Julio Desnoyers with all his youth and elegance. The victim had amounted +to something in his life; he had done what Julio had not dared to do. + +This sudden conviction of his inferiority made him cry out like an +abandoned child, “What will become of me?” . . . + +Marguerite, too--contemplating the love which was going from her +forever, her vanished hopes, the future illumined by the satisfaction of +duty fulfilled but monotonous and painful--cried out: + +“And I. . . . What will become of me?” . . . + +As though he had suddenly found a solution which was reviving his +courage, Desnoyers said: + +“Listen, Marguerite: I can read your soul. You love this man, and you +do well. He is superior to me, and women are always attracted by +superiority. . . . I am a coward. Yes, do not protest, I am a coward +with all my youth, with all my strength. Why should you not have been +impressed by the conduct of this man! . . . But I will atone for past +wrongs. This country is yours, Marguerite; I will fight for it. Do not +say no. . . .” + +And moved by his hasty heroism, he outlined the plan more definitely. He +was going to be a soldier. Soon she would hear him well spoken of. +His idea was either to be stretched on the battlefield in his first +encounter, or to astound the world by his bravery. In this way the +impossible situation would settle itself--either the oblivion of death +or glory. + +“No, no!” interrupted Marguerite in an anguished tone. “You, no! One +is enough. . . . How horrible! You, too, wounded, mutilated forever, +perhaps dead! . . . No, you must live. I want you to live, even though +you might belong to another. . . . Let me know that you exist, let me +see you sometimes, even though you may have forgotten me, even though +you may pass me with indifference, as if you did not know me.” + +In this outburst her deep love for him rang true--her heroic and +inflexible love which would accept all penalties for herself, if only +the beloved one might continue to live. + +But then, in order that Julio might not feel any false hopes, she +added:--“Live; you must not die; that would be for me another torment. +. . . But live without me. No matter how much we may talk about it, my +destiny beside the other one is marked out forever.” + +“Ah, how you love him! . . . How you have deceived me!” + +In a last desperate attempt at explanation she again repeated what she +had said at the beginning of their interview. She loved Julio . . . and +she loved her husband. They were different kinds of love. She could not +say which was the stronger, but misfortune was forcing her to choose +between the two, and she was accepting the most difficult, the one +demanding the greatest sacrifices. + +“You are a man, and you will never be able to understand me. . . . A +woman would comprehend me.” + +It seemed to Julio, as he looked around him, as though the afternoon +were undergoing some celestial phenomenon. The garden was still +illuminated by the sun, but the green of the trees, the yellow of the +ground, the blue of the sky, all appeared to him as dark and shadowy as +though a rain of ashes were falling. + +“Then . . . all is over between us?” + +His pleading, trembling voice charged with tears made her turn her head +to hide her emotion. Then in the painful silence the two despairs formed +one and the same question, as if interrogating the shades of the future: +“What will become of me?” murmured the man. And like an echo her lips +repeated, “What will become of me?” + +All had been said. Hopeless words came between the two like an obstacle +momentarily increasing in size, impelling them in opposite directions. +Why prolong the painful interview? . . . Marguerite showed the ready and +energetic decision of a woman who wishes to bring a scene to a close. +“Good-bye!” Her face had assumed a yellowish cast, her pupils had become +dull and clouded like the glass of a lantern when the light dies out. +“Good-bye!” She must go to her patient. + +She went away without looking at him, and Desnoyers instinctively went +in the opposite direction. As he became more self-controlled and turned +to look at her again, he saw her moving on and giving her arm to the +blind man, without once turning her head. + +He now felt convinced that he should never see her again, and became +oppressed by an almost suffocating agony. And could two beings, who had +formerly considered the universe concentrated in their persons, thus +easily be separated forever? . . . + +His desperation at finding himself alone made him accuse himself +of stupidity. Now his thoughts came tumbling over each other in a +tumultuous throng, and each one of them seemed to him sufficient to have +convinced Marguerite. He certainly had not known how to express himself. +He would have to talk with her again . . . and he decided to remain in +Lourdes. + +He passed a night of torture in the hotel, listening to the ripple of +the river among its stones. Insomnia had him in his fierce jaws, gnawing +him with interminable agony. He turned on the light several times, but +was not able to read. His eyes looked with stupid fixity at the patterns +of the wall paper and the pious pictures around the room which had +evidently served as the lodging place of some rich traveller. He +remained motionless and as abstracted as an Oriental who thinks himself +into an absolute lack of thought. One idea only was dancing in the +vacuum in his skull--“I shall never see her again. . . . Can such a +thing be possible?” + +He drowsed for a few seconds, only to be awakened with the sensation +that some horrible explosion was sending him through the air. And so, +with sweats of anguish, he wakefully passed the hours until in the gloom +of his room the dawn showed a milky rectangle of light, and began to be +reflected on the window curtains. + +The velvet-like caress of day finally closed his eyes. Upon awaking he +found that the morning was well advanced, and he hurried to the garden +of the grotto. . . . Oh, the hours of tremulous and unavailing waiting, +believing that he recognized Marguerite in every white-clad lady that +came along, guiding a wounded patient! + +By afternoon, after a lunch whose dishes filed past him untouched, he +returned to the garden in search of her. Beholding her in the distance +with the blind man leaning on her arm, a feeling of faintness came over +him. She looked to him taller, thinner, her face sharper, with two dark +hollows in her cheeks and her eyes bright with fever, the lids drawn +with weariness. He suspected that she, too, had passed an anguished +night of tenacious, self-centred thought, of grievous stupefaction like +his own, in the room of her hotel. Suddenly he felt all the weight +of insomnia and listlessness, all the depressing emotion of the cruel +sensations experienced in the last few hours. Oh, how miserable they +both were! . . . + +She was walking warily, looking from one side to the other, as though +foreseeing danger. Upon discovering him she clung to her charge, casting +upon her former lover a look of entreaty, of desperation, imploring +pity. . . Ay, that look! + +He felt ashamed of himself; his personality appeared to be unrolling +itself before him, and he surveyed himself with the eyes of a judge. +What was this seduced and useless man, called Julio Desnoyers, doing +there, tormenting with his presence a poor woman, trying to turn her +from her righteous repentance, insisting on his selfish and petty +desires when all humanity was thinking of other things? . . . His +cowardice angered him. Like a thief taking advantage of the sleep of his +victim, he was stalking around this brave and true man who could not +see him, who could not defend himself, in order to rob him of the only +affection that he had in the world which had so miraculously returned to +him! Very well, Gentleman Desnoyers! . . . Ah, what a scoundrel he was! + +Such subconscious insults made him draw himself erect, in haughty, cruel +and inexorable defiance against that other I who so richly deserved the +judge’s scorn. + +He turned his head away; he could not meet Marguerite’s piteous eyes; he +feared their mute reproach. Neither did he dare to look at the blind man +in his shabby and heroic uniform, with his countenance aged by duty and +glory. He feared him like remorse. + +So the vanquished lover turned his back on the two and went away with a +firm step. Good-bye, Love! Goodbye, Happiness! . . . He marched quickly +and bravely on; a miracle had just taken place within him! he had found +the right road at last! + +To Paris! . . . A new impetus was going to fill the vacuum of his +objectless existence. + + + +CHAPTER V + +THE INVASION + + +Don Marcelo was fleeing to take refuge in his castle when he met the +mayor of Villeblanche. The noise of the firing had made him hurry to the +barricade. When he learned of the apparition of the group of stragglers +he threw up his hands in despair. They were crazy. Their resistance was +going to be fatal for the village, and he ran on to beg them to cease. + +For some time nothing happened to disturb the morning calm. Desnoyers +had climbed to the top of his towers and was surveying the country with +his field glasses. He couldn’t make out the highway through the nearest +group of trees, but he suspected that underneath their branches great +activity was going on--masses of men on guard, troops preparing for the +attack. The unexpected defense of the fugitives had upset the advance +of the invasion. Desnoyers thought despairingly of that handful of mad +fellows and their stubborn chief. What was their fate going to be? . . . + +Focussing his glasses on the village, he saw the red spots of kepis +waving like poppies over the green of the meadows. They were the +retreating men, now convinced of the uselessness of their resistance. +Perhaps they had found a ford or forgotten boat by which they might +cross the Maine, and so were continuing their retreat toward the river. +At any minute now the Germans were going to enter Villeblanche. + +Half an hour of profound silence passed by. The village lay silhouetted +against a background of hills--a mass of roofs beneath the church tower +finished with its cross and iron weather cock. Everything seemed as +tranquil as in the best days of peace. Suddenly he noticed that the +grove was vomiting forth something noisy and penetrating--a bubble of +vapor accompanied by a deafening report. Something was hurtling through +the air with a strident curve. Then a roof in the village opened like +a crater, vomiting forth flying wood, fragments of plaster and broken +furniture. All the interior of the house seemed to be escaping in a +stream of smoke, dirt and splinters. + +The invaders were bombarding Villeblanche before attempting attack, as +though fearing to encounter persistent resistance in its streets. More +projectiles fell. Some passed over the houses, exploding between +the hamlet and the castle. The towers of the Desnoyers property +were beginning to attract the aim of the artillerymen. The owner +was therefore about to abandon his dangerous observatory when he saw +something white like a tablecloth or sheet floating from the church +tower. His neighbors had hoisted this signal of peace in order to avoid +bombardment. A few more missiles fell and then there was silence. + +When Don Marcelo reached his park he found the Warden burying at the +foot of a tree the sporting rifles still remaining in his castle. Then +he went toward the great iron gates. The enemies were going to come, +and he had to receive them. While uneasily awaiting their arrival his +compunctions again tormented him. What was he doing there? Why had he +remained? . . . But his obstinate temperament immediately put aside +the promptings of fear. He was there because he had to guard his own. +Besides, it was too late now to think about such things. + +Suddenly the morning stillness was broken by a sound like the deafening +tearing of strong cloth. “Shots, Master,” said the Warden. “Firing! It +must be in the square.” + +A few minutes after they saw running toward them a woman from the +village, an old soul, dried up and darkened by age, who was panting +from her great exertion, and looking wildly around her. She was fleeing +blindly, trying to escape from danger and shut out horrible visions. +Desnoyers and the Keeper’s family listened to her explanations +interrupted with hiccoughs of terror. + +The Germans were in Villeblanche. They had entered first in an +automobile driven at full speed from one end of the village to the +other. Its mitrailleuse was firing at random against closed houses and +open doors, knocking down all the people in sight. The old woman flung +up her arms with a gesture of terror. . . . Dead . . . many dead . . . +wounded . . . blood! Then other iron-plated vehicles had stopped in +the square, and behind them cavalrymen, battalions of infantry, many +battalions coming from everywhere. The helmeted men seemed furious; they +accused the villagers of having fired at them. In the square they had +struck the mayor and villagers who had come forward to meet them. The +priest, bending over some of the dying, had also been trodden under +foot. . . . All prisoners! The Germans were talking of shooting them. + +The old dame’s words were cut short by the rumble of approaching +automobiles. + +“Open the gates,” commanded the owner to the Warden. The massive iron +grill work swung open, and was never again closed. All property rights +were at an end. + +An enormous automobile, covered with dust and filled with men, stopped +at the entrance. Behind them sounded the horns of other vehicles that +were putting on the brakes. Desnoyers saw soldiers leaping out, all +wearing the greenish-gray uniform with a sheath of the same tone +covering the pointed casque. The one who marched at their head put his +revolver to the millionaire’s forehead. + +“Where are the sharpshooters?” he asked. + +He was pale with the pallor of wrath, vengeance and fear. His face +was trembling under the influence of his triple emotion. Don Marcelo +explained slowly, contemplating at a short distance from his eyes the +black circle of the threatening tube. He had not seen any sharpshooters. +The only inhabitants of the castle were the Warden with his family and +himself, the owner of the castle. + +The officer surveyed the edifice and then examined Desnoyers +with evident astonishment as though he thought his appearance too +unpretentious for a proprietor. He had taken him for a simple employee, +and his respect for social rank made him lower his revolver. + +He did not, however, alter his haughty attitude. He pressed Don Marcelo +into the service as a guide, making him search ahead of him while forty +soldiers grouped themselves at his back. They advanced in two files to +the shelter of the trees which bordered the central avenue, with their +guns ready to shoot, and looking uneasily at the castle windows as +though expecting to receive from them hidden shots. Desnoyers marched +tranquilly through the centre, and the official, who had been imitating +the precautions of his men, finally joined him when he was crossing the +drawbridge. + +The armed men scattered through the rooms in search of the enemy. +They ran their bayonets through beds and divans. Some, with automatic +destructiveness, slit the draperies and the rich bed coverings. The +owner protested; what was the sense in such useless destruction? +. . . He was suffering unbearable torture at seeing the enormous boots +spotting the rugs with mud, on hearing the clash of guns and knapsacks +against the most fragile, choicest pieces of furniture. Poor historic +mansion! . . . + +The officer looked amazed that he should protest for such trifling +cause, but he gave orders in German and his men ceased their rude +explorations. Then, in justification of this extraordinary respect, he +added in French: + +“I believe that you are going to have the honor of entertaining here the +general of our division.” + +The certainty that the castle did not hold any hidden enemies made +him more amiable. He, nevertheless, persisted in his wrath against the +sharpshooters. A group of the villagers had opened fire upon the Uhlans +when they were entering unsuspiciously after the retreat of the French. + +Desnoyers felt it necessary to protest. They were neither inhabitants +nor sharpshooters; they were French soldiers. He took good care to be +silent about their presence at the barricade, but he insisted that he +had distinguished their uniforms from a tower of the castle. + +The official made a threatening face. + +“You, too? . . . You, who appear a reasonable man, can repeat such yarns +as these?” And in order to close the conversation, he said, arrogantly: +“They were wearing uniforms, then, if you persist in saying so, but they +were sharpshooters just the same. The French Government has distributed +arms and uniforms among the farmers that they may assassinate us. . . . +Belgium did the same thing. . . . But we know their tricks, and we know +how to punish them, too!” + +The village was going to be burned. It was necessary to avenge the four +German dead lying on the outskirts of Villeblanche, near the barricade. +The mayor, the priest, the principal inhabitants would all be shot. + +By the time they reached the top floor Desnoyers could see floating +above the boughs of his park dark clouds whose outlines were reddened +by the sun. The top of the bell tower was the only thing that he could +distinguish at that distance. Around the iron weathercock were flying +long thin fringes like black cobwebs lifted by the breeze. An odor of +burning wood came toward the castle. + +The German greeted this spectacle with a cruel smile. Then on descending +to the park, he ordered Desnoyers to follow him. His liberty and his +dignity had come to an end. Henceforth he was going to be an underling +at the beck and call of these men who would dispose of him as their +whims directed. Ay, why had he remained? . . . He obeyed, climbing into +an automobile beside the officer, who was still carrying his revolver +in his right hand. His men distributed themselves through the castle and +outbuildings, in order to prevent the flight of an imaginary enemy. The +Warden and his family seemed to be saying good-bye to him with their +eyes. Perhaps they were taking him to his death. . . . + +Beyond the castle woods a new world was coming into existence. The short +cut to Villeblanche seemed to Desnoyers a leap of millions of leagues, +a fall into a red planet where men and things were covered with the film +of smoke and the glare of fire. He saw the village under a dark canopy +spotted with sparks and glowing embers. The bell tower was burning like +an enormous torch; the roof of the church was breaking into flames with +a crashing fury. The glare of the holocaust seemed to shrivel and grow +pale in the impassive light of the sun. + +Running across the fields with the haste of desperation were shrieking +women and children. The animals had escaped from the stables, and driven +forth by the flames were racing wildly across the country. The cow and +the work horse were dragging their halters broken by their flight. Their +flanks were smoking and smelt of burnt hair. The pigs, the sheep and the +chickens were all tearing along mingled with the cats and the dogs. All +the domestic animals were returning to a brute existence, fleeing +from civilized man. Shots were heard and hellish ha-ha’s. The soldiers +outside of the village were making themselves merry in this hunt for +fugitives. Their guns were aimed at beasts and were hitting people. + +Desnoyers saw men, many men, men everywhere. They were like gray ants, +marching in endless files towards the South, coming out from the woods, +filling the roads, crossing the fields. The green of vegetation was +disappearing under their tread; the dust was rising in spirals behind +the dull roll of the cannons and the measured trot of thousands of +horses. On the roadside several battalions had halted, with their +accompaniment of vehicles and draw horses. They were resting before +renewing their march. He knew this army. He had seen it in Berlin on +parade, and yet it seemed to have changed its former appearance. There +now remained very little of the heavy and imposing glitter, of the mute +and vainglorious haughtiness which had made his relatives-in-law weep +with admiration. War, with its realism, had wiped out all that was +theatrical about this formidable organization of death. The soldiers +appeared dirty and tired, out. The respiration of fat and sweaty bodies, +mixed with the strong smell of leather, floated over the regiments. All +the men had hungry faces. + +For days and nights they had been following the heels of an enemy +which was always just eluding their grasp. In this forced advance the +provisions of the administration would often arrive so late at the +cantonments that they could depend only on what they happened to have +in their knapsacks. Desnoyers saw them lined up near the road devouring +hunks of black bread and mouldy sausages. Some had scattered through +the fields to dig up beet roots and other tubers, chewing with loud +crunchings the hard pulp to which the grit still adhered. An ensign was +shaking the fruit trees using as a catch-all the flag of his regiment. +That glorious standard, adorned with souvenirs of 1870, was serving as +a receptacle for green plums. Those who were seated on the ground were +improving this rest by drawing their perspiring, swollen feet from high +boots which were sending out an insufferable smell. + +The regiments of infantry which Desnoyers had seen in Berlin reflecting +the light on metal and leather straps, the magnificent and terrifying +Hussars, the Cuirassiers in pure white uniform like the paladins of the +Holy Grail, the artillerymen with breasts crossed with white bands, all +the military variations that on parade had drawn forth the Hartrotts’ +sighs of admiration--these were now all unified and mixed together, +of uniform color, all in greenish mustard like the dusty lizards that, +slipping along, try to be confounded with the earth. + +The persistency of the iron discipline was easily discernible. A word +from the chiefs, the sound of a whistle, and they all grouped themselves +together, the human being disappearing in the throngs of automatons; but +danger, weariness, and the uncertainty of triumph had for the time +being brought officers and men nearer together, obliterating caste +distinction. The officers were coming part way out of their overbearing, +haughty seclusion, and were condescending to talk with the lower orders +so as to revive their courage. One effort more and they would overwhelm +both French and English, repeating the triumph of Sedan, whose +anniversary they were going to celebrate in a few days! They were going +to enter Paris; it was only a matter of a week. Paris! Great shops +filled with luxurious things, famous restaurants, women, champagne, +money. . . . And the men, flattered that their commanders were stooping +to chat with them, forgot fatigue and hunger, reviving like the throngs +of the Crusade before the image of Jerusalem. “Nach Paris!” The joyous +shout circulated from the head to the tail of the marching columns. “To +Paris! To Paris!” + +The scarcity of their food supply was here supplemented by the products +of a country rich in wines. When sacking houses they rarely found +eatables, but invariably a wine cellar. The humble German, the perpetual +beer drinker, who had always looked upon wine as a privilege of the +rich, could now open up casks with blows from his weapons, even bathing +his feet in the stream of precious liquid. Every battalion left as a +souvenir of its passing a wake of empty bottles; a halt in camp sowed +the land with glass cylinders. The regimental trucks, unable to renew +their stores of provisions, were accustomed to seize the wine in all the +towns. The soldier, lacking bread, would receive alcohol. . . . + +This donation was always accompanied by the good counsels of the +officers--War is war; no pity toward our adversaries who do not deserve +it. The French were shooting their prisoners, and their women were +putting out the eyes of the wounded. Every dwelling was a den of traps. +The simple-hearted and innocent German entering therein was going to +certain death. The beds were made over subterranean caves, the wardrobes +were make-believe doors, in every corner was lurking an assassin. This +traitorous nation, which was arranging its ground like the scenario of +a melodrama, would have to be chastised. The municipal officers, +the priests, the schoolmasters were directing and protecting the +sharpshooters. + +Desnoyers was shocked at the indifference with which these men were +stalking around the burning village. They did not appear to see the fire +and destruction; it was just an ordinary spectacle, not worth looking +at. Ever since they had crossed the frontier, smoldering and blasted +villages, fired by the advance guard, had marked their halting places on +Belgian and French soil. + +When entering Villeblanche the automobile had to lower its speed. Burned +walls were bulging out over the street and half-charred beams were +obstructing the way, obliging the vehicle to zigzag through the smoking +rubbish. The vacant lots were burning like fire pans between the houses +still standing, with doors broken, but not yet in flames. Desnoyers saw +within these rectangular spaces partly burned wood, chairs, beds, +sewing machines, iron stoves, all the household goods of the well-to-do +countryman, being consumed or twisted into shapeless masses. Sometimes +he would spy an arm sticking out of the ruins, beginning to burn like a +long wax candle. No, it could not be possible . . . and then the +smell of cooking flesh began to mingle with that of the soot, wood and +plaster. + +He closed his eyes, not able to look any longer. He thought for a moment +he must be dreaming. It was unbelievable that such horrors could +take place in less than an hour. Human wickedness at its worst he had +supposed incapable of changing the aspect of a village in such a short +time. + +An abrupt stoppage of the motor made him look around involuntarily. This +time the obstruction was the dead bodies in the street--two men and +a woman. They had probably fallen under the rain of bullets from the +machine gun which had passed through the town preceding the invasion. +Some soldiers were seated a little beyond them, with their backs to the +victims, as though ignoring their presence. The chauffeur yelled to +them to clear the track; with their guns and feet they pushed aside the +bodies still warm, at every turn leaving a trail of blood. The space was +hardly opened before the vehicle shot through . . . a thud, a leap--the +back wheels had evidently crushed some very fragile obstacle. + +Desnoyers was still huddled in his seat, benumbed and with closed eyes. +The horror around him made him think of his own fate. Whither was this +lieutenant taking him? . . . + +He soon saw the town hall flaming in the square; the church was now +nothing but a stone shell, bristling with flames. The houses of the +prosperous villagers had had their doors and windows chopped out by +axe-blows. Within them soldiers were moving about methodically. They +entered empty-handed and came out loaded with furniture and clothing. +Others, in the upper stories, were flinging out various objects; +accompanying their trophies with jests and guffaws. Suddenly they had +to come out flying, for fire was breaking out with the violence and +rapidity of an explosion. Following their footsteps was a group of men +with big boxes and metal cylinders. Someone at their head was pointing +out the buildings into whose broken windows were to be thrown the +lozenges and liquid streams which would produce catastrophe with +lightning rapidity. + +Out of one of these flaming buildings two men, who seemed but bundles +of rags, were being dragged by some Germans. Above the blue sleeves of +their military cloaks Don Marcelo could distinguish blanched faces and +eyes immeasurably distended with suffering. Their legs were dragging on +the ground, sticking out between the tatters of their red pantaloons. +One of them still had on his kepis. Blood was gushing from different +parts of their bodies and behind them, like white serpents, were +trailing their loosened bandages. They were wounded Frenchmen, +stragglers who had remained in the village because too weak to keep up +with the retreat. Perhaps they had joined the group which, finding its +escape cut off, had attempted that insane resistance. + +Wishing to make that matter more clearly understood, Desnoyers looked at +the official beside him, attempting to speak; but the officer silenced +him instantly: “French sharpshooters in disguise who are going to get +the punishment they deserve.” The German bayonets were sunk deep into +their bodies. Then blows with the guns fell on the head of one of them +. . . and these blows were repeated with dull thumps upon their skulls, +crackling as they burst open. + +Again the old man wondered what his fate would be. Where was this +lieutenant taking him across such visions of horror? . . . + +They had reached the outskirts of the village, where the dragoons had +built their barricade. The carts were still there, but at one side of +the road. They climbed out of the automobile, and he saw a group of +officers in gray, with sheathed helmets like the others. The one who had +brought him to this place was standing rigidly erect with one hand to +his visor, speaking to a military man standing a few paces in front of +the others. He looked at this man, who was scrutinizing him with his +little hard blue eyes that had carved his spare, furrowed countenance +with lines. He must be the general. His arrogant and piercing gaze was +sweeping him from head to foot. Don Marcelo felt a presentiment that his +life was hanging on this examination; should an evil suggestion, a +cruel caprice flash across this brain, he was surely lost. The general +shrugged his shoulders and said a few words in a contemptuous tone, then +entered his automobile with two of his aids, and the group disbanded. + +The cruel uncertainty, the interminable moments before the official +returned to his side, filled Desnoyers with dread. + +“His Excellency is very gracious,” announced the lieutenant. “He might +have shot you, but he pardons you and yet you people say that we are +savages!” . . . + +With involuntary contempt, he further explained that he had conducted +him thither fully expecting that he would be shot. The General was +planning to punish all the prominent residents of Villeblanche, and he +had inferred, on his own initiative, that the owner of the castle must +be one of them. + +“Military duty, sir. . . . War exacts it.” + +After this excuse the petty official renewed his eulogies of His +Excellency. He was going to make his headquarters in Don Marcelo’s +property, and on that account granted him his life. He ought to thank +him. . . . Then again his face trembled with wrath. He pointed to some +bodies lying near the road. They were the corpses of Uhlans, covered +with some cloaks from which were protruding the enormous soles of their +boots. + +“Plain murder!” he exclaimed. “A crime for which the guilty are going to +pay dearly!” + +His indignation made him consider the death of four soldiers as an +unheard-of and monstrous outrage--as though in was only the enemy ought +to fall, keeping safe and sound the lives of his compatriots. + +A band of infantry commanded by an officer approached. As their ranks +opened, Desnoyers saw the gray uniforms roughly pushing forward some of +the inhabitants. Their clothes were torn and some had blood on face and +hands. He recognized them one by one as they were lined up against the +mud wall, at twenty paces from the firing squad of soldiers--the mayor, +the priest, the forest guard, and some rich villagers whose houses he +had seen falling in flames. + +“They are going to shoot them . . . in order to prevent any doubt about +it,” the lieutenant explained. “I wanted you to see this. It will serve +as an object lesson. In this way, you will feel more appreciative of the +leniency of His Excellency.” + +The prisoners were mute. Their voices had been exhausted in vain +protest. All their life was concentrated in their eyes, looking around +them in stupefaction. . . . And was it possible that they would kill +them in cold blood without hearing their testimony, without admitting +the proofs of their innocence! + +The certainty of approaching death soon gave almost all of them a noble +serenity. It was useless to complain. Only one rich countryman, famous +for his avarice, was whimpering desperately, saying over and over, “I do +not wish to die. . . . I do not want to die!” + +Trembling and with eyes overflowing with tears, Desnoyers hid himself +behind his implacable guide. He knew them all, he had battled with them +all, and repented now of his former wrangling. The mayor had a red stain +on his forehead from a long skin wound. Upon his breast fluttered a +tattered tricolor; the municipality had placed it there that he might +receive the invaders who had torn most of it away. The priest was +holding his little round body as erect as possible, wishing to embrace +in a look of resignation the victims, the executioners, earth and +heaven. He appeared larger than usual and more imposing. His black +girdle, broken by the roughness of the soldiers, left his cassock loose +and floating. His waving, silvery hair was dripping blood, spotting with +its red drops the white clerical collar. + +Upon seeing him cross the fatal field with unsteady step, because of his +obesity, a savage roar cut the tragic silence. The unarmed soldiers, +who had hastened to witness the execution, greeted the venerable old man +with shouts of laughter. “Death to the priest!” . . . The fanaticism of +the religious wars vibrated through their mockery. Almost all of them +were devout Catholics or fervent Protestants, but they believed only +in the priests of their own country. Outside of Germany, everything was +despicable--even their own religion. + +The mayor and the priest changed their places in the file, seeking one +another. Each, with solemn courtesy, was offering the other the central +place in the group. + +“Here, your Honor, is your place as mayor--at the head of all.” + +“No, after you, Monsieur le cure.” + +They were disputing for the last time, but in this supreme moment each +one was wishing to yield precedence to the other. + +Instinctively they had clasped hands, looking straight ahead at the +firing squad, that had lowered its guns in a rigid, horizontal line. +Behind them sounded laments--“Good-bye, my children. . . . Adieu, life! +. . . I do not wish to die! . . . I do not want to die! . . .” + +The two principal men felt the necessity of saying something, of closing +the page of their existence with an affirmation. + +“Vive la Republique!” cried the mayor. + +“Vive la France!” said the priest. + +Desnoyers thought that both had said the same thing. Two uprights +flashed up above their heads--the arm of the priest making the sign of +the cross, and the sabre of the commander of the shooters, glistening +at the same instant. . . . A dry, dull thunderclap, followed by some +scattering, tardy shots. + +Don Marcelo’s compassion for that forlorn cluster of massacred humanity +was intensified on beholding the grotesque forms which many assumed +in the moment of death. Some collapsed like half-emptied sacks; others +rebounded from the ground like balls; some leaped like gymnasts, with +upraised arms, falling on their backs, or face downward, like a swimmer. +In that human heap, he saw limbs writhing in the agony of death. Some +soldiers advanced like hunters bagging their prey. From the palpitating +mass fluttered locks of white hair, and a feeble hand, trying to repeat +the sacred sign. A few more shots and blows on the livid, mangled mass +. . . and the last tremors of life were extinguished forever. + +The officer had lit a cigar. + +“Whenever you wish,” he said to Desnoyers with ironical courtesy. + +They re-entered the automobile in order to return to the castle by the +way of Villeblanche. The increasing number of fires and the dead bodies +in the streets no longer impressed the old man. He had seen so much! +What could now affect his sensibilities? . . . He was longing to get +out of the village as soon as possible to try to find the peace of the +country. But the country had disappeared under the invasion--soldier’s, +horses, cannons everywhere. Wherever they stopped to rest, they were +destroying all that they came in contact with. The marching battalions, +noisy and automatic as a machine were preceded by the fifes and drums, +and every now and then, in order to cheer their drooping spirits, were +breaking into their joyous cry, “Nach Paris!” + +The castle, too, had been disfigured by the invasion. The number of +guards had greatly increased during the owner’s absence. He saw an +entire regiment of infantry encamped in the park. Thousands of men +were moving about under the trees, preparing the dinner in the movable +kitchens. The flower borders of the gardens, the exotic plants, the +carefully swept and gravelled avenues were all broken and spoiled by +this avalanche of men, beasts and vehicles. + +A chief wearing on his sleeve the band of the military administration +was giving orders as though he were the proprietor. He did not even +condescend to look at this civilian walking beside the lieutenant with +the downcast look of a prisoner. The stables were vacant. Desnoyers saw +his last animals being driven off with sticks by the helmeted shepherds. +The costly progenitors of his herds were all beheaded in the park like +mere slaughter-house animals. In the chicken houses and dovecotes, there +was not a single bird left. The stables were filled with thin horses who +were gorging themselves before overflowing mangers. The feed from the +barns was being lavishly distributed through the avenue, much of it lost +before it could be used. The cavalry horses of various divisions were +turned loose in the meadows, destroying with their hoofs the canals, +the edges of the slopes, the level of the ground, all the work of +many months. The dry wood was uselessly burning in the park. Through +carelessness or mischief, someone had set the wood piles on fire. The +trees, with the bark dried by the summer heat, were crackling on being +licked by the flame. + +The building was likewise occupied by a multitude of men under this same +superintendent. The open windows showed a continual shifting through the +rooms. Desnoyers heard great blows that re-echoed within his breast. Ay, +his historic mansion! . . . The General was going to establish himself +in it, after having examined on the banks of the Marne, the works of the +pontoon builders, who had been constructing several military bridges +for the troops. Don Marcelo’s outraged sense of ownership forced him to +speak. He feared that they would break the doors of the locked rooms--he +would like to go for the keys in order to give them up to those in +charge. The commissary would not listen to him but continued ignoring +his existence. The lieutenant replied with cutting amiability: + +“It is not necessary; do not trouble yourself!” + +After this considerate remark, he started to rejoin his regiment but +deemed it prudent before losing sight of Desnoyers to give him a little +advice. He must remain quietly at the castle; outside, he might be taken +for a spy, and he already knew how promptly the soldiers of the Emperor +settled all such little matters. + +He could not remain in the garden looking at his dwelling from any +distance, because the Germans who were going and coming were diverting +themselves by playing practical jokes upon him. They would march toward +him in a straight line, as though they did not see him, and he would +have to hurry out of their way to avoid being thrown down by their +mechanical and rigid advance. + +Finally he sought refuge in the lodge of the Keeper, whose good wife +stared with astonishment at seeing him drop into a kitchen chair +breathless and downcast, suddenly aged by losing the remarkable energy +that had been the wonder of his advanced years. + +“Ah, Master. . . . Poor Master!” + +Of all the events attending the invasion, the most unbelievable for this +poor woman was seeing her employer take refuge in her cottage. + +“What is ever going to become of us!” she groaned. + +Her husband was in constant demand by the invaders. His Excellency’s +assistants, installed in the basement apartments of the castle were +incessantly calling him to tell them the whereabouts of things which +they could not find. From every trip, he would return humiliated, his +eyes filled with tears. On his forehead was the black and blue mark of +a blow, and his jacket was badly torn. These were souvenirs of a futile +attempt at opposition, during his master’s absence, to the German +plundering of stables and castle rooms. + +The millionaire felt himself linked by misfortune to these people, +considered until then with indifference. He was very grateful for the +loyalty of this sick and humble man, and the poor woman’s interest in +the castle as though it were her own, touched him greatly. The presence +of their daughter brought Chichi to his mind. He had passed near her +without noting the transformation in her, seeing her just the same +as when, with her little dog trot, she had accompanied the Master’s +daughter on her rounds through the parks and grounds. Now she was a +woman, slender and full grown, with the first feminine graces showing +subtly in her fourteen-year-old figure. Her mother would not let her +leave the lodge, fearing the soldiery which was invading every other +spot with its overflowing current, filtering into all open places, +breaking every obstacle which impeded their course. + +Desnoyers broke his despairing silence to admit that he was feeling +hungry. He was ashamed of this bodily want, but the emotions of the day, +the executions seen so near, the danger still threatening, had awakened +in him a nervous appetite. The fact that he was so impotent in the midst +of his riches and unable to avail himself of anything on his estate but +aggravated his necessity. + +“Poor Master!” again exclaimed the faithful soul. + +And the woman looked with astonishment at the millionaire devouring a +bit of bread and a triangle of cheese, the only food that she could find +in her humble dwelling. The certainty that he would not be able to find +any other nourishment, no matter how much he might seek it, greatly +sharpened his cravings. To have acquired an enormous fortune only to +perish with hunger at the end of his existence! . . . The good wife, as +though guessing his thoughts, sighed, raising her eyes beseechingly to +heaven. Since the early morning hours, the world had completely changed +its course. Ay, this war! . . . + +The rest of the afternoon and a part of the night, the proprietor kept +receiving news from the Keeper after his visits to the castle. The +General and numerous officers were now occupying the rooms. Not a single +door was locked, all having been opened with blows of the axe or gun. +Many things had completely disappeared; the man did not know exactly +how, but they had vanished--perhaps destroyed, or perhaps carried off +by those who were coming and going. The chief with the banded sleeve was +going from room to room examining everything, dictating in German to a +soldier who was writing down his orders. Meanwhile the General and his +staff were in the dining room drinking heavily, consulting the maps +spread out on the floor, and ordering the Warden to go down into the +vaults for the very best wines. + +By nightfall, an onward movement was noticeable in the human tide that +had been overflowing the fields as far as the eye could reach. Some +bridges had been constructed across the Marne and the invasion had +renewed its march, shouting enthusiastically. “Nach Paris!” Those left +behind till the following day were to live in the ruined houses or +the open air. Desnoyers heard songs. Under the splendor of the evening +stars, the soldiers had grouped themselves in musical knots, chanting +a sweet and solemn chorus of religious gravity. Above the trees was +floating a red cloud, intensified by the dusk--a reflection of the +still burning village. Afar off were bonfires of farms and homesteads, +twinkling in the night with their blood-colored lights. + +The bewildered proprietor of the castle finally fell asleep in a bed +in the lodge, made mercifully unconscious by the heavy and stupefying +slumber of exhaustion, without fright nor nightmare. He seemed to be +falling, falling into a bottomless pit, and on awaking fancied that he +had slept but a few minutes. The sun was turning the window shades to an +orange hue, spattered with shadows of waving boughs and birds fluttering +and twittering among the leaves. He shared their joy in the cool +refreshing dawn of the summer day. It certainly was a fine morning--but +whose dwelling was this? . . . He gazed dumbfounded at his bed and +surroundings. Suddenly the reality assaulted his brain that had been so +sweetly dulled by the first splendors of the day. Step by step, the host +of emotions compressed into the preceding day, came climbing up the long +stairway of his memory to the last black and red landing of the night +before. And he had slept tranquilly surrounded by enemies, under the +surveillance of an arbitrary power which might destroy him in one of its +caprices! + +When he went into the kitchen, the Warden gave him some news. The +Germans were departing. The regiment encamped in the park had left at +daybreak, and after them others, and still others. In the village there +was still one regiment occupying the few houses yet standing and the +ruins of the charred ones. The General had gone also with his numerous +staff. There was nobody in the castle now but the head of a Reserve +brigade whom his aide called “The Count,” and a few officials. + +Upon receiving this information, the proprietor ventured to leave the +lodge. He saw his gardens destroyed, but still beautiful. The trees were +still stately in spite of the damage done to their trunks. The birds +were flying about excitedly, rejoicing to find themselves again in +possession of the spaces so recently flooded by the human inundation. + +Suddenly Desnoyers regretted having sallied forth. Five huge trucks were +lined up near the moat before the castle bridge. Gangs of soldiers were +coming out carrying on their shoulders enormous pieces of furniture, +like peons conducting a moving. A bulky object wrapped in damask +curtains--an excellent substitute for sacking--was being pushed by four +men toward one of the drays. The owner suspected immediately what it +must be. His bath! The famous tub of gold! . . . Then with an abrupt +revulsion of feeling, he felt no grief at his loss. He now detested the +ostentatious thing, attributing to it a fatal influence. On account of +it he was here. But, ay! . . . the other furnishings piled up in the +drays! . . . In that moment he suffered the extreme agony of misery and +impotence. It was impossible for him to defend his property, to dispute +with the head thief who was sacking his castle, tranquilly ignoring the +very existence of the owner. “Robbers! thieves!” and he fled back to the +lodge. + +He passed the remainder of the morning with his elbow on the table, his +head in his hands, the same as the day before, letting the hours grind +slowly by, trying not to hear the rolling of the vehicles that were +bearing away these credentials of his wealth. + +Toward midday, the Keeper announced that an officer who had arrived a +few hours before in an automobile was inquiring for him. + +Responding to this summons, Desnoyers encountered outside the lodge, +a captain arrayed like the others in sheathed and pointed helmet, +in mustard-colored uniform, red leather boots, sword, revolver, +field-glasses and geographic map hanging in a case from his belt. He +appeared young; on his sleeve was the staff emblem. + +“Do you know me? . . . I did not wish to pass through here without +seeing you.” + +He spoke in Castilian, and Don Marcelo felt greater surprise at this +than at the many things which he had been experiencing so painfully +during the last twenty-four hours. + +“You really do not know me?” queried the German, always in Spanish. “I +am Otto. . . . Captain Otto von Hartrott.” + +The old man’s mind went painfully down the staircase of memory, stopping +this time at a far-distant landing. There he saw the old ranch, and his +brother-in-law announcing the birth of his second son. “I shall give +him Bismarck’s name,” Karl had said. Then, climbing back past many other +platforms, Desnoyers saw himself in Berlin during his visit to the +von Hartrott home where they were speaking proudly of Otto, almost +as learned as the older brother, but devoting his talents entirely to +martial matters. He was then a lieutenant and studying for admission to +the General Staff. “Who knows but he may turn out to be another Moltke?” + said the proud father . . . and the charming Chichi had thereupon +promptly bestowed upon the warlike wonder a nickname, accepted through +the family. From that time, Otto was Moltkecito (the baby Moltke) to his +Parisian relatives. + +Desnoyers was astounded by the transformation which had meanwhile taken +place in the youth. This vigorous captain with the insolent air who +might shoot him at any minute was the same urchin whom he had seen +running around the ranch, the beardless Moltkecito who had been the butt +of his daughter’s ridicule. . . . + +The soldier, meanwhile, was explaining his presence there. He belonged +to another division. There were many . . . many! They were advancing +rapidly, forming an extensive and solid wall from Verdun to Paris. His +general had sent him to maintain the contact with the next division, but +finding himself near the castle, he had wished to visit it. A family tie +was not a mere word. He still remembered the days that he had spent at +Villeblanche when the Hartrott family had paid a long visit to their +relatives in France. The officials now occupying the edifice had +detained him that he might lunch with them. One of them had casually +mentioned that the owner of the castle was somewhere about although +nobody knew exactly where. This had been a great surprise to Captain von +Hartrott who had tried to find him, regretting to see him taking refuge +in the Warden’s quarters. + +“You must leave this hut; you are my uncle,” he said haughtily. “Return +to your castle where you belong. My comrades will be much pleased to +make your acquaintance; they are very distinguished men.” + +He very much regretted whatever the old gentleman might have suffered. +. . . He did not know exactly in what that suffering had consisted, but +surmised that the first moments of the invasion had been cruel ones for +him. + +“But what else can you expect?” he repeated several times. “That is +war.” + +At the same time he approved of his having remained on his property. +They had special orders to seize the goods of the fugitives. Germany +wished the inhabitants to remain in their dwellings as though nothing +extraordinary had occurred. . . . Desnoyers protested. . . . “But if the +invaders were shooting the innocent ones and burning their homes!” . . . +His nephew prevented his saying more. He turned pale, an ashy hue +spreading over his face; his eyes snapped and his face trembled like +that of the lieutenant who had taken possession of the castle. + +“You refer to the execution of the mayor and the others. My comrades +have just been telling me about it; yet that castigation was very mild; +they should have completely destroyed the entire village. They should +have killed even the women and children. We’ve got to put an end to +these sharpshooters.” + +His uncle looked at him in amazement. His Moltkecito was as formidable +and ferocious as the others. . . . But the captain brought the +conversation to an abrupt close by repeating the monstrous and +everlasting excuse. + +“Very horrible, but what else can you expect! . . . That is war.” + +He then inquired after his mother, rejoicing to learn that she was in +the South. He had been uneasy at the idea of her remaining in Paris +. . . especially with all those revolutions which had been breaking out +there lately! . . . Desnoyers looked doubtful as if he could not have +heard correctly. What revolutions were those? . . . But the officer, +without further explanation, resumed his conversation about his family, +taking it for granted that his relative would be impatient to learn the +fate of his German kin. + +They were all in magnificent state. Their illustrious father was +president of various patriotic societies (since his years no longer +permitted him to go to war) and was besides organizing future industrial +enterprises to improve the conquered countries. His brother, “the Sage,” + was giving lectures about the nations that the imperial victory +was bound to annex, censuring severely those whose ambitions were +unpretending or weak. The remaining brothers were distinguishing +themselves in the army, one of them having been presented with a medal +at Lorraine. The two sisters, although somewhat depressed by the absence +of their fiances, lieutenants of the Hussars, were employing their +time in visiting the hospitals and begging God to chastise traitorous +England. + +Captain von Hartrott was slowly conducting his uncle toward the castle. +The gray and unbending soldiers who, until then, had been ignoring the +existence of Don Marcelo, looked at him with interest, now that he +was in intimate conversation with a member of the General Staff. He +perceived that these men were about to humanize themselves by casting +aside temporarily their inexorable and aggressive automatonism. + +Upon entering his mansion something in his heart contracted with an +agonizing shudder. Everywhere he could see dreadful vacancies, which +made him recall the objects which had formerly been there. Rectangular +spots of stronger color announced the theft of furniture and paintings. +With what despatch and system the gentleman of the armlet had been doing +his work! . . . To the sadness that the cold and orderly spoliation +caused was added his indignation as an economical man, gazing upon the +slashed curtains, spotted rugs, broken crystal and porcelain--all the +debris from a ruthless and unscrupulous occupation. + +His nephew, divining his thoughts, could only offer the same old +excuse--“What a mess! . . . But that is war!” + +With Moltkecito, he did not have to subside into the respectful +civilities of fear. + +“That is NOT war!” he thundered bitterly. “It is an expedition of +bandits. . . . Your comrades are nothing less than highwaymen.” + +Captain von Hartrott swelled up with a jerk. Separating himself from the +complainant and looking fixedly at him, he spoke in a low voice, hissing +with wrath. “Look here, uncle! It is a lucky thing for you that you have +expressed yourself in Spanish, and those around you could not understand +you. If you persist in such comments you will probably receive a bullet +by way of an answer. The Emperor’s officials permit no insults.” And +his threatening attitude demonstrated the facility with which he could +forget his relationship if he should receive orders to proceed against +Don Marcelo. + +Thus silenced, the vanquished proprietor hung his head. What was he +going to do? . . . The Captain now renewed his affability as though he +had forgotten what he had just said. He wished to present him to his +companions-at-arms. His Excellency, Count Meinbourg, the Major General, +upon learning that he was a relative of the von Hartrotts, had done him +the honor of inviting him to his table. + +Invited into his own demesne, he finally reached the dining room, filled +with men in mustard color and high boots. Instinctively, he made +an inventory of the room. All in good order, nothing broken--walls, +draperies and furniture still intact; but an appraising glance within +the sideboard again caused a clutch at his heart. Two entire table +services of silver, and another of old porcelain had disappeared without +leaving the most insignificant of their pieces. He was obliged to +respond gravely to the presentations which his nephew was making, and +take the hand which the Count was extending with aristocratic languor. +The adversary began considering him with benevolence, on learning that +he was a millionaire from a distant land where riches were acquired very +rapidly. + +Soon he was seated as a stranger at his own table, eating from the same +dishes that his family were accustomed to use, served by men with shaved +heads, wearing coarse, striped aprons over their uniforms. That which he +was eating was his, the wine was from his vaults; all that adorned +the room he had bought: the trees whose boughs were waving outside the +window also belonged to him. . . . And yet he felt as though he were in +this place for the first time, with all the discomfort and diffidence of +a total stranger. He ate because he was hungry, but the food and wines +seemed to have come from another planet. + +He continued looking with consternation at those occupying the places of +his wife, children and the Lacours. . . . + +They were speaking in German among themselves, but those having a +limited knowledge of French frequently availed themselves of that +language in order that their guest might understand them. Those who +could only mumble a few words, repeated them to an accompaniment of +amiable smiles. All were displaying an amicable desire to propitiate the +owner of the castle. + +“You are going to lunch with the barbarians,” said the Count, offering +him a seat at his side. “Aren’t you afraid that we may eat you alive?” + +The Germans burst into roars of laughter at the wit of His Excellency. +They all took great pains to demonstrate by word and manner that +barbarity was wrongly attributed to them by their enemies. + +Don Marcelo looked from one to another. The fatigues of war, especially +the forced march of the last days, were very apparent in their persons. +Some were tall and slender with an angular slimness; others were stocky +and corpulent with short neck and head sunk between the shoulders. +These had lost much of their fat in a month’s campaign, the wrinkled and +flabby skin hanging in folds in various parts of their bodies. All had +shaved heads, the same as the soldiers. Around the table shone two rows +of cranial spheres, reddish or dark. Their ears stood out grotesquely, +and their jaw bones were in strong relief owing to their thinness. Some +had preserved the upright moustache in the style of the Emperor; the +most of them were shaved or had a stubby tuft like a brush. + +A golden bracelet glistened on the wrist of the Count, stretched on +the table. He was the oldest of them all and the only one that kept +his hair, of a frosty red, carefully combed and glistening with pomade. +Although about fifty years old, he still maintained a youthful +vigor cultivated by exercise. Wrinkled, bony and strong, he tried +to dissimulate his uncouthness as a man of battle under a suave and +indolent laziness. The officers treated him with the greatest respect. +Hartrott told his uncle that the Count was a great artist, musician +and poet. The Emperor was his friend; they had known each other from +boyhood. Before the war, certain scandals concerning his private +life had exiled him from Court--mere lampoons of the socialists and +scandal-mongers. The Kaiser had always kept a secret affection for +his former chum. Everybody remembered his dance, “The Caprices of +Scheherazade,” represented with the greatest luxury in Berlin through +the endorsement of his powerful friend, William II. The Count had lived +many years in the Orient. In fact, he was a great gentleman and an +artist of exquisite sensibility as well as a soldier. + +Since Desnoyers was now his guest, the Count could not permit him +to remain silent, so he made an opportunity of bringing him into the +conversation. + +“Did you see any of the insurrections? . . . Did the troops have to kill +many people? How about the assassination of Poincare? . . .” + +He asked these questions in quick succession and Don Marcelo, bewildered +by their absurdity, did not know how to reply. He believed that he must +have fallen in with a feast of fools. Then he suspected that they were +making fun of him. Uprisings? Assassinations of the President? . . . + +Some gazed at him with pity because of his ignorance, others with +suspicion, believing that he was merely pretending not to know of these +events which had happened so near him. + +His nephew insisted. “The daily papers in Germany have been full +of accounts of these matters. Fifteen days ago, the people of Paris +revolted against the Government, bombarding the Palais de l’Elysee, and +assassinating the President. The army had to resort to the machine guns +before order could be restored. . . . Everybody knows that.” + +But Desnoyers insisted that he did not know it, that nobody had +seen such things. And as his words were received in an atmosphere of +malicious doubt, he preferred to be silent. His Excellency, superior +spirit, incapable of being associated with the popular credulity, here +intervened to set matters straight. The report of the assassination was, +perhaps, not certain; the German periodicals might have unconsciously +exaggerated it. Just a few hours ago, the General of the Staff had +told him of the flight of the French Government to Bordeaux, and the +statement about the revolution in Paris and the firing of the French +troops was indisputable. “The gentleman has seen it all without doubt, +but does not wish to admit it.” Desnoyers felt obliged to contradict +this lordling, but his negative was not even listened to. + +Paris! This name made all eyes glisten and everybody talkative. As soon +as possible they wished to reach the Eiffel Tower, to enter victorious +into the city, to receive their recompense for the privations and +fatigues of a month’s campaign. They were devotees of military glory, +they considered war necessary to existence, and yet they were bewailing +the hardship that it was imposing upon them. The Count exhaled the +plaint of the craftsmaster. + +“Oh, the havoc that this war has brought in my plans!” he sighed. “This +winter they were going to bring out my dance in Paris!” + +They all protested at his sadness; his work would surely be presented +after the triumph, and the French would have to recognize it. + +“It will not be the same thing,” complained the Count. “I confess that I +adore Paris. . . . What a pity that these people have never wished to +be on familiar terms with us!” . . . And he relapsed into the silence of +the unappreciated man. + +Desnoyers suddenly recognized in one of the officers who was talking, +with eyes bulging with covetousness, of the riches of Paris, the Chief +Thief with the band on his arm. He it was who so methodically had +sacked the castle. As though divining the old Frenchman’s thought, the +commissary began excusing himself. + +“It is war, monsieur. . . .” + +The same as the others! . . . War had to be paid with the treasures of +the conquered. That was the new German system; the healthy return to +the wars of ancient days; tributes imposed on the cities, and each house +sacked separately. In this way, the enemy’s resistance would be more +effectually overcome and the war soon brought to a close. He ought +not to be downcast over the appropriations, for his furnishings and +ornaments would all be sold in Germany. After the French defeat, he +could place a remonstrance claim with his government, petitioning it to +indemnify his loss; his relatives in Berlin would support his demand. + +Desnoyers listened in consternation to his counsels. What kind of +mentality had these men, anyway? Were they insane, or were they trying +to have some fun at his expense? . . . + +When the lunch was at last ended, the officers arose and adjusted their +swords for service. Captain von Hartrott rose, too; it was necessary for +him to return to his general; he had already dedicated too much time +to family expansion. His uncle accompanied him to the automobile where +Moltkecito once more justified the ruin and plunder of the castle. + +“It is war. . . . We have to be very ruthless that it may not last long. +True kindness consists in being cruel, because then the terror-stricken +enemy gives in sooner, and so the world suffers less.” + +Don Marcelo shrugged his shoulders before this sophistry. In the +doorway, the captain gave some orders to a soldier who soon returned +with a bit of chalk which had been used to number the lodging places. +Von Hartrott wished to protect his uncle and began tracing on the wall +near the door:--“Bitte, nicht plundern. Es sind freundliche Leute.” + +In response to the old man’s repeated questions, he then translated the +inscription. “It means, ‘Please do not sack this house. Its occupants +are kind people . . . friendly people.’” + +Ah, no! . . . Desnoyers repelled this protection vehemently. He did not +wish to be kind. He was silent because he could not be anything else. +. . . But a friend of the invaders of his country! . . . No, NO, NO! + +His nephew rubbed out part of the lettering, leaving the first words, +“Bitte, nicht plundern.” Then he repeated the scrawled request at the +entrance of the park. He thought this notice advisable because His +Excellency might go away and other officials might be installed in the +castle. Von Hartrott had seen much and his smile seemed to imply that +nothing could surprise him, no matter how outrageous it might be. But +his relative continued scorning his protection, and laughing bitterly at +the impromptu signboard. What more could they carry off? . . . Had they +not already stolen the best? + +“Good-bye, uncle! Soon we shall meet in Paris.” + +And the captain climbed into his automobile, extending a soft, cold hand +that seemed to repel the old man with its flabbiness. + +Upon returning to his castle, he saw a table and some chairs in the +shadow of a group of trees. His Excellency was taking his coffee in the +open air, and obliged him to take a seat beside him. Only three officers +were keeping him company. . . . There was here a grand consumption of +liquors from his wine cellars. They were talking together in German, and +for an hour Don Marcelo remained there, anxious to go but never finding +the opportune moment to leave his seat and disappear. + +He employed his time in imagining the great stir among the troops hidden +by the trees. Another division of the army was passing by with the +incessant, deafening roar of the sea. An inexplicable phenomenon kept +the luminous calm of the afternoon in a continuous state of vibration. +A constant thundering sounded afar off as though an invisible storm were +always approaching from beyond the blue horizon line. + +The Count, noticing his evident interest in the noise, interrupted his +German chat to explain. + +“It is the cannon. A battle is going on. Soon we shall join in the +dance.” + +The possibility of having to give up his quarters here, the most +comfortable that he had found in all the campaign, put His Excellency in +a bad humor. + +“War,” he sighed, “a glorious life, but dirty and deadening! In an +entire month--to-day is the first that I have lived as a gentleman.” + +And as though attracted by the luxuries that he might shortly have to +abandon, he rose and went toward the castle. Two of the Germans betook +themselves toward the village, and Desnoyers remained with the other +officer who was delightfully sampling his liquors. He was the chief of +the battalion encamped in the village. + +“This is a sad war, Monsieur!” he said in French. + +Of all the inimical group, this man was the only one for whom Don +Marcelo felt a vague attraction. “Although a German, he appears a good +sort,” meditated the old man, eyeing him carefully. In times of peace, +he must have been stout, but now he showed the loose and flaccid +exterior of one who has just lost much in weight. Desnoyers surmised +that the man had formerly lived in tranquil and vulgar sensuousness, in +a middle-class happiness suddenly cut short by war. + +“What a life, Monsieur!” the officer rambled on. “May God punish well +those who have provoked this catastrophe!” + +The Frenchman was almost affected. This man represented the Germany that +he had many times imagined, a sweet and tranquil Germany composed of +burghers, a little heavy and slow perhaps, but atoning for their natural +uncouthness by an innocent and poetic sentimentalism. This Blumhardt +whom his companions called Bataillon-Kommandeur, was undoubtedly the +good father of a large family. He fancied him walking with his wife and +children under the lindens of a provincial square, all listening with +religious unction to the melodies played by a military band. Then he +saw him in the beer gardens with his friends, discussing metaphysical +problems between business conversations. He was a man from old Germany, +a character from a romance by Goethe. Perhaps the glory of the Empire +had modified his existence, and instead of going to the beer gardens, +he was now accustomed to frequent the officers’ casino, while his family +maintained a separate existence--separated from the civilians by the +superciliousness of military caste; but at heart, he was always the good +German, ready to weep copiously before an affecting family scene or a +fragment of good music. + +Commandant Blumhardt, meanwhile, was thinking of his family living in +Cassel. + +“There are eight children, Monsieur,” he said with a visible effort to +control emotion. “The two eldest are preparing to become officers. The +youngest is starting school this year. . . . He is just so high.” + +And with his right hand he measured off the child’s diminutive stature. +He trembled with laughter and grief at recalling the little chap. Then +he broke forth into eulogies about his wife--excellent manager of the +home, a mother who was always modestly sacrificing herself for her +children and husband. Ay, the sweet Augusta! . . . After twenty years of +married life, he adored her as on the day he first saw her. In a pocket +of his uniform, he was keeping all the letters that she had written him +since the beginning of the campaign. + +“Look at her, Monsieur. . . . There are my children.” + +From his breast pocket, he had drawn forth a silver medallion, adorned +with the art of Munich, and touching a spring, he displayed the pictures +of all the family--the Frau Kommandeur, of an austere and frigid beauty, +imitating the air and coiffure of the Empress; the Frauleine Kommandeur, +clad in white, with uplifted eyes as though they were singing a musical +romance; and at the end, the children in the uniforms of the army +schools or private institutions. And to think that he might lose these +beloved beings if a bit of iron should hit him! . . . And he had to live +far from them now that it was such fine weather for long walks in the +country! . . . + +“Sad war!” he again said. “May God punish the English!” + +With a solicitude that Don Marcelo greatly appreciated, he in turn +inquired about the Frenchman’s family. He pitied him for having so few +children, and smiled a little over the enthusiasm with which the old +gentleman spoke of his daughter, saluting Fraulein Chichi as a witty +sprite, and expressing great sympathy on learning that the only son was +causing his parents great sorrow by his conduct. + +Tender-hearted Commandant! . . . He was the first rational and human +being that he had met in this hell of an invasion. “There are good +people everywhere,” he told himself. He hoped that this new acquaintance +would not be moved from the castle; for if the Germans had to stay +there, it would better be this man than the others. + +An orderly came to summon Don Marcelo to the presence of His Excellency. +After passing through the salons with closed eyes so as to avoid useless +distress and wrath, he found the Count in his own bedroom. The doors had +been forced open, the floors stripped of carpet and the window frames of +curtains. Only the pieces of furniture broken in the first moments now +occupied their former places. The sleeping rooms had been stripped more +methodically, everything having been taken that was not required for +immediate use. Because the General with his suite had been lodging there +the night before, this apartment had escaped the arbitrary destruction. + +The Count received him with the civility of a grandee who wishes to be +attentive to his guests. He could not consent that HERR Desnoyers--a +relative of a von Hartrott--whom he vaguely remembered having seen at +Court, should be staying in the Keeper’s lodge. He must return to his +own room, occupying that bed, solemn as a catafalque with columns and +plumes, which had had the honor, a few hours before, of serving as the +resting-place of an illustrious General of the Empire. + +“I myself prefer to sleep here,” he added condescendingly. “This other +habitation accords better with my tastes.” + +While saying this, he was entering Dona Luisa’s rooms, admiring its +Louis Quinze furniture of genuine value, with its dull golds and +tapestries mellowed by time. It was one of the most successful purchases +that Don Marcelo had made. The Count smiled with an artist’s scorn as he +recalled the man who had superintended the official sacking. + +“What an ass! . . . To think that he left this behind, supposing that it +was old and ugly!” + +Then he looked the owner of the castle squarely in the face. + +“Monsieur Desnoyers, I do not believe that I am committing any +indiscretion, and even imagine that I am interpreting your desires when +I inform you that I intend taking this set of furniture with me. It will +serve as a souvenir of our acquaintance, a testimony to the friendship +springing up between us. . . . If it remains here, it will run the risk +of being destroyed. Warriors, of course, are not obliged to be artists. +I will guard these excellent treasures in Germany where you may see them +whenever you wish. We are all going to be one nation, you know. . . . My +friend, the Emperor, is soon to be proclaimed sovereign of the French.” + +Desnoyers remained silent. How could he reply to that look of cruel +irony, to the grimace with which the noble lord was underscoring his +words? . . . + +“When the war is ended, I will send you a gift from Berlin,” he added in +a patronizing tone. + +The old collector could say nothing to that, either. He was looking +at the vacant spots which many small pictures had left on the walls, +paintings by famous masters of the XVIII century. The banded brigand +must also have passed these by as too insignificant to carry off, +but the smirk illuminating the Count’s face revealed their ultimate +destination. + +He had carefully scrutinized the entire apartment--the adjoining +bedroom, Chichi’s, the bathroom, even the feminine robe-room of the +family, which still contained some of the daughter’s gowns. The warrior +fondled with delight the fine silky folds of the materials, gloating +over their cool softness. + +This contact made him think of Paris, of the fashions, of the +establishments of the great modistes. The rue de la Paix was the spot +which he most admired in his visits to the enemy’s city. + +Don Marcelo noticed the strong mixture of perfumes which came from +his hair, his moustache, his entire body. Various little jars from the +dressing table were on the mantel. + +“What a filthy thing war is!” exclaimed the German. “This morning I was +at last able to take a bath after a week’s abstinence; at noon I shall +take another. By the way, my dear sir, these perfumes are good, but +they are not elegant. When I have the pleasure of being presented to the +ladies, I shall give them the addresses of my source of supply. . . . I +use in my home essences from Turkey. I have many friends there. . . . At +the close of the war, I will send a consignment to the family.” + +While speaking the Count’s eyes had been fixed upon some photographs +upon the table. Examining the portrait of Madame Desnoyers, he +guessed that she must be Dona Luisa. He smiled before the bewitchingly +mischievous face of Mademoiselle Chichi. Very enchanting; he specially +admired her militant, boyish expression; but he scrutinized the +photograph of Julio with special interest. + +“Splendid type of youth,” he murmured. “An interesting head, and +artistic, too. He would create a great sensation in a fancy-dress ball. +What a Persian prince he would make! . . . A white aigrette on his head, +fastened with a great jewel, the breast bared, a black tunic with golden +birds. . . .” + +And he continued seeing in his mind’s eye the heir of the Desnoyers +arrayed in all the gorgeous raiment of an Oriental monarch. The proud +father, because of the interest which his son was inspiring, began to +feel a glimmer of sympathy with the man. A pity that he should select so +unerringly and appropriate the choicest things in the castle! + +Near the head of the bed, Don Marcelo saw lying upon a book of devotions +forgotten by his wife, a medallion containing another photograph. It did +not belong to his family, and the Count, following the direction of his +eyes, wished to show it to him. The hands of this son of Mars trembled. +. . . His disdainful haughtiness had suddenly disappeared. An official +of the Hussars of Death was smiling from the case; his sharp profile +with a beak curved like a bird of prey, was surmounted by a cap adorned +with skull and cross-bones. + +“My best friend,” said the Count in tremulous tones. “The being that I +love most in all the world. . . . And to think that at this moment he +may be fighting, and they may kill him! . . . To think that I, too, may +die!” + +Desnoyers believed that he must be getting a glimpse into a romance of +the nobleman’s past. That Hussar was undoubtedly his natural son. His +simplicity of mind could not conceive of anything else. Only a father’s +tenderness could so express itself . . . and he was almost touched by +this tenderness. + +Here the interview came to an end, the warrior turning his back as he +left the room in order to hide his emotion. A few minutes after was +heard on the floor below the sound of a grand piano which the Commissary +had not been able to carry off, owing to the general’s interposition. +His voice was soon heard above the chords that he was playing. It was +rather a lifeless baritone, but he managed to impart an impassioned +tremolo to his romance. The listening old man was now really affected; +he did not understand the words, but the tears came into his eyes. He +thought of his family, of the sorrows and dangers about them and of the +difficulties surrounding his return to them. . . . As though under the +spell of the melody, little by little, he descended the stairs. What +an artist’s soul that haughty scoffer had! . . . At first sight, the +Germans with their rough exterior and their discipline which made them +commit the greatest atrocities, gave one a wrong impression. One had to +live intimately with them to appreciate their true worth. + +By the time the music had ceased, he had reached the castle bridge. A +sub-officer was watching the graceful movements of the swans gliding +double over the waters of the moat. He was a young Doctor of Laws who +just now was serving as secretary to His Excellency--a university man +mobilized by the war. + +On speaking with Don Marcelo, he immediately revealed his academic +training. The order for departure had surprised the professor in a +private institute; he was just about to be married and all his plans had +been upset. + +“What a calamity, sir! . . . What an overturning for the world! . . . +Yet many of us have foreseen that this catastrophe simply had to come. +We have felt strongly that it might break out any day. Capital, accursed +Capital is to blame.” + +The speaker was a Socialist. He did not hesitate to admit his +co-operation in certain acts of his party that had brought persecutions +and set-backs to his career. But the Social-Democracy was now being +accepted by the Emperor and flattered by the most reactionary Junkers. +All were now one. The deputies of his party were forming in the +Reichstag the group most obedient to the government. . . . The only +belief that it retained from its former creed, was its anathematization +of Capital--responsible for the war. + +Desnoyers ventured to disagree with this enemy who appeared of an +amiable and tolerant character. “Did he not think that the real +responsibility rested with German militarism? Had it not sought and +prepared this conflict, by its arrogance preventing any settlement?” + +The Socialist denied this roundly. His deputies were supporting the war +and, therefore, must have good reason. Everything that he said showed an +absolute submission to discipline--the eternal German discipline, blind +and obedient, which was dominating even the most advanced parties. In +vain the Frenchman repeated arguments and facts which everybody had read +from the beginning of the war. His words simply slid over the calloused +brains of this revolutionist, accustomed to delegating all his reasoning +functions to others. + +“Who can tell?” he finally said. “Perhaps we have made a mistake. But +just at this moment all is confused; the premises which would enable us +to draw exact conclusions are lacking. When the conflict ends, we shall +know the truly guilty parties, and if they are ours we shall throw the +responsibility upon them.” + +Desnoyers could hardly keep from laughing at his simplicity. To wait +till the end of the war to know who was to blame! . . . And if the +Empire should come out conqueror, what responsibility could the +Socialists exact in the full pride of victory, they who always confined +themselves to electoral battles, without the slightest attempt at +rebellion? + +“Whatever the cause may be,” concluded the Socialist, “this war is very +sad. How many dead! . . . I was at Charleroi. One has to see modern +warfare close by. . . . We shall conquer; we are going to enter Paris, +so they say, but many of our men must fall before obtaining the final +victory.” + +And as though wishing to put these visions of death out of his mind, he +resumed his diversion of watching the swans, offering them bits of bread +so as to make them swing around in their slow and majestic course. + +The Keeper and his family were continually crossing and recrossing the +bridge. Seeing their master on such friendly terms with the invaders, +they had lost some of the fear which had kept them shut up in their +cottage. To the woman it seemed but natural that Don Marcelo’s authority +should be recognized by these people; the master is always the master. +And as though she had received a part of this authority, she was +entering the castle fearlessly, followed by her daughter, in order to +put in order her master’s sleeping room. They had decided to pass the +night in rooms near his, that he might not feel so lonely among the +Germans. + +The two women were carrying bedding and mattresses from the lodge to +the top floor. The Keeper was occupied in heating a second bath for His +Excellency while his wife was bemoaning with gestures of despair the +sacking of the castle. How many exquisite things had disappeared! . . . +Desirous of saving the remainder, she besought her master to make +complaints, as though he could prevent the individual and stealthy +robberies. The orderlies and followers of the Count were pocketing +everything they could lay their hands on, saying smilingly that +they were souvenirs. Later on the woman approached Desnoyers with a +mysterious air to impart a new revelation. She had seen a head officer +force open the chiffoniers where her mistress was accustomed to keep her +lingerie, and he was making up a package of the finest pieces, including +a great quantity of blonde lace. + +“That’s the one, Master,” she said soon after, pointing to a German +who was writing in the garden, where an oblique ray of sunlight was +filtering through the branches upon his table. + +Don Marcelo recognized him with surprise. Commandant Blumhardt, too! +. . . But immediately he excused the act. He supposed it was only +natural that this official should want to take something away from the +castle, since the Count had set the example. Besides, he took into +account the quality of the objects which he was appropriating. They were +not for himself; they were for the wife, for the daughters. . . . A good +father of his family! For more than an hour now, he had been sitting +before that table writing incessantly, conversing, pen in hand, with his +Augusta and all the family in Cassel. Better that this good man should +carry off his stuff than those other domineering officers with cutting +voices and insolent stiffness. + +Desnoyers noticed, too, that the writer raised his head every time that +Georgette, the Warden’s daughter, passed by, following her with his +eyes. The poor father! . . . Undoubtedly he was comparing her with his +two girls home in Germany, with all their thoughts on the war. He, too, +was thinking of Chichi, fearing sometimes, that he might never see her +again. In one of her trips from the castle to her home, Blumhardt called +the child to him. She stopped before the table, timid and shrinking as +though she felt a presentiment of danger, but making an effort to smile. +The Prussian father meanwhile chatted with her, and patted her cheeks +with his great paws--a sight which touched Desnoyers deeply. The +memories of a pacific and virtuous life were rising above the horrors of +war. Decidedly this one enemy was a good man, anyway. + +Because of his conclusion, the millionaire smiled indulgently when the +Commandant, leaving the table, came toward him--after delivering +his letter and a bulky package to a soldier to take to the battalion +post-office in the village. + +“It is for my family,” he explained. “I do not let a day pass without +sending them a letter. Theirs are so precious to me! . . . I am also +sending them a few remembrances.” + +Desnoyers was on the point of protesting. . . . But with a shrug of +indifference, he concluded to keep silence as if he did not object. The +Commandant continued talking of the sweet Augusta and their children +while the invisible tempest kept on thundering beyond the serene +twilight horizon. Each time the cannonading was more intense. + +“The battle,” continued Blumhardt. “Always a battle! . . . Surely it is +the last and we are going to win. Within the week, we shall be entering +Paris. . . . But how many will never see it! So many dead! . . . I +understand that to-morrow we shall not be here. All the Reserves are to +combine with the attack so as to overcome the last resistance. . . . If +only I do not fall!” . . . + +Thoughts of the possibility of death the following day contracted his +forehead in a scowl of hatred. A deep, vertical line was parting his +eyebrows. He frowned ferociously at Desnoyers as though making him +responsible for his death and the trouble of his family. For a few +moments Don Marcelo could hardly recognize this man, transformed by +warlike passions, as the sweet-natured and friendly Blumhardt of a +little while before. + +The sun was beginning to set when a sub-officer, the one of the +Social-Democracy, came running in search of the Commandant. Desnoyers +could not understand what was the matter because they were speaking +in German, but following the direction of the messenger’s continual +pointing, he saw beyond the iron gates a group of country people and +some soldiers with guns. Blumhardt, after a brief reflection, started +toward the group and Don Marcelo behind him. + +Soon he saw a village lad in the charge of some Germans who were holding +their bayonets to his breast. His face was colorless, with the whiteness +of a wax candle. His shirt, blackened with soot, was so badly torn that +it told of a hand-to-hand struggle. On one temple was a gash, bleeding +badly. A short distance away was a woman with dishevelled hair, holding +a baby, and surrounded by four children all covered with black grime as +though coming from a coal mine. + +The woman was pleading desperately, raising her hands appealingly, her +sobs interrupting her story which she was uselessly trying to tell the +soldiers, incapable of understanding her. The petty officer convoying +the band spoke in German with the Commandant while the woman besought +the intervention of Desnoyers. When she recognized the owner of the +castle, she suddenly regained her serenity, believing that he could +intercede for her. + +That husky young boy was her son. They had all been hiding since the +day before in the cellar of their burned house. Hunger and the danger +of death from asphyxiation had forced them finally to venture forth. As +soon as the Germans had seen her son, they had beaten him and were going +to shoot him as they were shooting all the young men. They believed that +the lad was twenty years old, the age of a soldier, and in order that he +might not join the French army, they were going to kill him. + +“It’s a lie!” shrieked the mother. “He is not more than eighteen . . . +not eighteen . . . a little less--he’s only seventeen.” + +She turned to those who were following behind, in order to implore their +testimony--sad women, equally dirty, their ragged garments smelling of +fire, poverty and death. All assented, adding their outcries to those of +the mother. Some even went so far as to say that the overgrown boy was +only sixteen . . . fifteen! And to this feminine chorus was added the +wailing of the little ones looking at their brother with eyes distended +with terror. + +The Commandant examined the prisoner while he listened to the official. +An employee of the township had said carelessly that the child was about +twenty, never dreaming that with this inaccuracy he was causing his +death. + +“It was a lie!” repeated the mother guessing instinctively what they +were saying. “That man made a mistake. My boy is robust and, therefore, +looks older than he is, but he is not twenty. . . . The gentleman +from the castle who knows him can tell you so. Is it not so, Monsieur +Desnoyers?” + +Since, in her maternal desperation, she had appealed to his protection, +Don Marcelo believed that he ought to intervene, and so he spoke to +the Commandant. He knew this youth very well (he did not ever remember +having seen him before) and believed that he really was under twenty. + +“And even if he were of age,” he added, “is that a crime to shoot a man +for?” + +Blumhardt did not reply. Since he had recovered his functions of +command, he ignored absolutely Don Marcelo’s existence. He was about to +say something, to give an order, but hesitated. It might be better to +consult His Excellency . . . and seeing that he was going toward the +castle, Desnoyers marched by his side. + +“Commandant, this cannot be,” he commenced saying. “This lacks common +sense. To shoot a man on the suspicion that he may be twenty years old!” + +But the Commandant remained silent and continued on his way. As they +crossed the bridge, they heard the sound of the piano--a good omen, +Desnoyers thought. The aesthete who had so touched him with his +impassioned voice, was going to say the saving word. + +On entering the salon, he did not at first recognize His Excellency. +He saw a man sitting at the piano wearing no clothing but a Japanese +dressing gown--a woman’s rose-colored kimono, embroidered with golden +birds, belonging to Chichi. At any other time, he would have burst into +roars of laughter at beholding this scrawny, bony warrior with the +cruel eyes, with his brawny braceleted arms appearing through the loose +sleeves. After taking his bath, the Count had delayed putting on his +uniform, luxuriating in the silky contact of the feminine tunic so like +his Oriental garments in Berlin. Blumhardt did not betray the slightest +astonishment at the aspect of his general. In the customary attitude +of military erectness, he spoke in his own language while the Count +listened with a bored air, meanwhile passing his fingers idly over the +keys. + +A shaft of sunlight from a nearby window was enveloping the piano and +musician in a halo of gold. Through the window, too, was wafting the +poetry of the sunset--the rustling of the leaves, the hushed song of the +birds and the hum of the insects whose transparent wings were glowing +like sparks in the last rays of the sun. The General, annoyed that his +dreaming melancholy should be interrupted by this inopportune visit, cut +short the Commandant’s story with a gesture of command and a word . . . +one word only. He said no more. He took two puffs from a Turkish +cigarette that was slowly scorching the wood of the piano, and again +ran his hands over the ivory keys, catching up the broken threads of the +vague and tender improvisation inspired by the gloaming. + +“Thanks, Your Excellency,” said the gratified Desnoyers, surmising his +magnanimous response. + +The Commandant had disappeared, nor could the Frenchman find him outside +the castle. A soldier was pacing up and down near the iron gates in +order to transmit commands, and the guards were pushing back with blows +from their guns, a screaming group of women and tiny children. The +entrance was entirely cleared! undoubtedly the crowds were returning +to the village after the General’s pardon. . . . Desnoyers was half way +down the avenue when he heard a howling sound composed of many voices, a +hair-raising shriek such as only womanly desperation can send forth. At +the same time, the air was vibrating with snaps, the loud cracking sound +that he knew from the day before. Shots! . . . He imagined that on +the other side of the iron railing there were some writhing bodies +struggling to escape from powerful arms, and others fleeing with bounds +of fear. He saw running toward him a horror-stricken, sobbing woman with +her hands to her head. It was the wife of the Keeper who a little while +before had joined the desperate group of women. + +“Oh, don’t go on, Master,” she called stopping his hurried step. “They +have killed him. . . . They have just shot him.” + +Don Marcelo stood rooted to the ground. Shot! . . . and after the +General’s pardon! . . . Suddenly he ran back to the castle, hardly +knowing what he was doing, and soon reached the salon. His Excellency +was still at the piano humming in low tones, his eyes moistened by the +poesy of his dreams. But the breathless old gentleman did not stop to +listen. + +“They have shot him, Your Excellency. . . . They have just killed him in +spite of your order.” + +The smile which crossed the Count’s face immediately informed him of his +mistake. + +“That is war, my dear sir,” said the player, pausing for a moment. “War +with its cruel necessities. . . . It is always expedient to destroy the +enemy of to-morrow.” + +And with a pedantic air as though he were giving a lesson, he discoursed +about the Orientals, great masters of the art of living. One of the +personages most admired by him was a certain Sultan of the Turkish +conquest who, with his own hands, had strangled the sons of the +adversary. “Our foes do not come into the world on horseback and +brandishing the lance,” said that hero. “All are born as children, and +it is advisable to wipe them from the face of the earth before they grow +up.” + +Desnoyers listened without taking it in. One thought only was occupying +his mind. . . . That man that he had supposed just, that sentimentalist +so affected by his own singing, had, between two arpeggios, coldly given +the order for death! . . . + +The Count made a gesture of impatience. He might retire now, and he +counselled him to be more discreet in the future, avoiding mixing +himself up in the affairs of the service. Then he turned his back, +running his hands over the piano, and giving himself up to harmonious +melancholy. + +For Don Marcelo there now began an absurd life of the most extraordinary +events, an experience which was going to last four days. In his life +history, this period represented a long parenthesis of stupefaction, +slashed by the most horrible visions. + +Not wishing to meet these men again, he abandoned his own bedroom, +taking refuge on the top floor in the servants’ quarters, near the +room selected by the Warden and his family. In vain the good woman kept +offering him things to eat as the night came on--he had no appetite. He +lay stretched out on the bed, preferring to be alone with his thoughts +in the dark. When would this martyrdom ever come to an end? . . . + +There came into his mind the recollection of a trip which he had made +to London some years ago. In his imagination he again saw the British +Museum and certain Assyrian bas-reliefs--relics of bestial humanity, +which had filled him with terror. The warriors were represented as +burning the towns; the prisoners were beheaded in heaps; the pacific +countrymen were marching in lines with chains on their necks, forming +strings of slaves. Until that moment he had never realized the advance +which civilization had made through the centuries. Wars were still +breaking out now and then, but they had been regulated by the march of +progress. The life of the prisoner was now held sacred; the captured +towns must be respected; there existed a complete code of international +law to regulate how men should be killed and nations should combat, +causing the least possible harm. . . . But now he had just seen the +primitive realities of war. The same as that of thousands of years ago! +The men with the helmets were proceeding in exactly the same way as +those ferocious and perfumed satraps with blue mitre and curled beard. +The adversary was shot although not carrying arms; the prisoner died of +shot or blow from the gun; the civilian captives were sent in crowds +to Germany like those of other centuries. Of what avail was all our +so-called Progress? Where was our boasted civilization? . . . + +He was awakened by the light of a candle in his eyes. The Warden’s wife +had come up again to see if he needed anything. + +“Oh, what a night, Master! Just hear them yelling and singing! The +bottles that they have emptied! . . . They are in the dining room. You +better not see them. Now they are amusing themselves by breaking the +furniture. Even the Count is drunk; drunk, too, is that Commandant that +you were talking with, and all the rest. . . . Some of them are dancing +half-naked.” + +She evidently wished to keep quiet about certain details, but her love +of talking got the better of her discretion. Some of the officers had +dressed themselves up in the hats and gowns of her mistress and were +dancing and shouting, imitating feminine seductiveness and affectations. +. . . One of them had been greeted with roars of enthusiasm upon +presenting himself with no other clothing than a “combination” of +Mademoiselle Chichi’s. Many were taking obscene delight in soiling the +rugs and filling the sideboard drawers with indescribable filth, using +the finest linens that they could lay their hands on. + +Her master silenced her peremptorily. Why tell him such vile, disgusting +things? . . . + +“And we are obliged to wait on them!” wailed the woman. “They are beside +themselves; they appear like different beings. The soldiers are saying +that they are going to resume their march at daybreak. There is a +great battle on, and they are going to win it; but it is necessary that +everyone of them should fight in it. . . . My poor, sick husband just +can’t stand it any longer. So many humiliations . . . and my little girl +. . . . My little girl!” + +The child was her greatest anxiety. She had her well hidden away, but +she was watching uneasily the goings and comings of some of these +men maddened with alcohol. The most terrible of them all was that fat +officer who had patted Georgette so paternally. + +Apprehension for her daughter’s safety made her hurry restlessly away, +saying over and over: + +“God has forgotten the world. . . . Ay, what is ever going to become of +us!” + +Don Marcelo was now tinglingly awake. Through the open window was +blowing the clear night air. The cannonading was still going on, +prolonging the conflict way into the night. Below the castle the +soldiers were intoning a slow and melodious chant that sounded like a +psalm. From the interior of the edifice rose the whoopings of brutal +laughter, the crash of breaking furniture, and the mad chase of +dissolute pursuit. When would this diabolical orgy ever wear itself +down? . . . For a long time he was not at all sleepy, but was gradually +losing consciousness of what was going on around him when he was roused +with a start. Near him, on the same floor, a door had fallen with a +crash, unable to resist a succession of formidable batterings. This +was followed immediately by the screams of a woman, weeping, desperate +supplications, the noise of a struggle, reeling steps, and the thud of +bodies against the wall. He had a presentiment that it was Georgette +shrieking and trying to defend herself. Before he could put his feet to +the floor he heard a man’s voice, which he was sure was the Keeper’s; +she was safe. + +“Ah, you villain!” . . . + +Then the outbreak of a second struggle . . . a shot . . . silence! + +Rushing down the hallway that ended at the stairway Desnoyers saw +lights, and many men who came trooping up the stairs, bounding over +several steps at a time. He almost fell over a body from which escaped a +groan of agony. At his feet lay the Warden, his chest moving like a pair +of bellows, his eyes glassy and unnaturally distended, his mouth covered +with blood. . . . Near him glistened a kitchen knife. Then he saw a man +with a revolver in one hand, and holding shut with the other a broken +door that someone was trying to open from within. Don Marcelo +recognized him, in spite of his greenish pallor and wild look. It was +Blumhardt--another Blumhardt with a bestial expression of terrifying +ferocity and lust. + +Don Marcelo could see clearly how it had all happened--the debauchee +rushing through the castle in search of his prey, the anxious father in +close pursuit, the cries of the girl, the unequal struggle between the +consumptive with his emergency weapon and the warrior triumphant. The +fury of his youth awoke in the old Frenchman, sweeping everything before +it. What did it matter if he did die? . . . + +“Ah, you villain!” he yelled, as the poor father had done. + +And with clenched fists he marched up to the German, who smiled coldly +and held his revolver to his eyes. He was just going to shoot him . . . +but at that instant Desnoyers fell to the floor, knocked down by those +who were leaping up the stairs. He received many blows, the heavy boots +of the invaders hammering him with their heels. He felt a hot stream +pouring over his face. Blood! . . . He did not know whether it was his +own or that of the palpitating mortal slowly dying beside him. Then +he found himself lifted from the floor by many hands which pushed him +toward a man. It was His Excellency, with his uniform burst open and +smelling of wine. Eyes and voice were both trembling. + +“My dear sir,” he stuttered, trying to recover this suave irony, “I +warned you not to interfere in our affairs and you have not obeyed me. +You may now take the consequences of your lack of discretion.” + +He gave an order, and the old man felt himself pushed downstairs to the +cellars underneath the castle. Those conducting him were soldiers under +the command of a petty officer whom he recognized as the Socialist. This +young professor was the only one sober, but he maintained himself erect +and unapproachable with the ferocity of discipline. + +He put his prisoner into an arched vault without any breathing-place +except a tiny window on a level with the floor. Many broken bottles and +chests with some straw were all that was in the cave. + +“You have insulted a head officer!” said the official roughly, “and +they will probably shoot you to-morrow. Your only salvation lies in the +continuance of the revels, in which case they may forget you.” + +As the door of this sub-cellar was broken, like all the others in the +building, a pile of boxes and furniture was heaped in the entrance way. + +Don Marcelo passed the rest of the night tormented with the cold--the +only thing which worried him just then. He had abandoned all hope of +life; even the images of his family seemed blotted from his memory. +He worked in the dark in order to make himself more comfortable on the +chests, burrowing down into the straw for the sake of its heat. When the +morning breeze began to sift in through the little window he fell slowly +into a heavy, overpowering sleep, like that of criminals condemned to +death, or duellists before the fatal morning. He thought he heard +shouts in German, the galloping of horses, a distant sound of tattoo and +whistle such as the battalions of the invaders made with their fifes and +drums. . . . Then he lost all consciousness of his surroundings. + +On opening his eyes again a ray of sunlight, slipping through the +window, was tracing a little golden square on the wall, giving a regal +splendor to the hanging cobwebs. Somebody was removing the barricade +before the door. A woman’s voice, timid and distressed, was calling +repeatedly: + +“Master, are you here?” + +He sprang up quickly, wishing to aid the worker outside, and pushing +vigorously. He thought that the invaders must have left. In no other way +could he imagine the Warden’s wife daring to try to get him out of his +cell. + +“Yes, they have gone,” she said. “Nobody is left in the castle.” + +As soon as he was able to get out Don Marcelo looked inquiringly at the +woman with her bloodshot eyes, dishevelled hair and sorrow-drawn face. +The night had weighed her down pitilessly with the pressure of many +years. All the energy with which she had been working to free Desnoyers +disappeared on seeing him again. “Oh, Master . . . Master,” she moaned +convulsively; and she flung herself into his arms, bursting into tears. + +Don Marcelo did not need to ask anything further; he dreaded to know the +truth. Nevertheless, he asked after her husband. Now that he was awake +and free, he cherished the fleeting hope that what he had gone through +the night before was but another of his nightmares. Perhaps the poor man +was still living. . . . + +“They killed him, Monsieur. That man who seemed so good murdered him. +. . . And I don’t know where his body is; nobody will tell me.” + +She had a suspicion that the corpse was in the fosse. The green and +tranquil waters had closed mysteriously over this victim of the night. +. . . Desnoyers suspected that another sorrow was troubling the mother +still more, but he kept modestly silent. It was she who finally spoke, +between outbursts of grief. . . . Georgette was now in the lodge. +Horror-stricken and shuddering, she had fled there when the invaders had +left the castle. They had kept her in their power until the last minute. + +“Oh, Master, don’t look at her. . . . She is trembling and sobbing at +the thought that you may speak with her about what she has gone through. +She is almost out of her mind. She longs to die! Ay, my little girl! +. . . And is there no one who will punish these monsters?” + +They had come up from the cellars and crossed the bridge, the woman +looking fixedly into the silent waters. The dead body of a swan was +floating upon them. Before their departure, while their horses were +being saddled, two officers had amused themselves by chasing with +revolver shots the birds swimming in the moat. The aquatic plants were +spotted with blood; among the leaves were floating some tufts of +limp white plumage like a bit of washing escaped from the hands of a +laundress. + +Don Marcelo and the woman exchanged a compassionate glance, and then +looked pityingly at each other as the sunlight brought out more strongly +their aging, wan appearance. + +The passing of these people had destroyed everything. There was no food +left in the castle except some crusts of dry bread forgotten in the +kitchen. “And we have to live, Monsieur!” exclaimed the woman with +reviving energy as she thought of her daughter’s need. “We have to +live, if only to see how God punishes them!” The old man shrugged his +shoulders in despair; God? . . . But the woman was right; they had to +live. + +With the famished audacity of his early youth, when he was travelling +over boundless tracts of land, driving his herds of cattle, he now +rushed outside the park, hunting for some form of sustenance. He saw +the valley, fair and green, basking in the sun; the groups of trees, the +plots of yellowish soil with the hard spikes of stubble; the hedges in +which the birds were singing--all the summer splendor of a countryside +developed and cultivated during fifteen centuries by dozens and dozens +of generations. And yet--here he was alone at the mercy of chance, +likely to perish with hunger--more alone than when he was crossing the +towering heights of the Andes--those irregular slopes of rocks and +snow wrapped in endless silence, only broken from time to time by +the flapping of the condor’s wings. Nobody. . . . His gaze could not +distinguish a single movable point--everything fixed, motionless, +crystallized, as though contracted with fear before the peals of thunder +which were still rumbling around the horizon. + +He went on toward the village--a mass of black walls with a few houses +still intact, and a roofless bell tower with its cross twisted by fire. +Nobody in the streets sown with bottles, charred chunks of wood, and +soot-covered rubbish. The dead bodies had disappeared, but a nauseating +smell of decomposing and burned flesh assailed his nostrils. He saw +a mound of earth where the shooting had taken place, and from it were +protruding two feet and a hand. At his approach several black forms flew +up into the air from a trench so shallow that the bodies within were +exposed to view. A whirring of stiff wings beat the air above him, +flying off with the croakings of wrath. He explored every nook and +corner, even approaching the place where the troopers had erected their +barricade. The carts were still by the roadside. + +He then retraced his steps, calling out before the least injured +houses, and putting his head through the doors and windows that were +unobstructed or but half consumed. Was nobody left in Villeblanche? He +descried among the ruins something advancing on all fours, a species of +reptile that stopped its crawling with movements of hesitation and fear, +ready to retreat or slip into its hole under the ruins. Suddenly the +creature stopped and stood up. It was a man, an old man. Other human +larvae were coming forth conjured by his shouts--poor beings who hours +ago had given up the standing position which would have attracted +the bullets of the enemy, and had been enviously imitating the lower +organisms, squirming through the dirt as fast as they could scurry into +the bosom of the earth. They were mostly women and children, all filthy +and black, with snarled hair, the fierceness of animal appetite in their +eyes--the faintness of the weak animal in their hanging jaws. They +were all living hidden in the ruins of their homes. Fear had made them +temporarily forget their hunger, but finding that the enemy had gone, +they were suddenly assailed by all necessitous demands, intensified by +hours of anguish. + +Desnoyers felt as though he were surrounded by a tribe of brutalized +and famished Indians like those he had often seen in his adventurous +voyages. He had brought with him from Paris a quantity of gold pieces, +and he pulled out a coin which glittered in the sun. Bread was needed, +everything eatable was needed; he would pay without haggling. + +The flash of gold aroused looks of enthusiasm and greediness, but this +impression was short-lived, all eyes contemplating the yellow discs +with indifference. Don Marcelo was himself convinced that the miraculous +charm had lost its power. They all chanted a chorus of sorrow and +horrors with slow and plaintive voice, as though they stood weeping +before a bier: “Monsieur, they have killed my husband.” . . . “Monsieur, +my sons! Two of them are missing.” . . . “Monsieur, they have taken all +the men prisoners: they say it is to work the land in Germany.” . . . +“Monsieur, bread! . . . My little ones are dying of hunger!” + +One woman was lamenting something worse than death. “My girl! . . . My +poor girl!” Her look of hatred and wild desperation revealed the secret +tragedy; her outcries and tears recalled that other mother who was +sobbing in the same way up at the castle. In the depths of some cave, +was lying the victim, half-dead with fatigue, shaken with a wild +delirium in which she still saw the succession of brutal faces, inflamed +with simian passion. + +The miserable group, forming themselves into a circle around him, +stretched out their hands beseechingly toward the man whom they knew to +be so very rich. The women showed him the death-pallor on the faces +of their scarcely breathing babies, their eyes glazed with starvation. +“Bread! . . . bread!” they implored, as though he could work a miracle. +He gave to one mother the gold piece that he had in his hand and +distributed more to the others. They took them without looking at them, +and continued their lament, “Bread! . . . Bread!” And he had gone to the +village to make the same supplication! . . . He fled, recognizing the +uselessness of his efforts. + + + +CHAPTER VI + +THE BANNER OF THE RED CROSS + + +Returning in desperation to his estate, Don Marcelo Desnoyers saw +huge automobiles and men on horseback, forming a very long convoy and +completely filling the road. They were all going in his direction. At +the entrance to the park a band of Germans was putting up the wires for +a telephone line. They had just been reconnoitering the rooms befouled +with the night’s saturnalia, and were ha-haing boisterously over Captain +von Hartrott’s inscription, “Bitte, nicht plundern.” To them it seemed +the acme of wit--truly Teutonic. + +The convoy now invaded the park with its automobiles and trucks bearing +a red cross. A war hospital was going to be established in the castle. +The doctors were dressed in grayish green and armed the same as the +officers; they also imitated their freezing hauteur and repellent +unapproachableness. There came out of the drays hundreds of folding +cots, which were placed in rows in the different rooms. The furniture +that still remained was thrown out in a heap under the trees. Squads +of soldiers were obeying with mechanical promptitude the brief and +imperious orders. An odor of an apothecary shop, of concentrated +drugs, now pervaded the quarters, mixed with the strong smell of the +antiseptics with which they were sprinkling the walls in order to +disinfect the filthy remains of the nocturnal orgy. + +Then he saw women clad in white, buxom girls with blue eyes and flaxen +hair. They were grave, bland, austere and implacable in appearance. +Several times they pushed Desnoyers out of their way as if they did not +see him. They looked like nuns, but with revolvers under their habits. + +At midday other automobiles began to arrive, attracted by the enormous +white flag with the red cross, which was now waving from the castle +tower. They came from the division battling beyond the Marne. Their +metal fittings were dented by projectiles, their wind-shields broken by +star-shaped holes. From their interiors appeared men and more men; some +on foot, others on canvas stretchers--faces pale and rubicund, profiles +aquiline and snubby, red heads and skulls wrapped in white turbans stiff +with blood; mouths that laughed with bravado and mouths that groaned +with bluish lips; jaws supported with mummy-like bandages; giants in +agony whose wounds were not apparent; shapeless forms ending in a head +that talked and smoked; legs with hanging flesh that was dyeing the +First Aid wrappings with their red moisture; arms that hung as inert +as dead boughs; torn uniforms in which were conspicuous the tragic +vacancies of absent members. + +This avalanche of suffering was quickly distributed throughout the +castle. In a few hours it was so completely filled that there was not a +vacant bed--the last arrivals being laid in the shadow of the trees. The +telephones were ringing incessantly; the surgeons in coarse aprons +were going from one side to the other, working rapidly; human life was +submitted to savage proceedings with roughness and celerity. Those who +died under it simply left one more cot free for the others that kept +on coming. Desnoyers saw bloody baskets filled with shapeless masses of +flesh, strips of skin, broken bones, entire limbs. The orderlies were +carrying these terrible remnants to the foot of the park in order to +bury them in a little plot which had been Chichi’s favorite reading +nook. + +Pairs of soldiers were carrying out objects wrapped in sheets which +the owner recognized as his. These were the dead, and the park was soon +converted into a cemetery. No longer was the little retreat large enough +to hold the corpses and the severed remains from the operations. New +grave trenches were being opened near by. The Germans armed with shovels +were pressing into service a dozen of the farmer-prisoners to aid in +unloading the dead. Now they were bringing them down by the cartload, +dumping them in like the rubbish from some demolished building. Don +Marcelo felt an abnormal delight in contemplating this increasing +number of vanquished enemies, yet he grieved at the same time that this +precipitation of intruders should be deposited forever on his property. + +At nightfall, overwhelmed by so many emotions, he again suffered the +torments of hunger. All day long he had eaten nothing but the crust of +bread found in the kitchen by the Warden’s wife. The rest he had left +for her and her daughter. A distress as harrowing to him as his hunger +was the sight of poor Georgette’s shocked despondency. She was always +trying to escape from his presence in an agony of shame. + +“Don’t let the Master see me!” she would cry, hiding her face. Since +his presence seemed to recall more vividly the memory of her assaults, +Desnoyers tried, while in the lodge, to avoid going near her. + +Desperate with the gnawings of his empty stomach, he accosted several +doctors who were speaking French, but all in vain. They would not listen +to him, and when he repeated his petitions they pushed him roughly out +of their way. . . . He was not going to perish with hunger in the midst +of his riches! Those people were eating; the indifferent nurses had +established themselves in his kitchen. . . . But the time passed +on without encountering anybody who would take pity on this old man +dragging himself weakly from one place to another, in the misery of an +old age intensified by despair, and suffering in every part of the body, +the results of the blows of the night before. He now knew the gnawings +of a hunger far worse than that which he had suffered when journeying +over the desert plains--a hunger among men, in a civilized country, +wearing a belt filled with gold, surrounded with towers and castle halls +which were his, but in the control of others who would not condescend +to listen to him. And for this piteous ending of his life he had amassed +millions and returned to Europe! . . . Ah, the irony of fate! . . . + +He saw a doctor’s assistant leaning up against a tree, about to devour +a slab of bread and sausage. His envious eyes scrutinized this fellow, +tall, thick-set, his jaws bristling with a great red beard. The +trembling old man staggered up to him, begging for the food by signs and +holding out a piece of money. The German’s eyes glistened at the sight +of the gold, and a beatific smile stretched his mouth from ear to ear. + +“Ya,” he responded, and grabbing the money, he handed over the food. + +Don Marcelo commenced to swallow it with avidity. Never had he so +appreciated the sheer ecstasy of eating as at that instant--in the midst +of his gardens converted into a cemetery, before his despoiled castle +where hundreds of human beings were groaning in agony. A grayish arm +passed before his eyes; it belonged to the German, who had returned +with two slices of bread and a bit of meat snatched from the kitchen. He +repeated his smirking “Ya?” . . . and after his victim had secured it +by means of another gold coin, he was able to take it to the two women +hidden in the cottage. + +During the night--a night of painful watching, cut with visions of +horror, it seemed to him that the roar of the artillery was coming +nearer. It was a scarcely perceptible difference, perhaps the effect of +the silence of the night which always intensifies sound. The ambulances +continued coming from the front, discharging their cargoes of riddled +humanity and going back for more. Desnoyers surmised that his castle was +but one of the many hospitals established in a line of more than eighty +miles, and that on the other side, behind the French, were many similar +ones in which the same activity was going on--the consignments of +dying men succeeding each other with terrifying frequency. Many of the +combatants were not even having the satisfaction of being taken from +the battle field, but were lying groaning on the ground, burying their +bleeding members in the dust or mud, and weltering in the ooze from +their wounds. . . . And Don Marcelo, who a few hours before had been +considering himself the unhappiest of mortals, now experienced a cruel +joy in reflecting that so many thousands of vigorous men at the point of +death could well envy him for his hale old age, and for the tranquillity +with which he was reposing on that humble bed. + +The next morning the orderly was waiting for him in the same place, +holding out a napkin filled with eatables. Good red-bearded man, helpful +and kind! . . . and he offered him the piece of gold. + +“Nein,” replied the fellow, with a broad, malicious grin. Two gleaming +gold pieces appeared between Don Marcelo’s fingers. Another leering +“Nein” and a shake of the head. Ah, the robber! How he was taking +advantage of his necessity! . . . And not until he had produced five +gold coins was he able to secure the package. + +He soon began to notice all around him a silent and sly conspiracy +to get possession of his money. A giant in a sergeant’s uniform put a +shovel in his hand pushing him roughly forward. He soon found himself +in a corner of the park that had been transformed into a graveyard, near +the cart of cadavers; there he had to shovel dirt on his own ground in +company with the indignant prisoners. + +He averted his eyes so as not to look at the rigid and grotesque bodies +piled above him at the edge of the pit, ready to be tumbled in. The +ground was sending forth an insufferable odor, for decomposition had +already set in in the nearby trenches. The persistence with which his +overseers accosted him, and the crafty smile of the sergeant made him +see through the deep-laid scheme. The red-beard must be at the bottom +of all this. Putting his hand in his pocket he dropped the shovel with +a look of interrogation. “Ya,” replied the sergeant. After handing +over the required sum, the tormented old man was permitted to stop +grave-digging and wander around at his pleasure; he knew, however, what +was probably in store for him--those men were going to submit him to a +merciless exploitation. + +Another day passed by, like its predecessor. In the morning of the +following day his perceptions, sharpened by apprehension, made him +conjecture that something extraordinary had occurred. The automobiles +were arriving and departing with greater rapidity, and there was greater +disorder and confusion among the executive force. The telephone was +ringing with mad precipitation; and the wounded arrivals seemed more +depressed. The day before they had been singing when taken from the +vehicles, hiding their woe with laughter and bravado, all talking of the +near victory and regretting that they would not be able to witness the +triumphal entry into Paris. Now they were all very silent, with furrowed +brows, thinking no longer about what was going on behind them, wondering +only about their own fate. + +Outside the park was the buzz of the approaching throng which was +blackening the roads. The invasion was beginning again, but with a +refluent movement. For hours at a time great strings of gray trucks went +puffing by; then regiments of infantry, squadrons, rolling stock. They +were marching very slowly with a deliberation that puzzled Desnoyers, +who could not make out whether this recessional meant flight or change +of position. The only thing that gave him any satisfaction was the +stupefied and downcast appearance of the soldiers, the gloomy sulks of +the officers. Nobody was shouting; they all appeared to have forgotten +their “Nach Paris!” The greenish gray monster still had its armed head +stretched across the other side of the Marne, but its tail was beginning +to uncoil with uneasy wrigglings. + +After night had settled down the troops were still continuing to +fall back. The cannonading was certainly coming nearer. Some of the +thunderous claps sounded so close that they made the glass tremble in +the windows. A fugitive farmer, trying to find refuge in the park, +gave Don Marcelo some news. The Germans were in full retreat. They had +installed some of their batteries on the banks of the Marne in order +to attempt a new resistance. . . . And the new arrival remained without +attracting the attention of the invaders who, a few days before, would +have shot him on the slightest suspicion. + +The mechanical workings of discipline were evidently out of gear. +Doctors and nurses were running from place to place, shouting orders and +breaking out into a volley of curses every time a fresh ambulance load +arrived. The drivers were commanded to take their patients on ahead +to another hospital near the rear-guard. Orders had been received to +evacuate the castle that very night. + +In spite of this prohibition, one of the ambulances unloaded its relay +of wounded men. So deplorable was their state that the doctors accepted +them, judging it useless for them to continue their journey. They +remained in the garden, lying on the same stretchers that they had +occupied within the vehicle. By the light of the lanterns Desnoyers +recognized one of the dying. It was the secretary to His Excellency, the +Socialist professor who had shut him in the cellar vaults. + +At the sight of the owner of the castle he smiled as though he had met a +comrade. His was the only familiar face among all those people who were +speaking his language. He was ghastly in hue, with sunken features and +an impalpable glaze spreading over his eyes. He had no visible wounds, +but from under the cloak spread over his abdomen his torn intestines +exhaled a fatal warning. The presence of Don Marcelo made him guess +where they had brought him, and little by little he co-ordinated his +recollections. As though the old gentleman might be interested in the +whereabouts of his comrades, he told him all he knew in a weak and +strained voice. . . . Bad luck for their brigade! They had reached the +front at a critical moment for the reserve troops. Commandant Blumhardt +had died at the very first, a shell of ‘75 taking off his head. Dead, +too, were all the officers who had lodged in the castle. His Excellency +had had his jaw bone torn off by a fragment of shell. He had seen him +on the ground, howling with pain, drawing a portrait from his breast and +trying to kiss it with his broken mouth. He had himself been hit in +the stomach by the same shell. He had lain forty-two hours on the field +before he was picked up by the ambulance corps. . . . + +And with the mania of the University man, whose hobby is to see +everything reasoned out and logically explained, he added in that +supreme moment, with the tenacity of those who die talking: + +“Sad war, sir. . . . Many premises are lacking in order to decide who is +the culpable party. . . . When the war is ended they will have to . . . +will have to . . .” And he closed his eyes overcome by the effort. +Desnoyers left the dead man, thinking to himself. Poor fellow! He was +placing the hour of justice at the termination of the war, and meanwhile +hundreds like him were dying, disappearing with all their scruples of +ponderous and disciplined reasoning. + +That night there was no sleep on the place. The walls of the lodge +were creaking, the glass crashing and breaking, the two women in the +adjoining room crying out nervously. The noise of the German fire was +beginning to mingle with that of other explosives close at hand. He +surmised that this was the smashing of the French projectiles which were +coming in search of the enemy’s artillery above the Marne. + +For a few minutes his hopes revived as the possibility of victory +flashed into his mind, but he was so depressed by his forlorn situation +that such a hope evaporated as quickly as it had come. His own troops +were advancing, but this advance did not, perhaps, represent more than +a local gain. The line of battle was so extensive! . . . It was going to +be as in 1870; the French would achieve partial victories, modified at +the last moment by the strategy of the enemies until they were turned +into complete defeat. + +After midnight the cannonading ceased, but silence was by no means +re-established. Automobiles were rolling around the lodge midst hoarse +shouts of command. It must be the hospital convoy that was evacuating +the castle. Then near daybreak the thudding of horses’ hoofs and the +wheels of chugging machines thundered through the gates, making the +ground tremble. Half an hour afterwards sounded the tramp of multitudes +moving at a quick pace, dying away in the depths of the park. + +At dawn the old gentleman leaped from his bed, and the first thing +he spied from the cottage window was the flag of the Red Cross still +floating from the top of the castle. There were no more cots under the +trees. On the bridge he met one of the doctors and several assistants. +The hospital force had gone with all its transportable patients. There +only remained in the castle, under the care of a company, those most +gravely wounded. The Valkyries of the health department had also +disappeared. + +The red-bearded Shylock was among those left behind, and on seeing Don +Marcelo afar off, he smiled and immediately vanished. A few minutes +after he returned with full hands. Never before had he been so generous. +Foreseeing pressing necessity, the hungry man put his hands in his +pockets as usual, but was astonished to learn from the orderly’s +emphatic gestures that he did not wish any money. + +“Nein. . . . Nein!” + +What generosity was this! . . . The German persisted in his negatives. +His enormous mouth expanded in an ingratiating grin as he laid his heavy +paws on Marcelo’s shoulders. He appeared like a good dog, a meek dog, +fawning and licking the hands of the passer-by, coaxing to be taken +along with him. “Franzosen. . . . Franzosen.” He did not know how to +say any more, but the Frenchman read in his words the desire to make him +understand that he had always been in great sympathy with the French. +Something very important was evidently transpiring--the ill-humored air +of those left behind in the castle, and the sudden servility of this +plowman in uniform, made it very apparent. . . . + +Some distance beyond the castle he saw soldiers, many soldiers. A +battalion of infantry had spread itself along the walls with trucks, +draught horses and swift mounts. With their pikes the soldiers were +making small openings in the mud walls, shaping them into a border of +little pinnacles. Others were kneeling or sitting near the apertures, +taking off their knapsacks in order that they might be less hampered. +Afar off the cannon were booming, and in the intervals between their +detonations could be heard the bursting of shrapnel, the bubbling of +frying oil, the grinding of a coffee-mill, and the incessant crackling +of rifle-fire. Fleecy clouds were floating over the fields, giving to +near objects the indefinite lines of unreality. The sun was a faint spot +seen between curtains of mist. The trees were weeping fog moisture from +all the cracks in their bark. + +A thunderclap rent the air so forcibly that it seemed very near the +castle. Desnoyers trembled, believing that he had received a blow in +the chest. The other men remained impassive with their customary +indifference. A cannon had just been discharged but a few feet away +from him, and not till then did he realize that two batteries had been +installed in the park. The pieces of artillery were hidden under mounds +of branches, the gunners having felled trees in order to mask their +monsters more perfectly. He saw them arranging the last; with shovels, +they were forming a border of earth, a foot in width, around each +piece. This border guarded the feet of the operators whose bodies were +protected by steel shields on both sides of them. Then they raised +a breastwork of trunks and boughs, leaving only the mouth of the +cylindrical mortar visible. + +By degrees Don Marcelo became accustomed to the firing which seemed +to be creating a vacuum within his cranium. He ground his teeth and +clenched his fists at every detonation, but stood stock-still with no +desire to leave, dominated by the violence of the explosions, admiring +the serenity of these men who were giving orders, erect and coolly, or +moving like humble menials around their roaring metal beasts. + +All his ideas seemed to have been snatched away by that first discharge +of cannon. His brain was living in the present moment only. He turned +his eyes insistently toward the white and red banner which was waving +from the mansion. + +“That is treachery,” he thought, “a breach of faith.” + +Far away, on the other side of the Marne, the French artillery were +belching forth their deadly fire. He could imagine their handiwork +from the little yellowish clouds that were floating in the air, and +the columns of smoke which were spouting forth at various points of +the landscape where the German troops were hidden, forming a line which +appeared to lose itself in infinity. An atmosphere of protection and +respect seemed to be enveloping the castle. + +The morning mists had dissolved; the sun was finally showing its bright +and limpid light, lengthening the shadows of men and trees to fantastic +dimensions. Hills and woods came forth from the haze, fresh and dripping +after their morning bath. The entire valley was now completely exposed, +and Desnoyers was surprised to see the river from the spot to which he +had been rooted--the cannon having opened great windows in the woods +that had hid it from view. What most astonished him in looking over this +landscape, smiling and lovely in the morning light, was that nobody was +to be seen--absolutely nobody. Mountain tops and forests were bellowing +without anyone’s being in evidence. There must be more than a hundred +thousand men in the space swept by his piercing gaze, and yet not a +human being was visible. The deadly boom of arms was causing the air to +vibrate without leaving any optical trace. There was no other smoke but +that of the explosions, the black spirals that were flinging their +great shells to burst on the ground. These were rising on all sides, +encircling the castle like a ring of giant tops, but not one of that +orderly circle ventured to touch the edifice. Don Marcelo again stared +at the Red Cross flag. “It is treachery!” he kept repeating; yet at the +same time he was selfishly rejoicing in the base expedient, since it +served to defend his property. + +The battalion was at last completely installed the entire length of the +wall, opposite the river. The soldiers, kneeling, were supporting their +guns on the newly made turrets and grooves, and seemed satisfied with +this rest after a night of battling retreat. They all appeared sleeping +with their eyes open. Little by little they were letting themselves drop +back on their heels, or seeking the support of their knapsacks. Snores +were heard in the brief spaces between the artillery fire. The officials +standing behind them were examining the country with their field +glasses, or talking in knots. Some appeared disheartened, others furious +at the backward flight that had been going on since the day before. +The majority appeared calm, with the passivity of obedience. The battle +front was immense; who could foresee the outcome? . . . There they were +in full retreat, but in other places, perhaps, their comrades might be +advancing with decided gains. Until the very last moment, no soldier +knows certainly the fate of the struggle. What was most grieving this +detachment was the fact that it was all the time getting further away +from Paris. + +Don Marcelo’s eye was caught by a sparkling circle of glass, a monocle +fixed upon him with aggressive insistence. A lank lieutenant with the +corseted waist of the officers that he had seen in Berlin, a genuine +Junker, was a few feet away, sword in hand behind his men, like a +wrathful and glowering shepherd. + +“What are you doing here?” he said gruffly. + +Desnoyers explained that he was the owner of the castle. “French?” + continued the lieutenant. “Yes, French.” . . . The official scowled in +hostile meditation, feeling the necessity of saying something against +the enemy. The shouts and antics of his companions-at-arms put a summary +end to his reflections. They were all staring upward, and the old man +followed their gaze. + +For an hour past, there had been streaking through the air frightful +roarings enveloped in yellowish vapors, strips of cloud which seemed +to contain wheels revolving with frenzied rotation. They were the +projectiles of the heavy German artillery which, fired from various +distances, threw their great shells over the castle. Certainly that +could not be what was interesting the officials! + +He half shut his eyes in order to see better, and finally near the +edge of a cloud, he distinguished a species of mosquito flashing in +the sunlight. Between brief intervals of silence, could be heard the +distant, faint buzz announcing its presence. The officers nodded their +heads. “Franzosen!” Desnoyers thought so, too. He could not believe that +the enemy’s two black crosses were between those wings. Instead he saw +with his mind’s eye, two tricolored rings like the circular spots which +color the fluttering wings of butterflies. + +This explained the agitation of the Germans. The French air-bird +remained motionless for a few seconds over the castle, regardless of +the white bubbles exploding underneath and around it. In vain the cannon +nearest hurled their deadly fire. It wheeled rapidly, and returned to +the place from which it came. + +“It must have taken in the whole situation,” thought the old Frenchman. +“It has found them out; it knows what is going on here.” + +He guessed rightly that this information would swiftly change the course +of events. Everything which had been happening in the early morning +hours was going to sink into insignificance compared with what was +coming now. He shuddered with fear, the irresistible fear of the +unknown, and yet at the same time, he was filled with curiosity, +impatience and nervous dread before a danger that threatened and would +not stay its relentless course. + +Outside the park, but a short distance from the mud wall, sounded a +strident explosion like a stupendous blow from a gigantic axe--an axe as +big as his castle. There began flying through the air entire treetops, +trunks split in two, great chunks of earth with the vegetation still +clinging, a rain of dirt that obscured the heavens. Some stones fell +down from the wall. The Germans crouched but with no visible emotion. +They knew what it meant; they had been expecting it as something +inevitable after seeing the French aeroplane. The Red Cross flag could +no longer deceive the enemy’s artillery. + +Don Marcelo had not time to recover from his surprise before there came +a second explosion nearer the mud wall . . . a third inside the park. +It seemed to him that he had been suddenly flung into another world from +which he was seeing men and things across a fantastic atmosphere which +roared and rocked and destroyed with the violence of its reverberations. +He was stunned with the awfulness of it all, and yet he was not afraid. +Until then, he had imagined fear in a very different form. He felt an +agonizing vacuum in his stomach. He staggered violently all the time, as +though some force were pushing him about, giving him first a blow on the +chest, and then another on the back to straighten him up. + +A strong smell of acids penetrated the atmosphere, making respiration +very difficult, and filling his eyes with smarting tears. On the other +hand, the uproar no longer disturbed him, it did not exist for him. He +supposed it was still going on from the trembling air, the shaking of +things around him, in the whirlwind which was bending men double but was +not reacting within his body. He had lost the faculty of hearing; all +the strength of his senses had concentrated themselves in looking. His +eyes appeared to have acquired multiple facets like those of certain +insects. He saw what was happening before, beside, behind him, +simultaneously witnessing extraordinary things as though all the laws of +life had been capriciously overthrown. + +An official a few feet away suddenly took an inexplicable flight. He +began to rise without losing his military rigidity, still helmeted, with +furrowed brow, moustache blond and short, mustard-colored chest, +and gloved hands still holding field-glasses and map--but there his +individuality stopped. The lower extremities, in their grayish leggings +remained on the ground, inanimate as reddening, empty moulds. The +trunk, in its violent ascent, spread its contents abroad like a bursting +rocket. Further on, some gunners, standing upright, were suddenly +stretched full length, converted into a motionless row, bathed in blood. + +The line of infantry was lying close to the ground. The men had huddled +themselves together near the loopholes through which they aimed their +guns, trying to make themselves less visible. Many had placed their +knapsacks over their heads or at their backs to defend themselves from +the flying bits of shell. If they moved at all, it was only to worm +their way further into the earth, trying to hollow it out with their +stomachs. Many of them had changed position with mysterious rapidity, +now lying stretched on their backs as though asleep. One had his uniform +torn open across the abdomen, showing between the rents of the cloth, +slabs of flesh, blue and red that protruded and swelled up with a +bubbling expansion. Another had his legs shot away, and was looking +around with surprised eyes and a black mouth rounded into an effort to +howl, but from which no sound ever came. + +Desnoyers had lost all notion of time. He could not tell whether he had +been rooted to that spot for many hours or for a single moment. The only +thing that caused him anxiety was the persistent trembling of his legs +which were refusing to sustain him. . . . + +Something fell behind him. It was raining ruin. Turning his head, he +saw his castle completely transformed. Half of the tower had just been +carried off. The pieces of slate were scattered everywhere in tiny +chips; the walls were crumbling; loose window frames were balancing on +edge like fragments of stage scenery, and the old wood of the tower hood +was beginning to burn like a torch. + +The spectacle of this instantaneous change in his property impressed him +more than the ravages of death, making him realize the Cyclopean power +of the blind, avenging forces raging around him. The vital force that +had been concentrated in his eyes, now spread to his feet . . . and he +started to run without knowing whither, feeling the same necessity to +hide himself as had those men enchained by discipline who were trying to +flatten themselves into the earth in imitation of the reptile’s pliant +invisibility. + +His instinct was pushing him toward the lodge, but half way up the +avenue, he was stopped by another lot of astounding transformations. An +unseen hand had just snatched away half of the cottage roof. The entire +side wall doubled over, forming a cascade of bricks and dust. The +interior rooms were now exposed to view like a theatrical setting--the +kitchen where he had eaten, the upper floor with the room in which he +descried his still unmade bed. The poor women! . . . + +He turned around, running now toward the castle, trying to make the +sub-cellar in which he had been fastened for the night; and when he +finally found himself under those dusty cobwebs, he felt as though +he were in the most luxurious salon, and he devoutly blessed the good +workmanship of the castle builders. + +The subterranean silence began gradually to bring back his sense of +hearing. The cannonading of the Germans and the bursting of the French +shells sounded from his retreat like a distant tempest. There came into +his mind the eulogies which he had been accustomed to lavish upon the +cannon of ‘75 without knowing anything about it except by hearsay. Now +he had witnessed its effects. “It shoots TOO well!” he muttered. In a +short time it would finish destroying his castle--he was finding such +perfection excessive. + +But he soon repented of these selfish lamentations. An idea, tenacious +as remorse, had fastened itself in his brain. It now seemed to him that +all he was passing through was an expiation for the great mistake of +his youth. He had evaded the service of his country, and now he was +enveloped in all the horrors of war, with the humiliation of a passive +and defenseless being, without any of the soldier’s satisfaction of +being able to return the blows. He was going to die--he was sure of +that--but a shameful death, unknown and inglorious. The ruins of his +mansion were going to become his sepulchre. . . . And the certainty of +dying there in the darkness, like a rat that sees the openings of his +hole being closed up, made this refuge intolerable. + +Above him the tornado was still raging. A peal like thunder boomed above +his head, and then came the crash of a landslide. Another projectile +must have fallen upon the building. He heard shrieks of agony, yells +and precipitous steps on the floor above him. Perhaps the shell, in its +blind fury, had blown to pieces many of the dying in the salons. + +Fearing to remain buried in his retreat, he bounded up the cellar stairs +two steps at a time. As he scudded across the first floor, he saw the +sky through the shattered roofs. Along the edges were hanging sections +of wood, fragments of swinging tile and furniture stopped halfway in +its flight. Crossing the hall, he had to clamber over much rubbish. He +stumbled over broken and twisted iron, parts of beds rained from the +upper rooms into the mountain of debris in which he saw convulsed limbs +and heard anguished voices that he could not understand. + +He leaped as he ran, feeling the same longing for light and free air as +those who rush from the hold to the deck of a shipwreck. While sheltered +in the darkness more time had elapsed than he had supposed. The sun was +now very high. He saw in the garden more corpses in tragic and grotesque +postures. The wounded were doubled over with pain or lying on the ground +or propping themselves against the trees in painful silence. Some had +opened their knapsacks and drawn out their sanitary kits and were trying +to care for their cuts. The infantry was now firing incessantly. The +number of riflemen had increased. New bands of soldiers were entering +the park--some with a sergeant at their head, others followed by an +officer carrying a revolver at his breast as though guiding his men +with it. This must be the infantry expelled from their position near +the river which had come to reinforce the second line of defense. The +mitrailleuses were adding their tac-tac to the cracks of the fusileers. + +The hum of the invisible swarms was buzzing incessantly. Thousands of +sticky horse-flies were droning around Desnoyers without his even seeing +them. The bark of the trees was being stripped by unseen hands; the +leaves were falling in torrents; the boughs were shaken by opposing +forces, the stones on the ground were being crushed by a mysterious +foot. All inanimate objects seemed to have acquired a fantastic life. +The zinc spoons of the soldiers, the metallic parts of their outfit, the +pails of the artillery were all clanking as though in an imperceptible +hailstorm. He saw a cannon lying on its side with the wheels broken +and turned over among many men who appeared asleep; he saw soldiers +who stretched themselves out without a contraction, without a sound, as +though overcome by sudden drowsiness. Others were howling and dragging +themselves forward in a sitting position. + +The old man felt an extreme sensation of heat. The pungent perfume of +explosive drugs brought the tears to his eyes and clawed at his throat. +At the same time he was chilly and felt his forehead freezing in a +glacial sweat. + +He had to leave the bridge. Several soldiers were passing bearing the +wounded to the edifice in spite of the fact that it was falling in +ruins. Suddenly he was sprinkled from head to foot, as if the earth had +opened to make way for a waterspout. A shell had fallen into the moat, +throwing up an enormous column of water, making the carp sleeping in +the mud fly into fragments, breaking a part of the edges and grinding to +powder the white balustrades with their great urns of flowers. + +He started to run on with the blindness of terror, when he suddenly saw +before him the same little round crystal, examining him coolly. It +was the Junker, the officer of the monocle. . . . With the end of +his revolver, the German pointed to two pails a short distance away, +ordering Desnoyers to fill them from the lagoon and give the water to +the men overcome by the sun. Although the imperious tone admitted of no +reply, Don Marcelo tried, nevertheless, to resist. He received a blow +from the revolver on his chest at the same time that the lieutenant +slapped him in the face. The old man doubled over, longing to weep, +longing to perish; but no tears came, nor did life escape from his body +under this affront, as he wished. . . . With the two buckets in his +hands, he found himself dipping up water from the canal, carrying it the +length of the file, giving it to men who, each in his turn, dropped his +gun to gulp the liquid with the avidity of panting beasts. + +He was no longer afraid of the shrill shrieks of invisible bodies. His +one great longing was to die. He was strongly convinced that he was +going to die; his sufferings were too great; there was no longer any +place in the world for him. + +He had to pass by breaches opened in the wall by the bursting shells. +There was no natural object to arrest the eye looking through these +gaps. Hedges and groves had been swept away or blotted out by the +fire of the artillery. He descried at the foot of the highway near his +castle, several of the attacking columns which had crossed the Marne. +The advancing forces were coming doggedly on, apparently unmoved by the +steady, deadly fire of the Germans. Soon they were rushing forward with +leaps and bounds, by companies, shielding themselves behind bits of +upland in bends of the road, in order to send forth their blasts of +death. + +The old man was now fired with a desperate resolution;--since he had to +die, let a French ball kill him! And he advanced very erect with his two +pails among those men shooting, lying down. Then, with a sudden fear, +he stood still hanging his head; a second thought had told him that the +bullet which he might receive would be one danger less for the enemy. +It would be better for them to kill the Germans . . . and he began to +cherish the hope that he might get possession of some weapon from those +dying around him, and fall upon that Junker who had struck him. + +He was filling his pails for the third time, and murderously +contemplating the lieutenant’s back when something occurred so absurd +and unnatural that it reminded him of the fantastic flash of the +cinematograph;--the officer’s head suddenly disappeared; two jets of +blood spurted from his severed neck and his body collapsed like an empty +sack. + +At the same time, a cyclone was sweeping the length of the wall, tearing +up groves, overturning cannon and carrying away people in a whirlwind as +though they were dry leaves. He inferred that Death was now blowing from +another direction. Until then, it had come from the front on the river +side, battling with the enemy’s line ensconced behind the walls. Now, +with the swiftness of an atmospheric change, it was blustering from the +depths of the park. A skillful manoeuver of the aggressors, the use of a +distant road, a chance bend in the German line had enabled the French to +collect their cannon in a new position, attacking the occupants of the +castle with a flank movement. + +It was a lucky thing for Don Marcelo that he had lingered a few moments +on the bank of the fosse, sheltered by the bulk of the edifice. The fire +of the hidden battery passed the length of the avenue, carrying off the +living, destroying for a second time the dead, killing horses, breaking +the wheels of vehicles and making the gun carriages fly through the air +with the flames of a volcano in whose red and bluish depths black bodies +were leaping. He saw hundreds of fallen men; he saw disembowelled horses +trampling on their entrails. The death harvest was not being reaped in +sheaves; the entire field was being mowed down with a single flash +of the sickle. And as though the batteries opposite divined the +catastrophe, they redoubled their fire, sending down a torrent of +shells. They fell on all sides. Beyond the castle, at the end of the +park, craters were opening in the woods, vomiting forth the entire +trunks of trees. The projectiles were hurling from their pits the bodies +interred the night before. + +Those still alive were firing through the gaps in the walls. Then they +sprang up with the greatest haste. Some grasped their bayonets, pale, +with clamped lips and a mad glare in their eyes; others turned their +backs, running toward the exit from the park, regardless of the shouts +of their officers and the revolver shots sent after the fugitives. + +All this occurred with dizzying rapidity, like a nightmare. On the other +side of the wall came a murmur, swelling in volume, like that of the +sea. Desnoyers heard shouts, and it seemed to him that some hoarse, +discordant voices were singing the Marseillaise. The machine-guns were +working with the swift steadiness of sewing machines. The attack was +going to be opposed with furious resistance. The Germans, crazed +with fury, shot and shot. In one of the breaches appeared a red kepis +followed by legs of the same color trying to clamber over the ruins. But +this vision was instantly blotted out by the sprinkling from the machine +guns, making the invaders fall in great heaps on the other side of the +wall. Don Marcelo never knew exactly how the change took place. Suddenly +he saw the red trousers within the park. With irresistible bounds they +were springing over the wall, slipping through the yawning gaps, and +darting out from the depths of the woods by invisible paths. They were +little soldiers, husky, panting, perspiring, with torn cloaks; and +mingled with them, in the disorder of the charge, African marksmen with +devilish eyes and foaming mouths, Zouaves in wide breeches and chasseurs +in blue uniforms. + +The German officers wanted to die. With upraised swords, after having +exhausted the shots in their revolvers, they advanced upon their +assailants followed by the soldiers who still obeyed them. There was a +scuffle, a wild melee. To the trembling spectator, it seemed as though +the world had fallen into profound silence. The yells of the combatants, +the thud of colliding bodies, the clang of arms seemed as nothing after +the cannon had quieted down. He saw men pierced through the middle by +gun points whose reddened ends came out through their kidneys; muskets +raining hammer-like blows, adversaries that grappled in hand-to-hand +tussles, rolling over and over on the ground, trying to gain the +advantage by kicks and bites. + +The mustard-colored fronts had entirely disappeared, and he now saw only +backs of that color fleeing toward the exit, filtering among the trees, +falling midway in their flight when hit by the pursuing balls. Many +of the invaders were unable to chase the fugitives because they were +occupied in repelling with rude thrusts of their bayonets the bodies +falling upon them in agonizing convulsions. + +Don Marcelo suddenly found himself in the very thick of these mortal +combats, jumping up and down like a child, waving his hands and shouting +with all his might. When he came to himself again, he was hugging +the grimy head of a young French officer who was looking at him in +astonishment. He probably thought him crazy on receiving his kisses, on +hearing his incoherent torrent of words. Emotionally exhausted, the worn +old man continued to weep after the officer had freed himself with a +jerk. . . . He needed to give vent to his feelings after so many days of +anguished self-control. Vive la France! . . . + +His beloved French were already within the park gates. They were +running, bayonets in hand, in pursuit of the last remnants of the German +battalion trying to escape toward the village. A group of horsemen +passed along the road. They were dragoons coming to complete the rout. +But their horses were fagged out; nothing but the fever of victory +transmitted from man to beast had sustained their painful pace. One +of the equestrians came to a stop near the entrance of the park, the +famished horse eagerly devouring the herbage while his rider settled +down in the saddle as though asleep. Desnoyers touched him on the hip in +order to waken him, but he immediately rolled off on the opposite side. +He was dead, with his entrails protruding from his body, but swept on +with the others, he had been brought thus far on his steady steed. + +Enormous tops of iron and smoke now began falling in the neighborhood. +The German artillery was opening a retaliatory fire against its +lost positions. The advance continued. There passed toward the North +battalions, squadrons and batteries, worn, weary and grimy, covered with +dust and mud, but kindled with an ardor that galvanized their flagging +energy. + +The French cannon began thundering on the village side. Bands of +soldiers were exploring the castle and the nearest woods. From the +ruined rooms, from the depths of the cellars, from the clumps of +shrubbery in the park, from the stables and burned garage, came surging +forth men dressed in greenish gray and pointed helmets. They all threw +up their arms, extending their open hands:--“Kamarades . . . kamarades, +non kaput.” With the restlessness of remorse, they were in dread of +immediate execution. They had suddenly lost all their haughtiness on +finding that they no longer had any official powers and were free from +discipline. Some of those who knew a little French, spoke of their wives +and children, in order to soften the enemies that were threatening them +with their bayonets. A brawny Teuton came up to Desnoyers and clapped +him on the back. It was Redbeard. He pressed his heart and then pointed +to the owner of the castle. “Franzosen . . . great friend of the +Franzosen” . . . and he grinned ingratiatingly at his protector. + +Don Marcelo remained at the castle until the following morning, and was +astounded to see Georgette and her mother emerge unexpectedly from the +depths of the ruined lodge. They were weeping at the sight of the French +uniforms. + +“It could not go on,” sobbed the widow. “God does not die.” + +After a bad night among the ruins, the owner decided to leave +Villeblanche. What was there for him to do now in the destroyed castle? +. . . The presence of so many dead was racking his nerves. There were +hundreds, there were thousands. The soldiers and the farmers were +interring great heaps of them wherever he went, digging burial trenches +close to the castle, in all the avenues of the park, in the garden +paths, around the outbuildings. Even the depths of the circular lagoon +were filled with corpses. How could he ever live again in that tragic +community composed mostly of his enemies? . . . Farewell forever, castle +of Villeblanche! + +He turned his steps toward Paris, planning to get there the best way +he could. He came upon corpses everywhere, but they were not all the +gray-green uniform. Many of his countrymen had fallen in the gallant +offensive. Many would still fall in the last throes of the battle that +was going on behind them, agitating the horizon with its incessant +uproar. Everywhere red pantaloons were sticking up out of the stubble, +hobnailed boots glistening in upright position near the roadside, +livid heads, amputated bodies, stray limbs--and, scattered through this +funereal medley, red kepis and Oriental caps, helmets with tufts of +horse hair, twisted swords, broken bayonets, guns and great mounds +of cannon cartridges. Dead horses were strewing the plain with their +swollen carcasses. Artillery wagons with their charred wood and bent +iron frames revealed the tragic moment of the explosion. Rectangles of +overturned earth marked the situation of the enemy’s batteries before +their retreat. Amidst the broken cannons and trucks were cones of +carbonized material, the remains of men and horses burned by the Germans +on the night before their withdrawal. + +In spite of these barbarian holocausts corpses were every where in +infinite numbers. There seemed to be no end to their number; it seemed +as though the earth had expelled all the bodies that it had received +since the beginning of the world. The sun was impassively flooding the +fields of death with its waves of light. In its yellowish glow, the +pieces of the bayonets, the metal plates, the fittings of the guns were +sparkling like bits of crystal. The damp night, the rain, the rust of +time had not yet modified with their corrosive action these relics of +combat. + +But decomposition had begun to set in. Graveyard odors were all along +the road, increasing in intensity as Desnoyers plodded on toward Paris. +Every half hour, the evidence of corruption became more pronounced--many +of the dead on this side of the river having lain there for three or +four days. Bands of crows, at the sound of his footsteps, rose up, +lazily flapping their wings, but returning soon to blacken the earth, +surfeited but not satisfied, having lost all fear of mankind. + +From time to time, the sad pedestrian met living bands of men--platoons +of cavalry, gendarmes, Zouaves and chasseurs encamped around the ruined +farmsteads, exploring the country in pursuit of German fugitives. Don +Marcelo had to explain his business there, showing the passport that +Lacour had given him in order to make his trip on the military train. +Only in this way, could he continue his journey. These soldiers--many +of them slightly wounded--were still stimulated by victory. They were +laughing, telling stories, and narrating the great dangers which they +had escaped a few days before, always ending with, “We are going to kick +them across the frontier!” . . . + +Their indignation broke forth afresh as they looked around at the +blasted towns--farms and single houses, all burned. Like skeletons +of prehistoric beasts, many steel frames twisted by the flames were +scattered over the plains. The brick chimneys of the factories were +either levelled to the ground or, pierced with the round holes made +by shells, were standing up like giant pastoral flutes forced into the +earth. + +Near the ruined villages, the women were removing the earth and trying +to dig burial trenches, but their labor was almost useless because it +required an immense force to inter so many dead. “We are all going to +die after gaining the victory,” mused the old man. “The plague is going +to break out among us.” + +The water of the river must also be contaminated by this contagion; +so when his thirst became intolerable he drank, in preference, from a +nearby pond. . . . But, alas, on raising his head, he saw some greenish +legs on the surface of the shallow water, the boots sunk in the muddy +banks. The head of the German was in the depths of the pool. + +He had been trudging on for several hours when he stopped before a +ruined house which he believed that he recognized. Yes, it was the +tavern where he had lunched a few days ago on his way to the castle. He +forced his way in among the blackened walls where a persistent swarm of +flies came buzzing around him. The smell of decomposing flesh attracted +his attention; a leg which looked like a piece of charred cardboard was +wedged in the ruins. Looking at it bitterly he seemed to hear again the +old woman with her grandchildren clinging to her skirts--“Monsieur, why +are the people fleeing? War only concerns the soldiers. We countryfolk +have done no wrong to anybody, and we ought not to be afraid.” + +Half an hour later, on descending a hilly path, the traveller had the +most unexpected of encounters. He saw there a taxicab, an automobile +from Paris. The chauffeur was walking tranquilly around the vehicle as +if it were at the cab stand, and he promptly entered into conversation +with this gentleman who appeared to him as downcast and dirty as a +tramp, with half of his livid face discolored from a blow. He had +brought out here in his machine some Parisians who had wanted to see the +battlefield; they were reporters; and he was waiting there to take them +back at nightfall. + +Don Marcelo buried his right hand in his pocket. Two hundred francs +if the man would drive him to Paris. The chauffeur declined with the +gravity of a man faithful to his obligations. . . . “Five hundred?” + . . . and he showed his fist bulging with gold coins. The man’s only +response was a twirl of the handle which started the machine to +snorting, and away they sped. There was not a battle in the neighborhood +of Paris every day in the year! His other clients could just wait. + +And settling back into the motor-car, Desnoyers saw the horrors of the +battle field flying past at a dizzying speed and disappearing behind +him. He was rolling toward human life . . . he was returning to +civilization! + +As they came into Paris, the nearly empty streets seemed to him to be +crowded with people. Never had he seen the city so beautiful. He whirled +through the avenue de l’Opera, whizzed past the place de la Concorde, +and thought he must be dreaming as he realized the gigantic leap that he +had taken within the hour. He compared all that was now around him with +the sights on that plain of death but a few miles away. No; no, it was +not possible. One of the extremes of this contrast must certainly be +false! + +The automobile was beginning to slow down; he must be now in the avenue +Victor Hugo. . . . He couldn’t wake up. Was that really his home? . . . + +The majestic concierge, unable to understand his forlorn appearance, +greeted him with amazed consternation. “Ah. Monsieur! . . . Where has +Monsieur been?” . . . + +“In hell!” muttered Don Marcelo. + +His wonderment continued when he found himself actually in his own +apartment, going through its various rooms. He was somebody once more. +The sight of the fruits of his riches and the enjoyment of home comforts +restored his self-respect at the same time that the contrast recalled to +his mind the recollection of all the humiliations and outrages that he +had suffered. . . . Ah, the scoundrels! . . . + +Two mornings later, the door bell rang. A visitor! + +There came toward him a soldier--a little soldier of the infantry, +timid, with his kepis in his hand, stuttering excuses in Spanish:--“I +knew that you were here . . . I come to . . .” + +That voice? . . . Dragging him from the dark hallway, Don Marcelo +conducted him to the balcony. . . . How handsome he looked! . . . The +kepis was red, but darkened with wear; the cloak, too large, was torn +and darned; the great shoes had a strong smell of leather. Yet never +had his son appeared to him so elegant, so distinguished-looking as now, +fitted out in these rough ready-made clothes. + +“You! . . . You! . . .” + +The father embraced him convulsively, crying like a child, and trembling +so that he could no longer stand. + +He had always hoped that they would finally understand each other. His +blood was coursing through the boy’s veins; he was good, with no other +defect than a certain obstinacy. He was excusing him now for all the +past, blaming himself for a great part of it. He had been too hard. + +“You a soldier!” he kept exclaiming over and over. “You defending my +country, when it is not yours!” . . . + +And he kissed him again, receding a few steps so as to get a better look +at him. Decidedly he was more fascinating now in his grotesque uniform, +than when he was so celebrated for his skill as a dancer and idolized by +the women. + +When the delighted father was finally able to control his emotion, his +eyes, still filled with tears, glowed with a malignant light. A spasm of +hatred furrowed his face. + +“Go,” he said simply. “You do not know what war is; I have just come +from it; I have seen it close by. This is not a war like other wars, +with rational enemies; it is a hunt of wild beasts. . . . Shoot without +a scruple against them all. . . . Every one that you overcome, rids +humanity of a dangerous menace.” + +He hesitated a few seconds, and then added with tragic calm: + +“Perhaps you may encounter familiar faces. Family ties are not always +formed to our tastes. Men of your blood are on the other side. If you +see any one of them . . . do not hesitate. Shoot! He is your enemy. Kill +him! . . . Kill him!” + + + + +PART III + + + +CHAPTER I + +AFTER THE MARNE + + +At the end of October, the Desnoyers family returned to Paris. Dona +Luisa could no longer live in Biarritz, so far from her husband. In vain +la Romantica discoursed on the dangers of a return. The Government was +still in Bordeaux, the President of the Republic and the Ministry making +only the most hurried apparitions in the Capital. The course of the war +might change at any minute; that little affair of the Marne was but +a momentary relief. . . . But the good senora, after having read +Don Marcelo’s letters, opposed an adamantine will to all contrary +suggestions. Besides, she was thinking of her son, her Julio, now a +soldier. . . . She believed that, by returning to Paris, she might in +some ways be more in touch with him than at this seaside resort near the +Spanish frontier. + +Chichi also wished to return because Rene was now filling the greater +part of her thoughts. Absence had shown her that she was really in love +with him. Such a long time without seeing her little sugar soldier! +. . . So the family abandoned their hotel life and returned to the +avenue Victor Hugo. + +Since the shock of the first September days, Paris had been gradually +changing its aspect. The nearly two million inhabitants who had been +living quietly in their homes without letting themselves be drawn into +the panic, had accepted the victory with grave serenity. None of them +could explain the exact course of the battle; they would learn all about +it when it was entirely finished. + +One September Sunday, at the hour when the Parisians are accustomed +to take advantage of the lovely twilight, they had learned from the +newspapers of the great triumph of the Allies and of the great danger +which they had so narrowly escaped. The people were delighted, but +did not, however, abandon their calm demeanor. Six weeks of war had +radically changed the temperament of turbulent and impressionable Paris. + +The victory was slowly restoring the Capital to its former aspect. A +street that was practically deserted a few weeks before was now filled +with transients. The shops were reopening. The neighbors accustomed to +the conventional silence of their deserted apartment houses, again heard +sounds of returning life in the homes above and below them. + +Don Marcelo’s satisfaction in welcoming his family home was considerably +clouded by the presence of Dona Elena. She was Germany returning to the +encounter, the enemy again established within his tents. Would he never +be able to free himself from this bondage? . . . She was silent in her +brother-in-law’s presence because recent events had rather bewildered +her. Her countenance was stamped with a wondering expression as though +she were gazing at the upsetting of the most elemental physical laws. +In reflective silence she was puzzling over the Marne enigma, unable to +understand how it was that the Germans had not conquered the ground +on which she was treading; and in order to explain this failure, she +resorted to the most absurd suppositions. + +One especially engrossing matter was increasing her sadness. Her sons. +. . . What would become of her sons! Don Marcelo had never told her of +his meeting with Captain von Hartrott. He was maintaining absolute +silence about his sojourn at Villeblanche. He had no desire to recount +his adventures at the battle of the Marne. What was the use of saddening +his loved ones with such miseries? . . . He simply told Dona Luisa, who +was alarmed about the possible fate of the castle, that they would not +be able to go there for many years to come, because the hostilities had +rendered it uninhabitable. A covering of zinc sheeting had been +substituted for the ancient roof in order to prevent further injury from +wind and rain to the wrecked interior. Later on, after peace had been +declared, they would think about its renovation. Just now it had too +many inhabitants. And all the ladies, including Dona Elena, shuddered in +imagining the thousands of buried bodies forming their ghastly circle +around the building. This vision made Frau von Hartrott again groan, +“Ay, my sons!” + +Finally, for humanity’s sake, her brother-in-law set her mind at rest +regarding the fate of one of them, the Captain von Hartrott. He was in +perfect health at the beginning of the battle. He knew that this was so +from a friend who had conversed with him . . . and he did not wish to +talk further about him. + +Dona Luisa was spending a part of each day in the churches, trying to +quiet her uneasiness with prayer. These petitions were no longer vague +and generous for the fate of millions of unknown men, for the victory of +an entire people. With maternal self-centredness they were focussed +on one single person--her son, who was a soldier like the others, and +perhaps at this very moment was exposed to the greatest danger. The +tears that he had cost her! . . . She had implored that he and his +father might come to understand each other, and finally just as God was +miraculously granting her supplication, Julio had taken himself off to +the field of death. + +Her entreaties never went alone to the throne of grace. Someone was +praying near her, formulating identical requests. The tearful eyes of +her sister were raised at the same time as hers to the figure of the +crucified Savior. “Lord, save my son!” . . . When uttering these words, +Dona Luisa always saw Julio as he looked in a pale photograph which he +had sent his father from the trenches--with kepis and military cloak, a +gun in his right hand, and his face shadowed by a growing beard. “O +Lord have mercy upon us!” . . . and Dona Elena was at the same time +contemplating a group of officers with helmets and reseda uniforms +reinforced with leather pouches for the revolver, field glasses and +maps, with sword-belt of the same material. + +Oftentimes when Don Marcelo saw them setting forth together toward Saint +Honore d’Eylau, he would wax very indignant. + +“They are juggling with God. . . . This is most unreasonable! How could +He grant such contrary petitions? . . . Ah, these women!” + +And then, with that superstition which danger awakens, he began to +fear that his sister-in-law might cause some grave disaster to his son. +Divinity, fatigued with so many contradictory prayers was going to turn +His back and not listen to any of them. Why did not this fatal woman +take herself off? . . . + +He felt as exasperated at her presence in his home as he had at the +beginning of hostilities. Dona Luisa was still innocently repeating her +sister’s statements, submitting them to the superior criticism of her +husband. In this way, Don Marcelo had learned that the victory of the +Marne had never really happened; it was an invention of the allies. +The German generals had deemed it prudent to retire through profound +strategic foresight, deferring till a little later the conquest of +Paris, and the French had done nothing but follow them over the ground +which they had left free. That was all. She knew the opinions of +military men of neutral countries; she had been talking in Biarritz with +some people of unusual intelligence; she knew what the German papers +were saying about it. Nobody over there believed that yarn about the +Marne. The people did not even know that there had been such a battle. + +“Your sister said that?” interrupted Desnoyers, pale with wrath and +amazement. + +But he could do nothing but keep on longing for the bodily +transformation of this enemy planted under his roof. Ay, if she could +only be changed into a man! If only the evil genius of her husband could +but take her place for a brief half hour! . . . + +“But the war still goes on,” said Dona Luisa in artless perplexity. “The +enemy is still in France. . . . What good did the battle of the Marne +do?” + +She accepted his explanations with intelligent noddings of the head, +seeming to take them all in, and an hour afterwards would be repeating +the same doubts. + +She, nevertheless, began to evince a mute hostility toward her sister. +Until now, she had been tolerating her enthusiasms in favor of her +husband’s country because she always considered family ties of more +importance than the rivalries of nations. Just because Desnoyers +happened to be a Frenchman and Karl a German, she was not going to +quarrel with Elena. But suddenly this forbearance had vanished. Her son +was now in danger. . . . Better that all the von Hartrotts should die +than that Julio should receive the most insignificant wound! . . . She +began to share the bellicose sentiments of her daughter, recognizing in +her an exceptional talent for appraising events, and now desiring all of +Chichi’s dagger thrusts to be converted into reality. + +Fortunately La Romantica took herself off before this antipathy +crystallized. She was accustomed to pass the afternoons somewhere +outside, and on her return would repeat the news gleaned from friends +unknown to the rest of the family. + +This made Don Marcelo wax very indignant because of the spies +still hidden in Paris. What mysterious world was his sister-in-law +frequenting? . . . + +Suddenly she announced that she was leaving the following morning; she +had obtained a passport to Switzerland, and from there she would go to +Germany. It was high time for her to be returning to her own; she was +most appreciative of the hospitality shown her by the family. . . . And +Desnoyers bade her good-bye with aggressive irony. His regards to +von Hartrott; he was hoping to pay him a visit in Berlin as soon as +possible. + +One morning Dona Luisa, instead of entering the neighboring church as +usual, continued on to the rue de la Pompe, pleased at the thought of +seeing the studio once more. It seemed to her that in this way she might +put herself more closely in touch with her son. This would be a new +pleasure, even greater than poring over his photograph or re-reading his +last letter. + +She was hoping to meet Argensola, the friend of good counsels, for she +knew that he was still living in the studio. Twice he had come to see +her by the service stairway as in the old days, but she had been out. + +As she went up in the elevator, her heart was palpitating with pleasure +and distress. It occurred to the good lady that the “foolish virgins” + must have had feelings like this when for the first time they fell from +the heights of virtue. + +The tears came to her eyes when she beheld the room whose furnishings +and pictures so vividly recalled the absent. Argensola hastened from the +door at the end of the room, agitated, confused, and greeting her with +expressions of welcome at the same time that he was putting sundry +objects out of sight. A woman’s sweater lying on the divan, he covered +with a piece of Oriental drapery--a hat trimmed with flowers, he sent +flying into a far-away corner. Dona Luisa fancied that she saw a bit of +gauzy feminine negligee embroidered in pink, flitting past the window +frame. Upon the divan were two big coffee cups and bits of toast +evidently left from a double breakfast. These artists! . . . The same +as her son! And she was moved to compassion over the bad life of Julio’s +counsellor. + +“My honored Dona Luisa. . . . My DEAR Madame Desnoyers. . . .” + +He was speaking in French and at the top of his voice, looking +frantically at the door through which the white and rosy garments had +flitted. He was trembling at the thought that his hidden companion, not +understanding the situation, might in a jealous fit, compromise him by a +sudden apparition. + +Then he spoke to his unexpected guest about the soldier, exchanging news +with her. Dona Luisa repeated almost word for word the paragraphs of his +letters so frequently read. Argensola modestly refrained from displaying +his; the two friends were accustomed to an epistolary style which would +have made the good lady blush. + +“A valiant man!” affirmed the Spaniard proudly, looking upon the deeds +of his comrade as though they were his own. “A true hero! and I, Madame +Desnoyers, know something about what that means. . . . His chiefs know +how to appreciate him.” . . . + +Julio was a sergeant after having been only two months in the campaign. +The captain of his company and the other officials of the regiment +belonged to the fencing club in which he had had so many triumphs. + +“What a career!” he enthused. “He is one of those who in youth reach +the highest ranks, like the Generals of the Revolution. . . . And what +wonders he has accomplished!” + +The budding officer had merely referred in the most casual way to some +of exploits, with the indifference of one accustomed to danger and +expecting the same attitude from his comrades; but his chum exaggerated +them, enlarging upon them as though they were the culminating events of +the war. He had carried an order across an infernal fire, after three +messengers, trying to accomplish the same feat, had fallen dead. He +had been the first to attack many trenches and had saved many of +his comrades by means of the blows from his bayonet and hand to hand +encounters. Whenever his superior officers needed a reliable man, they +invariably said, “Let Sergeant Desnoyers be called!” + +He rattled off all this as though he had witnessed it, as if he had +just come from the seat of war, making Dona Luisa tremble and pour forth +tears of joy mingled with fear over the glories and dangers of her son. +That Argensola certainly possessed the gift of affecting his hearers by +the realism with which he told his stories! + +In gratitude for these eulogies, she felt that she ought to show some +interest in his affairs. . . . What had he been doing of late? + +“I, Madame, have been where I ought to be. I have not budged from this +spot. I have witnessed the siege of Paris.” + +In vain, his reason protested against the inexactitude of that word, +“siege.” Under the influence of his readings about the war of 1870, he +had classed as a siege all those events which had developed near Paris +during the course of the battle of the Marne. + +He pointed modestly to a diploma in a gold frame hanging above the piano +against a tricolored flag. It was one of the papers sold in the streets, +a certificate of residence in the Capital during the week of danger. He +had filled in the blanks with his name and description of his person; +and at the foot were very conspicuous the signatures of two residents of +the rue de la Pompe--a tavern-keeper, and a friend of the concierge. The +district Commissary of Police, with stamp and seal, had guaranteed the +respectability of these honorable witnesses. Nobody could remain in +doubt, after such precautions, as to whether he had or had not witnessed +the siege of Paris. He had such incredulous friends! . . . + +In order to bring the scene more dramatically before his amiable +listener, he recalled the most striking of his impressions for her +special benefit. Once, in broad daylight, he had seen a flock of sheep +in the boulevard near the Madeleine. Their tread had resounded through +the deserted streets like echoes from the city of the dead. He was the +only pedestrian on the sidewalks thronged with cats and dogs. + +His military recollections excited him like tales of glory. + +“I have seen the march of the soldiers from Morocco. . . . I have seen +the Zouaves in automobiles!” + +The very night that Julio had gone to Bordeaux, he had wandered around +till sunrise, traversing half of Paris, from the Lion of Belfort, to +the Gare de l’Est. Twenty thousand men, with all their campaign outfit, +coming from Morocco, had disembarked at Marseilles and arrived at the +Capital, making part of the trip by rail and the rest afoot. They had +come to take part in the great battle then beginning. They were troops +composed of Europeans and Africans. The vanguard, on entering through +the Orleans gate, had swung into rhythmic pace, thus crossing half Paris +toward the Gare de l’Est where the trains were waiting for them. + +The people of Paris had seen squadrons from Tunis with theatrical +uniforms, mounted on horses, nervous and fleet, Moors with yellow +turbans, Senegalese with black faces and scarlet caps, colonial +artillerymen, and light infantry from Africa. These were professional +warriors, soldiers who in times of peace, led a life of continual +fighting in the colonies--men with energetic profiles, bronzed faces and +the eyes of beasts of prey. They had remained motionlesss in the streets +for hours at a time, until room could be found for them in the military +trains. . . . And Argensola had followed this armed, impassive mass of +humanity from the boulevards, talking with the officials, and listening +to the primitive cries of the African warriors who had never seen Paris, +and who passed through it without curiosity, asking where the enemy was. + +They had arrived in time to attack von Kluck on the banks of the Ourq, +obliging him to fall back or be completely overwhelmed. + +A fact which Argensola did not relate to his sympathetic guest was that +his nocturnal excursion the entire length of this division of the +army had been accompanied by the amiable damsel within, and two other +friends--an enthusiastic and generous coterie, distributing flowers and +kisses to the swarthy soldiers, and laughing at their consternation and +gleaming white teeth. + +Another day he had seen the most extraordinary of all the spectacles +of the war. All the taxicabs, some two thousand vehicles, conveying +battalions of Zouaves, eight men to a motor car, had gone rolling past +him at full speed, bristling with guns and red caps. They had presented +a most picturesque train in the boulevards, like a kind of interminable +wedding procession. And these soldiers got out of the automobiles on the +very edge of the battle field, opening fire the instant that they leaped +from the steps. Gallieni had launched all the men who knew how to handle +a gun against the extreme right of the adversary at the supreme moment +when the most insignificant weight might tip the scales in favor of the +victory which was hanging in the balance. The clerks and secretaries +of the military offices, the orderlies of the government and the civil +police, all had marched to give that final push, forming a mass of +heterogenous colors. + +And one Sunday afternoon when, with his three companions of the “siege” + he was strolling with thousands of other Parisians through the Bois +de Boulogne, he had learned from the extras that the combat which +had developed so near to the city was turning into a great battle, a +victory. + +“I have seen much, Madame Desnoyers. . . . I can relate great events.” + +And she agreed with him. Of course Argensola had seen much! . . . And on +taking her departure, she offered him all the assistance in her power. +He was the friend of her son, and she was used to his petitions. Times +had changed; Don Marcelo’s generosity now knew no bounds . . . but the +Bohemian interrupted her with a lordly gesture; he was living in luxury. +Julio had made him his trustee. The draft from America had been +honored by the bank as a deposit, and he had the use of the interest +in accordance with the regulations of the moratorium. His friend was +sending him regularly whatever money was needed for household expenses. +Never had he been in such prosperous condition. War had its good side, +too . . . but not wishing to break away from old customs, he announced +that once more he would mount the service stairs in order to bear away a +basket of bottles. + +After her sister’s departure, Dona Luisa went alone to the churches +until Chichi in an outburst of devotional ardor, suddenly surprised her +with the announcement: + +“Mama, I am going with you!” + +The new devotee was no longer agitating the household by her rollicking, +boyish joy; she was no longer threatening the enemy with imaginary +dagger thrusts. She was pale, and with dark circles under her eyes. Her +head was drooping as though weighed down with a set of serious, entirely +new thoughts on the other side of her forehead. + +Dona Luisa observed her in the church with an almost indignant jealousy. +Her headstrong child’s eyes were moist, and she was praying as fervently +as the mother . . . but it was surely not for her brother. Julio +had passed to second place in her remembrance. Another man was now +completely filling her thoughts. + +The last of the Lacours was no longer a simple soldier, nor was he now +in Paris. Upon her return from Biarritz, Chichi had listened anxiously +to the reports from her little sugar soldier. Throbbing with eagerness, +she wanted to know all about the dangers which he had been experiencing; +and the young warrior “in the auxiliary service” told her of his +restlessness in the office during the interminable days in which the +troops were battling around Paris, hearing afar off the boom of the +artillery. His father had wished to take him with him to Bordeaux, +but the administrative confusion of the last hour had kept him in the +capital. + +He had done something more. On the day of the great crisis, when the +acting governor had sent out all the available men in automobiles, he +had, unasked, seized a gun and occupied a motor with others from his +office. He had not seen anything more than smoke, burning houses, and +wounded men. Not a single German had passed before his eyes, excepting a +band of Uhlan prisoners, but for some hours he had been shooting on the +edge of the road . . . and nothing more. + +For a while, that was enough for Chichi. She felt very proud to be +the betrothed of a hero of the Marne, even though his intervention had +lasted but a few hours. In a few days, however, her enthusiasm became +rather clouded. + +It was becoming annoying to stroll through the streets with Rene, a +simple soldier and in the auxiliary service, besides. . . . The women +of the town, excited by the recollection of their men fighting at the +front, or clad in mourning because of the death of some loved one, would +look at them with aggressive insolence. The refinement and elegance +of the Republican Prince seemed to irritate them. Several times, she +overheard uncomplimentary words hurled against the “embusques.” + +The fact that her brother who was not French was in the thick of the +fighting, made the Lacour situation still more intolerable. She had an +“embusque” for a lover. How her friends would laugh at her! . . . + +The senator’s son soon read her thoughts and began to lose some of +his smiling serenity. For three days he did not present himself at the +Desnoyers’ home, and they all supposed that he was detained by work at +the office. + +One morning as Chichi was going toward the Bois de Boulogne, escorted by +one of the nut-brown maids, she noticed a soldier coming toward her. He +was wearing a bright uniform of the new gray-blue, the “horizon blue” + just adopted by the French army. The chin strap of his kepi was gilt, +and on his sleeve there was a little strip of gold. His smile, his +outstretched hands, the confidence with which he advanced toward her +made her recognize him. Rene an officer! Her betrothed a sub-lieutenant! + +“Yes, of course! I could do nothing else. . . . I had heard enough!” + +Without his father’s knowledge, and assisted by his friends, he had in +a few days, wrought this wonderful transformation. As a graduate of +the Ecole Centrale, he held the rank of a sub-lieutenant of the Reserve +Artillery, and he had requested to be sent to the front. Good-bye to the +auxiliary service! . . . Within two days, he was going to start for the +war. + +“You have done this!” exclaimed Chichi. “You have done this!” + +Although very pale, she gazed fondly at him with her great eyes--eyes +that seemed to devour him with admiration. + +“Come here, my poor boy. . . . Come here, my sweet little soldier! . . . +I owe you something.” + +And turning her back on the maid, she asked him to come with her round +the corner. It was just the same there. The cross street was just as +thronged as the avenue. But what did she care for the stare of the +curious! Rapturously she flung her arms around his neck, blind and +insensible to everything and everybody but him. + +“There. . . . There!” And she planted on his face two vehement, +sonorous, aggressive kisses. + +Then, trembling and shuddering, she suddenly weakened, and fumbling for +her handkerchief, broke down in desperate weeping. + + + +CHAPTER II + +IN THE STUDIO + + +Upon opening the studio door one afternoon, Argensola stood motionless +with surprise, as though rooted to the ground. + +An old gentleman was greeting him with an amiable smile. + +“I am the father of Julio.” + +And he walked into the apartment with the confidence of a man entirely +familiar with his surroundings. + +By good luck, the artist was alone, and was not obliged to tear +frantically from one end of the room to the other, hiding the traces +of convivial company; but he was a little slow in regaining his +self-control. He had heard so much about Don Marcelo and his bad temper, +that he was very uncomfortable at this unexpected appearance in the +studio. . . . What could the fearful man want? + +His tranquillity was restored after a furtive, appraising glance. His +friend’s father had aged greatly since the beginning of the war. He +no longer had that air of tenacity and ill-humor that had made him +unapproachable. His eyes were sparkling with childish glee; his hands +were trembling slightly, and his back was bent. Argensola, who had +always dodged him in the street and had thrilled with fear when sneaking +up the stairway in the avenue home, now felt a sudden confidence. +The transformed old man was beaming on him like a comrade, and making +excuses to justify his visit. + +He had wished to see his son’s home. Poor old man! He was drawn thither +by the same attraction which leads the lover to lessen his solitude by +haunting the places that his beloved has frequented. The letters from +Julio were not enough; he needed to see his old abode, to be on familiar +terms with the objects which had surrounded him, to breathe the same +air, to chat with the young man who was his boon companion. + +His fatherly glance now included Argensola. . . . “A very interesting +fellow, that Argensola!” And as he thought this, he forgot completely +that, without knowing him, he had been accustomed to refer to him as +“shameless,” just because he was sharing his son’s prodigal life. + +Desnoyers’ glance roamed delightedly around the studio. He knew well +these tapestries and furnishings, all the decorations of the former +owner. He easily remembered everything that he had ever bought, in spite +of the fact that they were so many. His eyes then sought the personal +effects, everything that would call the absent occupant to mind; and he +pored over the miserably executed paintings, the unfinished dabs which +filled all the corners. + +Were they all Julio’s? . . . Many of the canvases belonged to Argensola, +but affected by the old man’s emotion, the artist displayed a marvellous +generosity. Yes, everything was Julio’s handiwork . . . and the father +went from canvas to canvas, halting admiringly before the vaguest daubs +as though he could almost detect signs of genius in their nebulous +confusion. + +“You think he has talent, really?” he asked in a tone that implored a +favorable reply. “I always thought him very intelligent . . . a little +of the diable, perhaps, but character changes with years. . . . Now he +is an altogether different man.” + +And he almost wept at hearing the Spaniard, with his ready, enthusiastic +speech, lauding the departed “diable,” graphically setting forth the +way in which his great genius was going to take the world when his turn +should come. + +The painter of souls finally worked himself up into feeling as much +affected as the father, and began to admire this old Frenchman with a +certain remorse, not wishing to remember how he had ranted against him +not so very long ago. What injustice! . . . + +Don Marcelo clasped his hand like an old comrade. All of his son’s +friends were his friends. He knew the life that young men lived. +. . . If at any time, he should be in any difficulties, if he needed an +allowance so as to keep on with his painting--there he was, anxious to +help him! He then and there invited him to dine at his home that very +night, and if he would care to come every evening, so much the better. +He would eat a family dinner, entirely informal. War had brought about a +great many changes, but he would always be as welcome to the intimacy of +the hearth as though he were in his father’s home. + +Then he spoke of Spain, in order to place himself on a more congenial +footing with the artist. He had never been there but once, and then only +for a short time; but after the war, he was going to know it better. +His father-in-law was a Spaniard, his wife had Spanish blood, and in +his home the language of the family was always Castilian. Ah, Spain, the +country with a noble past and illustrious men! . . . + +Argensola had a strong suspicion that if he had been a native of any +other land, the old gentleman would have praised it in the same way. All +this affection was but a reflex of his love for his absent son, but it +so pleased the impressionable fellow that he almost embraced Don Marcelo +when he took his departure. + +After that, his visits to the studio were very frequent. The artist was +obliged to recommend his friends to take a good long walk after lunch, +abstaining from reappearing in the rue de la Pompe until nightfall. +Sometimes, however, Don Marcelo would unexpectedly present himself in +the morning, and then the soulful impressionist would have to scurry +from place to place, hiding here, concealing there, in order that his +workroom should preserve its appearance of virtuous labor. + +“Youth . . . youth!” the visitor would murmur with a smile of tolerance. + +And he actually had to make an effort to recall the dignity of his +years, in order not to ask Argensola to present him to the fair +fugitives whose presence he suspected in the interior rooms. Perhaps +they had been his boy’s friends, too. They represented a part of his +past, anyway, and that was enough to make him presume that they had +great charms which made them interesting. + +These surprises, with their upsetting consequences, finally made the +painter rather regret this new friendship; and the invitations to dinner +which he was constantly receiving bored him, too. He found the Desnoyers +table most excellent, but too tedious--for the father and mother could +talk of nothing but their absent son. Chichi scarcely looked at her +brother’s friend. Her attention was entirely concentrated on the war. +The irregularity in the mails was exasperating her so that she began +composing protests to the government whenever a few days passed by +without bringing any letter from sub-Lieutenant Lacour. + +Argensola excused himself on various pretexts from continuing to dine +in the avenue Victor Hugo. It pleased him far more to haunt the cheap +restaurants with his female flock. His host accepted his negatives with +good-natured resignation. + +“Not to-day, either?” + +And in order to compensate for his guest’s non-appearance, he would +present himself at the studio earlier than ever on the day following. + +It was an exquisite pleasure for the doting father to let the time slip +by seated on the divan which still seemed to guard the very hollow made +by Julio’s body, gazing at the canvases covered with color by his brush, +toasting his toes by the beat of a stove which roared so cosily in the +profound, conventual silence. It certainly was an agreeable refuge, full +of memories in the midst of monotonous Paris so saddened by the war +that he could not meet a friend who was not preoccupied with his own +troubles. + +His former purchasing dissipations had now lost all charm for him. The +Hotel Drouot no longer tempted him. At that time, the goods of German +residents, seized by the government, were being auctioned off;--a +felicitous retaliation for the enforced journey which the fittings of +the castle of Villeblanche had taken on the road to Berlin; but the +agents told him in vain of the few competitors which he would now meet. +He no longer felt attracted by these extraordinary bargains. Why buy +anything more? . . . Of what use was such useless stuff? Whenever he +thought of the hard life of millions of men in the open field, he felt +a longing to lead an ascetic life. He was beginning to hate the +ostentatious splendors of his home on the avenue Victor Hugo. He now +recalled without a regretful pang, the destruction of the castle. No, +he was far better off there . . . and “there” was always the studio of +Julio. + +Argensola began to form the habit of working in the presence of Don +Marcelo. He knew that the resolute soul abominated inactive people, so, +under the contagious influence of dominant will-power, he began several +new pieces. Desnoyers would follow with interest the motions of his +brush and accept all the explanations of the soulful delineator. For +himself, he always preferred the old masters, and in his bargains had +acquired the work of many a dead artist; but the fact that Julio had +thought as his partner did was now enough for the devotee of the antique +and made him admit humbly all the Spaniard’s superior theories. + +The artist’s laborious zeal was always of short duration. After a few +moments, he always found that he preferred to rest on the divan and +converse with his guest. + +The first subject, of course, was the absentee. They would repeat +fragments of the letters they had received, and would speak of the past +with the most discreet allusions. The painter described Julio’s life +before the war as an existence dedicated completely to art. The father +ignored the inexactitude of such words, and gratefully accepted the lie +as a proof of friendship. Argensola was such a clever comrade, never, +in his loftiest verbal flights, making the slightest reference to Madame +Laurier. + +The old gentleman was often thinking about her nowadays, for he had seen +her in the street giving her arm to her husband, now recovered from his +wounds. The illustrious Lacour had informed him with great satisfaction +of their reconciliation. The engineer had lost but one eye. Now he was +again at the head of his factory requisitioned by the government for the +manufacture of shells. He was a Captain, and was wearing two decorations +of honor. The senator did not know exactly how this unexpected agreement +had come about. He had one day seen them coming home together, looking +affectionately at each other, in complete oblivion of the past. + +“Who remembers things that happened before the war,” said the politic +sage. “They and their friends have completely forgotten all about their +divorce. Nowadays we are all living a new existence. . . . I believe +that the two are happier than ever before.” + +Desnoyers had had a presentiment of this happiness when he saw them +together. And the man of inflexible morality who was, the year before, +anathematizing his son’s behavior toward Laurier, considering it the +most unpardonable of his adventures, now felt a certain indignation in +seeing Marguerite devoted to her husband, and talking to him with such +affectionate interest. This matrimonial felicity seemed to him like the +basest ingratitude. A woman who had had such an influence over the life +of Julio! . . . Could she thus easily forget her love? . . . + +The two had passed on as though they did not recognize him. Perhaps +Captain Laurier did not see very clearly, but she had looked at him +frankly and then hastily averted her eyes so as to evade his greeting. +. . . The old man felt sad over such indifference, not on his own +account, but on his son’s. Poor Julio! . . . The unbending parent, in +complete mental immorality, found himself lamenting this indifference as +something monstrous. + +The war was the other topic of conversation during the afternoons passed +in the studio. Argensola was not now stuffing his pockets with printed +sheets as at the beginning of hostilities. A serene and resigned calm +had succeeded the excitement of those first moments when the people were +daily looking for miraculous interventions. All the periodicals were +saying about the same thing. He was content with the official report, +and he had learned to wait for that document without impatience, +foreseeing that with but few exceptions, it would say the same thing as +the day before. + +The fever of the first months, with its illusions and optimisms, now +appeared to Argensola somewhat chimerical. Those not actually engaged in +the war were returning gradually to their habitual occupations. Life had +recovered its regular rhythm. “One must live!” said the people, and the +struggle for existence filled their thoughts with its immediate urgency. +Those whose relatives were in the army, were still thinking of them, but +their occupations were so blunting the edge of memory, that they were +becoming accustomed to their absence, regarding the unusual as the +normal condition. At first, the war made sleep out of the question, food +impossible to swallow, and embittered every pleasure with its funereal +pall. Now the shops were slowly opening, money was in circulation, and +people were able to laugh; they talked of the great calamity, but only +at certain hours, as something that was going to be long, very long and +would exact great resignation to its inevitable fatalism. + +“Humanity accustoms itself easily to trouble,” said Argensola, “provided +that the trouble lasts long enough. . . . In this lies our strength.” + +Don Marcelo was not in sympathy with the general resignation. The +war was going to be much shorter than they were all imagining. His +enthusiasm had settled on a speedy termination;--within the next three +months, the next Spring probably; if peace were not declared in the +Spring, it surely would be in the Summer. + +A new talker took part in these conversations. Desnoyers had become +acquainted with the Russian neighbor of whom Argensola had so frequently +spoken. Since this odd personage had also known his son, that was enough +to make Tchernoff arouse his interest. + +In normal times, he would have kept him at a distance. The millionaire +was a great believer in law and order. He abominated revolutionists, +with the instinctive fear of all the rich who have built up a fortune +and remember their humble beginnings. Tchernoff’s socialism and +nationality brought vividly to his mind a series of feverish +images--bombs, daggers, stabbings, deserved expiations on the gallows, +and exile to Siberia. No, he was not desirable as a friend. . . . + +But now Don Marcelo was experiencing an abrupt reversal of his +convictions regarding alien ideas. He had seen so much! . . . The +revolting proceedings of the invasion, the unscrupulous methods of the +German chiefs, the tranquillity with which their submarines were sinking +boats filled with defenseless passengers, the deeds of the aviators +who were hurling bombs upon unguarded cities, destroying women and +children--all this was causing the events of revolutionary terrorism +which, years ago, used to arouse his wrath, to sink into relative +unimportance. + +“And to think,” he said “that we used to be as infuriated as though +the world were coming to an end, just because someone threw a bomb at a +grandee!” + +Those titled victims had had certain reprehensible qualities which had +justified their execution. They had died in consequence of acts which +they undertook, knowing well what the punishment would be. They had +brought retribution on themselves without trying to evade it, rarely +taking any precautions. While the terrorists of this war! . . . + +With the violence of his imperious character, the old conservative now +swung to the opposite extreme. + +“The true anarchists are yet on top,” he said with an ironical laugh. +“Those who terrified us formerly, all put together, were but a few +miserable creatures. . . . In a few seconds, these of our day kill more +innocent people than those others did in thirty years.” + +The gentleness of Tchernoff, his original ideas, his incoherencies +of thought, bounding from reflection to word without any preparation, +finally won Don Marcelo so completely over that he formed the habit +of consulting him about all his doubts. His admiration made him, too, +overlook the source of certain bottles with which Argensola sometimes +treated his neighbor. He was delighted to have Tchernoff consume these +souvenirs of the time when he was living at swords’ points with his son. + +After sampling the wine from the avenue Victor Hugo, the Russian would +indulge in a visionary loquacity similar to that of the night when he +evoked the fantastic cavalcade of the four horsemen of the Apocalypse. + +What his new convert most admired was his facility for making things +clear, and fixing them in the imagination. The battle of the Marne with +its subsequent combats and the course of both armies were events easily +explained. . . . If the French only had not been so fatigued after their +triumph of the Marne! . . . + +“But human powers,” continued Tchernoff, “have their limits, and the +French soldier, with all his enthusiasm, is a man like the rest. In the +first place, the most rapid of marches from the East to the North, in +order to resist the invasion of Belgium; then the combats; then the +swift retreat that they might not be surrounded; finally a seven days’ +battle--and all this in a period of three weeks, no more. . . . In +their moment of triumph, the victors lacked the legs to follow up their +advantage, and they lacked the cavalry to pursue the fugitives. Their +beasts were even more exhausted than the men. When those who were +retreating found that they were being spurred on with lessening +tenacity, they had stretched themselves, half-dead with fatigue, on the +field, excavating the ground and forming a refuge for themselves. The +French also flung themselves down, scraping the soil together so as not +to lose what they had gained. . . . And in this way began the war of the +trenches.” + +Then each line, with the intention of wrapping itself around that of +the enemy, had gone on prolonging itself toward the Northeast, and from +these successive stretchings had resulted the double course toward the +sea--forming the greatest battle front ever known to history. + +When Don Marcelo with optimistic enthusiasm announced the end of the war +in the following Spring or Summer--in four months at the outside--the +Russian shook his head. + +“It will be long . . . very long. It is a new war, the genuine modern +warfare. The Germans began hostilities in the old way as though they had +observed nothing since 1870--a war of involved movements, of battles +in the open field, the same as Moltke might have planned, imitating +Napoleon. They were desirous of bringing it to a speedy conclusion, and +were sure of triumph. Why employ new methods? . . . But the encounter of +the Marne twisted their plans, making them shift from the aggressive to +the defensive. They then brought into service all that the war staff had +learned in the campaigns of the Japanese and Russians, beginning the war +of the trenches, the subterranean struggle which is the logical outcome +of the reach and number of shots of the modern armament. The conquest of +half a mile of territory to-day stands for more than did the assault +of a stone fortress a century ago. Neither side is going to make any +headway for a long time. Perhaps they may never make a definite advance. +The war is bound to be long and tedious, like the athletic conquests +between opponents who are equally matched.” + +“But it will have to come to an end, sometime,” interpolated Desnoyers. + +“Undoubtedly, but who knows when? . . . And in what condition will they +both be when it is all over?” . . . + +He was counting upon a rapid finale when it was least expected, through +the exhaustion of one of the contestants, carefully dissimulated until +the last moment. + +“Germany will be vanquished,” he added with firm conviction. “I do +not know when nor how, but she will fall logically. She failed in her +master-stroke in not entering Paris and overcoming its opposition. All +the trumps in her pack of cards were then played. She did not win, but +continues playing the game because she holds many cards, and she will +prolong it for a long time to come. . . . But what she could not do at +first, she will never be able to do.” + +For Tchernoff, the final defeat did not mean the destruction of Germany +nor the annihilation of the German people. + +“Excessive patriotism irritates me,” he pursued. “Hearing people form +plans for the definite extinction of Germany seems to me like listening +to the Pan-Germanists of Berlin when they talk of dividing up the +continents.” + +Then he summed up his opinion. + +“Imperialism will have to be crushed for the sake of the tranquillity of +the world; the great war machine which menaces the peace of nations will +have to be suppressed. Since 1870, we have all been living in dread of +it. For forty years, the war has been averted, but in all that time, +what apprehension!” . . . + +What was most irritating Tchernoff was the moral lesson born of this +situation which had ended by overwhelming the world--the glorification +of power, the sanctification of success, the triumph of materialism, the +respect for the accomplished fact, the mockery of the noblest sentiments +as though they were merely sonorous and absurd phrases, the reversal +of moral values . . . a philosophy of bandits which pretended to be +the last word of progress, and was no more than a return to despotism, +violence, and the barbarity of the most primitive epochs of history. + +While he was longing for the suppression of the representatives of +this tendency, he would not, therefore, demand the extermination of the +German people. + +“This nation has great merits jumbled with bad conditions inherited +from a not far-distant, barbarous past. It possesses the genius of +organization and work, and is able to lend great service to humanity. +. . . But first it is necessary to give it a douche--the douche of +downfall. The Germans are mad with pride and their madness threatens +the security of the world. When those who have poisoned them with the +illusion of universal hegemony have disappeared, when misfortune has +freshened their imagination and transformed them into a community of +humans, neither superior nor inferior to the rest of mankind, they will +become a tolerant people, useful . . . and who knows but they may even +prove sympathetic!” + +According to Tchernoff, there was not in existence to-day a more +dangerous nation. Its political organization was converting it into a +warrior horde, educated by kicks and submitted to continual humiliations +in order that the willpower which always resists discipline might be +completely nullified. + +“It is a nation where all receive blows and desire to give them to those +lower down. The kick that the Kaiser gives is transmitted from back to +back down to the lowest rung of the social ladder. The blows begin +in the school and are continued in the barracks, forming part of the +education. The apprenticeship of the Prussian Crown Princes has always +consisted in receiving fisticuffs and cowhidings from their progenitor, +the king. The Kaiser beats his children, the officer his soldiers, the +father his wife and children, the schoolmaster his pupils, and when the +superior is not able to give blows, he subjects those under him to the +torment of moral insult.” + +On this account, when they abandoned their ordinary avocations, taking +up arms in order to fall upon another human group, they did so with +implacable ferocity. + +“Each one of them,” continued the Russian, “carries on his back the +marks of kicks, and when his turn comes, he seeks consolation in passing +them on to the unhappy creatures whom war puts into his power. This +nation of war-lords, as they love to call themselves, aspires to +lordship, but outside of the country. Within it, are the ones who least +appreciate human dignity and, therefore, long vehemently to spread +their dominant will over the face of the earth, passing from lackeys to +lords.” + +Suddenly Don Marcelo stopped going with such frequency to the studio. He +was now haunting the home and office of the senator, because this friend +had upset his tranquillity. Lacour had been much depressed since the +heir to the family glory had broken through the protecting paternal net +in order to go to war. + +One night, while dining with the Desnoyers family, an idea popped into +his head which filled him with delight. “Would you like to see your +son?” He needed to see Rene and had begun negotiating for a permit from +headquarters which would allow him to visit the front. His son belonged +to the same army division as Julio; perhaps their camps were rather far +apart, but an automobile makes many revolutions before it reaches the +end of its journey. + +It was not necessary to say more. Desnoyers instantly felt the most +overmastering desire to see his boy, since, for so many months, he had +had to content himself with reading his letters and studying the snap +shot which one of his comrades had made of his soldier son. + +From that time on, he besieged the senator as though he were a political +supporter desiring an office. He visited him in the mornings in his +home, invited him to dinner every evening, and hunted him down in the +salons of the Luxembourg. Before the first word of greeting could be +exchanged, his eyes were formulating the same interrogation. . . . “When +will you get that permit?” + +The great man could only reply by lamenting the indifference of the +military department toward the civilian element; it always had been +inimical toward parliamentarism. + +“Besides, Joffre is showing himself most unapproachable; he does not +encourage the curious. . . . To-morrow I will see the President.” + +A few days later, he arrived at the house in the avenue Victor Hugo, +with an expression of radiant satisfaction that filled Don Marcelo with +joy. + +“It has come?” + +“It has come. . . . We start the day after to-morrow.” + +Desnoyers went the following afternoon to the studio in the rue de la +Pompe. + +“I am going to-morrow!” + +The artist was very eager to accompany him. Would it not be possible for +him to go, too, as secretary to the senator? . . . Don Marcelo smiled +benevolently. The authorization was only for Lacour and one companion. +He was the one who was going to pose as secretary, valet or utility man +to his future relative-in-law. + +At the end of the afternoon, he left the studio, accompanied to the +elevator by the lamentations of Argensola. To think that he could not +join that expedition! . . . He believed that he had lost the opportunity +to paint his masterpiece. + +Just outside of his home, he met Tchernoff. Don Marcelo was in high good +humor. The certainty that he was soon going to see his son filled him +with boyish good spirits. He almost embraced the Russian in spite of his +slovenly aspect, his tragic beard and his enormous hat which made every +one turn to look after him. + +At the end of the avenue, the Arc de Triomphe stood forth against a sky +crimsoned by the sunset. A red cloud was floating around the monument, +reflected on its whiteness with purpling palpitations. + +Desnoyers recalled the four horsemen, and all that Argensola had told +him before presenting him to the Russian. + +“Blood!” shouted jubilantly. “All the sky seems to be blood-red. . . . +It is the apocalyptic beast who has received his death-wound. Soon we +shall see him die.” + +Tchernoff smiled, too, but his was a melancholy smile. + +“No; the beast does not die. It is the eternal companion of man. It +hides, spouting blood, forty . . . sixty . . . a hundred years, but +eventually it reappears. All that we can hope is that its wound may be +long and deep, that it may remain hidden so long that the generation +that now remembers it may never see it again.” + + + +CHAPTER III + +WAR + + +Don Marcelo was climbing up a mountain covered with woods. + +The forest presented a tragic desolation. A silent tempest had installed +itself therein, placing everything in violent unnatural positions. Not a +single tree still preserved its upright form and abundant foliage as in +the days of peace. The groups of pines recalled the columns of ruined +temples. Some were still standing erect, but without their crowns, like +shafts that might have lost their capitals; others were pierced like the +mouthpiece of a flute, or like pillars struck by a thunderbolt. Some had +splintery threads hanging around their cuts like used toothpicks. + +A sinister force of destruction had been raging among these beeches, +spruce and oaks. Great tangles of their cut boughs were cluttering the +ground, as though a band of gigantic woodcutters had just passed by. The +trunks had been severed a little distance from the ground with a clean +and glistening stroke, as though with a single blow of the axe. Around +the disinterred roots were quantities of stones mixed with sod, stones +that had been sleeping in the recesses of the earth and had been brought +to the surface by explosions. + +At intervals--gleaming among the trees or blocking the roadway with an +importunity which required some zigzagging--was a series of pools, all +alike, of regular geometrical circles. To Desnoyers, they seemed like +sunken basins for the use of the invisible Titans who had been hewing +the forest. Their great depth extended to their very edges. A swimmer +might dive into these lagoons without ever touching bottom. Their +water was greenish, still water--rain water with a scum of vegetation +perforated by the respiratory bubbles of the little organisms coming to +life in its vitals. + +Bordering the hilly pathway through the pines, were many mounds with +crosses of wood--tombs of French soldiers topped with little tricolored +flags. Upon these moss-covered graves were the old kepis of the gunners. +The ferocious wood-chopper, in destroying this woods, had also blindly +demolished many of the ants swarming around the trunks. + +Don Marcelo was wearing leggings, a broad hat, and on his shoulders, +a fine poncho arranged like a shawl--garments which recalled his +far-distant life on the ranch. Behind him came Lacour trying to preserve +his senatorial dignity in spite of his gasps and puffs of fatigue. +He also was wearing high boots and a soft hat, but he had kept to his +solemn frock-coat in order not to abandon entirely his parliamentary +uniform. Before them marched two captains as guides. + +They were on a mountain occupied by the French artillery, and were +climbing to the top where were hidden cannons and cannons, forming a +line some miles in length. The German artillery had caused the woodland +ruin around the visitors, in their return of the French fire. The +circular pools were the hollows dug by the German shells in the limy, +non-porous soil which preserved all the runnels of rain. + +The visiting party had left their automobile at the foot of the +mountain. One of the officers, a former artilleryman, explained +this precaution to them. It was necessary to climb this roadway very +cautiously. They were within reach of the enemy, and an automobile might +attract the attention of their gunners. + +“A little fatiguing, this climb,” he continued. “Courage, Senator +Lacour! . . . We are almost there.” + +They began to meet artillerymen, many of them not in uniform but wearing +the military kepis. They looked like workmen from a metal factory, +foundrymen with jackets and pantaloons of corduroy. Their arms were +bare, and some had put on wooden shoes in order to get over the mud with +greater security. They were former iron laborers, mobilized into the +artillery reserves. Their sergeants had been factory overseers, and many +of them officials, engineers and proprietors of big workshops. + +Suddenly the excursionists stumbled upon the iron inmates of the woods. +When these spoke, the earth trembled, the air shuddered, and the native +inhabitants of the forest, the crows, rabbits, butterflies and ants, +fled in terrified flight, trying to hide themselves from the fearful +convulsion which seemed to be bringing the world to an end. Just at +present, the bellowing monsters were silent, so that they came upon them +unexpectedly. Something was sticking up out of the greenery like a gray +beam; at other times, this apparition would emerge from a conglomeration +of dry trunks. Around this obstacle was cleared ground occupied by men +who lived, slept and worked about this huge manufactory on wheels. + +The senator, who had written verse in his youth and composed oratorical +poetry when dedicating various monuments in his district, saw in these +solitary men on the mountain side, blackened by the sun and smoke, +with naked breasts and bare arms, a species of priests dedicated to +the service of a fatal divinity that was receiving from their hands +offerings of enormous explosive capsules, hurling them forth in +thunderclaps. + +Hidden under the branches, in order to escape the observation of the +enemy’s birdmen, the French cannon were scattered among the hills +and hollows of the highland range. In this herd of steel, there were +enormous pieces with wheels reinforced by metal plates, somewhat like +the farming engines which Desnoyers had used on his ranch for plowing. +Like smaller beasts, more agile and playful in their incessant yelping, +the groups of ‘75 were mingled with the terrific monsters. + +The two captains had received from the general of their division orders +to show Senator Lacour minutely the workings of the artillery, and +Lacour was accepting their observations with corresponding gravity while +his eyes roved from side to side in the hope of recognizing his son. +The interesting thing for him was to see Rene . . . but recollecting the +official pretext of his journey, he followed submissively from cannon to +cannon, listening patiently to all explanations. + +The operators next showed him the servants of these pieces, great oval +cylinders extracted from subterranean storehouses called shelters. These +storage places were deep burrows, oblique wells reinforced with sacks of +stones and wood. They served as a refuge to those off duty, and kept +the munitions away from the enemy’s shell. An artilleryman exhibited two +pouches of white cloth, joined together and very full. They looked like +a double sausage and were the charge for one of the large cannons. The +open packet showed some rose-colored leaves, and the senator greatly +admired this dainty paste which looked like an article for the dressing +table instead of one of the most terrible explosives of modern warfare. + +“I am sure,” said Lacour, “that if I had found one of these delicate +packets on the street, I should have thought that it had been dropped +from some lady’s vanity bag, or by some careless clerk from a perfumery +shop . . . anything but an explosive! And with this trifle that looks as +if it were made for the lips, it is possible to blow up an +edifice!” . . . + +As they continued their visit of investigation, they came upon a +partially destroyed round tower in the highest part of the mountain. +This was the most dangerous post. From it, an officer was examining +the enemy’s line in order to gauge the correctness of the aim of the +gunners. While his comrades were under the ground or hidden by the +branches, he was fulfilling his mission from this visible point. + +A short distance from the tower a subterranean passageway opened before +their eyes. They descended through its murky recesses until they found +the various rooms excavated in the ground. One side of the mountain cut +in points formed its exterior facade. Narrow little windows, cut in the +stone, gave light and air to these quarters. + +An old commandant in charge of the section came out to meet them. +Desnoyers thought that he must be the floorwalker of some big department +store in Paris. His manners were so exquisite and his voice so suave +that he seemed to be imploring pardon at every word, or addressing a +group of ladies, offering them goods of the latest novelty. But this +impression only lasted a moment. This soldier with gray hair and +near-sighted glasses who, in the midst of war, was retaining his +customary manner of a building director receiving his clients, showed +on moving his arms, some bandages and surgical dressings within his +sleeves, He was wounded in both wrists by the explosion of a shell, but +he was, nevertheless, sticking to his post. + +“A devil of a honey-tongued, syrupy gentleman!” mused Don Marcelo. “Yet +he is undoubtedly an exceptional person!” + +By this time, they had entered into the main office, a vast room which +received its light through a horizontal window about ten feet wide and +only a palm and a half high, reminding one of the open space between the +slats of a Venetian blind. Below it was a pine table filled with papers +and surrounded by stools. When occupying one of these seats, one’s eyes +could sweep the entire plain. On the walls were electric apparatus, +acoustic tubes and telephones--many telephones. + +The Commandant sorted and piled up the papers, offering the stools with +drawing-room punctilio. + +“Here, Senator Lacour.” + +Desnoyers, humble attendant, took a seat at his side. The Commandant +now appeared to be the manager of a theatre, preparing to exhibit an +extraordinary show. He spread upon the table an enormous paper which +reproduced all the features of the plain extended before them--roads, +towns, fields, heights and valleys. Upon this map was a triangular group +of red lines in the form of an open fan; the vertex represented the +place where they were, and the broad part of the triangle was the limit +of the horizon which they were sweeping with their eyes. + +“We are going to fire at that grove,” said the artilleryman, pointing +to one end of the map. “There it is,” he continued, designating a little +dark line. “Take your glasses.” + +But before they could adjust the binoculars, the Commandant placed a new +paper on top of the map. It was an enormous and somewhat hazy photograph +upon whose plan appeared a fan of red lines like the other one. + +“Our aviators,” explained the gunner courteously, “have taken this +morning some views of the enemy’s positions. This is an enlargement from +our photographic laboratory. . . . According to this information, there +are two German regiments encamped in that wood.” + +Don Marcelo saw on the print the spot of woods, and within it white +lines which represented roads, and groups of little squares which were +blocks of houses in a village. He believed he must be in an aeroplane +contemplating the earth from a height of three thousand feet. Then he +raised the glasses to his eyes, following the direction of one of the +red lines, and saw enlarged in the circle of the glass a black bar, +somewhat like a heavy line of ink--the grove, the refuge of the foe. + +“Whenever you say, Senator Lacour, we will begin,” said the Commandant, +reaching the topmost notch of his courtesy. “Are you ready?” + +Desnoyers smiled slightly. For what was his illustrious friend to +make himself ready? What difference could it possibly make to a mere +spectator, much interested in the novelty of the show? . . . + +There sounded behind them numberless bells, gongs that called and gongs +that answered. The acoustic tubes seemed to swell out with the gallop +of words. The electric wire filled the silence of the room with the +palpitations of its mysterious life. The bland Chief was no longer +occupied with his guests. They conjectured that he was behind them, his +mouth at the telephone, conversing with various officials some distance +off. Yet the urbane and well-spoken hero was not abandoning for one +moment his candied courtesy. + +“Will you be kind enough to tell me when you are ready to begin?” they +heard him saying to a distant officer. “I shall be much pleased to +transmit the order.” + +Don Marcelo felt a slight nervous tremor near one of his legs; it was +Lecour, on the qui vive over the approaching novelty. They were going +to begin firing; something was going to happen that he had never seen +before. The cannons were above their heads; the roughly vaulted roof +was going to tremble like the deck of a ship when they shot over it. The +room with its acoustic tubes and its vibrations from the telephones was +like the bridge of a vessel at the moment of clearing for action. The +noise that it was going to make! . . . A few seconds flitted by that +to them seemed unusually long . . . and then suddenly a sound like +a distant peal of thunder which appeared to come from the clouds. +Desnoyers no longer felt the nervous twitter against his knee. The +senator seemed surprised; his expression seemed to say, “And is that +all?” . . . The heaps of earth above them had deadened the report, so +that the discharge of the great machine seemed no more than the blow +of a club upon a mattress. Far more impressive was the scream of the +projectile sounding at a great height but displacing the air with such +violence that its waves reached even to the window. + +It went flying . . . flying, its roar lessening. Some time passed before +they noticed its effects, and the two friends began to believe that +it must have been lost in space. “It will not strike . . . it will not +strike,” they were thinking. Suddenly there surged up on the horizon, +exactly in the spot indicated over the blur of the woods, a tremendous +column of smoke, a whirling tower of black vapor followed by a volcanic +explosion. + +“How dreadful it must be to be there!” said the senator. + +He and Desnoyers were experiencing a sensation of animal joy, a selfish +hilarity in seeing themselves in such a safe place several yards +underground. + +“The Germans are going to reply at any moment,” said Don Marcelo to his +friend. + +The senator was of the same opinion. Undoubtedly they would retaliate, +carrying on an artillery duel. + +All of the French batteries had opened fire. The mountain was +thundering, the shell whining, the horizon, still tranquil, was +bristling with black, spiral columns. The two realized more and more how +snug they were in this retreat, like a box at the theatre. + +Someone touched Lacour on the shoulder. It was one of the captains who +was conducting them through the front. + +“We are going above,” he said simply. “You must see close by how our +cannons are working. The sight will be well worth the trouble.” + +Above? . . . The illustrious man was as perplexed, as astonished as +though he had suggested an interplanetary trip. Above, when the enemy +was going to reply from one minute to another? . . . + +The captain explained that sub-Lieutenant Lacour was perhaps awaiting +his father. By telephone they had advised his battery stationed a little +further on; it would be necessary to go now in order to see him. So +they again climbed up to the light through the mouth of the tunnel. The +senator then drew himself up, majestically erect. + +“They are going to fire at us,” said a voice in his interior, “The foe +is going to reply.” + +But he adjusted his coat like a tragic mantle and advanced at a +circumspect and solemn pace. If those military men, adversaries of +parliamentarism, fancied that they were going to laugh up their sleeve +at the timidity of a civilian, he would show them their mistake! + +Desnoyers could not but admire the resolution with which the great man +made his exit from the shelter, exactly as if he were going to march +against the foe. + +At a little distance, the atmosphere was rent into tumultuous waves, +making their legs tremble, their ears hum, and their necks feel as +though they had just been struck. They both thought that the Germans +had begun to return the fire, but it was the French who were shooting. +A feathery stream of vapor came up out of the woods a dozen yards away, +dissolving instantly. One of the largest pieces, hidden in the nearby +thicket, had just been discharged. The captains continued their +explanations without stopping their journey. It was necessary to pass +directly in front of the spitting monster, in spite of the violence of +its reports, so as not to venture out into the open woods near the watch +tower. They were expecting from one second to another now, the response +from their neighbors across the way. The guide accompanying Don Marcelo +congratulated him on the fearlessness with which he was enduring the +cannonading. + +“My friend is well acquainted with it,” remarked the senator proudly. +“He was in the battle of the Marne.” + +The two soldiers evidently thought this very strange, considering +Desnoyers’ advanced age. To what section had he belonged? In what +capacity had he served? . . . + +“Merely as a victim,” was the modest reply. + +An officer came running toward them from the tower side, across the +cleared space. He waved his kepi several times that they might see him +better. Lacour trembled for him. The enemy might descry him; he was +simply making a target of himself by cutting across that open space in +order to reach them the sooner. . . . And he trembled still more as he +came nearer. . . . It was Rene! + +His hands returned with some astonishment the strong, muscular grasp. +He noticed that the outlines of his son’s face were more pronounced, and +darkened with the tan of camp life. An air of resolution, of confidence +in his own powers, appeared to emanate from his person. Six months of +intense life had transformed him. He was the same but broader-chested +and more stalwart. The gentle and sweet features of his mother were lost +under the virile mask. . . . Lacour recognized with pride that he now +resembled himself. + +After greetings had been exchanged, Rene paid more attention to Don +Marcelo than to his father, because he reminded him of Chichi. He +inquired after her, wishing to know all the details of her life, in +spite of their ardent and constant correspondence. + +The senator, meanwhile, still under the influence of his recent emotion, +had adopted a somewhat oratorical air toward his son. He forthwith +improvised a fragment of discourse in honor of that soldier of the +Republic bearing the glorious name of Lacour, deeming this an opportune +time to make known to these professional soldiers the lofty lineage of +his family. + +“Do your duty, my son. The Lacours inherit warrior traditions. Remember +our ancestor, the Deputy of the Convention who covered himself with +glory in the defense of Mayence!” + +While he was discoursing, they had started forward, doubling a point of +the greenwood in order to get behind the cannons. + +Here the racket was less violent. The great engines, after each +discharge, were letting escape through the rear chambers little clouds +of smoke like those from a pipe. The sergeants were dictating numbers, +communicated in a low voice by another gunner who had a telephone +receiver at his ear. The workmen around the cannon were obeying +silently. They would touch a little wheel and the monster would raise +its grey snout, moving it from side to side with the intelligent +expression and agility of an elephant’s trunk. At the foot of the +nearest piece, stood the operator, rod in hand, and with impassive +face. He must be deaf, yet his facial inertia was stamped with a +certain authority. For him, life was no more than a series of shots and +detonations. He knew his importance. He was the servant of the tempest, +the guardian of the thunderbolt. + +“Fire!” shouted the sergeant. + +And the thunder broke forth in fury. Everything appeared to be +trembling, but the two visitors were by this time so accustomed to the +din that the present uproar seemed but a secondary affair. + +Lacour was about to take up the thread of his discourse about his +glorious forefather in the convention when something interfered. + +“They are firing,” said the man at the telephone simply. + +The two officers repeated to the senator this news from the watch tower. +Had he not said that the enemy was going to fire? . . . Obeying a sane +instinct of preservation, and pushed at the same time by his son, he +found himself in the refuge of the battery. He certainly did not wish +to hide himself in this cave, so he remained near the entrance, with a +curiosity which got the best of his disquietude. + +He felt the approach of the invisible projectile, in spite of the +roar of the neighboring cannon. He perceived with rare sensibility +its passage through the air, above the other closer and more powerful +sounds. It was a squealing howl that was swelling in intensity, that was +opening out as it advanced, filling all space. Soon it ceased to be a +shriek, becoming a rude roar formed by divers collisions and frictions, +like the descent of an electric tram through a hillside road, or the +course of a train which passes through a station without stopping. + +He saw it approach in the form of a cloud, bulging as though it were +going to explode over the battery. Without knowing just how it happened, +the senator suddenly found himself in the bottom of the shelter, his +hands in cold contact with a heap of steel cylinders lined up like +bottles. They were projectiles. + +“If a German shell,” he thought, “should explode above this burrow . . . +what a frightful blowing up!” . . . + +But he calmed himself by reflecting on the solidity of the arched vault +with its beams and sacks of earth several yards thick. Suddenly he +was in absolute darkness. Another had sought refuge in the shelter, +obstructing the light with his body; perhaps his friend Desnoyers. + +A year passed by while his watch was registering a single second, then +a century at the same rate . . . and finally the awaited thunder burst +forth, making the refuge vibrate, but with a kind of dull elasticity, +as though it were made of rubber. In spite of its thud, the explosion +wrought horrible damage. Other minor explosions, playful and whistling, +followed behind the first. In his imagination, Lacour saw the +cataclysm--a writhing serpent, vomiting sparks and smoke, a species of +Wagnerian monster that upon striking the ground was disgorging thousands +of fiery little snakes, that were covering the earth with their deadly +contortions. . . . The shell must have burst nearby, perhaps in the very +square occupied by this battery. + +He came out of the shelter, expecting to encounter a sickening display +of dismembered bodies, and he saw his son smiling, smoking a cigar and +talking with Desnoyers. . . . That was a mere nothing! The gunners were +tranquilly finishing the charging of a huge piece. They had raised their +eyes for a moment as the enemy’s shell went screaming by, and then had +continued their work. + +“It must have fallen about three hundred yards away,” said Rene +cheerfully. + +The senator, impressionable soul, felt suddenly filled with heroic +confidence. It was not worth while to bother about his personal safety +when other men--just like him, only differently dressed--were not paying +the slightest attention to the danger. + +And as the other projectiles soared over his head to lose themselves +in the woods with the explosions of a volcano, he remained by his son’s +side, with no other sign of tension than a slight trembling of +the knees. It seemed to him now that it was only the French +missiles--because they were on his side--that were hitting the bull’s +eye. The others must be going up in the air and losing themselves in +useless noise. Of just such illusions is valor often compounded! . . . +“And is that all?” his eyes seemed to be asking. + +He now recalled rather shamefacedly his retreat to the shelter; he was +beginning to feel that he could live in the open, the same as Rene. + +The German missiles were getting considerably more frequent. They were +no longer lost in the wood, and their detonations were sounding nearer +and nearer. The two officials exchanged glances. They were responsible +for the safety of their distinguished charge. + +“Now they are warming up,” said one of them. + +Rene, as though reading their thoughts, prepared to go. “Good-bye, +father!” They were needing him in his battery. The senator tried to +resist; he wished to prolong the interview, but found that he was +hitting against something hard and inflexible that repelled all his +influence. A senator amounted to very little with people accustomed to +discipline. “Farewell, my boy! . . . All success to you! . . . Remember +who you are!” + +The father wept as he embraced his son, lamenting the brevity of the +interview, and thinking of the dangers awaiting him. + +When Rene had disappeared, the captains again recommended their +departure. It was getting late; they ought to reach a certain cantonment +before nightfall. So they went down the hill in the shelter of a cut in +the mountain, seeing the enemy’s shells flying high above them. + +In a hollow, they came upon several groups of the famed seventy-fives +spread about through the woods, hidden by piles of underbrush, like +snapping dogs, howling and sticking up their gray muzzles. The great +cannon were roaring only at intervals, while the steel pack of hounds +were yelping incessantly without the slightest break in their noisy +wrath--like the endless tearing of a piece of cloth. The pieces were +many, the volleys dizzying, and the shots uniting in one prolonged +shriek, as a series of dots unite to form a single line. + +The chiefs, stimulated by the din, were giving their orders in yells, +and waving their arms from behind the pieces. The cannon were sliding +over the motionless gun carriages, advancing and receding like automatic +pistols. Each charge dropped an empty shell, and introduced a fresh one +into the smoking chamber. + +Behind the battery, the air was racking in furious waves. With every +shot, Lacour and his companion received a blow on the breast, the +violent contact with an invisible hand, pushing them backward and +forward. They had to adjust their breathing to the rhythm of the +concussions. During the hundredth part of a second, between the passing +of one aerial wave and the advance of the next, their chests felt the +agony of vacuum. Desnoyers admired the baying of those gray dogs. He +knew well their bite, extending across many kilometres. Now they were +fresh and at home in their own kennels. + +To Lacour it seemed as though the rows of cannon were chanting a +measure, monotonous and fiercely impassioned that must be the martial +hymn of the humanity of prehistoric times. This music of dry, deafening, +delirious notes was awakening in the two what is sleeping in the depths +of every soul--the savagery of a remote ancestry. The air was hot with +acrid odors, pungent and brutishly intoxicating. The perfumes from the +explosions were penetrating to the brain through the mouth, the eyes and +the ears. + +They began to be infected with the same ardor as the directors, shouting +and swinging their arms in the midst of the thundering. The empty +capsules were mounting up in thick layers behind the cannon. Fire! . . . +always, fire! + +“We must sprinkle them well,” yelled the chiefs. “We must give a good +soaking to the groves where the Boches are hidden.” + +So the mouths of ‘75 rained without interruption, inundating the remote +thickets with their shells. + +Inflamed by this deadly activity, frenzied by the destructive celerity, +dominated by the dizzying sway of the ruby leaves, Lacour and Desnoyers +found themselves waving their hats, leaping from one side to another as +though they were dancing the sacred dance of death, and shouting with +mouths dry from the acrid vapor of the powder. . . . “Hurrah! . . . +Hurrah!” + +The automobile rode all the afternoon long, stopping only when it met +long files of convoys. It traversed uncultivated fields with skeletons +of dwellings, and ran through burned towns which were no more than a +succession of blackened facades. + +“Now it is your turn,” said the senator to Desnoyers. “We are going to +see your son.” + +At nightfall, they ran across groups of infantry, soldiers with long +beards and blue uniforms discolored by the inclemency of the weather. +They were returning from the intrenchments, carrying over the hump of +their knapsacks, spades, picks and other implements for removing the +ground, that had acquired the importance of arms of combat. They were +covered with mud from head to foot. All looked old in full youth. Their +joy at returning to the cantonment after a week in the trenches, made +them fill the silence of the plain with songs in time to the tramp +of their nailed boots. Through the violet twilight drifted the winged +strophes of the Marseillaise, or the heroic affirmations of the Chant du +Depart. + +“They are the soldiers of the Revolution,” exclaimed Lacour with +enthusiasm. “France has returned to 1792.” + +The two captains established their charges for the night in a +half-ruined town where one of their divisions had its headquarters, and +then took their leave. Others would act as their escort the following +morning. + +The two friends were lodging in the Hotel de la Siren, an old inn with +its front gnawed by shell-fire. The proprietor showed them with pride +a window broken in the form of a crater. This window had made the +old tavern sign--a woman of iron with the tail of a fish--sink into +insignificance. As Desnoyers was occupying the room next to the one that +had received the mark of the shell, the inn-keeper was anxious to point +it out to them before they went to bed. + +Everything was broken--walls, floor, roof. The furniture, a pile of +splinters in the corner; the flowered wall paper, a fringe of tatters +hanging from the walls. Through an enormous hole they could see the +stars and feel the chill of the night. The owner stated that this +destruction was not the work of the Germans, but was caused by a +projectile from one of the seventy-fives when repelling the invaders +from the village. And he beamed on the ruin with patriotic pride, +repeating: + +“There’s a sample of French marksmanship for you! How do you like the +workings of the seventy-fives? . . . What do you think of that +now? . . .” + +In spite of the fatigue of the journey, Don Marcelo slept badly, excited +by the thought that his son was not far away. + +An hour before daybreak, they left the village, in an automobile, guided +by another official. On both sides of the road, they saw camps and +camps. They left behind the parks of munitions, passed the third line +of troops, and then the second. Thousands and thousands of men were +bivouacking there in the open, improvising as best they could their +habitations. These human ant-hills seemed vaguely to recall, with the +variety of uniforms and races, some of the mighty invasions of history; +but it was not a nation en marche. The exodus of people takes with it +the women and children. Here there were nothing but men, men everywhere. + +All kinds of housing ever used by humanity were here utilized, these +military assemblages beginning with the cave. Caverns and quarries were +serving as barracks. Some low huts recalled the American ranch; others, +high and conical, were facsimiles of the gurbi of Africa. Many of the +soldiers had come from the colonies; some had been living as business +men in the new world, and upon having to provide a house more stable +than the canvas tent, had recalled the architecture of the tribes with +which they had had dealings. In this conglomerate of combatants, there +were also Moors, blacks and Asiatics who were accustomed to live outside +the cities and had acquired in the open a physical superiority which +made them more masterful than the civilized peoples. + +Near the river beds was flapping white clothing hung out to dry. Rows of +men with bared breasts were out in the morning freshness, leaning +over the streams, washing themselves with noisy ablutions followed by +vigorous rubbings. . . . On a bridge was a soldier writing, utilizing +a parapet as a table. . . . The cooks were moving around their savory +kettles, and a warm exhalation of morning soup was mixed with the +resinous perfume of the trees and the smell of the damp earth. + +Long, low barracks of wood and zinc served the cavalry and artillery for +their animals and stores. In the open air, the soldiers were currying +and shoeing the glossy, plump horses which the trench-war was +maintaining in placid obesity. + +“If they had only been like that at the battle of the Marne!” sighed +Desnoyers to his friend. + +Now the cavalry was leading an existence of interminable rest. The +troopers were fighting on foot, and finding it necessary to exercise +their steeds to keep them from getting sick with their full mangers. + +There were spread over the fields several aeroplanes, like great, gray +dragon flies, poised for the flight. Many of the men were grouped around +them. The farmers, transformed into soldiers, were watching with great +admiration their comrade charged with the management of these machines. +They looked upon him as one of the wizards so venerated and feared in +all the countryside. + +Don Marcelo was struck by the general transformation in the French +uniforms. All were now clad in gray-blue, from head to foot. The +trousers of bright scarlet cloth, the red kepis which he had hailed with +such joy in the expedition of the Marne, no longer existed. All the +men passing along the roads were soldiers. All the vehicles, even the +ox-carts, were guided by military men. + +Suddenly the automobile stopped before some ruined houses blackened by +fire. + +“Here we are,” announced the official. “Now we shall have to walk a +little.” + +The senator and his friend started along the highway. + +“Not that way, no!” the guide turned to say grimly. “That road is bad +for the health. We must keep out of the currents of air.” + +He further explained that the Germans had their cannon and intrenchments +at the end of this highroad which sloped suddenly and again appeared as +a white ribbon on the horizon line between two rows of trees and burned +houses. The pale morning light with its hazy mist was sheltering them +from the enemy’s fire. On a sunny day, the arrival of their automobile +would have been saluted with a shell. “That is war,” he concluded. “One +is always near to death without seeing it.” + +The two recalled the warning of the general with whom they had dined the +day before: “Be very careful! The war of the trenches is treacherous.” + +In the sweep of plains unrolled before them, not a man was visible. It +seemed like a country Sunday, when the farmers are in their homes, and +the land scene lying in silent meditation. Some shapeless objects could +be seen in the fields, like agricultural implements deserted for a day +of rest. Perhaps they were broken automobiles, or artillery carriages +destroyed by the force of their volleys. + +“This way,” said the officer who had added four soldiers to the party to +carry the various bags and packages which Desnoyers had brought out on +the roof of the automobile. + +They proceeded in a single file the length of a wall of blackened +bricks, down a steep hill. After a few steps the surface of the ground +was about to their knees; further on, up to their waists, and thus they +disappeared within the earth, seeing above their heads, only a narrow +strip of sky. They were now under the open field, having left behind +them the mass of ruins that hid the entrance of the road. They were +advancing in an absurd way, as though they scorned direct lines--in +zig-zags, in curves, in angles. Other pathways, no less complicated, +branched off from this ditch which was the central avenue of an immense +subterranean cavity. They walked . . . and walked . . . and walked. +A quarter of an hour went by, a half, an entire hour. Lacour and his +friend thought longingly of the roadways flanked with trees, of their +tramp in the open air where they could see the sky and meadows. They +were not going twenty steps in the same direction. The official marching +ahead was every moment vanishing around a new bend. Those who were +coming behind were panting and talking unseen, having to quicken their +steps in order not to lose sight of the party. Every now and then they +had to halt in order to unite and count the little band, to make sure +that no one had been lost in a transverse gallery. The ground was +exceedingly slippery, in some places almost liquid mud, white and +caustic like the drip from the scaffolding of a house in the course of +construction. + +The thump of their footsteps, and the friction of their shoulders, +brought down chunks of earth and smooth stones from the sides. Little by +little they climbed through the main artery of this underground body and +the veins connected with it. Again they were near the surface where it +required but little effort to see the blue above the earth-works. But +here the fields were uncultivated, surrounded with wire fences, yet with +the same appearance of Sabbath calm. Knowing by sad experience, what +curiosity oftentimes cost, the official would not permit them to linger +here. “Keep right ahead! Forward march!” + +For an hour and a half the party kept doggedly on until the senior +members became greatly bewildered and fatigued by their serpentine +meanderings. They could no longer tell whether they were advancing or +receding, the sudden steeps and the continual turning bringing on an +attack of vertigo. + +“Have we much further to go?” asked the senator. + +“There!” responded the guide pointing to some heaps of earth above them. +“There” was a bell tower surrounded by a few charred houses that could +be seen a long ways off--the remains of a hamlet which had been taken +and retaken by both sides. + +By going in a direct line on the surface they would have compassed +this distance in half an hour. To the angles of the underground road, +arranged to impede the advance of an enemy, there had been added the +obstacles of campaign fortification, tunnels cut with wire lattice work, +large hanging cages of wire which, on falling, could block the passage +and enable the defenders to open fire across their gratings. + +They began to meet soldiers with packs and pails of water who were soon +lost in the tortuous cross roads. Some, seated on piles of wood, were +smiling as they read a little periodical published in the trenches. + +The soldiers stepped aside to make way for the visiting procession, +bearded and curious faces peeping out of the alleyways. Afar off sounded +a crackling of short snaps as though at the end of the winding lanes +were a shooting lodge where a group of sportsmen were killing pigeons. + +The morning was still cloudy and cold. In spite of the humid atmosphere, +a buzzing like that of a horsefly, hummed several times above the two +visitors. + +“Bullets!” said their conductor laconically. + +Desnoyers meanwhile had lowered his head a little, he knew perfectly +well that insectivorous sound. The senator walked on more briskly, +temporarily forgetting his weariness. + +They came to a halt before a lieutenant-colonel who received them like +an engineer exhibiting his workshops, like a naval officer showing off +the batteries and turrets of his battleships. He was the Chief of the +battalion occupying this section of the trenches. Don Marcelo studied +him with special interest, knowing that his son was under his orders. + +To the two friends, these subterranean fortifications bore a certain +resemblance to the lower parts of a vessel. They passed from trench +to trench of the last line, the oldest--dark galleries into which +penetrated streaks of light across the loopholes and broad, low windows +of the mitrailleuse. The long line of defense formed a tunnel cut by +short, open spaces. They had to go stumbling from light to darkness, and +from darkness to light with a visual suddenness very fatiguing to +the eyes. The ground was higher in the open spaces. There were wooden +benches placed against the sides so that the observers could put out the +head or examine the landscape by means of the periscope. The enclosed +space answered both for batteries and sleeping quarters. + +As the enemy had been repelled and more ground had been gained, the +combatants who had been living all winter in these first quarters, had +tried to make themselves more comfortable. Over the trenches in the open +air, they had laid beams from the ruined houses; over the beams, planks, +doors and windows, and on top of the wood, layers of sacks of earth. +These sacks were covered by a top of fertile soil from which sprouted +grass and herbs, giving the roofs of the trenches, an appearance of +pastoral placidity. The temporary arches could thus resist the shock +of the abuses which went ploughing into the earth without causing any +special damage. When an explosion was pounding too noisily and weakening +the structure, the troglodytes would swarm out in the night like +watchful ants, and skilfully readjust the roof of their primitive +dwellings. + +Everything appeared clean with that simple and rather clumsy cleanliness +exercised by men living far from women and thrown upon their own +resources. The galleries were something like the cloisters of a +monastery, the corridors of a prison, and the middle sections of a ship. +Their floors were a half yard lower than that of the open spaces which +joined the trenches together. In order that the officers might avoid +so many ups and downs, some planks had been laid, forming a sort of +scaffolding from doorway to doorway. + +Upon the approach of their Chief, the soldiers formed themselves in +line, their heads being on a level with the waist of those passing over +the planks. Desnoyers ran his eye hungrily over the file of men. Where +could Julio be? . . . + +He noticed the individual contour of the different redoubts. They +all seemed to have been constructed in about the same way, but their +occupants had modified them with their special personal decorations. +The exteriors were always cut with loopholes in which there were +guns pointed toward the enemy, and windows for the mitrailleuses. The +watchers near these openings were looking over the lonely landscape +like quartermasters surveying the sea from the bridge. Within were the +armories and the sleeping rooms--three rows of berths made with planks +like the beds of seamen. The desire for artistic ornamentation which +even the simplest souls always feel, had led to the embellishment of +the underground dwellings. Each soldier had a private museum made with +prints from the papers and colored postcards. Photographs of soubrettes +and dancers with their painted mouths smiled from the shiny cardboard, +enlivening the chaste aspect of the redoubt. + +Don Marcelo was growing more and more impatient at seeing so many +hundreds of men, but no Julio. The senator, complying with his imploring +glance, spoke a few words to the chief preceding him with an aspect of +great deference. The official had at first to think very hard to +recall Julio to mind, but he soon remembered the exploits of Sergeant +Desnoyers. “An excellent soldier,” he said. “He will be sent for +immediately, Senator Lacour. . . . He is on duty now with his section in +the first line trenches.” + +The father, in his anxiety to see him, proposed that they betake +themselves to that advanced site, but his petition made the Chief and +the others smile. Those open trenches within a hundred or fifty yards +from the enemy, with no other defence but barbed wire and sacks of +earth, were not for the visits of civilians. They were always filled +with mud; the visitors would have to crawl around exposed to bullets and +under the dropping chunks of earth loosened by the shells. None but the +combatants could get around in these outposts. + +“It is always dangerous there,” said the Chief. “There is always random +shooting. . . . Just listen to the firing!” + +Desnoyers indeed perceived a distant crackling that he had not noted +before, and he felt an added anguish at the thought that his son must be +in the thick of it. Realization of the dangers to which he must be daily +exposed, now stood forth in high relief. What if he should die in the +intervening moments, before he could see him? . . . + +Time dragged by with desperate sluggishness for Don Marcelo. It seemed +to him that the messenger who had been despatched for him would never +arrive. He paid scarcely any attention to the affairs which the Chief +was so courteously showing them--the caverns which served the soldiers +as toilet rooms and bathrooms of most primitive arrangement, the cave +with the sign, “Cafe de la Victoire,” another in fanciful lettering, +“Theatre.” . . . Lacour was taking a lively interest in all this, +lauding the French gaiety which laughs and sings in the presence of +danger, while his friend continued brooding about Julio. When would he +ever see him? + +They stopped near one of the embrasures of a machine-gun position +stationing themselves at the recommendations of the soldiers, on both +sides of the horizontal opening, keeping their bodies well back, but +putting their heads far enough forward to look out with one eye. They +saw a very deep excavation and the opposite edge of ground. A short +distance away were several rows of X’s of wood united by barbed wire, +forming a compact fence. About three hundred feet further on, was a +second wire fence. There reigned a profound silence here, a silence of +absolute loneliness as though the world was asleep. + +“There are the trenches of the Boches,” said the Commandant, in a low +tone. + +“Where?” asked the senator, making an effort to see. + +The Chief pointed to the second wire fence which Lacour and his friend +had supposed belonged to the French. It was the German intrenchment +line. + +“We are only a hundred yards away from them,” he continued, “but for +some time they have not been attacking from this side.” + +The visitors were greatly moved at learning that the foe was such a +short distance off, hidden in the ground in a mysterious invisibility +which made it all the more terrible. What if they should pop out now +with their saw-edged bayonets, fire-breathing liquids and asphyxiating +bombs to assault this stronghold! . . . + +From this window they could observe more clearly the intensity of the +firing on the outer line. The shots appeared to be coming nearer. The +Commandant brusquely ordered them to leave their observatory, fearing +that the fire might become general. The soldiers, with their customary +promptitude, without receiving any orders, approached their guns which +were in horizontal position, pointing through the loopholes. + +Again the visitors walked in single file, going down into cavernous +spaces that had been the old wine-cellars of former houses. The officers +had taken up their abode in these dens, utilizing all the residue of +the ruins. A street door on two wooden horses served as a table; +the ceilings and walls were covered with cretonnes from the Paris +warehouses; photographs of women and children adorned the side wall +between the nickeled glitter of telegraphic and telephonic instruments. + +Desnoyers saw above one door an ivory crucifix, yellowed with years, +probably with centuries, transmitted from generation to generation, that +must have witnessed many agonies of soul. In another den he noticed in +a conspicuous place, a horseshoe with seven holes. Religious creeds +were spreading their wings very widely in this atmosphere of danger and +death, and yet at the same time, the most grotesque superstitions were +acquiring new values without any one laughing at them. + +Upon leaving one of the cells, in the middle of an open space, the +yearning father met his son. He knew that it must be Julio by the +Chief’s gesture and because the smiling soldier was coming toward him, +holding out his hands; but this time his paternal instinct which he had +heretofore considered an infallible thing, had given him no warning. How +could he recognize Julio in that sergeant whose feet were two cakes of +moist earth, whose faded cloak was a mass of tatters covered with mud, +even up to the shoulders, smelling of damp wool and leather? . . . After +the first embrace, he drew back his head in order to get a good look at +him without letting go of him. His olive pallor had turned to a bronze +tone. He was growing a beard, a beard black and curly, which reminded +Don Marcelo of his father-in-law. The centaur, Madariaga, had certainly +come to life in this warrior hardened by camping in the open air. At +first, the father grieved over his dirty and tired aspect, but a second +glance made him sure that he was now far more handsome and interesting +than in his days of society glory. + +“What do you need? . . . What do you want?” + +His voice was trembling with tenderness. He was speaking to the tanned +and robust combatant in the same tone that he was wont to use twenty +years ago when, holding the child by the hand, he had halted before the +preserve cupboards of Buenos Aires. + +“Would you like money? . . .” + +He had brought a large sum with him to give to his son, but the soldier +gave a shrug of indifference as though he had offered him a plaything. +He had never been so rich as at this moment; he had a lot of money in +Paris and he didn’t know what to do with it--he didn’t need anything. + +“Send me some cigars . . . for me and my comrades.” + +He was constantly receiving from his mother great baskets full of choice +goodies, tobacco and clothing. But he never kept anything; all was +passed on to his fellow-warriors, sons of poor families or alone in the +world. His munificence had spread from his intimates to the company, +and from that to the entire battalion. Don Marcelo divined his great +popularity in the glances and smiles of the soldiers passing near them. +He was the generous son of a millionaire, and this popularity seemed to +include even him when the news went around that the father of Sergeant +Desnoyers had arrived--a potentate who possessed fabulous wealth on the +other side of the sea. + +“I guessed that you would want cigars,” chuckled the old man. + +And his gaze sought the bags brought from the automobile through the +windings of the underground road. + +All of the son’s valorous deeds, extolled and magnified by Argensola, +now came trooping into his mind. He had the original hero before his +very eyes. + +“Are you content, satisfied? . . . You do not repent of your decision?” + +“Yes, I am content, father . . . very content.” + +Julio spoke without boasting, modestly. His life was very hard, but just +like that of millions of other men. In his section of a few dozens +of soldiers there were many superior to him in intelligence, in +studiousness, in character; but they were all courageously undergoing +the test, experiencing the satisfaction of duty fulfilled. The common +danger was helping to develop the noblest virtues of these men. Never, +in times of peace, had he known such comradeship. What magnificent +sacrifices he had witnessed! + +“When all this is over, men will be better . . . more generous. Those +who survive will do great things.” + +Yes, of course, he was content. For the first time in his life he was +tasting the delights of knowing that he was a useful being, that he +was good for something, that his passing through the world would not be +fruitless. He recalled with pity that Desnoyers who had not known how to +occupy his empty life, and had filled it with every kind of frivolity. +Now he had obligations that were taxing all his powers; he was +collaborating in the formation of a future. He was a man at last! + +“I am content,” he repeated with conviction. + +His father believed him, yet he fancied that, in a corner of that +frank glance, he detected something sorrowful, a memory of a past which +perhaps often forced its way among his present emotions. There flitted +through his mind the lovely figure of Madame Laurier. Her charm was, +doubtless, still haunting his son. And to think that he could not bring +her here! . . . The austere father of the preceding year contemplated +himself with astonishment as he caught himself formulating this immoral +regret. + +They passed a quarter of an hour without loosening hands, looking +into each other’s eyes. Julio asked after his mother and Chichi. He +frequently received letters from them, but that was not enough for his +curiosity. He laughed heartily at hearing of Argensola’s amplified and +abundant life. These interesting bits of news came from a world not much +more than sixty miles distant in a direct line . . . but so far, so very +far away! + +Suddenly the father noticed that his boy was listening with less +attention. His senses, sharpened by a life of alarms and ambushed +attacks, appeared to be withdrawing itself from the company, attracted +by the firing. Those were no longer scattered shots; they had combined +into a continual crackling. + +The senator, who had left father and son together that they might talk +more freely, now reappeared. + +“We are dismissed from here, my friend,” he announced. “We have no luck +in our visits.” + +Soldiers were no longer passing to and fro. All had hastened to their +posts, like the crew of a ship which clears for action. While Julio was +taking up the rifle which he had left against the wall, a bit of dust +whirled above his father’s head and a little hole appeared in the +ground. + +“Quick, get out of here!” he said pushing Don Marcelo. + +Then, in the shelter of a covered trench, came the nervous, very brief +farewell. “Good-bye, father,” a kiss, and he was gone. He had to return +as quickly as possible to the side of his men. + +The firing had become general all along the line. The soldiers were +shooting serenely, as though fulfilling an ordinary function. It was a +combat that took place every day without anybody’s knowing exactly who +started it--in consequence of the two armies being installed face to +face, and such a short distance apart. . . . The Chief of the battalion +was also obliged to desert his guests, fearing a counter-attack. + +Again the officer charged with their safe conduct put himself at the +head of the file, and they began to retrace their steps through +the slippery maze. Desnoyers was tramping sullenly on, angry at the +intervention of the enemy which had cut short his happiness. + +Before his inward gaze fluttered the vision of Julio with his black, +curly beard which to him was the greatest novelty of the trip. He heard +again his grave voice, that of a man who has taken up life from a new +viewpoint. + +“I am content, father . . . I am content.” + +The firing, growing constantly more distant, gave the father great +uneasiness. Then he felt an instinctive faith, absurd, very firm. He +saw his son beautiful and immortal as a god. He had a conviction that he +would come out safe and sound from all dangers. That others should die +was but natural, but Julio! . . . + +As they got further and further away from the soldier boy, Hope appeared +to be singing in his ears; and as an echo of his pleasing musings, the +father kept repeating mentally: + +“No one will kill him. My heart which never deceives me, tells me so. +. . . No one will kill him!” + + + +CHAPTER IV + +“NO ONE WILL KILL HIM” + + +Four months later, Don Marcelo’s confidence received a rude shock. Julio +was wounded. But at the same time that Lacour bought him this news, +lamentably delayed, he tranquilized him with the result of his +investigations in the war ministry. Sergeant Desnoyers was now +a sub-lieutenant, his wound was almost healed and, thanks to the +wire-pulling of the senator, he was coming to pass a fortnight with his +family while convalescing. + +“An exceptionally brave fellow,” concluded the influential man. “I +have read what his chiefs say about him. At the head of his platoon, he +attacked a German company; he killed the captain with his own hand; he +did I don’t know how many more brave things besides. . . . They have +presented him with the military medal and have made him an officer. +. . . A regular hero!” + +And the rapidly aging father, weeping with emotion, but with increasing +enthusiasm, shook his head and trembled. He repented now of his +momentary lack of faith when the first news of his wounded boy reached +him. How absurd! . . . No one would kill Julio; his heart told him so. + +Soon after, he saw him coming home amid the cries and delighted +exclamations of the women. Poor Dona Luisa wept as she embraced him, +hanging on his neck with sobs of emotion. Chichi contemplated him with +grave reflection, putting half of her mind on the recent arrival while +the rest flew far away in search of the other warrior. The dusky, +South American maids fought each other for the opening in the curtains, +peering through the crack with the gaze of an antelope. + +The father admired the little scrap of gold on the sleeve of the gray +cloak, with the skirts buttoning behind, examining afterwards the dark +blue cap with its low brim, adopted by the French for the war in the +trenches. The traditional kepi had disappeared. A suitable visor, like +that of the men in the Spanish infantry, now shadowed Julio’s face. Don +Marcelo noted, too, the short and well-cared-for beard, very different +from the one he had seen in the trenches. The boy was coming home, +groomed and polished from his recent stay in the hospital. + +“Isn’t it true that he looks like me?” queried the old man proudly. + +Dona Luisa responded with the inconsequence that mothers always show in +matters of resemblance. + +“He has always been the living image of you!” + +Having made sure that he was well and happy, the entire family suddenly +felt a certain disquietude. They wished to examine his wound so as to +convince themselves that he was completely out of danger. + +“Oh, it’s nothing at all,” protested the sub-lieutenant. “A bullet wound +in the shoulder. The doctor feared at first that I might lose my left +arm, but it has healed well and it isn’t worth while to think any more +about it.” + +Chichi’s appraising glance swept Julio from head to foot; taking in all +the details of his military elegance. His cloak was worn thin and dirty; +the leggings were spatter-dashed with mud; he smelled of leather, sweaty +cloth and strong tobacco; but on one wrist he was wearing a watch, and +on the other, his identity medal fastened with a gold chain. She had +always admired her brother for his natural good taste, so she stowed +away all these little details in her memory in order to pass them on to +Rene. Then she surprised her mother with a demand for a loan that she +might send a little gift to her artilleryman. + +Don Marcelo gloated over the fifteen days of satisfaction ahead of him. +Sub-lieutenant Desnoyers found it impossible to go out alone, for his +father was always pacing up and down the reception hall before the +military cap which was shedding modest splendor and glory upon the hat +rack. Scarcely had Julio put it on his head before his sire appeared, +also with hat and cane, ready to sally forth. + +“Will you permit me to accompany you? . . . I will not bother you.” + +This would be said so humbly, with such an evident desire to have his +request granted, that his son had not the heart to refuse him. In order +to take a walk with Argensola, he had to scurry down the back stairs, or +resort to other schoolboy tricks. + +Never had the elder Desnoyers promenaded the streets of Paris with +such solid satisfaction as by the side of this muscular youth in +his gloriously worn cloak, on whose breast were glistening his two +decorations--the cross of war and the military medal. He was a hero, +and this hero was his son. He accepted as homage to them both the +sympathetic glances of the public in the street cars and subways. The +interest with which the women regarded the fine-looking youth tickled +him immensely. All the other military men that they met, no matter how +many bands and crosses they displayed, appeared to the doting father +mere embusques, unworthy of comparison with his Julio. . . . The +wounded men who got out of the coaches by the aid of staffs and crutches +inspired him with the greatest pity. Poor fellows! . . . They did not +bear the charmed life of his son. Nobody could kill him; and when, by +chance, he had received a wound, the scars had immediately disappeared +without detriment to his handsome person. + +Sometimes, especially at night, Desnoyers senior would show an +unexpected magnanimity, letting Julio fare forth alone. Since before the +war, his son had led a life filled with triumphant love-affairs, what +might he not achieve now with the added prestige of a distinguished +officer! . . . + +Passing through his room on his way to bed, the father imagined the hero +in the charming company of some aristocratic lady. None but a feminine +celebrity was worthy of him; his paternal pride could accept nothing +less. . . . And it never occurred to him that Julio might be with +Argensola in a music-hall or in a moving-picture show, enjoying the +simple and monotonous diversions of a Paris sobered by war, with the +homely tastes of a sub-lieutenant whose amorous conquests were no more +than the renewal of some old friendships. + +One evening as Don Marcelo was accompanying his son down the Champs +Elysees, he started at recognizing a lady approaching from the opposite +direction. It was Madame Laurier. . . . Would she recognize Julio? He +noted that the youth turned pale and began looking at the other people +with feigned interest. She continued straight ahead, erect, unseeing. +The old gentleman was almost irritated at such coldness. To pass by his +son without feeling his presence instinctively! Ah, these women! . . . +He turned his head involuntarily to look after her, but had to avert his +inquisitive glance immediately. He had surprised Marguerite motionless +behind them, pallid with surprise, and fixing her gaze earnestly on the +soldier who was separating himself from her. Don Marcelo read in her +eyes admiration, love, all of the past that was suddenly surging up in +her memory. Poor woman! . . . He felt for her a paternal affection as +though she were the wife of Julio. His friend Lacour had again spoken +to him about the Lauriers. He knew that Marguerite was going to become a +mother, and the old man, without taking into account the reconciliation +nor the passage of time, felt as much moved at the thought of this +approaching maternity as though the child were going to be Julio’s. + +Meanwhile Julio was marching right on, without turning his head, without +being conscious of the burning gaze fixed upon him, colorless, but +humming a tune to hide his emotion. He always believed that Marguerite +had passed near him without recognizing him, since his father did not +betray her. + +One of Don Marcelo’s pet occupations was to make his son tell about the +encounter in which he had been hurt. No visitor ever came to see the +sub-lieutenant but the father always made the same petition. + +“Tell us how you were wounded. . . . Explain how you killed that German +captain.” + +Julio tried to excuse himself with visible annoyance. He was already +surfeited with his own history. To please his father, he had related the +facts to the senator, to Argensola and to Tchernoff in his studio, and +to other family friends. . . . He simply could not do it again. + +So the father began the narration on his own account, giving the relief +and details of the deed as though seen with his own eyes. . . . + +He had to take possession of the ruins of a sugar refinery in front +of the trench. The Germans had been expelled by the French cannon. +A reconnoitring survey under the charge of a trusty man was then +necessary. And the heads, as usual, had selected Sergeant Desnoyers. + +At daybreak, the platoon had advanced stealthily without encountering +any difficulty. The soldiers scattered among the ruins. Julio then went +on alone, examining the positions of the enemy; on turning around a +corner of the wall, he had the most unexpected of encounters. A German +captain was standing in front of him. They had almost bumped into each +other. They looked into each other’s eyes with more suspense than hate, +yet at the same time, they were trying instinctively to kill each other, +each one trying to get the advantage by his swiftness. The captain +had dropped the map that he was carrying. His right hand sought his +revolver, trying to draw it from its case without once taking his eyes +off his enemy. Then he had to give this up as useless--it was too late. +With his eyes distended by the proximity of death, he kept his gaze +fixed upon the Frenchman who had raised his gun to his face. A shot, +from a barrel almost touching him . . . and the German fell dead. + +Not till then did the victor notice the captain’s orderly who was but a +few steps behind. He shot Desnoyers, wounding him in the shoulder. The +French hurried to the spot, killing the corporal. Then there was a sharp +cross-fire with the enemy’s company which had halted a little ways off +while their commander was exploring the ground. Julio, in spite of +his wound, continued at the head of his section, defending the factory +against superior forces until supports arrived, and the land remained +definitely in the power of the French. + +“Wasn’t that about the way of it?” Don Marcelo would always wind up. + +The son assented, desirous that his annoyance with the persistent story +should come to an end as soon as possible. Yes, that was the way of it. +But what the father didn’t know, what Julio would never tell, was the +discovery that he had made after killing the captain. + +The two men, during the interminable second in which they had confronted +each other, had showed in their eyes something more than the surprise +of an encounter, and the wish to overcome the other. Desnoyers knew that +man. The captain knew him, too. He guessed it from his expression. . . . +But self-preservation was more insistent than recollection and prevented +them both from co-ordinating their thoughts. + +Desnoyers had fired with the certainty that he was killing someone that +he knew. Afterwards, while directing the defense of the position and +guarding against the approach of reinforcements, he had a suspicion that +the enemy whose corpse was lying a few feet away might possibly be a +member of the von Hartrott family. No, he looked much older than his +cousins, yet younger than his Uncle Karl who at his age, would be no +mere captain of infantry. + +When, weakened by the loss of blood, they were about to carry him to +the trenches, the sergeant expressed a wish to see again the body of +his victim. His doubt continued before the face blanched by death. The +wide-open eyes still seemed to retain their startled expression. The man +had undoubtedly recognized him. His face was familiar. Who was he? . . . +Suddenly in his mind’s eye, Julio saw the heaving ocean, a great +steamer, a tall, blonde woman looking at him with half-closed eyes of +invitation, a corpulent, moustached man making speeches in the style of +the Kaiser. “Rest in peace, Captain Erckmann!” . . . Thus culminated in +a corner of France the discussions started at table in mid-ocean. + +He excused himself mentally as though he were in the presence of the +sweet Bertha. He had had to kill, in order not to be killed. Such is +war. He tried to console himself by thinking that Erckmann, perhaps, +had failed to identify him, without realizing that his slayer was the +shipmate of the summer. . . . And he kept carefully hidden in the depths +of his memory this encounter arranged by Fate. He did not even tell +Argensola who knew of the incidents of the trans-atlantic passage. + +When he least expected it, Don Marcelo found himself at the end of that +delightful and proud existence which his son’s presence had brought him. +The fortnight had flown by so swiftly! The sub-lieutenant had returned +to his post, and all the family, after this period of reality, had +had to fall back on the fond illusions of hope, watching again for the +arrival of his letters, making conjectures about the silence of the +absent one, sending him packet after packet of everything that the +market was offering for the soldiery--for the most part, useless and +absurd things. + +The mother became very despondent. Julio’s visit home but made her feel +his absence with greater intensity. Seeing him, hearing those tales of +death that her husband was so fond of repeating, made her realize all +the more clearly the dangers constantly surrounding her son. Fatality +appeared to be warning her with funereal presentiments. + +“They are going to kill him,” she kept saying to Desnoyers. “That wound +was a forewarning from heaven.” + +When passing through the streets, she trembled with emotion at sight of +the invalid soldiers. The convalescents of energetic appearance, filled +her with the greatest pity. They made her think of a certain trip with +her husband to San Sebastian where a bull fight had made her cry out +with indignation and compassion, pitying the fate of the poor, gored +horses. With entrails hanging, they were taken to the corrals, and +submitted to a hurried adjustment in order that they might return to the +arena stimulated by a false energy. Again and again they were reduced to +this makeshift cobbling until finally a fatal goring finished them. +. . . These recently cured men continually brought to her mind those poor +beasts. Some had been wounded three times since the beginning of the +war, and were returning surgically patched together and re-galvanized to +take another chance in the lottery of Fate, always in the expectation of +the supreme blow. . . . Ay, her son! + +Desnoyers waxed very indignant over his wife’s low spirits, retorting: + +“But I tell you that Nobody will kill Julio! . . . He is my son. In my +youth I, too, passed through great dangers. They wounded me, too, in the +wars in the other world, and nevertheless, here I am at a ripe old age.” + +Events seemed to reinforce his blind faith. Calamities were raining +around the family and saddening his relatives, yet not one grazed the +intrepid sub-lieutenant who was persisting in his daring deeds with the +heroic nerve of a musketeer. + +Dona Luisa received a letter from Germany. Her sister wrote from Berlin, +transmitting her letters through the kindness of a South American in +Switzerland. This time, the good lady wept for some one besides her son; +she wept for Elena and the enemies. In Germany there were mothers, too, +and she put the sentiment of maternity above all patriotic differences. + +Poor Frau von Hartrott! Her letter written a month before, had contained +nothing but death notices and words of despair. Captain Otto was dead. +Dead, too, was one of his younger brothers. The fact that the latter +had fallen in a territory dominated by their nation, at least gave the +mother the sad comfort of being able to weep near his grave. But the +Captain was buried on French soil, nobody knew where, and she would +never be able to find his remains, mingled with hundreds of others. +A third son was wounded in Poland. Her two daughters had lost their +promised lovers, and the sight of their silent grief, was intensifying +the mother’s suffering. Von Hartrott continued presiding over patriotic +societies and making plans of expansion after the near victory, but he +had aged greatly in the last few months. The “sage” was the only one +still holding his own. The family afflictions were aggravating the +ferocity of Professor Julius von Hartrott. He was calculating, in a book +he was writing, the hundreds of thousands of millions that Germany must +exact after her triumph, and the various nations that she would have to +annex to the Fatherland. + +Dona Luisa imagined that in the avenue Victor Hugo, she could hear the +mother’s tears falling in her home in Berlin. “You will understand, +Luisa, my despair. . . . We were all so happy! May God punish those +who have brought such sorrow on the world! The Emperor is innocent. His +adversaries are to blame for it all . . .” + +Don Marcelo was silent about the letter in his wife’s presence. He +pitied Elena for her losses, so he overlooked her political connections. +He was touched, too, at Dona Luisa’s distress about Otto. She had been +his godmother and Desnoyers his godfather. That was so--Don Marcelo had +forgotten all about it; and the fact recalled to his mental vision the +placid life of the ranch, and the play of the blonde children that he +had petted behind their grandfather’s back, before Julio was born. For +many years, he had lavished great affection on these youngsters, when +dismayed at Julio’s delayed arrival. He was really affected at thinking +of what must be Karl’s despair. + +But then, as soon as he was alone, a selfish coldness would blot out +this compassion. War was war, and the Germans had sought it. France had +to defend herself, and the more enemies fell the better. . . . The only +soldier who interested him now was Julio. And his faith in the destiny +of his son made him feel a brutal joy, a paternal satisfaction almost +amounting to ferocity. + +“No one will kill HIM! . . . My heart tells me so.” + +A nearer trouble shook his peace of mind. When he returned to his home +one evening, he found Dona Luisa with a terrified aspect holding her +hands to her head. + +“The daughter, Marcelo . . . our daughter!” + +Chichi was stretched out on a sofa in the salon, pale, with an olive +tinge, looking fixedly ahead of her as if she could see somebody in the +empty air. She was not crying, but a slight palpitation was making her +swollen eyes tremble spasmodically. + +“I want to see him,” she was saying hoarsely. “I must see him!” + +The father conjectured that something terrible must have happened to +Lacour’s son. That was the only thing that could make Chichi show such +desperation. His wife was telling him the sad news. Rene was wounded, +very seriously wounded. A shell had exploded over his battery, killing +many of his comrades. The young officer had been dragged out from a +mountain of dead, one hand was gone, he had injuries in the legs, chest +and head. + +“I’ve got to see him!” reiterated Chichi. + +And Don Marcelo had to concentrate all his efforts in making his +daughter give up this dolorous insistence which made her exact an +immediate journey to the front, trampling down all obstacles, in order +to reach her wounded lover. The senator finally convinced her of the +uselessness of it all. She would simply have to wait; he, the father, +had to be patient. He was negotiating for Rene to be transferred to a +hospital in Paris. + +The great man moved Desnoyers to pity. He was making such heroic efforts +to preserve the stoic serenity of ancient days by recalling his glorious +ancestors and all the illustrious figures of the Roman Republic. But +these oratorical illusions had suddenly fallen flat, and his old friend +surprised him weeping more than once. An only child, and he might +have to lose him! . . . Chichi’s dumb woe made him feel even greater +commiseration. Her grief was without tears or faintings. Her sallow +face, the feverish brilliancy of her eyes, and the rigidity that made +her move like an automaton were the only signs of her emotion. She was +living with her thoughts far away, with no knowledge of what was going +on around her. + +When the patient arrived in Paris, his father and fiancee were +transfigured. They were going to see him, and that was enough to make +them imagine that he was already recuperated. + +Chichi hastened to the hospital with her mother and the senator. Then +she went alone and insisted on remaining there, on living at the wounded +man’s side, waging war on all regulations and clashing with Sisters +of Charity, trained nurses, and all who roused in her the hatred of +rivalry. Soon realizing that all her violence accomplished nothing, she +humiliated herself and became suddenly very submissive, trying with her +wiles, to win the women over one by one. Finally, she was permitted to +spend the greater part of the day with Rene. + +When Desnoyers first saw the wounded artilleryman in bed, he had to make +a great effort to keep the tears back. . . . Ay, his son, too, might be +brought to this sad pass! . . . The man looked to him like an Egyptian +mummy, because of his complete envelopment in tight bandage wrappings. +The sharp hulls of the shell had fairly riddled him. There could only +be seen a pair of sweet eyes and a blond bit of moustache sticking up +between white bands. The poor fellow was trying to smile at Chichi, who +was hovering around him with a certain authority as though she were in +her own home. + +Two months rolled by. Rene was better, almost well. His betrothed had +never doubted his recovery from the moment that they permitted her to +remain with him. + +“No one that I love, ever dies,” she asserted with a ring of her +father’s self-confidence. “As if I would ever permit the Boches to leave +me without a husband!” + +She had her little sugar soldier back again, but, oh, in what +a lamentable state! . . . Never had Don Marcelo realized the +de-personalizing horrors of war as when he saw entering his home this +convalescent whom he had known months before--elegant and slender, with +a delicate and somewhat feminine beauty. His face was now furrowed by +a network of scars that had transformed it into a purplish arabesque. +Within his body were hidden many such. His left hand had disappeared +with a part of the forearm, the empty sleeve hanging over the remainder. +The other hand was supported on a cane, a necessary aid in order to be +able to move a leg that would never recover its elasticity. + +But Chichi was content. She surveyed her dear little soldier with more +enthusiasm than ever--a little deformed, perhaps, but very interesting. +With her mother, she accompanied the convalescent in his constitutionals +through the Bois de Boulogne. When, in crossing a street, automobilists +or coachmen failed to stop their vehicles in order to give the invalid +the right of way, her eyes shot lightning shafts, as she thundered, +“Shameless embusques!” . . . She was now feeling the same fiery +resentment as those women of former days who used to insult her Rene +when he was well and happy. She trembled with satisfaction and pride +when returning the greetings of her friends. Her eloquent eyes seemed +to be saying, “Yes, he is my betrothed . . . a hero!” She was constantly +arranging the war cross on his blouse of “horizon blue,” taking pains +to place it as conspicuously as possible. She also spent much time in +prolonging the life of his shabby uniform--always the same one, the +old one which he was wearing when wounded. A new one would give him the +officery look of the soldiers who never left Paris. + +As he grew stronger, Rene vainly tried to emancipate himself from her +dominant supervision. It was simply useless to try to walk with more +celerity or freedom. + +“Lean on me!” + +And he had to take his fiancee’s arm. All her plans for the future were +based on the devotion with which she was going to protect her husband, +on the solicitude that she was going to dedicate to his crippled +condition. + +“My poor, dear invalid,” she would murmur lovingly. “So ugly and so +helpless those blackguards have left you! . . . But luckily you have +me, and I adore you! . . . It makes no difference to me that one of your +hands is gone. I will care for you; you shall be my little son. You will +just see, after we are married, how elegant and stylish I am going to +keep you. But don’t you dare to look at any of the other women! The very +first moment that you do, my precious little invalid, I’ll leave you +alone in your helplessness!” + +Desnoyers and the senator were also concerned about their future, but in +a very definite way. They must be married as soon as possible. What was +the use of waiting? . . . The war was no longer an obstacle. They would +be married as quietly as possible. This was no time for wedding pomp. + +So Rene Lacour remained permanently in the house on the avenida Victor +Hugo, after the nuptial ceremony witnessed by a dozen people. + +Don Marcelo had had dreams of other things for his daughter--a grand +wedding to which the daily papers would devote much space, a son-in-law +with a brilliant future . . . but ay, this war! Everybody was having his +fondest hopes dashed to pieces every few hours. + +He took what comfort he could out of the situation. What more did they +want? Chichi was happy--with a rollicking and selfish happiness which +took no interest in anything but her own love-affairs. The Desnoyers +business returns could not be improved upon;--after the first crisis +had passed, the necessities of the belligerents had begun utilizing +the output of his ranches, and never before had meat brought such high +prices. Money was flowing in with greater volume than formerly, while +the expenses were diminishing. . . . Julio was in daily danger of death, +but the old ranchman was buoyed up by his conviction that his son led +a charmed life--no harm could touch him. His chief preoccupation, +therefore, was to keep himself tranquil, avoiding all emotional storms. +He had been reading with considerable alarm of the frequency with which +well-known persons, politicians, artists and writers, were dying in +Paris. War was not doing all its killing at the front; its shocks were +falling like arrows over the land, causing the fall of the weak, the +crushed and the exhausted who, in normal times, would probably have +lived to a far greater age. + +“Attention, Marcelo!” he said to himself with grim humor. “Keep cool +now! . . . You must avoid Friend Tchernoff’s four horsemen, you know!” + +He spent an afternoon in the studio going over the war news in the +papers. The French had begun an offensive in Champagne with great +advances and many prisoners. + +Desnoyers could not but think of the loss of life that this must +represent. Julio’s fate, however, gave him no uneasiness, for his son +was not in that part of the front. But yesterday he had received a +letter from him, dated the week before; they all took about that +length of time to reach him. Sub-lieutenant Desnoyers was as blithe and +reckless as ever. They were going to promote him again--he was among +those proposed for the Legion d’Honneur. These facts intensified Don +Marcelo’s vision of himself as the father of a general as young as those +of the revolution; and as he contemplated the daubs and sketches around +him, he marvelled at the extraordinary way in which the war had twisted +his son’s career. + +On his way home, he passed Marguerite Laurier dressed in mourning. +The senator had told him a few days before that her brother, the +artilleryman, had just been killed at Verdun. + +“How many are falling!” he said mournfully to himself. “How hard it will +be for his poor mother!” + +But he smiled immediately after at the thought of those to be born. +Never before had the people been so occupied in accelerating their +reproduction. Even Madame Laurier now showed with pride the very visible +curves of her approaching maternity, and Desnoyers noted sympathetically +the vital volume apparent beneath her long mourning veil. Again he +thought of Julio, without taking into account the flight of time. He +felt as interested in the little newcomer as though he were in some way +related to it, and he promised himself to aid generously the Laurier +baby if he ever had the opportunity. + +On entering his house, he was met in the hall by Dona Luisa, who told +him that Lacour was waiting for him. + +“Very good!” he responded gaily. “Let us see what our illustrious +father-in-law has to say.” + +His good wife was uneasy. She had felt alarmed without knowing exactly +why at the senator’s solemn appearance; with that feminine instinct +which perforates all masculine precautions, she surmised some hidden +mission. She had noticed, too, that Rene and his father were talking +together in a low tone, with repressed emotion. + +Moved by an irresistible impulse, she hovered near the closed door, +hoping to hear something definite. Her wait was not long. + +Suddenly a cry . . . a groan . . . the groan that can come only from a +body from which all vitality is escaping. + +And Dona Luisa rushed in just in time to support her husband as he was +falling to the floor. + +The senator was excusing himself confusedly to the walls, the furniture, +and turning his back in his agitation on the dismayed Rene, the only one +who could have listened to him. + +“He did not let me finish. . . . He guessed from the very first +word. . . .” + +Hearing the outcry, Chichi hastened in in time to see her father +slipping from his wife’s arms to the sofa, and from there to the floor, +with glassy, staring eyes, and foaming at the mouth. + +From the luxurious rooms came forth the world-old cry, always the same +from the humblest home to the highest and loneliest:-- + +“Oh, Julio! . . . Oh, my son, my son! . . .” + + + +CHAPTER V + +THE BURIAL FIELDS + + +The automobile was going slowly forward under the colorless sky of a +winter morning. + +In the distance, the earth’s surface seemed trembling with white, +fluttering things resembling a band of butterflies poised on the +furrows. On one of the fields the swarm was of great size, on others, it +was broken into small groups. + +As the machine approached these white butterflies, they seemed to +be taking on other colors. One wing was turning blue, another +flesh-colored. . . . They were little flags, by the hundreds, by the +thousands which palpitated night and day, in the mild, sunny, morning +breeze, in the damp drip of the dull mornings, in the biting cold of the +interminable nights. The rains had washed and re-washed them, stealing +away the most of their color. Some of the borders of the restless little +strips were mildewed by the dampness while others were scorched by the +sun, like insects which have just grazed the flames. + +In the midst of the fluttering flags could be seen the black crosses +of wood. On these were hanging dark kepis, red caps, and helmets topped +with tufts of horsehair, slowly disintegrating and weeping atmospheric +tears at every point. + +“How many are dead!” sighed Don Marcelo’s voice from the automobile. + +And Rene, who was seated in front of him, sadly nodded his head. Dona +Luisa was looking at the mournful plain while her lips trembled slightly +in constant prayer. Chichi turned her great eyes in astonishment from +one side to the other. She appeared larger, more capable in spite of the +pallor which blanched her olive skin. + +The two ladies were dressed in deepest mourning. The father, too, was +in mourning, huddled down in the seat in a crushed attitude, his legs +carefully covered with the great fur rugs. Rene was wearing his campaign +uniform under his storm coat. In spite of his injuries, he had not +wished to retire from the army. He had been transferred to a technical +office till the termination of the war. + +The Desnoyers family were on the way to carry out their long-cherished +hope. + +Upon recovering consciousness after the fatal news, the father had +concentrated all his will power in one petition. + +“I must see him. . . . Oh, my son! . . . My son!” + +Vain were the senator’s efforts to show him the impossibility of such +a journey. The fighting was still going on in the zone where Julio had +fallen. Later on, perhaps, it might be possible to visit it. “I want to +see it!” persisted the broken-hearted old man. It was necessary for +him to see his son’s grave before dying himself, and Lacour had to +requisition all his powers, for four long months formulating requests +and overcoming much opposition, in order that Don Marcelo might be +permitted to make the trip. + +Finally a military automobile came one morning for the entire Desnoyers +family. The senator could not accompany them. Rumors of an approaching +change in the cabinet were floating about, and he felt obliged to show +himself in the senate in case the Republic should again wish to avail +itself of his unappreciated services. + +They passed the night in a provincial city where there was a military +post, and Rene collected considerable information from officers who had +witnessed the great combat. With his map before him, he followed the +explanations until he thought he could recognize the very plot of ground +which Julio’s regiment had occupied. + +The following morning they renewed their expedition. A soldier who +had taken part in the battle acted as their guide, seated beside the +chauffeur. From time to time, Rene consulted the map spread out on his +knees, and asked questions of the soldier whose regiment had fought +very close to that of Desnoyers’, but he could not remember exactly the +ground which they had gone over so many months before. The landscape +had undergone many transformations and had presented a very different +appearance when covered with men. Its deserted aspect bewildered him +. . . and the motor had to go very slowly, veering to the north of the +line of graves, following the central highway, level and white, entering +crossroads and winding through ditches muddied with deep pools through +which they splashed with great bounds and jar on the springs. At times, +they drove across fields from one plot of crosses to another, their +pneumatic tires crushing flat from the furrows opened by the plowman. + +Tombs . . . tombs on all sides! The white locusts of death were swarming +over the entire countryside. There was no corner free from their +quivering wings. The recently plowed earth, the yellowing roads, the +dark woodland, everything was pulsating in weariless undulation. The +soil seemed to be clamoring, and its words were the vibrations of the +restless little flags. And the thousands of cries, endlessly repeated +across the days and nights, were intoning in rhythmic chant the terrible +onslaught which this earth had witnessed and from which it still felt +tragic shudderings. + +“Dead . . . dead,” murmured Chichi, following the rows of crosses +incessantly slipping past the sides of the automobile. + +“O Lord, for them! . . . for their mothers,” moaned Dona Luisa, renewing +her prayers. + +Here had taken place the fiercest part of the battle--the fight in the +old way, man to man outside of the trenches, with bayonets, with guns, +with fists, with teeth. + +The guide who was beginning to get his bearings was pointing out +the various points on the desolate horizon. There were the African +sharpshooters; further on, the chasseurs. The very large groups of +graves were where the light infantry had charged with their bayonets on +the sides of the road. + +The automobile came to a stop. Rene climbed out after the soldier in +order to examine the inscriptions on a few of the crosses. Perhaps +these might have belonged to the regiment they were seeking. Chichi +also alighted mechanically with the irresistible desire of aiding her +husband. + +Each grave contained several men. The number of bodies within could be +told by the mouldering kepis or rusting helmets hanging on the arms of +the cross; the number of the regiments could still be deciphered +between the rows of ants crawling over the caps. The wreaths with which +affection had adorned some of the sepulchres were blackened and stripped +of their leaves. On some of the crucifixes, the names of the dead were +still clear, but others were beginning to fade out and soon would be +entirely illegible. + +“What a horrible death! . . . What glory!” thought Chichi sadly. + +Not even the names of the greater part of these vigorous men cut down in +the strength of their youth were going to survive! Nothing would +remain but the memory which would from time to time overwhelm some old +countrywoman driving her cow along the French highway, murmuring between +her sobs. “My little one! . . . I wonder where they buried my little +one!” Or, perhaps, it would live in the heart of the village woman clad +in mourning who did not know how to solve the problem of existence; or +in the minds of the children going to school in black blouses and saying +with ferocious energy--“When I grow up I am going to kill the Boches to +avenge my father’s death!” + +And Dona Luisa, motionless in her seat, followed with her eyes +Chichi’s course among the graves, while returning to her interrupted +prayer--“Lord, for the mothers without sons . . . for the little ones +without fathers! . . . May thy wrath not be turned against us, and may +thy smile shine upon us once more!” + +Her husband, shrunken in his seat, was also looking over the funereal +fields, but his eyes were fixed most tenaciously on some mounds without +wreaths or flags, simple crosses with a little board bearing the +briefest inscription. These were the German bodies which seemed to have +a page to themselves in the Book of Death. On one side, the +innumerable French tombs with inscriptions as small as possible, simple +numbers--one, two, three dead. On the other, in each of the spacious, +unadorned sepulchres, great quantities of soldiers, with a number +of terrifying terseness. Fences of wooden strips, narrow and wide, +surrounded these latter ditches filled to the top with bodies. The earth +was as bleached as though covered with snow or saltpetre. This was the +lime returning to mix with the land. The crosses raised above these huge +mounds bore each an inscription stating that it contained Germans, and +then a number--200 . . . 300 . . . 400. + +Such appalling figures obliged Desnoyers to exert his imagination. +It was not easy to evoke with exactitude the vision of three hundred +carcasses in helmets, boots and cloaks, in all the revolting aspects of +death, piled in rows as though they were bricks, locked forever in the +depths of a great trench. . . . And this funereal alignment was repeated +at intervals all over the great immensity of the plain! + +The mere sight of them filled Don Marcelo with a kind of savage joy, as +his mourning fatherhood tasted the fleeting consolation of vengeance. +Julio had died, and he was going to die, too, not having strength to +survive his bitter woe; but how many hundreds of the enemy wasting in +these awful trenches were also leaving in the world loved beings who +would remember them as he was remembering his son! . . . + +He imagined them as they must have been before the death call sounded, +as he had seen them in the advance around his castle. + +Some of them, the most prominent and terrifying, probably still showed +on their faces the theatrical cicatrices of their university duels. They +were the soldiers who carried books in their knapsacks, and after the +fusillade of a lot of country folk, or the sacking and burning of a +hamlet, devoted themselves to reading the poets and philosophers by +the glare of the blaze which they had kindled. They were bloated with +science as with the puffiness of a toad, proud of their pedantic and +all-sufficient intellectuality. Sons of sophistry and grandsons of +cant, they had considered themselves capable of proving the greatest +absurdities by the mental capers to which they had accustomed their +acrobatic intellects. + +They had employed the favorite method of the thesis, antithesis and +synthesis in order to demonstrate that Germany ought to be the Mistress +of the World; that Belgium was guilty of her own ruin because she had +defended herself; that true happiness consisted in having all humanity +dominated by Prussia; that the supreme idea of existence consisted in +a clean stable and a full manger; that Liberty and Justice were nothing +more than illusions of the romanticism of the French; that every deed +accomplished became virtuous from the moment it triumphed, and that +Right was simply a derivative of Might. These metaphysical athletes with +guns and sabres were accustomed to consider themselves the paladins of +a crusade of civilization. They wished the blond type to triumph +definitely over the brunette; they wished to enslave the worthless man +of the South, consigning him forever to a world regulated by “the salt +of the earth,” “the aristocracy of humanity.” Everything on the page of +history that had amounted to anything was German. The ancient Greeks had +been of Germanic origin; German, too, the great artists of the Italian +Renaissance. The men of the Mediterranean countries, with the inherent +badness of their extraction, had falsified history. . . . + +“That’s the best place for you. . . You are better where you are buried, +you pitiless pedants!” thought Desnoyers, recalling his conversations +with his friend, the Russian. + +What a shame that there were not here, too, all the Herr Professors of +the German universities--those wise men so unquestionably skilful +in altering the trademarks of intellectual products and changing the +terminology of things! Those men with flowing beards and gold-rimmed +spectacles, pacific rabbits of the laboratory and the professor’s +chair that had been preparing the ground for the present war with their +sophistries and their unblushing effrontery! Their guilt was far greater +than that of the Herr Lieutenant of the tight corset and the gleaming +monocle, who in his thirst for strife and slaughter was simply and +logically working out the professional charts. + +While the German soldier of the lower classes was plundering what he +could and drunkenly shooting whatever crossed his path, the warrior +student was reading by the camp glow, Hegel and Nietzsche. He was too +enlightened to execute with his own hands these acts of “historical +justice,” but he, with the professors, was rousing all the bad +instincts of the Teutonic beast and giving them a varnish of scientific +justification. + +“Lie there, in your sepulchre, you intellectual scourge!” continued +Desnoyers mentally. + +The fierce Moors, the negroes of infantile intelligence, the sullen +Hindus, appeared to him more deserving of respect than all the +ermine-bordered togas parading haughtily and aggressively through the +cloisters of the German universities. What peacefulness for the world +if their wearers should disappear forever! He preferred the simple +and primitive barbarity of the savage to the refined, deliberate and +merciless barbarity of the greedy sage;--it did less harm and was not so +hypocritical. + +For this reason, the only ones in the enemy’s ranks who awakened his +commiseration were the lowly and unlettered dead interred beneath the +sod. They had been peasants, factory hands, business clerks, German +gluttons of measureless (intestinal) capacity, who had seen in the war +an opportunity for satisfying their appetites, for beating somebody and +ordering them about after having passed their lives in their country, +obeying and receiving kicks. + +The history of their country was nothing more than a series of +raids--like the Indian forays, in order to plunder the property of those +who lived in the mild Mediterranean climes. The Herr Professors +had proved to their countrymen that such sacking incursions were +indispensable to the highest civilization, and that the German was +marching onward with the enthusiasm of a good father sacrificing himself +in order to secure bread for his family. + +Hundreds of thousands of letters, written by their relatives with +tremulous hands, were following the great Germanic horde across the +invaded countries. Desnoyers had overheard the reading of some of these, +at nightfall before his ruined castle. These were some of the messages +found in the pockets of the imprisoned or dead:--“Don’t show any pity +for the red pantaloons. Kill WHOMEVER YOU CAN, and show no mercy even to +the little ones.” . . . “We would thank you for the shoes, but the girl +cannot get them on. Those French have such ridiculously small feet!” + . . . “Try to get hold of a piano.”. . . “I would very much like a good +watch.” . . . “Our neighbor, the Captain, has sent his wife a necklace +of pearls. . . . And you send only such insignificant things!” + +The virtuous German had been advancing heroically with the double desire +of enlarging his country and of making valuable gifts to his offspring. +“Deutschland uber alles!” But their most cherished illusions had fallen +into the burial ditch in company with thousands of comrades-at-arms fed +on the same dreams. + +Desnoyers could imagine the impatience on the other side of the Rhine, +the pitiful women who were waiting and waiting. The lists of the dead +had, perhaps, overlooked the missing ones; and the letters kept coming +and coming to the German lines, many of them never reaching their +destination. “Why don’t you answer! Perhaps you are not writing so as to +give us a great surprise. Don’t forget the necklace! Send us a piano. +A carved china cabinet for the dining room would please us greatly. The +French have so many beautiful things!” . . . + +The bare cross rose stark and motionless above the lime-blanched land. +Near it the little flags were fluttering their wings, moving from side +to side like a head shaking out a smiling, ironical protest--No! . . . +No! + +The automobile continued on its painful way. The guide was now pointing +to a distant group of graves. That was undoubtedly the place where the +regiment had been fighting. So the vehicle left the main road, sinking +its wheels in the soft earth, having to make wide detours in order to +avoid the mounds scattered about so capriciously by the casualties of +the combat. + +Almost all of the fields were ploughed. The work of the farmer extended +from tomb to tomb, making them more prominent as the morning sun forced +its way through the enshrouding mists. + +Nature, blind, unfeeling and silent, ignoring individual existence and +taking to her bosom with equal indifference, a poor little animal or a +million corpses, was beginning to smile under the late winter suns. + +The fountains were still crusted with their beards of ice; the earth +snapped as the feet weighed down its hidden crystals; the trees, black +and sleeping, were still retaining the coat of metallic green in which +the winter had clothed them; from the depths of the earth still issued +an acute, deadly chill, like that of burned-out planets. . . . But +Spring had already girded herself with flowers in her palace in the +tropics, and was saddling with green her trusty steed, neighing with +impatience. Soon they would race through the fields, driving before them +in disordered flight the black goblins of winter, and leaving in their +wake green growing things and tender, subtle perfumes. The wayside +greenery, robing itself in tiny buds, was already heralding their +arrival. The birds were venturing forth from their retreats in order +to wing their way among the crows croaking wrathfully above the closed +tombs. The landscape was beginning to smile in the sunlight with the +artless, deceptive smile of a child who looks candidly around while his +pockets are stuffed with stolen goodies. + +The husbandmen had ploughed the fields and filled the furrows with seed. +Men might go on killing each other as much as they liked; the soil had +no concern with their hatreds, and on that account, did not propose to +alter its course. As every year, the metal cutter had opened its +usual lines, obliterating with its ridges the traces of man and beast, +undismayed and with stubborn diligence filling up the tunnels which the +bombs had made. + +Sometimes the ploughshare had struck against an obstacle underground +. . . an unknown, unburied man; but the cultivator had continued on its +way without pity. Every now and then, it was stopped by less yielding +obstructions, projectiles which had sunk into the ground intact. The +rustic had dug up these instruments of death which occasionally had +exploded their delayed charge in his hands. + +But the man of the soil knows no fear when in search of sustenance, and +so was doggedly continuing his rectilinear advance, swerving only before +the visible tombs; there the furrows had curved mercifully, making +little islands of the mounds surmounted by crosses and flags. The seeds +of future bread were preparing to extend their tentacles like devil +fish among those who, but a short time before, were animated by such +monstrous ambition. Life was about to renew itself once more. + +The automobile came to a standstill. The guide was running about among +the crosses, stooping over in order to examine their weather-stained +inscriptions. + +“Here we are!” + +He had found above one grave the number of the regiment. + +Chichi and her husband promptly dismounted again. Then Dona Luisa, with +sad resolution, biting her lips to keep the tears back. Then the three +devoted themselves to assisting the father who had thrown off his fur +lap-robe. Poor Desnoyers! On touching the ground, he swayed back and +forth, moving forward with the greatest effort, lifting his feet with +difficulty, and sinking his staff in the hollows. + +“Lean on me, my poor dear,” said the old wife, offering her arm. + +The masterful head of the family could no longer take a single step +without their aid. + +Then began their slow, painful pilgrimage among the graves. + +The guide was still exploring the spot bristling with crosses, spelling +out the names, and hesitating before the faded lettering. Rene was doing +the same on the other side of the road. Chichi went on alone, the wind +whirling her black veil around her, and making the little curls escape +from under her mourning hat every time she leaned over to decipher a +name. Her daintily shod feet sunk deep into the ruts, and she had to +gather her skirts about her in order to move more comfortably--revealing +thus at every step evidences of the joy of living, of hidden beauty, +of consummated love following her course through this land of death and +desolation. + +In the distance sounded feebly her father’s voice: + +“Not yet?” + +The two elders were growing impatient, anxious to find their son’s +resting place as soon as possible. + +A half hour thus dragged by without any result--always unfamiliar names, +anonymous crosses or the numbers of other regiments. Don Marcelo was +no longer able to stand. Their passage across the irregularities of the +soft earth had been torment for him. He was beginning to despair. . . . +Ay, they would never find Julio’s remains! The parents, too, had been +scrutinizing the plots nearest them, bending sadly before cross after +cross. They stopped before a long, narrow hillock, and read the name. +. . . No, he was not there, either; and they continued desperately along +the painful path of alternate hopes and disappointments. + +It was Chichi who notified them with a cry, “Here. . . . Here it is!” + The old folks tried to run, almost falling at every step. All the family +were soon grouped around a heap of earth in the vague outline of a bier, +and beginning to be covered with herbage. At the head was a cross with +letters cut in deep with the point of a knife, the kind deed of some of +his comrades-at-arms--“DESNOYERS.” . . . Then in military abbreviations, +the rank, regiment and company. + +A long silence. Dona Luisa had knelt instantly, with her eyes fixed on +the cross--those great, bloodshot eyes that could no longer weep. Till +then, tears had been constantly in her eyes, but now they deserted her +as though overcome by the immensity of a grief incapable of expressing +itself in the usual ways. + +The father was staring at the rustic grave in dumb amazement. His son +was there, there forever! . . . and he would never see him again! He +imagined him sleeping unshrouded below, in direct contact with the +earth, just as Death had surprised him in his miserable and heroic old +uniform. He recalled the exquisite care which the lad had always given +his body--the long bath, the massage, the invigorating exercise of +boxing and fencing, the cold shower, the elegant and subtle perfume +. . . all that he might come to this! . . . that he might be interred +just where he had fallen in his tracks, like a wornout beast of burden! + +The bereaved father wished to transfer his son immediately from the +official burial fields, but he could not do it yet. As soon as possible +it should be done, and he would erect for him a mausoleum fit for a +king. . . . And what good would that do? He would merely be changing the +location of a mass of bones, but his body, his physical semblance--all +that had contributed to the charm of his personality would be mixed +with the earth. The son of the rich Desnoyers would have become an +inseparable part of a poor field in Champagne. Ah, the pity of it +all! And for this, had he worked so hard and so long to accumulate his +millions? . . . + +He could never know how Julio’s death had happened. Nobody could tell +him his last words. He was ignorant as to whether his end had been +instantaneous, overwhelming--his idol going out of the world with his +usual gay smile on his lips, or whether he had endured long hours of +agony abandoned in the field, writhing like a reptile or passing through +phases of hellish torment before collapsing in merciful oblivion. He was +also ignorant of just how much was beneath this mound--whether an +entire body discreetly touched by the hand of Death, or an assemblage of +shapeless remnants from the devastating hurricane of steel! . . . And +he would never see him again! And that Julio who had been filling his +thoughts would become simply a memory, a name that would live while +his parents lived, fading away, little by little, after they had +disappeared! . . . + +He was startled to hear a moan, a sob. . . . Then he recognized dully +that they were his own, that he had been accompanying his reflections +with groans of grief. + +His wife was still at his feet, kneeling, alone with her heartbreak, +fixing her dry eyes on the cross with a gaze of hypnotic tenacity. +. . . There was her son near her knees, lying stretched out as she had +so often watched him when sleeping in his cradle! . . . The father’s +sobs were wringing her heart, too, but with an unbearable depression, +without his wrathful exasperation. And she would never see him again! +. . . Could it be possible! . . . + +Chichi’s presence interrupted the despairing thoughts of her parents. +She had run to the automobile, and was returning with an armful of +flowers. She hung a wreath on the cross and placed a great spray of +blossoms at the foot. Then she scattered a shower of petals over the +entire surface of the grave, sadly, intensely, as though performing +a religious rite, accompanying the offering with her outspoken +thoughts--“For you who so loved life for its beauties and pleasures! +. . . for you who knew so well how to make yourself beloved!” . . . And +as her tears fell, her affectionate memories were as full of admiration +as of grief. Had she not been his sister, she would have liked to have +been his beloved. + +And having exhausted the rain of flower-petals, she wandered away so as +not to disturb the lamentations of her parents. + +Before the uselessness of his bitter plaints, Don Marcelo’s former +dominant character had come to life, raging against destiny. + +He looked at the horizon where so often he had imagined the adversary +to be, and clenched his fists in a paroxysm of fury. His disordered mind +believed that it saw the Beast, the Nemesis of humanity. And how much +longer would the evil be allowed to go unpunished? . . . + +There was no justice; the world was ruled by blind chance;--all lies, +mere words of consolation in order that mankind might exist unterrified +by the hopeless abandon in which it lived! + +It appeared to him that from afar was echoing the gallop of the four +Apocalyptic horsemen, riding rough-shod over all his fellow-creatures. +He saw the strong and brutal giant with the sword of War, the archer +with his repulsive smile, shooting his pestilential arrows, the +bald-headed miser with the scales of Famine, the hard-riding spectre +with the scythe of Death. He recognized them as only divinities, +familiar and terrible-which had made their presence felt by mankind. All +the rest was a dream. The four horsemen were the reality. . . . + +Suddenly, by the mysterious process of telepathy, he seemed to read the +thoughts of the one grieving at his feet. + +The mother, impelled by her own sorrow, was thinking of that of others. +She, too, was looking toward the distant horizon. There she seemed to +see a procession of the enemy, grieving in the same way as were her +family. She saw Elena with her daughters going in and out among the +burial grounds, seeking a loved one, falling on their knees before a +cross. Ay, this mournful satisfaction, she could never know completely! +It would be forever impossible for her to pass to the opposite side in +search of the other grave, for, even after some time had passed by, she +could never find it. The beloved body of Otto would have disappeared +forever in one of the nameless pits which they had just passed. + +“O Lord, why did we ever come to these lands? Why did we not continue +living in the land where we were born?” . . . + +Desnoyers, too, uniting his thoughts with hers, was seeing again the +pampas, the immense green plains of the ranch where he had become +acquainted with his wife. Again he could hear the tread of the herds. He +recalled Madariaga on tranquil nights proclaiming, under the splendor of +the stars, the joys of peace, the sacred brotherhood of these people +of most diverse extraction, united by labor, abundance and the lack of +political ambition. + +And as his thoughts swung back to the lost son he, too, exclaimed with +his wife, “Oh, why did we ever come? . . .” He, too, with the solidarity +of grief, began to sympathize with those on the other side of the battle +front. They were suffering just as he was; they had lost their sons. +Human grief is the same everywhere. + +But then he revolted against his commiseration. Karl had been an +advocate of this war. He was among those who had looked upon war as the +perfect state for mankind, who had prepared it with their provocations. +It was just that War should devour his sons; he ought not to bewail +their loss. . . . But he who had always loved Peace! He who had only one +son, only one! . . . and now he was losing him forever! . . . + +He was going to die; he was sure that he was going to die. . . . Only a +few months of life were left in him. And his pitiful, devoted companion +kneeling at his feet, she, too, would soon pass away. She could not long +survive the blow which they had just received. There was nothing further +for them to do; nobody needed them any longer. + +Their daughter was thinking only of herself, of founding a separate +home interest--with the hard instinct of independence which separates +children from their parents in order that humanity may continue its work +of renovation. + +Julio was the only one who would have prolonged the family, passing +on the name. The Desnoyers had died; his daughter’s children would be +Lacour. . . . All was ended. + +Don Marcelo even felt a certain satisfaction in thinking of his +approaching death. More than anything else, he wished to pass out of the +world. He no longer had any curiosity as to the end of this war in which +he had been so interested. Whatever the end might be, it would be sure +to turn out badly. Although the Beast might be mutilated, it would again +come forth years afterward, as the eternal curse of mankind. . . . For +him the only important thing now was that the war had robbed him of his +son. All was gloomy, all was black. The world was going to its ruin. +. . . He was going to rest. + +Chichi had clambered up on the hillock which contained, perhaps, more +than their dead. With furrowed brow, she was contemplating the plain. +Graves . . . graves everywhere! The recollection of Julio had already +passed to second place in her mind. She could not bring him back, no +matter how much she might weep. + +This vision of the fields of death made her think all the more of the +living. As her eyes roved from side to side, she tried, with her hands, +to keep down the whirling of her wind-tossed skirts. Rene was standing +at the foot of the knoll, and several times after a sweeping glance at +the numberless mounds around them, she looked thoughtfully at him, as +though trying to establish a relationship between her husband and those +below. And he had exposed his life in combats just as these men had +done! . . . + +“And you, my poor darling,” she continued aloud. “At this very moment +you, too, might be lying here under a heap of earth with a wooden cross +at your head, just like these poor unfortunates!” + +The sub-lieutenant smiled sadly. Yes, it was so. + +“Come here; climb up here!” said Chichi impetuously. “I want to give you +something!” + +As soon as he approached her, she flung her arms around his neck, +pressed him against the warm softness of her breast, exhaling a perfume +of life and love, and kissed him passionately without a thought of her +brother, without seeing her aged parents grieving below them and longing +to die. . . . And her skirts, freed by the breeze, molded her figure in +the superb sweep of the curves of a Grecian vase. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, by +Vicente Blasco Ibanez + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FOUR HORSEMEN *** + +***** This file should be named 1484-0.txt or 1484-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/4/8/1484/ + +Produced by Donald Lainson + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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